Book 1, Chapter 3
“Jonathan? Hellooo?” The seminarian gave a jolt and returned to his senses. He stared around the cafeteria for a few seconds, then to the tray of peas and mashed potatoes now sitting cold in front of him. Turning he saw the familiar face of his roommate, Greg, eyebrow crooked and glasses tilted askew. “You alive?”
“Yes…” Jonathan answered with only half certainty.
“Caught up by the Spirit or just didn’t sleep?” Greg joked.
“Maybe both.” He took a long breath and poked at his food. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Clearly. Something with Father Alistair?”
“Wh-why would you think that?” Jonathan asked, attempting to cover his hesitation with a mouthful of potatoes.
“Because if it wasn’t about him, you’d be in his office discussing it with him.” Jonathan made to contest this accusation, but realized he had no way to dispute it.
“I really can’t discuss it,” Jonathan finally managed.
“That’s fair. I hope you get over it soon, though. You’ve been in a funk since breakfast.”
After what he heard the previous night, what he saw and even what he smelled, food had been a low priority for the young man. His stomach churned and tightened anytime he recalled the look on Katrina’s face. And that stranger in the quad. Moments before Jonathan had been set, ready to prove his faith and follow what had to be God’s plan for him, but despite the stranger encouraging him to do exactly that, he somehow felt more hesitant.
“Do we have any visiting priests?” Jonathan asked.
Greg swallowed his bite of hamburger, thinking. “Not that I’m aware of. But, I mean, I don’t really keep track. Why? Did you see someone?”
“Maybe. But he didn’t seem like a priest. I mean, he wore a cassock and he said he was a priest, but… I don’t know.”
“Weird,” Greg replied, slowly grinning. “Maybe you should ask Father Alistair about it?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but then the images of the previous night returned to him. That burning. That look. And whoever this stranger was. Did he want to pass off Katrina to a psychiatrist because it was the right thing to do or because he was scared? He was bound for the priesthood, a life dedicated to serving his God and the people around him, a life Alistair had dedicated himself to. It wasn’t as if Alistair came to him with half-baked ideas on the regular; if Alistair thought this was a demon, he needed to give that possibility a fair chance.
He nodded and turned to Greg. “Actually, I think I will. Thanks.”
Greg smiled. “Of course. Give him my best.” Jonathan grabbed his tray and stood, turning toward the door. “Hey! We’re still on for the ping pong tournament tomorrow, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Jonathan said as he headed out.
Minutes later Jonathan found himself outside Alistair’s office, knocking on the door. He had already knocked once, but there had been no response. He pulled out his phone to check the time, confirming that his mentor should be there. A quick check of the handle proved he was not. Jonathan moved toward the nearest window, looking out over the campus. The sun was getting low and he hadn’t seen Alistair all day. Had he actually decided to go through with it? If he was right, if Katrina was possessed, was it something he could handle without Jonathan? As he turned from the window he noticed Father Willingham moving through the hall.
“Father,” he cried running toward him. “Have you seen Alistair? I needed to speak to him.”
“Alistair? I just saw him headed to his car. Seemed in quite a hurry.”
It was too early for Alistair to be headed home for the day, which left only one option in the young man’s head. Heart racing, arms pumping, Jonathan streaked into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. Where was he? A flash of light and a screech of brakes gave away Alistair’s position as his car came to a halt just feet from the rushing seminarian.
“Jonathan? What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Alistair!” he cried, panting for air. “I had to catch you.” The young man staggered to the window, Father Alistair shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I don’t have the time to argue, things have gotten worse.”
“I understand,” he replied. “I want to help.”
Alistair paused, caught off guard. He weighed Jonathan’s words for only a moment before gesturing to the passenger seat. “Hurry up. We don’t have much time.”
#
The street lights whizzed past as Jonathan pored through a stack of papers filled with Alistair’s hand-written notes. His research into the ritual had turned up too many conflicting accounts and instructions.
“I cannot begin to express my appreciation, Jonathan,” the priest said as they approached the Robinson’s street. “Confidentially, I might not have the Bishop’s permission.”
“I assumed as much,” Jonathan replied, leafing through the notes. “This looks complicated. What are we supposed to do when we get there?”
“You can ignore most of that,” the priest replied. “They changed a lot of the rules back in ‘99, but I think I have the general idea. There are specific passages you’ll need to read, specific prayers I’ll need to say, but mostly, we need to impose our will on this devil. We must show him the power of Christ and force him out of her.”
Jonathan waited to hear if there was more to the plan, but Alistair gave no such indication. The car stopped. The young man’s stomach knotted. He had hoped for a more detailed plan of action, but it seemed Alistair was almost as much in the dark as he was.
“Is… is that all?” Jonathan asked.
“What more do we need? The Lord is with us.”
#
That summer evening was colder than any night Jonathan had ever felt. His breath rose from his lips like steam as he entered the house. The parents were in a frenzy, Jason bleeding from deep cuts and Julie frantically trying to stem the loss of blood. Both parents cried out in confusion, anger, and shock. Jonathan bent to check on them, but as he did the entire house shook. Shelves crashed to the floor and cupboards spilled their contents, Alistair rushing to his pupil’s side. “There’s no time, Jonathan.”
“What was that?” the student cried, stumbling to his feet. His heart raced. His stomached pressed at his throat. Alistair’s fists clenched around the straps of his bag, his gaze locked on the stairwell, following the trail of Jason’s blood.
“We have to stop this now,” the priest said. Jonathan could see the apprehension in his movement, hear the fear in his voice, yet Alistair pressed forward. Steeling himself, Jonathan gripped the banister and pulled himself up the stairwell, step by terrifying step.
“She doesn’t want you here!” Jason cried out, Julie still pressing kitchen towels to his midsection.
“We are quite aware,” Alistair replied, stepping onto the landing.
“Alistair…”
“Do not falter, Jonathan.”
Pictures dropped from the wall, crashing violently into the floor.
“This – this is too much!”
“Stay with me, Jonathan! It’s trying to frighten us! It fears us!”
Jonathan took a deep breath, his knuckles white and face pale. Still, he followed. The pair walked the narrow hallway, following the trail of fresh blood toward Katrina’s room. Stone-faced, Alistair turned the handle, pushing his shoulder against the door to force it open. Jonathan’s jaw dropped.
