The Idea of Evil

I stepped out of the carriage with some reluctance as the cold winds bit into me. The raindrops seemed to slice into my skin and turn the blood running through my veins to ice. I handed the man at the front of the carriage the necessary coin before turning my back on him and facing the house where I had been summoned.

Knock, knock. The mansion was rather large and extravagant, truly a personification of the gothic stylings of the time. The owners, a rich and rather snobbish family called the Morris family, loved to flaunt their riches. I do not know them personally, of course. This is only information I had procured beforehand; researching into the people I would soon be working for was habitual for me now. The Morris family were not the type to easily believe such fanciful things like demonic possession, so the demon must have begun to fully take over the host.

My musings were interrupted as the door was opened by a maid. She was a thin, ragged black lady who seemed to have been mistreated by her owners on several occasions. A dark bruise stained the cheek just below the right eye. The woman's dull grey eyes seemed deadened; possibly due to the abuse breaking her spirit. I bowed to the lady, removing my top hat and placing it on my chest as I did so.

"Good afternoon milady. My name is Daveth Bekkins. I am the priest that lord and lady Morris called for. I believe there is some disturbance involving their daughter Pamela, correct?"

"That is correct, good sir. Please, allow me to escort you to master Morris. He has been eagerly awaiting you arrival in the study." Her voice was quiet and evoked thoughts of a mouse. She seemed akin to a mouse serving a family of fat cats. Not that those things bothered me, of course.

The maid led me through many a corridor. The walls of each and every one were adorned with weapons and medals and pictures galore. Just by walking through the house you learnt the history of the Morris family, as it was painted through the wall in memorabilia.

The Morris family had a long history of birthing strong militaristic leaders. They had all been strong soldiers in battle and distinguished themselves from all others. The current lord of the manor was the only son of the now deceased Roderick Morris. A soldier who lost many pieces of his body on the battlefield. He was known as a human tank for his ability to push pain aside with surges of adrenaline and rage. He was known as Roderick the Berserker among his comrades.

The current lord of the house, Nathaniel Morris, was a great disappointment for his father. Nathaniel was a coward and a weakling. He relied on treachery and cunning to get ahead in life; he would gladly fall into the service of another if it gave him power and wealth. This went against all the Morris family had built in the generations they had existed. They were meant to be noble and honourable warriors who only bowed to those who seemed worthy of such a gesture. Nathaniel had been disowned by his father, but he was the only son. Roderick died in battle before he could produce a more satisfactory heir.

The maid stopped outside a set of fine wooden doors and turned to address me, "I ask that you forgive Sir Morris for the state he is currently in. His daughter means a lot to him and he is overcome with grief at the current situation."

She opened the doors and allowed me to enter before swiftly closing then again behind me. By the fire stood two chairs, both facing the fire at an angle. One of them - an empty seat - faced the door and myself. The other - currently occupied - was facing away at such an angle which made it impossible to see the person sitting in, yet they could still faced the fireplace in the left wall that the two chairs were placed before. Between the two chairs was a table with a bottle of brandy with one filled glass on the side of the empty seat.

From the occupied chair, a hand appeared, holding another glass of brandy identical to the one placed on the small table. The hand beckoned me to come closer, accompanied by a voice which came with a slight slur brought synonymous with the intoxicated.

"Do come in, dear priest. Have a small drink before getting to work."

I walked over and took a seat, shaking my head as I did so. "I'm afraid I cannot. It is best that I am sober for my work, as the Devil's hands can mould the mind with ease if it is dulled by alcohol."

Nathaniel chuckled, taking a swig from his cup as he did so. Shadows took the half of his face that was not illuminated by the fireplace. He was rather thin and pale. His eyes were rimmed with black bags brought on by a lack of sleep, and his flesh seemed to be in a constant state of cold sweat. He was shaking ever so slightly. It was clear from his disposition that this was brought on by fear. A fear for his daughter's safety, and for his safety also.

"My little girl in the clutches of the Devil. I never thought I would be uttering such words. God has truly forsaken me. First my wife succumbs to disease, now my daughter is succumbing to the Devil himself. I cannot lose her, priest. I simply could not bear it."

"Do not fret, Sir Morris. Your daughter is in safe hands. I will drive away the Devil and make sure that he cannot lay his hands upon her again."

