"Am I supposed to look at the camera?" asked Old Lady Parrilla as she stared deeply into the lens. Christopher had mounted the camera onto a tripod and positioned it directly across from the old woman. "It's awfully unsettling, having that thing pointed right at me," she said, trembling beneath its fixed black eye. "I feel like it's watching me."
"If it bothers you," replied Christopher as he paged through his notes, "feel free to change seats. Your presence on camera is not required. You can leave the room if that would make you more comfortable."
"No, I'll stay, thank you. My granddaughter's story must be told, and I fear my daughter may not be completely truthful in her account of the matter. She has a habit of distorting facts, you see, for the sake of her own heart. You have to put pressure on her. Only then will you get the truth."
"And where is your daughter? The sun is about to set, and your priest has yet to arrive. Honestly, I'm beginning to think you were duped."
The old woman gasped. "By the church?"
"You speak as though that never happens."
"You're a man of little faith, I see. Tell me, how can you can believe in monsters and demons but disregard Christianity as some fantasy? Don't you find that a bit hypocritical?"
Christopher slammed his notebook closed and stood up. "Where is your daughter? We should get started."
"In her bedroom," answered the old woman, but when Christopher tried to pass, she clutched onto his jacket with her strongest hand. "Never disturb a praying woman," she warned. "I don't care how important you think you are."
Smiling, Christopher slowly pried each one of her bony fingers off his jacket. "I have a job to do, signora. I'll do whatever it takes to get my story." After freeing his jacket, he took her hand and gave it a gentle pat. "Even if it means angering your god."
The old woman's eyes widened. "How dare you?"
Christopher released her then and started toward the bedroom. Along the way, he passed a closed door, a rickety old thing that was covered in scratches. It was all that stood between him and the little girl who was resting inside. He'd peeked in on her once before, early in the afternoon while she was fast asleep. She seemed so innocent then, so peaceful. It was hard to believe there was something evil stirring inside her, waiting to be awakened. Now that moment was almost upon them.
A shiver rippled down Christopher's spine, and he forced himself to press on.
Quietly, he approached Signora Parrilla's bedroom and knocked on the door. "Signora, I'm sorry to bother you, but the sun is setting. We need to get started."
"Oh, just a minute," replied the woman; then she whispered something Christopher couldn't understand (another prayer, he guessed) and opened the door. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, but her face was full of determination. "I'm ready to begin."
Together, they walked into the kitchen. Signora Parrilla settled into the seat next to her mother while Christopher took his place behind the camera. As soon as the woman noticed the camera, she asked, "Am I supposed to look at the camera?"
Christopher suppressed a sigh. "Look wherever you'd like."
"Is it recording now?"
"Not yet. I won't start until you're ready."
The woman took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm ready."
"Excellent," replied Christopher, and then he pressed RECORD. "Tonight, I'm sitting down with Signora Parrilla and her mother, who reached out to me a few days ago. She believes that her granddaughter, Malise, is possessed by an evil entity—a demon, you could say—who appears only at night. Later this evening, a local priest will be joining us, and he will assess the child's condition. Until then, I'd like to get some background information from her mother. So, Signora Parrilla, when did this start?"
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."
"But where's Father Barrile?"
"He couldn't make it," replied the man. "He sent me instead. I hope that's all right."
"No, that's fine. I'm just glad someone's here. Please, come inside."
"We should hurry," said the man as he entered the house. "The sun will soon set."
Once he heard the door slam shut, Christopher grabbed his camera and started dusting it off on his jacket. The lens was a little cracked, but it still worked well enough. And he would need it tonight, now more than ever, because that man was no priest.
With his camera fastened to his hand, Christopher entered the house once more. Signora Parrilla and her mother were sitting at the kitchen table, but their so-called priest was nowhere to be found.
"Where is he?" Christopher demanded. "Where's the priest?"
"He's with Malise," answered the grandmother. "He said he needs to be alone with her. What are you still doing here, Mr. Redgrave? I thought you were leaving."