A headless doll drifted slowly through the air, the fabric of the dress fluttering listlessly as it tumbled. A hairbrush bounced aimlessly off the opposite wall, twirling into the air. Shards of broken glass glinted in the light of the street lamps outside. It was dark. It was quiet. Jonathan’s own heartbeat was deafening in the silence. And there, hovering several feet above the bed, was little Katrina.
“You’re not allowed to be here,” she spat, her voice strained and gritty. She looked down on the two holy men, feet dangling. Her arms were covered in long gashes and her eyes were white, as though they had rolled completely back into her skull. Jonathan made to speak, but only his chilled breath escaped. The air bit at his skin. The smell of blood and decay lingered in the air. And inside Jonathan, the burning surged.
Alistair, with shaking hands, unpacked his bag: a wooden crucifix, his worn Bible, and a flask of holy water. This child cocked her head. “I said leave,” the force of her scream sending both men tumbling back against the wall.
Alistair gritted his teeth and opened his Bible, passing it to his pupil. It took Jonathan several seconds to comprehend what was happening before he accepted the book. “Begin reading here,” the priest said, pointing to the top of the page, “when I say.”
“You’re not allowed here!” the young girl screamed, sending every floating object in the room hurtling through air and smashing into the walls.
Alistair steadied himself on a nearby dresser, refusing to falter. “I command you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, give me your name!”
The girl’s head twisted unnaturally, a wicked smile carving its way along her lips. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to make you leave…”
The girls words, calmer but more piercing, halted the old priest. He turned to his companion before repeating his demands. Katrina turned her gaze back and forth between the two men, her anger slowly turning to amusement. “You need to go… AWAY!”
The child’s words hit the men with a tangible, concussive force, sending Alistair against the wall and Jonathan down to the floor. The young man scrambled to his feet, rushing to his mentor’s side, but the priest stopped him. He gave Jonathan a nod as he collected himself. It took the pupil a moment to register the command, but he quickly turned his attention to his Bible. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven.”
“Stop!” the girl screamed. Before he could utter another word, Jonathan’s arms seized up and his body stiffened. The holy book dropped to the floor as his arms bent and twisted in sickening angles behind him, eliciting a terrified scream from the young man.
“Demon begone!” Alistair commanded, casting holy water on the child. She roared in pain, releasing Jonathan, an opportunity the old man took to rush the girl, pulling her to the bed and pinning her there. Despite his overwhelming size advantage, the young girl pushed back, forcing the priest off.
“Jonathan! Help! I can’t hold her!” he cried, pressing his crucifix against her chest. Word by uncertain word, he recited the exorcism rite he had been studying only hours earlier. “I command you, unclean spirit, by the mysteries of the incarnation-”
“Die priest!” she howled in a twisted, guttural moan. Her tiny frame pressed back, digging into the mattress and arching her body unnaturally to force the older man back to a vertical base. Just as she seized the upper hand, Jonathan appeared, throwing his body weight against the girl and pressing her back into the mattress.
“Mysteries of the incarnation…the Passion,” Alistair continued, “the Resurrection, and the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ… reveal your name to me!” Alistair poured the holy water onto his right hand and ran his thumb along the girl’s forehead as she screamed and kicked. “Give me your name, demon!”
The girl squealed and screamed, her tiny child’s voice intermingled with a deep, guttural roar, spouting indecipherable curses. Growling she forced her way up, both men losing their footing, inch by inch. Alistair repeated the sign of the cross on her forehead, commanding her to obey. She shrieked, arms falling back against the bed, head thrashing from side to side, and blood pooling in her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go!”
“Give me your name, demon!” Alistair cried.
The entire bed to shook and jerked from side to side in short, hard bursts. With each movement, Jonathan felt the burning inside him move closer and and closer to the surface, threatening to engulf him from the inside out. Still, he did not waver. He pushed back, digging his feet into the stained and torn carpet, repeating the Lord’s Prayer once more as he forced Katrina down.
“Get off!” she screamed.
Alistair pressed the crucifix roughly against her chest once more. “Give me your name!” Katrina opened her mouth to shriek, but the cry was stifled, gagged by dark, pooling blood. As it trickled down her cheeks, her jaw cracked audibly, stretching. Jonathan’s heart pounded against his chest and his breath left him as he watched as something pierce the surface of the blood: fingers.
Coated in the red ichor and tipped with jagged, torn claws, a hand forced its way out of the girl’s mouth, roughly jerking and stretching. Jonathan froze in terror as the putrid, yellow hand seized Alistair by the throat. The priest clutched at the hand, gasping for air as the arm stretched further, bending and twisting. Jonathan’s resolve failed. His legs gave way and he fell to the bedside paralyzed, for as she gripped the priest, dangling him like a doll, her head turned and her tiny, white eyes locked on him.
The girl rose to her feet as if pulled by strings, Alistair clutched in the grasp of the demonic hand. Without so much as a glance toward him, she cast the priest aside, Alistair slamming against the edge of the dresser and collapsing into a heap. Eyes still focused on the younger man, she gagged and coughed as the hand slithered back inside. “I said I don’t want you here. Now I’m mad,” she growled.
Jonathan scurried back, hitting the closet. He looked around desperately, grabbing the fallen flask of holy water and casting the remaining contents at the creature. It erupted into a cloud of steam as it made contact with the girl, forcing yet another howl of pain from her, but this served as little more than a distraction.
“You’re not playing right!”
Jonathan’s arms stretched out against his will, pinned against the closet door. The girl giggled as she drifted closer, the gouges and scars along her body glimmering. Jonathan managed only a whimpering “no” as she reached her hand out. One by one the buttons on his shirt popped and his garment slowly ripped open. Cloth tore and split until, bare-chested, he sat before the giggling demon girl. “First, I’m going to make you look like me,” she said with delight, “then, when I’m bored… I’ll throw you away.”
Jonathan’s muted terror broke when the first mark appeared. From the top of his sternum, skin tore and a long gash cut its way down his chest. His screams echoed through the house, eliciting squeals of delight from little Katrina as she watched the blood flow down his chest. “Again!” she cried gleefully. A matching mark appeared just to the side of the first, slowly carving into his flesh and dragging down his body toward his navel. He thrashed and struggled, legs kicking violently, but he could not resist the demon’s power as it carved into his flesh.