"Thank you, priest. I am truly indebted to you."

I stood, picking up my things which I had set down as I sat. I was eager to begin. "Where is the girl?"

"She is restrained in the room in the attic."

"Does the door have a lock?"

"It does."

"Then I shall make my way there to perform the ceremony. I shall lock the door. No matter what you hear emanating from within the room, do not open the door. Do you understand?"

"I understand, priest. I shall inform my servants of this. You shall not be disturbed."

"You have my thanks, sir Morris."

"No; you have mine."

Feeling that was a good note to end the conversation on, I quickly headed out of the door of the study and headed to the attic. I walked with brisk steps and I arrived at the door in a short time. I opened the door to find a room devoid of all but a single bed with a small blonde haired girl with her limbs tied to the bedposts. She stared at me with blazing blue eyes as I closed the door and locked it. I placed down my tools and got to work.

Using the blood of a newborn lamb, I drew a cross upon the door of the attic. This ensured that, no matter what happened, the demon would not be able to exit this room. I then placed several crosses (all hand crafted monks from pure silver) around the room at regular intervals. Once I had finished this, I retrieved my Bible and a vial of holy water from the pack and stood at the end of the bed where the girl simply continued to watch me.

I began the enchantments slowly at first before getting into the rhythm. Reciting these verses in ancient tongues was watched a difficult task for me, it is now simple for me as I was now a veteran of my profession. Despite being so well versed, however, this had been my first exorcism. It is not often that demonic beings attempt to get a foothold on this world, so some priests can live out their entire lives without having to perform such an exorcism. As I recited the ancient chants and looked down from the cross I placed above the head of the bed to find the girl writhing as if in pain, I wished I was one of those lucky ones.

The girl thrashed about and squealed as if she was a wild animal. She was not truly in pain, however. This was simply a ploy used to try and throw me off. This changed once I threw on the holy water. The water landed on her skin with the sizzle of boiling water and the girl simply flailed more wildly. Her screams became more raw as she coughed up blood. It was only after the fifth throw of holy water that all Hell literally began to break loose.

I had simply blinked and the room had become demonised. It was is if it was it's own plane of Hell. The walls and ceiling and floor were a horrific amalgamation of twisted bodies. There was a cacophony of screams that tortured my hearing to the point of making my ears bleed.

I was brought to my senses by the grip of small hands upon my collar. The girl had broken free of her bonds and picked me up and threw me onto the bed with a strength that was not her own. Being thrown had caused me to hit my head on the headboard, causing momentary disorientation. After I had recovered, I looked up to see that the girl had shed herself of her clothing and a tall creature who's skin seemed to be pure black leather had wrapped his arms around the girls pale body. He looked down upon my with an inhuman grin of demonic glee.

"This girl offered up her soul to me of her own free will in order to meet with her mother once again. I let her meet with her mother in a dream, but now she must return to the depths with me. Her soul is mine, and she shall serve as my toy for all eternity."

His claws dug into the pale flesh of the girl, drawing blood. The expression on her face did not change, she simply stared with a vacant expression into space. It was when the demon cut a line down the girl and opened her up for me, revealing all of her innards - all still working completely fine as if nothing had occurred - and spraying blood upon my person that I fell unconscious.

I awoke on the hard wooden floor of the attic. I picked myself up thinking I had simply hit my head and fallen unconscious when I looked upon the girl's body. All the silver crucifixes that I had set up across the room were now forcibly piercing deep into her body.

The door burst off its hinges and a couple of police officers stepped in, accompanied by Nathaniel Morris.

"I heard her screaming for help and I couldn't just stand by so… Oh, oh God no!"

He crumpled by the side of her dead body, sobbing, while the officers trudged over to me and placed my in handcuffs. I barely registered them telling me that I was under arrest for the murder of Pamela Morris.

I am a cell now. My death shall arrive among the morrow. My barred window has a view of the gallows from which I shall be hanged. As I gazed down at them, bathed in moonlight. I noticed two figured in the entrance to a nearby alleyway. A tall figure with black skin seemingly made of leather, and a small blonde girl with piercing blue eyes, naked and pale within the others' arms.

Then the figure with the leathery looked up at me and smiled; a new fear for the morrow grew within me. The death shall be nothing compared to the Hell that awaits me.