FICTION — SHORT STORY
Clawed Out
The room was a pit of shadows, only interrupted by the quivering light of candles casting ghostly shapes on the walls. The acrid scent of incense choked the air, pulling my gaze to a figure tied to the bed. Though every bone in my body urged me to run, my duty as a priest held me fast, anchored by my mission to free souls from demonic grips.
In the gleaming silver of the holy water, a reflection stared back—a man scarred by endless confrontations with the dark. Grey streaks marred my black hair, while deep lines on my face hinted at years of sleepless torment. Despite the fatigue, my eyes remained fierce, unblinking in the face of the void.
With hesitant steps, I moved closer, murmuring fervent prayers. My grip tightened on the Bible, my sole shield in this room of shadows. The bed stood isolated, surrounded by candles whose feeble glow fought the smothering darkness. Around each flame, rings of holy salt stood sentinel, barriers against the malevolent force.
Ancient portraits lined the walls, eyes hauntingly tracking my every move. An idle chandelier dangled above, its crystals catching the candlelight in muted glints. Beneath me, floorboards groaned, amplifying the room’s eerie unease.
Near the doorway stood the parents, dressed in once-fine clothes now bearing the weight of the night. The mother’s dress bore wet streaks, while the father’s suit sagged, worn out from hours of anguish. Their faces were canvases of mixed hope and horror, their eyes drenched in age-old fear. The mother shook, barely holding back her terror, while the father’s blank gaze at his possessed son wavered, a slight tremor in his lips the only hint of his silent agony.
The mansion loomed, an ancient giant among the encroaching trees. Time had weathered its once-magnificent face, with ivy sneaking its way up the stone. Moonlight glanced off cracked windows, painting the house in a ghostly sheen.
I steadied myself, tracing the Cross, my voice resonating with the ancient Latin rite. At once, the boy’s eyes flared open, glowing with an ember’s rage, their fiery gaze drilling into me. In this silent duel, my eyes stung with the effort. Hold his gaze—an exorcist’s first lesson when facing evils beyond mortal comprehension.
The mother’s soft whimper caught the boy’s attention. His head tilted in an unnatural, mechanical manner. From deep within him, a monstrous roar thundered out, crashing over me like waves of sheer malevolence.
“Leave, now!” I ordered. The mother’s eyes bounced between her son and me, a storm of conflict raging inside her. With one last desperate look, she rushed out, her hurried footsteps a distant echo. The father tried to follow, but I barred his way. “I might need you, Edwin,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady against the rising panic.
Turning back, my chest tightened, struggling to keep my voice even. “Speak your name, demon,” I commanded, every syllable echoing with a forced resolve despite the tremor I felt within.
The boy threw his head back, releasing a haunting cackle. His eyes, burning with malice, darted between me and the father, sizing up his next victim. His voice, when it emerged, sounded like it had been dragged from a long-sealed crypt.
“I am Raemondeus, the harbinger of chaos.” He fell back, his body shaking violently, as an eerie laughter—chilling and unfathomable—echoed through the room.
Raemondeus! A chill raced down my spine. Not just any demon, but an entity of pure malevolence. In the misguided days of my youth, where I lingered in forbidden darkness, I had seen the aftermath of his horrors. I was once amidst a group that, with reckless thirst, sought powers far beyond our grasp. We believed we could bind Raemondeus. But our ignorance led to catastrophe: countless lives lost and our hands forever drenched in blood.
That haunting night is forever etched in my mind. We stood encircled in a hidden glade, our voices murmuring dark verses from an age-old book. But as shadows swallowed the sky and gales whipped around us, Raemondeus didn’t grovel but towered. He betrayed us, chaos exploding in his wake. Trees writhed, their limbs stretching in torment, and the earth quaked in fear. His cold and piercing laughter seemed to turn the air to ice. Many met their doom, and I was a breath away from joining them.
Seeing the mayhem Raemondeus caused through an innocent girl, horror and guilt made me abandon the cult. Yet, under the mocking gaze of the moon, nightmarish images pursued me, even as I sought solace in the seminary. Eventually, I wore the priestly robe, hoping to bury my stained past deeper than Rome’s hidden catacombs. But was it truly behind me?