“S-stop..”
Katrina turned. A weak, barely conscious Alistair had propped himself up against the dresser, blood flowing from the back of his head. The little girl cocked her head. “I’ll play with you later.” With a gesture, the small vanity shot across the room, slamming into the priest. She giggled and turned back to Jonathan, lowering herself to the floor and approaching him, hand outstretched.
Jonathan cried out once more as she traced her finger across his chest, a third gash trailing just behind her fingertip, moving to cross the others. Here, as her finger met the previous wounds, she pulled back in shock. With a shriek she cradled her hand like a child who had just touched a hot stove. He eyes drifted between her injured appendage and the bleeding seminarian, outrage and fury turning her smile to a scowl. She growled and moved back toward the young man but a voice halted her once more.
“You brat!”
Katrina turned slowly to face the bruised and bloody priest. “What?”
“You… spoiled… arrogant… brat!”
The child’s teeth splintered as she gritted them, turning away from Jonathan to focus on the old man. “Don’t call me that!”
“You’re nothing… but a selfish… self-centered… arrogant… spoiled brat!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” she screamed, leaping onto Alistair. Her tiny hands throttled the priest, pressing him against the wall before hurtling him against the bed. In a flash she was on him, clawing and scratching as he futilely shielded himself. As blood trickled from his face and arms, the girl clenched her fists, growling and twisting her head. The priests arms shot out to either side and his entire body lifted from the floor. He hovered above the bed, dangling helplessly like a puppet in suspension.
Jonathan, clutching his wounds, shivering with pain, looked up to see his mentor. His friend. Alistair was dying. It was inevitable. No force could resist the creature that held this little girl, least of all him. Now there was nothing left for him but to watch Alistair die.
His chest heaved. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The burning, threatening before to engulf him, finally reached the surface. Something broke.
“Let him go!”
Alistair fell with a soft thud against the bed, choking and coughing. Katrina looked down at her tiny, scarred hands before turning to Jonathan. Screaming, she flew at him. “Stay back!” he cried , shielding his face. After a moment of uncertainty, he lowered his arms to see her hovering back above the bed, her face twisted as blood dribbled from her chin.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill-”
“Shut up!” Jonathan screamed, his body shaking violently. To his surprise, Jonathan found himself standing, watching as Katrina retreated across the room, mouth moving wordlessly. The girl’s face soured, anger turned to fear. She pressed back against the opposite wall, looking for an escape. Jonathan pressed forward. Step by excruciating step, fighting his better judgement, Jonathan pressed forward toward Katrina.
Teeth gritting, chest heaving, soul burning, Jonathan pushed toward Katrina. He was no longer afraid; he was furious. “Get out,” he commanded. The girl looked around in confusion. “Get out of her! Leave her now! Leave her and leave this place!” Once more the house shook, walls cracked and furniture toppled as the young girl fell limp to the floor. Jonathan watched her still frame for several moments before collapsing next to her. He turned her over gently. Her face, once pallid and putrid, was slowly returning to a human tone. The blood that had stained her cheeks was washing away with fresh tears as she called weakly for her mother, trembling in the young man’s arms. He pulled her tight against him. “You’re okay, now. You’re going to be okay,” he said, tears streaming down his face.
He stroked her hair and held her tight for several moments, the emotional magnitude of the situation finally starting to settle on him. She was free. It was gone. Whatever it had been, it was gone and he did it. Together with Alistair he had —
Alistair! He turned, looking at the still body of his mentor, lying crumpled on the bed. He gently lowered the crying girl and moved to the priest’s side, turning him over. Alistair’s head snapped toward him, cocked inhumanly to one side. His eyes were black and his open maw was lined with row after row of teeth. Jonathan jumped back, falling to the ground with a shriek as the priest’s body disappeared with a hiss and cloud of dark smoke. Jonathan screamed as he scanned the room for any sign of Alistair. At that moment, from behind, two hands gripped the young man’s shoulders.
Book 1, Chapter 3
“Jonathan? Hellooo?” The seminarian gave a jolt and returned to his senses. He stared around the cafeteria for a few seconds, then to the tray of peas and mashed potatoes now sitting cold in front of him. Turning he saw the familiar face of his roommate, Greg, eyebrow crooked and glasses tilted askew. “You alive?”
“Yes…” Jonathan answered with only half certainty.
“Caught up by the Spirit or just didn’t sleep?” Greg joked.
“Maybe both.” He took a long breath and poked at his food. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Clearly. Something with Father Alistair?”
“Wh-why would you think that?” Jonathan asked, attempting to cover his hesitation with a mouthful of potatoes.
“Because if it wasn’t about him, you’d be in his office discussing it with him.” Jonathan made to contest this accusation, but realized he had no way to dispute it.
“I really can’t discuss it,” Jonathan finally managed.
“That’s fair. I hope you get over it soon, though. You’ve been in a funk since breakfast.”
After what he heard the previous night, what he saw and even what he smelled, food had been a low priority for the young man. His stomach churned and tightened anytime he recalled the look on Katrina’s face. And that stranger in the quad. Moments before Jonathan had been set, ready to prove his faith and follow what had to be God’s plan for him, but despite the stranger encouraging him to do exactly that, he somehow felt more hesitant.
“Do we have any visiting priests?” Jonathan asked.
Greg swallowed his bite of hamburger, thinking. “Not that I’m aware of. But, I mean, I don’t really keep track. Why? Did you see someone?”
“Maybe. But he didn’t seem like a priest. I mean, he wore a cassock and he said he was a priest, but… I don’t know.”
“Weird,” Greg replied, slowly grinning. “Maybe you should ask Father Alistair about it?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but then the images of the previous night returned to him. That burning. That look. And whoever this stranger was. Did he want to pass off Katrina to a psychiatrist because it was the right thing to do or because he was scared? He was bound for the priesthood, a life dedicated to serving his God and the people around him, a life Alistair had dedicated himself to. It wasn’t as if Alistair came to him with half-baked ideas on the regular; if Alistair thought this was a demon, he needed to give that possibility a fair chance.
