Occultare: Westward

Chapter Two

St. Augustine, Florida: Isadora Canova

"Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first."

- Matthew 12:45

Shards of light explode into a kaleidoscopic puzzle against my face. The colors cavort, cast from the stained glass window above my bed. I watch them frolic across the quilt, but I cannot move for fear of arousing the darkness inside me. Some days the colored light makes me smile as it makes its journey across my room. Other days it serves only to antagonize the darkness. I believe Father meant for the virgin mother above my bed to end the terror, the black-faced monsters I face in the night. But I fear it has only made things worse.

The white candles in dedication to sacred Mary surrounding my bed are almost burnt to the end of their wicks. My mother will be in soon to replace them. She believes they help, but I fear she does not understand what haunts me. It must be nearing midday, which means I have been under siege for almost sixteen hours. They stand around my bed, watching, lurking with arms outstretched, yet they cannot cross the barrier of light.

"Le ruego Dios que me escucha," my voice is dampened by the fear that grips my chest. The light holds against the lingering shadows, yet I feel the sinister desire of the surrounding darkness. It calls to me, arousing an abyssal depth without end. "O Divine Eternal Father, in union with your Divine Son and the Holy Spirit, and through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg You to destroy the power of your greatest enemy."

The shadows wretch and twist. A chill grips me. My hot breath plumes from my lips against the bleak air as I continue my pleading prayer. The words enrage them, causing them to brave the defenses mi familia has placed around me. Eyes reveal themselves, glowering con fuego del infierno. I know these adversaries, I know whence they came. It is not as Father Martin claims. Their eyes betray the feel of fire, but they fear its purifying power. They are of the blackened wintry depths. Heat and light, the essence of flame terrifies them. These beings are not from the hell of Catholics, they are something much older. I do not know how I know this, but I do. Still, I have no defense against them but that which I have learned at mass. I clutch my rosary to my breast.

"Cast them into the deepest recesses of hell and chain them there forever! Take possession of your Kingdom which You have created and which is rightfully yours. Heavenly Father, give us the reign of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary."

I feel the cold sweat drip from my bottom lip and slide down my neck. I struggle against the bonds of evil power. Their hold over me weakens as I pray. Sunlight streaks through the room devouring the darkness, the creaking jowls of the demons respond to the holy power of the illuminated virgin. Their gnarled, palms reach in a last-ditch attempt to reach past the circle of flames about my bed. One has avoided the flames, its essence crossing through the broken towers of candlelight. Its noxious palm hovers above my mouth. I know what it seeks, what it wants. To end my cry for help, to tear the walls of my resolve down and sink its fangs into my spirit. But I will not surrender, the Virgin Mary watches over me, and they have no power over our blessed mother. Father Martin says the power of the church stands behind me.

"I repeat this prayer out of pure love for You with every beat of my heart and with every breath I take. Amen."

The demon shrieks as I finish the prayer. It's terrible voice forces my body to convulse. I feel its influence grow over me, and I do not know how this can be. The prayers, the candles, the blessed mother, they all have worked before. Why now do the servants of darkness lay claim on my troubled soul? I am paralyzed with fear. My eyes can barely move, my jaw feels locked in place. I hear the footsteps of my father and mother. They must have heard the voice of the devil. I want to cry out to them. I can see them standing in the doorway, my mother's hands covering her mouth in abject horror. My father stands confounded.