Charles, always a beacon of mischief and joy with his jet-black hair, was his parents’ joy. He’d run wild in the mansion gardens, sketchbook often in hand. Those very sketches, brimming with talent, adorned the living room. Seeing this lively boy now ensnared in such anguish tore at the heart. His once animated face contorted in agony, his pallid skin and once bright eyes now dimmed by the lurking demon.
Yet, from some fathomless pit we had cast him into, Raemondeus returned, claiming another innocent. Who among our cursed ranks dared call him forth again? What fresh havoc did they hope to wreak?
Once skulking in the shadows, the cultists now paraded their audacity. Their dark robes bore cryptic symbols, echoing forgotten rites. Masks concealed some, while dark ink on others declared their unholy loyalty. I could still hear their hollow promises—the siren song of power. Those once-seductive memories now curdled with remorse.
Jerking back to the present, I met the demon’s eyes—dark coals gleaming hungrily in the flickering candlelight. Beside me, the father’s rigid stance spoke of unease, though he remained unaware of the depths of my old sins. Treading this path demanded every ounce of caution.
“Raemondeus!” My voice pierced the room, cloaked in shadows. “Release the boy and crawl back to the depths you came from! By the Holy Trinity’s might, I banish you!”
The boy writhed, as if invisible needles pierced him. His eyes, swollen with pain, locked onto mine. When his words emerged, they rasped, heavy with disdain. “Emeka … traitor.” His words oozed like a venomous mist. “Did you think they wouldn’t send you after me? After your betrayal?”
The father’s eyes flashed, disbelief mingling with terror. “You’re familiar with this demon?” His grip tightened on my shoulder, fingers digging deep. “Betrayal? How are you linked to this beast?”
My hand shot up, urging calm. “He’s a master of deceit, seeking to sow distrust.” Yet, an icy dread crept within me, sensing my dark past catching up.
Raemondeus’s laughter twisted the boy’s lips into a grotesque smirk. “Emeka, did you think your sins would remain hidden? Abandoning your own to die, and now pretending virtue?” His disdain enveloped the room, cold and suffocating.
As the father readied more questions, haunting chants echoed through the stone walls. Cultists. Edwin darted to the window, his face draining of colour at the moonlit scene below. Dozens of ghostly figures danced around a roaring bonfire. The flames threw monstrous shadows from their horned and antlered masks. As they chanted, thick incense rose, hinting at dark rites and ancient powers.
“See my followers?” Raemondeus’s voice dripped with malice. “Stronger bonds now, since your betrayal sent so many to their doom. We’ve risen again, ushering in an age of chaos.”
Edwin’s face, bathed in ominous shadows, turned my way, eyes searching. “What treachery is this demon talking about? Your ties to these heretics—speak!”
“They’re lies,” I said, my voice firm but my heart pounding in doubt. “This demon thrives on sowing discord among the faithful.” Yet, a creeping unease told me my secrets teetered on the edge of exposure.
“Please … Father …”
At that plea, hope ignited in me. Charles! His spirit was breaking free, if only briefly. “Resist him, Charles!” My hands cradled his pained face. “Find your strength! God stands with you!”
Charles’ face twisted in pain, blood-tinged tears tracing paths down his cheeks from where I’d touched him. Edwin lunged, seizing his son by the shoulders, desperate to pull him free. “Charles! Your mother and I love you!” Raemondeus, with a sneer of disdain, threw Edwin against the wall. He crumpled, dazed. Time was slipping away, and I had to act swiftly before the demon regained its focus.
My fingers tightened around the Bible, its leather binding pressing into my palm as I began the age-old exorcism chant. Each Latin word echoed with power, the demon faltering but still refusing to release the young boy. Outside, chants intensified, punctuated by the unsettling thuds of cultists’ heads meeting the ground. The mansion’s foundations quaked under their sinister ceremony’s weight.
I showered Charles with holy water, my voice rising in prayer. His screams pierced the air, raw and pained, especially when the cool metal of my crucifix branded his convulsing skin, leaving a charred cross behind.
“Your weak spells are nothing!” Raemondeus roared, his voice mingling with the guttural scream of a beast in pain. “Once my followers finish under the blood moon, no mortal can contain my power!”