He nodded and turned to Greg. “Actually, I think I will. Thanks.”
Greg smiled. “Of course. Give him my best.” Jonathan grabbed his tray and stood, turning toward the door. “Hey! We’re still on for the ping pong tournament tomorrow, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Jonathan said as he headed out.
Minutes later Jonathan found himself outside Alistair’s office, knocking on the door. He had already knocked once, but there had been no response. He pulled out his phone to check the time, confirming that his mentor should be there. A quick check of the handle proved he was not. Jonathan moved toward the nearest window, looking out over the campus. The sun was getting low and he hadn’t seen Alistair all day. Had he actually decided to go through with it? If he was right, if Katrina was possessed, was it something he could handle without Jonathan? As he turned from the window he noticed Father Willingham moving through the hall.
“Father,” he cried running toward him. “Have you seen Alistair? I needed to speak to him.”
“Alistair? I just saw him headed to his car. Seemed in quite a hurry.”
It was too early for Alistair to be headed home for the day, which left only one option in the young man’s head. Heart racing, arms pumping, Jonathan streaked into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. Where was he? A flash of light and a screech of brakes gave away Alistair’s position as his car came to a halt just feet from the rushing seminarian.
“Jonathan? What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Alistair!” he cried, panting for air. “I had to catch you.” The young man staggered to the window, Father Alistair shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I don’t have the time to argue, things have gotten worse.”
“I understand,” he replied. “I want to help.”
Alistair paused, caught off guard. He weighed Jonathan’s words for only a moment before gesturing to the passenger seat. “Hurry up. We don’t have much time.”
#
The street lights whizzed past as Jonathan pored through a stack of papers filled with Alistair’s hand-written notes. His research into the ritual had turned up too many conflicting accounts and instructions.
“I cannot begin to express my appreciation, Jonathan,” the priest said as they approached the Robinson’s street. “Confidentially, I might not have the Bishop’s permission.”
“I assumed as much,” Jonathan replied, leafing through the notes. “This looks complicated. What are we supposed to do when we get there?”
“You can ignore most of that,” the priest replied. “They changed a lot of the rules back in ‘99, but I think I have the general idea. There are specific passages you’ll need to read, specific prayers I’ll need to say, but mostly, we need to impose our will on this devil. We must show him the power of Christ and force him out of her.”
Jonathan waited to hear if there was more to the plan, but Alistair gave no such indication. The car stopped. The young man’s stomach knotted. He had hoped for a more detailed plan of action, but it seemed Alistair was almost as much in the dark as he was.
“Is… is that all?” Jonathan asked.
“What more do we need? The Lord is with us.”
#
That summer evening was colder than any night Jonathan had ever felt. His breath rose from his lips like steam as he entered the house. The parents were in a frenzy, Jason bleeding from deep cuts and Julie frantically trying to stem the loss of blood. Both parents cried out in confusion, anger, and shock. Jonathan bent to check on them, but as he did the entire house shook. Shelves crashed to the floor and cupboards spilled their contents, Alistair rushing to his pupil’s side. “There’s no time, Jonathan.”
“What was that?” the student cried, stumbling to his feet. His heart raced. His stomached pressed at his throat. Alistair’s fists clenched around the straps of his bag, his gaze locked on the stairwell, following the trail of Jason’s blood.
“We have to stop this now,” the priest said. Jonathan could see the apprehension in his movement, hear the fear in his voice, yet Alistair pressed forward. Steeling himself, Jonathan gripped the banister and pulled himself up the stairwell, step by terrifying step.
“She doesn’t want you here!” Jason cried out, Julie still pressing kitchen towels to his midsection.
“We are quite aware,” Alistair replied, stepping onto the landing.
“Alistair…”
“Do not falter, Jonathan.”
Pictures dropped from the wall, crashing violently into the floor.
“This – this is too much!”
“Stay with me, Jonathan! It’s trying to frighten us! It fears us!”
Jonathan took a deep breath, his knuckles white and face pale. Still, he followed. The pair walked the narrow hallway, following the trail of fresh blood toward Katrina’s room. Stone-faced, Alistair turned the handle, pushing his shoulder against the door to force it open. Jonathan’s jaw dropped.
A headless doll drifted slowly through the air, the fabric of the dress fluttering listlessly as it tumbled. A hairbrush bounced aimlessly off the opposite wall, twirling into the air. Shards of broken glass glinted in the light of the street lamps outside. It was dark. It was quiet. Jonathan’s own heartbeat was deafening in the silence. And there, hovering several feet above the bed, was little Katrina.
“You’re not allowed to be here,” she spat, her voice strained and gritty. She looked down on the two holy men, feet dangling. Her arms were covered in long gashes and her eyes were white, as though they had rolled completely back into her skull. Jonathan made to speak, but only his chilled breath escaped. The air bit at his skin. The smell of blood and decay lingered in the air. And inside Jonathan, the burning surged.
Alistair, with shaking hands, unpacked his bag: a wooden crucifix, his worn Bible, and a flask of holy water. This child cocked her head. “I said leave,” the force of her scream sending both men tumbling back against the wall.
Alistair gritted his teeth and opened his Bible, passing it to his pupil. It took Jonathan several seconds to comprehend what was happening before he accepted the book. “Begin reading here,” the priest said, pointing to the top of the page, “when I say.”
“You’re not allowed here!” the young girl screamed, sending every floating object in the room hurtling through air and smashing into the walls.
Alistair steadied himself on a nearby dresser, refusing to falter. “I command you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, give me your name!”
The girl’s head twisted unnaturally, a wicked smile carving its way along her lips. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to make you leave…”
The girls words, calmer but more piercing, halted the old priest. He turned to his companion before repeating his demands. Katrina turned her gaze back and forth between the two men, her anger slowly turning to amusement. “You need to go… AWAY!”
The child’s words hit the men with a tangible, concussive force, sending Alistair against the wall and Jonathan down to the floor. The young man scrambled to his feet, rushing to his mentor’s side, but the priest stopped him. He gave Jonathan a nod as he collected himself. It took the pupil a moment to register the command, but he quickly turned his attention to his Bible. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven.”
