Love & Exorcisms | 18+ | COMPLETE |

- Chapter 30 -

The mud bubbled with thick black tar. It seeped from the grass like a plague made real. It congealed, and rose, ran red with blood. It formed limbs, head, and torso. I heard the snapping of his bones as they slipped into place. Did demons even have bones? Or was it the chattering of my own teeth that I heard?

The Black One stood there, and ran his long tongue over his sharp teeth.

"Don't be afraid," I whispered. Damian had said he would not leave. I had to believe him. Somewhere, wherever the rest of me lay that was not trapped in this nightmare, I had to believe he had not left me. I had to believe he was still there, all his strength devoted to holding me, to stopping me.

The Black One paced before the porch: a wolf, stalking for weakness. What a foolish, stupid girl you are. I even believed you might have been a strong one.

Don't respond. Don't feed him.

You're already feeding me, girl. Your hatred does not merely vanish. Its roots are deep, as it should be. Hatred is what gives you strength. Just look at you: the moment you've let it go, even for a moment, you're back to being the same pathetic, weak victim.

My breathing quickened, but I did not move from where I sat against the door. I hardened my expression, steeled myself to his words. I wanted to plug my ears.

Are you really going to let the exorcist be your weakness? For a moment, the Black One's face showed true curiosity, true confusion. We can kill him. Together. Don't you remember how strong it made you feel? To take a life with your own hands? None could touch us. He was on all fours now, crouched up at the first step on the porch, staring at me, his form dripping blackness onto the old wood. The viscous drippings steamed and sizzled on the porch, burning holes through the moldering wood. The smell was nauseating, acrid smoke and burning flesh.

We alone will never leave you. We, alone, are all you have.

Unbidden, the faces of all those who had turned their backs on me flashed through my mind. The faces of those who had called it "right" and "moral" to marry me off to my rapist. Even Mary Jeffries, who had signed me away without a second thought. It made me angry. It made me hate. But I couldn't...I couldn't...not anymore...not like this...

I sprang up, sprinted across the porch and vaulted over the railing. I landed hard on the earth, catching myself with my hands despite the pain of all the little rocks and twigs digging into my skin. I kept running: toward the barn, the only place I could seek refuge. The massive barn doors were cracked open. There was darkness within.

I plunged into it.

The old barn smelled of moldering hay and dust. As my eyes adjusted to the nearly total lack of light, I could make out the dim shapes of animal stalls, the old tools hanging on their hooks, the cobweb strewn ladder leading to the loft. I had spent so many hours in this barn. It had become a safe place for me: just me and the pigs, the goats, the two horses. I could remember their smells, the warmth of them when they would nuzzle my hand for treats, their soft noises when they heard my footsteps approaching.

But there was no life here now. When I peered into the stalls there was only old straw, pressed down where the animals had once made their beds. Spiders crawled over the stained wood and nestled in corners, catching the slow, fat flies that buzzed lazily through the air. The beams creaked overhead, as if the barn was slowly swaying. In the corners near the back wall, I looked for a place to hide. Faintly, I could hear whispers there, though I could not determine where they were coming from. The voice was so faint, so far away, speaking in a language I could not comprehend. It was comforting, and I wanted to stay there, near that voice. But all I found were old rusting barrels filled with water and piles of hay speckled with gray mold.