THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

25. Exorcism

Signora Parrilla shifted a little in her seat. "Um, well, it all began a few weeks ago, after she got sick. First, she started complaining of headaches, and then she started to become agitated by the littlest of things—like humming, for instance, or chewing. Her fits would last all night. Kicking and screaming. Pounding on the walls. Each night, it got worse and worse. I tried to calm her down, but she would just scream at me. No, it was a growl. I'd never heard such a sound. And by morning, it would all stop, and she would fall asleep. This continued for weeks without end."

"You said this started after she got sick," Christopher pressed. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, it was nothing. It was just the flu. She must have caught it at school or something."

"And then there was the bite," interrupted Old Lady Parrilla. "Last month, a dog bit her while she was playing outside. She knows she's not supposed to play outside at night, especially during a full moon. I told her, it sends every animal into a frenzy."

A small lump formed in Christopher's throat. "She was bit during the full moon? By a dog, you said?"

The old woman shrugged. "She said it was a dog. Must've been a very large dog because the bite was bigger than any I'd ever seen. A real nasty bite. It was infected for days, but it healed, as all wounds do. She didn't even need to go to the hospital."

"Did you ever find the dog?"

"No, I suppose we didn't. We didn't think about it much until now, actually."

Christopher's eyes shifted nervously toward the little girl's bedroom door. Right now, it looked about as strong as a piece of paper.

"You're sure it was a dog?" he asked the old woman.

"Well, what else would it be?"

A wolf, Christopher thought, the same wolf that attacked Signor Mancini and Signor Amorelli.

Christopher heard what had happened to them, and what Signor Amorelli had done to his poor wife. "Torn to pieces," a woman had said, "like an animal had gotten to her." He feared her fate would soon be his as soon as that little girl awoke from her slumber.

Without another word, Christopher reached over and turned off the camera.

Signora Parrilla's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" she asked. "We're not finished yet, are we?"

"We're finished," Christopher said. "I'm sorry, ladies, but I have to leave."

"But you said you wanted to share her story with the world."

"The world isn't ready for this story," he murmured, and with fumbling hands he quickly gathered his things and hurried toward the front door. "If you were smart, you'd be leaving too. Your daughter doesn't need a priest. She needs a silver bullet in her chest."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

With his free hand, Christopher ripped open the door and rushed outside, smacking right into a solid mass of black. With a grunt, he staggered back. His cherished camera slipped out of his hand and smashed against the stone, but he made no attempt to pick it up. He couldn't even move. All he saw was red.

"Who – Who the hell are you?" Christopher asked the figure.

Signora Parrilla appeared in the doorway. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked the stranger.

The man stepped onto the porch, his tall form becoming illuminated at last. A giant black collar guarded his pale face. Two bright red eyes focused on Signora Parrilla, and a deep voice announced, "I'm here to see the child."