“Stop!” the girl screamed. Before he could utter another word, Jonathan’s arms seized up and his body stiffened. The holy book dropped to the floor as his arms bent and twisted in sickening angles behind him, eliciting a terrified scream from the young man.
“Demon begone!” Alistair commanded, casting holy water on the child. She roared in pain, releasing Jonathan, an opportunity the old man took to rush the girl, pulling her to the bed and pinning her there. Despite his overwhelming size advantage, the young girl pushed back, forcing the priest off.
“Jonathan! Help! I can’t hold her!” he cried, pressing his crucifix against her chest. Word by uncertain word, he recited the exorcism rite he had been studying only hours earlier. “I command you, unclean spirit, by the mysteries of the incarnation-”
“Die priest!” she howled in a twisted, guttural moan. Her tiny frame pressed back, digging into the mattress and arching her body unnaturally to force the older man back to a vertical base. Just as she seized the upper hand, Jonathan appeared, throwing his body weight against the girl and pressing her back into the mattress.
“Mysteries of the incarnation…the Passion,” Alistair continued, “the Resurrection, and the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ… reveal your name to me!” Alistair poured the holy water onto his right hand and ran his thumb along the girl’s forehead as she screamed and kicked. “Give me your name, demon!”
The girl squealed and screamed, her tiny child’s voice intermingled with a deep, guttural roar, spouting indecipherable curses. Growling she forced her way up, both men losing their footing, inch by inch. Alistair repeated the sign of the cross on her forehead, commanding her to obey. She shrieked, arms falling back against the bed, head thrashing from side to side, and blood pooling in her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go!”
“Give me your name, demon!” Alistair cried.
The entire bed to shook and jerked from side to side in short, hard bursts. With each movement, Jonathan felt the burning inside him move closer and and closer to the surface, threatening to engulf him from the inside out. Still, he did not waver. He pushed back, digging his feet into the stained and torn carpet, repeating the Lord’s Prayer once more as he forced Katrina down.
“Get off!” she screamed.
Alistair pressed the crucifix roughly against her chest once more. “Give me your name!” Katrina opened her mouth to shriek, but the cry was stifled, gagged by dark, pooling blood. As it trickled down her cheeks, her jaw cracked audibly, stretching. Jonathan’s heart pounded against his chest and his breath left him as he watched as something pierce the surface of the blood: fingers.
Coated in the red ichor and tipped with jagged, torn claws, a hand forced its way out of the girl’s mouth, roughly jerking and stretching. Jonathan froze in terror as the putrid, yellow hand seized Alistair by the throat. The priest clutched at the hand, gasping for air as the arm stretched further, bending and twisting. Jonathan’s resolve failed. His legs gave way and he fell to the bedside paralyzed, for as she gripped the priest, dangling him like a doll, her head turned and her tiny, white eyes locked on him.
The girl rose to her feet as if pulled by strings, Alistair clutched in the grasp of the demonic hand. Without so much as a glance toward him, she cast the priest aside, Alistair slamming against the edge of the dresser and collapsing into a heap. Eyes still focused on the younger man, she gagged and coughed as the hand slithered back inside. “I said I don’t want you here. Now I’m mad,” she growled.
Jonathan scurried back, hitting the closet. He looked around desperately, grabbing the fallen flask of holy water and casting the remaining contents at the creature. It erupted into a cloud of steam as it made contact with the girl, forcing yet another howl of pain from her, but this served as little more than a distraction.
“You’re not playing right!”
Jonathan’s arms stretched out against his will, pinned against the closet door. The girl giggled as she drifted closer, the gouges and scars along her body glimmering. Jonathan managed only a whimpering “no” as she reached her hand out. One by one the buttons on his shirt popped and his garment slowly ripped open. Cloth tore and split until, bare-chested, he sat before the giggling demon girl. “First, I’m going to make you look like me,” she said with delight, “then, when I’m bored… I’ll throw you away.”
Jonathan’s muted terror broke when the first mark appeared. From the top of his sternum, skin tore and a long gash cut its way down his chest. His screams echoed through the house, eliciting squeals of delight from little Katrina as she watched the blood flow down his chest. “Again!” she cried gleefully. A matching mark appeared just to the side of the first, slowly carving into his flesh and dragging down his body toward his navel. He thrashed and struggled, legs kicking violently, but he could not resist the demon’s power as it carved into his flesh.
“S-stop..”
Katrina turned. A weak, barely conscious Alistair had propped himself up against the dresser, blood flowing from the back of his head. The little girl cocked her head. “I’ll play with you later.” With a gesture, the small vanity shot across the room, slamming into the priest. She giggled and turned back to Jonathan, lowering herself to the floor and approaching him, hand outstretched.
Jonathan cried out once more as she traced her finger across his chest, a third gash trailing just behind her fingertip, moving to cross the others. Here, as her finger met the previous wounds, she pulled back in shock. With a shriek she cradled her hand like a child who had just touched a hot stove. He eyes drifted between her injured appendage and the bleeding seminarian, outrage and fury turning her smile to a scowl. She growled and moved back toward the young man but a voice halted her once more.
“You brat!”
Katrina turned slowly to face the bruised and bloody priest. “What?”
“You… spoiled… arrogant… brat!”
The child’s teeth splintered as she gritted them, turning away from Jonathan to focus on the old man. “Don’t call me that!”
“You’re nothing… but a selfish… self-centered… arrogant… spoiled brat!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” she screamed, leaping onto Alistair. Her tiny hands throttled the priest, pressing him against the wall before hurtling him against the bed. In a flash she was on him, clawing and scratching as he futilely shielded himself. As blood trickled from his face and arms, the girl clenched her fists, growling and twisting her head. The priests arms shot out to either side and his entire body lifted from the floor. He hovered above the bed, dangling helplessly like a puppet in suspension.
Jonathan, clutching his wounds, shivering with pain, looked up to see his mentor. His friend. Alistair was dying. It was inevitable. No force could resist the creature that held this little girl, least of all him. Now there was nothing left for him but to watch Alistair die.
His chest heaved. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The burning, threatening before to engulf him, finally reached the surface. Something broke.
“Let him go!”