"I don't think you should leave him alone with her," Christopher said. "Something's not right. You don't even know who that guy is. He could be anybody!"
"He was sent from the seminary in Livorno. If Father Barrile trusts him, then I trust him. Now," the old woman went on as she staggered to her feet, "I'm going to my bedroom to pray. I've had enough of your antics for one night, Mr. Redgrave. I suggest you leave. You may stay until your cab arrives, but after that, I never want to see you again. Have a good night."
Slowly, the old woman made her way to her bedroom and closed the door. Shortly after, her daughter stood up to do the same. "The phone is right behind you. Good night, Mr. Redgrave."
Letting out a huff, Christopher turned around and snatched the phone of the wall. But he dialed no number. As soon as both bedroom doors were closed, Christopher put down the phone, readied his camera, and then approached the little girl's bedroom.
He could hear a whispering voice as he got closer. The man was speaking to the child. Quietly, Christopher nudged open the door just enough to allow his camera to peek through, and then he recorded everything.
The man was kneeling beside the child's bed. In one hand he held his rosary. With his other hand, he anointed her forehead with oil, forming the sign of the cross. "Through this holy anointing," he whispered, "may the Lord, in His love and mercy, help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit." Then he anointed her tiny hands, saying, "May the Lord, who frees you from sin, save you and raise you up."
The man fell back then and lowered his head in reverence. "May the Lord, in His love and mercy, forgive me for what I am about to do, for I do it out of love and devotion to Him."
From his jacket he pulled out a brilliant silver dagger, and he held it over the child's undulating chest.
"God forgive me."
"Stop!" cried Christopher as he barged into the room.
The man looked at Christopher with an intense glare. "It must be done," he calmly said, retracting his blade. "It is the only way to save her soul."
Again, the man raised his dagger.
"No!" Christopher cried. "No, you can't! She's just kid!"
Without thinking, Christopher lunged forward, intending to wrestle the dagger out of the man's grasp, but his body suddenly came to an abrupt halt.
The bedroom curtains were wide open. Christopher could clearly see the very last of the sun's light disappear below the horizon.
Snuggled beneath a heavy layer of blankets, the little girl began to stir. First, her tiny pink nose twitched and deeply inhaled the two unfamiliar scents. Next, her eyes, yellow as a lick of flame, fluttered open and glanced about the room, focusing on the dagger which hovered above her.
A deep growl erupted from her mouth.
✧ ✧ ✧
On the other side of the city, all the way up on the thirteen floor of the Palazzo dei Volturi, Dahlia pulled open the glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. Her blue nightgown writhed in the breeze, and the night's chill stung her exposed skin, but she neither shivered nor flinched from the feeling.
Barefooted, she approached the iron railing and climbed onto the bottom rail. High above all else, she gazed down at the lush, green gardens and sparkling fountains, and she wondered who would care for the place now that everybody was gone. Who would trim the hedges and pull the weeds? Who would sweep the floors and vacuum the carpets? Who would dust the furniture and polish the silverware? To let such a beautiful place fall to ruin seemed like a great tragedy.
The castle was hers now and hers alone. She had no maid to fluff her pillow. No doorman to greet her after a long day. Now more than ever, she felt like a prisoner.
Her fingers wrapped around the railing, and she took a deep breath.
"Dahlia," a voice whispered.
Over her shoulder she glanced, and she saw a tall figure standing in her bedroom. "Santiago?" Somehow, she knew it was him. Quickly, she leapt down from the railing and ran to him. "Santiago, what are you doing here?"
His eyes bore into hers, but his lips spoke not a word.
"Santiago?" Carefully, Dahlia reached out to touch his arm, and she felt something sticky on her fingertips. When she retracted her hand, it was covered with black. "Santiago, what's this?"
As soon as those words left her mouth, Santiago's body went rigid and he toppled over like a dead tree.
Dahlia gasped. "Santiago!"