His words rang true. The exorcism was too slow; he would outlast my strength. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I needed to summon the very darkness that birthed Raemondeus. Some might see it as unholy, but I saw it as necessary.
Pulling a weathered tome from my coat, I felt its familiar weight. This book, brimming with spells the elder cult used, had been my secret burden for years. The power it held could be our salvation or our doom. But doubt wasn’t an option now. Darkness beckoned, and I had to answer, even if it cost me everything.
As the old verses spilled from my lips, darkness crept, consuming the weak candlelight. Shadows danced and twirled, barely within my sight. The room itself seemed to breathe, its walls undulating with raw magic. In a distant corner, Charles’ father clung to his crucifix, terror plain in his eyes as he witnessed the unimaginable.
“Father, what’s happening?” He shouted, his voice nearly drowned by Charles and Raemondeus’s melded screams. “What is that cursed book? Please, end this nightmare!”
“Trust me!” My voice cracked, determination searing in my eyes. “This is the only way to save Charles!” There was no turning back.
The chants started to fray the demon’s grip on Charles. Yet Raemondeus held fast, his malice palpable. The very air around us distorted, charged with raw magic. Amidst the chaos, Charles’ eyes briefly cleared, fighting to surface from the storm.
“Dad, please!” Charles’s voice quivered in a brief moment of clarity, then was smothered again by the engulfing abyss.
Edwin’s voice wavered with urgency. “I’m here, Charles! Fight it!” He steadied himself, resisting the invisible storm around them.
The last words of the incantation ripped from my throat, and the world around me spiralled into madness. The bed catapulted upwards, meeting the ceiling with a vicious crunch before crashing down. Candles, once steady, now danced wildly. Papers caught in the tempest obscured my view. From the bed, a dual scream of man and demon reverberated, their entwined forms convulsing, two entities locked in a visceral battle.
The chaos dwindled, leaving behind a silence as deep as a tomb. Drenched in sweat, Charles lay motionless, but with the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. I gently sprinkled holy water over him, watching for a reaction. He twitched, then his eyes fluttered open, clear and lucid.
“Father … is it truly over?” Charles rasped, each word scraping out. Relief flooding me, I nodded, confirming the demon’s departure. Unable to contain himself, Edwin cradled his son, tears drenching Charles’s hair. Assured of the boy’s freedom from evil, I stepped back, letting the family embrace their newfound joy, my mind heavy with the night’s ordeal.
The cold mist enveloped the grounds as I trudged on. Every inhale of the crisp air felt cleansing, diminishing the night’s oppressive malevolence. My body sagged, weary from wielding forbidden powers. I took solace in knowing my faith had withstood tonight’s darkness, and Charles was liberated. Yet, as they celebrated, I couldn’t divulge my tainted past. An intrinsic premonition told me darker storms loomed on the horizon.
Immersed in thought, an icy sensation prickled my spine when a shadowed figure emerged on the tree-fringed path. Only when I neared him did the weight of his ominous aura hit me. The ambient warmth vanished, replaced by a deathly quiet. The comforting night symphony faded, leaving an eerie void.
Flashbacks of my days with the cult clouded my vision. The moonlight unveiled a monstrous horned mask—the cult’s high priest. He gestured with a taloned finger, its meaning ambiguous—threat or promise. His words, bearing the bone-chilling resonance of Raemondeus, emerged from the abyss. Through the mask’s slits, cold, piercing eyes ensnared mine. His voice, dripping with malice, vowed, “This is not over, Emeka … We shall meet again.”
As I mustered a response, he vanished into the misty veil. My teachings on faith and protection surged in my memory. While guilt gnawed at me, my unwavering faith felt like a shield. Yet the demon’s haunting words lingered. Tonight’s victory was merely a battle; the war loomed ahead. Burdened by the night’s events, images of a suffering Charles haunted me, epitomising the eternal conflict between light and shadow.
Dragging my exhausted feet, I moved further from the house, trying to distance myself from my haunted past. Knowing I had once danced with the very darkness I now resisted burdened me. Each exorcism, every confrontation with evil, marked a stride towards salvation. Yet the path to redemption felt endless. Deep down, I questioned if any amount of atonement would ever suffice.
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