Alistair fell with a soft thud against the bed, choking and coughing. Katrina looked down at her tiny, scarred hands before turning to Jonathan. Screaming, she flew at him. “Stay back!” he cried , shielding his face. After a moment of uncertainty, he lowered his arms to see her hovering back above the bed, her face twisted as blood dribbled from her chin.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill-”
“Shut up!” Jonathan screamed, his body shaking violently. To his surprise, Jonathan found himself standing, watching as Katrina retreated across the room, mouth moving wordlessly. The girl’s face soured, anger turned to fear. She pressed back against the opposite wall, looking for an escape. Jonathan pressed forward. Step by excruciating step, fighting his better judgement, Jonathan pressed forward toward Katrina.
Teeth gritting, chest heaving, soul burning, Jonathan pushed toward Katrina. He was no longer afraid; he was furious. “Get out,” he commanded. The girl looked around in confusion. “Get out of her! Leave her now! Leave her and leave this place!” Once more the house shook, walls cracked and furniture toppled as the young girl fell limp to the floor. Jonathan watched her still frame for several moments before collapsing next to her. He turned her over gently. Her face, once pallid and putrid, was slowly returning to a human tone. The blood that had stained her cheeks was washing away with fresh tears as she called weakly for her mother, trembling in the young man’s arms. He pulled her tight against him. “You’re okay, now. You’re going to be okay,” he said, tears streaming down his face.
He stroked her hair and held her tight for several moments, the emotional magnitude of the situation finally starting to settle on him. She was free. It was gone. Whatever it had been, it was gone and he did it. Together with Alistair he had —
Alistair! He turned, looking at the still body of his mentor, lying crumpled on the bed. He gently lowered the crying girl and moved to the priest’s side, turning him over. Alistair’s head snapped toward him, cocked inhumanly to one side. His eyes were black and his open maw was lined with row after row of teeth. Jonathan jumped back, falling to the ground with a shriek as the priest’s body disappeared with a hiss and cloud of dark smoke. Jonathan screamed as he scanned the room for any sign of Alistair. At that moment, from behind, two hands gripped the young man’s shoulders.
Book 1, Chapter 3
“Jonathan? Hellooo?” The seminarian gave a jolt and returned to his senses. He stared around the cafeteria for a few seconds, then to the tray of peas and mashed potatoes now sitting cold in front of him. Turning he saw the familiar face of his roommate, Greg, eyebrow crooked and glasses tilted askew. “You alive?”
“Yes…” Jonathan answered with only half certainty.
“Caught up by the Spirit or just didn’t sleep?” Greg joked.
“Maybe both.” He took a long breath and poked at his food. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Clearly. Something with Father Alistair?”
“Wh-why would you think that?” Jonathan asked, attempting to cover his hesitation with a mouthful of potatoes.
“Because if it wasn’t about him, you’d be in his office discussing it with him.” Jonathan made to contest this accusation, but realized he had no way to dispute it.
“I really can’t discuss it,” Jonathan finally managed.
“That’s fair. I hope you get over it soon, though. You’ve been in a funk since breakfast.”
After what he heard the previous night, what he saw and even what he smelled, food had been a low priority for the young man. His stomach churned and tightened anytime he recalled the look on Katrina’s face. And that stranger in the quad. Moments before Jonathan had been set, ready to prove his faith and follow what had to be God’s plan for him, but despite the stranger encouraging him to do exactly that, he somehow felt more hesitant.
“Do we have any visiting priests?” Jonathan asked.
Greg swallowed his bite of hamburger, thinking. “Not that I’m aware of. But, I mean, I don’t really keep track. Why? Did you see someone?”
“Maybe. But he didn’t seem like a priest. I mean, he wore a cassock and he said he was a priest, but… I don’t know.”
“Weird,” Greg replied, slowly grinning. “Maybe you should ask Father Alistair about it?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but then the images of the previous night returned to him. That burning. That look. And whoever this stranger was. Did he want to pass off Katrina to a psychiatrist because it was the right thing to do or because he was scared? He was bound for the priesthood, a life dedicated to serving his God and the people around him, a life Alistair had dedicated himself to. It wasn’t as if Alistair came to him with half-baked ideas on the regular; if Alistair thought this was a demon, he needed to give that possibility a fair chance.
He nodded and turned to Greg. “Actually, I think I will. Thanks.”
Greg smiled. “Of course. Give him my best.” Jonathan grabbed his tray and stood, turning toward the door. “Hey! We’re still on for the ping pong tournament tomorrow, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Jonathan said as he headed out.
Minutes later Jonathan found himself outside Alistair’s office, knocking on the door. He had already knocked once, but there had been no response. He pulled out his phone to check the time, confirming that his mentor should be there. A quick check of the handle proved he was not. Jonathan moved toward the nearest window, looking out over the campus. The sun was getting low and he hadn’t seen Alistair all day. Had he actually decided to go through with it? If he was right, if Katrina was possessed, was it something he could handle without Jonathan? As he turned from the window he noticed Father Willingham moving through the hall.
“Father,” he cried running toward him. “Have you seen Alistair? I needed to speak to him.”
“Alistair? I just saw him headed to his car. Seemed in quite a hurry.”
It was too early for Alistair to be headed home for the day, which left only one option in the young man’s head. Heart racing, arms pumping, Jonathan streaked into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. Where was he? A flash of light and a screech of brakes gave away Alistair’s position as his car came to a halt just feet from the rushing seminarian.
“Jonathan? What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Alistair!” he cried, panting for air. “I had to catch you.” The young man staggered to the window, Father Alistair shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I don’t have the time to argue, things have gotten worse.”
“I understand,” he replied. “I want to help.”
Alistair paused, caught off guard. He weighed Jonathan’s words for only a moment before gesturing to the passenger seat. “Hurry up. We don’t have much time.”
#
The street lights whizzed past as Jonathan pored through a stack of papers filled with Alistair’s hand-written notes. His research into the ritual had turned up too many conflicting accounts and instructions.
“I cannot begin to express my appreciation, Jonathan,” the priest said as they approached the Robinson’s street. “Confidentially, I might not have the Bishop’s permission.”
“I assumed as much,” Jonathan replied, leafing through the notes. “This looks complicated. What are we supposed to do when we get there?”
“You can ignore most of that,” the priest replied. “They changed a lot of the rules back in ‘99, but I think I have the general idea. There are specific passages you’ll need to read, specific prayers I’ll need to say, but mostly, we need to impose our will on this devil. We must show him the power of Christ and force him out of her.”
Jonathan waited to hear if there was more to the plan, but Alistair gave no such indication. The car stopped. The young man’s stomach knotted. He had hoped for a more detailed plan of action, but it seemed Alistair was almost as much in the dark as he was.
“Is… is that all?” Jonathan asked.
“What more do we need? The Lord is with us.”
#
That summer evening was colder than any night Jonathan had ever felt. His breath rose from his lips like steam as he entered the house. The parents were in a frenzy, Jason bleeding from deep cuts and Julie frantically trying to stem the loss of blood. Both parents cried out in confusion, anger, and shock. Jonathan bent to check on them, but as he did the entire house shook. Shelves crashed to the floor and cupboards spilled their contents, Alistair rushing to his pupil’s side. “There’s no time, Jonathan.”
“What was that?” the student cried, stumbling to his feet. His heart raced. His stomached pressed at his throat. Alistair’s fists clenched around the straps of his bag, his gaze locked on the stairwell, following the trail of Jason’s blood.
“We have to stop this now,” the priest said. Jonathan could see the apprehension in his movement, hear the fear in his voice, yet Alistair pressed forward. Steeling himself, Jonathan gripped the banister and pulled himself up the stairwell, step by terrifying step.
“She doesn’t want you here!” Jason cried out, Julie still pressing kitchen towels to his midsection.
“We are quite aware,” Alistair replied, stepping onto the landing.
“Alistair…”
“Do not falter, Jonathan.”
Pictures dropped from the wall, crashing violently into the floor.
“This – this is too much!”
“Stay with me, Jonathan! It’s trying to frighten us! It fears us!”
Jonathan took a deep breath, his knuckles white and face pale. Still, he followed. The pair walked the narrow hallway, following the trail of fresh blood toward Katrina’s room. Stone-faced, Alistair turned the handle, pushing his shoulder against the door to force it open. Jonathan’s jaw dropped.
A headless doll drifted slowly through the air, the fabric of the dress fluttering listlessly as it tumbled. A hairbrush bounced aimlessly off the opposite wall, twirling into the air. Shards of broken glass glinted in the light of the street lamps outside. It was dark. It was quiet. Jonathan’s own heartbeat was deafening in the silence. And there, hovering several feet above the bed, was little Katrina.
“You’re not allowed to be here,” she spat, her voice strained and gritty. She looked down on the two holy men, feet dangling. Her arms were covered in long gashes and her eyes were white, as though they had rolled completely back into her skull. Jonathan made to speak, but only his chilled breath escaped. The air bit at his skin. The smell of blood and decay lingered in the air. And inside Jonathan, the burning surged.
Alistair, with shaking hands, unpacked his bag: a wooden crucifix, his worn Bible, and a flask of holy water. This child cocked her head. “I said leave,” the force of her scream sending both men tumbling back against the wall.
Alistair gritted his teeth and opened his Bible, passing it to his pupil. It took Jonathan several seconds to comprehend what was happening before he accepted the book. “Begin reading here,” the priest said, pointing to the top of the page, “when I say.”
“You’re not allowed here!” the young girl screamed, sending every floating object in the room hurtling through air and smashing into the walls.
Alistair steadied himself on a nearby dresser, refusing to falter. “I command you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, give me your name!”
The girl’s head twisted unnaturally, a wicked smile carving its way along her lips. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to make you leave…”
The girls words, calmer but more piercing, halted the old priest. He turned to his companion before repeating his demands. Katrina turned her gaze back and forth between the two men, her anger slowly turning to amusement. “You need to go… AWAY!”
The child’s words hit the men with a tangible, concussive force, sending Alistair against the wall and Jonathan down to the floor. The young man scrambled to his feet, rushing to his mentor’s side, but the priest stopped him. He gave Jonathan a nod as he collected himself. It took the pupil a moment to register the command, but he quickly turned his attention to his Bible. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven.”
“Stop!” the girl screamed. Before he could utter another word, Jonathan’s arms seized up and his body stiffened. The holy book dropped to the floor as his arms bent and twisted in sickening angles behind him, eliciting a terrified scream from the young man.
“Demon begone!” Alistair commanded, casting holy water on the child. She roared in pain, releasing Jonathan, an opportunity the old man took to rush the girl, pulling her to the bed and pinning her there. Despite his overwhelming size advantage, the young girl pushed back, forcing the priest off.
“Jonathan! Help! I can’t hold her!” he cried, pressing his crucifix against her chest. Word by uncertain word, he recited the exorcism rite he had been studying only hours earlier. “I command you, unclean spirit, by the mysteries of the incarnation-”
“Die priest!” she howled in a twisted, guttural moan. Her tiny frame pressed back, digging into the mattress and arching her body unnaturally to force the older man back to a vertical base. Just as she seized the upper hand, Jonathan appeared, throwing his body weight against the girl and pressing her back into the mattress.
“Mysteries of the incarnation…the Passion,” Alistair continued, “the Resurrection, and the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ… reveal your name to me!” Alistair poured the holy water onto his right hand and ran his thumb along the girl’s forehead as she screamed and kicked. “Give me your name, demon!”
The girl squealed and screamed, her tiny child’s voice intermingled with a deep, guttural roar, spouting indecipherable curses. Growling she forced her way up, both men losing their footing, inch by inch. Alistair repeated the sign of the cross on her forehead, commanding her to obey. She shrieked, arms falling back against the bed, head thrashing from side to side, and blood pooling in her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go!”
“Give me your name, demon!” Alistair cried.
The entire bed to shook and jerked from side to side in short, hard bursts. With each movement, Jonathan felt the burning inside him move closer and and closer to the surface, threatening to engulf him from the inside out. Still, he did not waver. He pushed back, digging his feet into the stained and torn carpet, repeating the Lord’s Prayer once more as he forced Katrina down.
“Get off!” she screamed.
Alistair pressed the crucifix roughly against her chest once more. “Give me your name!” Katrina opened her mouth to shriek, but the cry was stifled, gagged by dark, pooling blood. As it trickled down her cheeks, her jaw cracked audibly, stretching. Jonathan’s heart pounded against his chest and his breath left him as he watched as something pierce the surface of the blood: fingers.
Coated in the red ichor and tipped with jagged, torn claws, a hand forced its way out of the girl’s mouth, roughly jerking and stretching. Jonathan froze in terror as the putrid, yellow hand seized Alistair by the throat. The priest clutched at the hand, gasping for air as the arm stretched further, bending and twisting. Jonathan’s resolve failed. His legs gave way and he fell to the bedside paralyzed, for as she gripped the priest, dangling him like a doll, her head turned and her tiny, white eyes locked on him.
The girl rose to her feet as if pulled by strings, Alistair clutched in the grasp of the demonic hand. Without so much as a glance toward him, she cast the priest aside, Alistair slamming against the edge of the dresser and collapsing into a heap. Eyes still focused on the younger man, she gagged and coughed as the hand slithered back inside. “I said I don’t want you here. Now I’m mad,” she growled.
Jonathan scurried back, hitting the closet. He looked around desperately, grabbing the fallen flask of holy water and casting the remaining contents at the creature. It erupted into a cloud of steam as it made contact with the girl, forcing yet another howl of pain from her, but this served as little more than a distraction.
“You’re not playing right!”
Jonathan’s arms stretched out against his will, pinned against the closet door. The girl giggled as she drifted closer, the gouges and scars along her body glimmering. Jonathan managed only a whimpering “no” as she reached her hand out. One by one the buttons on his shirt popped and his garment slowly ripped open. Cloth tore and split until, bare-chested, he sat before the giggling demon girl. “First, I’m going to make you look like me,” she said with delight, “then, when I’m bored… I’ll throw you away.”
Jonathan’s muted terror broke when the first mark appeared. From the top of his sternum, skin tore and a long gash cut its way down his chest. His screams echoed through the house, eliciting squeals of delight from little Katrina as she watched the blood flow down his chest. “Again!” she cried gleefully. A matching mark appeared just to the side of the first, slowly carving into his flesh and dragging down his body toward his navel. He thrashed and struggled, legs kicking violently, but he could not resist the demon’s power as it carved into his flesh.
“S-stop..”
Katrina turned. A weak, barely conscious Alistair had propped himself up against the dresser, blood flowing from the back of his head. The little girl cocked her head. “I’ll play with you later.” With a gesture, the small vanity shot across the room, slamming into the priest. She giggled and turned back to Jonathan, lowering herself to the floor and approaching him, hand outstretched.
Jonathan cried out once more as she traced her finger across his chest, a third gash trailing just behind her fingertip, moving to cross the others. Here, as her finger met the previous wounds, she pulled back in shock. With a shriek she cradled her hand like a child who had just touched a hot stove. He eyes drifted between her injured appendage and the bleeding seminarian, outrage and fury turning her smile to a scowl. She growled and moved back toward the young man but a voice halted her once more.
“You brat!”
Katrina turned slowly to face the bruised and bloody priest. “What?”
“You… spoiled… arrogant… brat!”
The child’s teeth splintered as she gritted them, turning away from Jonathan to focus on the old man. “Don’t call me that!”
“You’re nothing… but a selfish… self-centered… arrogant… spoiled brat!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” she screamed, leaping onto Alistair. Her tiny hands throttled the priest, pressing him against the wall before hurtling him against the bed. In a flash she was on him, clawing and scratching as he futilely shielded himself. As blood trickled from his face and arms, the girl clenched her fists, growling and twisting her head. The priests arms shot out to either side and his entire body lifted from the floor. He hovered above the bed, dangling helplessly like a puppet in suspension.
Jonathan, clutching his wounds, shivering with pain, looked up to see his mentor. His friend. Alistair was dying. It was inevitable. No force could resist the creature that held this little girl, least of all him. Now there was nothing left for him but to watch Alistair die.
His chest heaved. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The burning, threatening before to engulf him, finally reached the surface. Something broke.
“Let him go!”
Alistair fell with a soft thud against the bed, choking and coughing. Katrina looked down at her tiny, scarred hands before turning to Jonathan. Screaming, she flew at him. “Stay back!” he cried , shielding his face. After a moment of uncertainty, he lowered his arms to see her hovering back above the bed, her face twisted as blood dribbled from her chin.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill-”
“Shut up!” Jonathan screamed, his body shaking violently. To his surprise, Jonathan found himself standing, watching as Katrina retreated across the room, mouth moving wordlessly. The girl’s face soured, anger turned to fear. She pressed back against the opposite wall, looking for an escape. Jonathan pressed forward. Step by excruciating step, fighting his better judgement, Jonathan pressed forward toward Katrina.
Teeth gritting, chest heaving, soul burning, Jonathan pushed toward Katrina. He was no longer afraid; he was furious. “Get out,” he commanded. The girl looked around in confusion. “Get out of her! Leave her now! Leave her and leave this place!” Once more the house shook, walls cracked and furniture toppled as the young girl fell limp to the floor. Jonathan watched her still frame for several moments before collapsing next to her. He turned her over gently. Her face, once pallid and putrid, was slowly returning to a human tone. The blood that had stained her cheeks was washing away with fresh tears as she called weakly for her mother, trembling in the young man’s arms. He pulled her tight against him. “You’re okay, now. You’re going to be okay,” he said, tears streaming down his face.
He stroked her hair and held her tight for several moments, the emotional magnitude of the situation finally starting to settle on him. She was free. It was gone. Whatever it had been, it was gone and he did it. Together with Alistair he had —
Alistair! He turned, looking at the still body of his mentor, lying crumpled on the bed. He gently lowered the crying girl and moved to the priest’s side, turning him over. Alistair’s head snapped toward him, cocked inhumanly to one side. His eyes were black and his open maw was lined with row after row of teeth. Jonathan jumped back, falling to the ground with a shriek as the priest’s body disappeared with a hiss and cloud of dark smoke. Jonathan screamed as he scanned the room for any sign of Alistair. At that moment, from behind, two hands gripped the young man’s shoulders.
