16
“Saint Michael Archangel,
Defend Us in Battle”
It was just a few hours before sunrise on what was to be our last day living inside and investigating the Cage. Overwhelmed by nausea late the night before, Caz had gone to spend the rest of the night in a hotel room; A good idea, when one considered that she was due to drive the rest of the sleep-deprived team to Southampton the following morning.
We had endured a long and trying week, living primarily on a mixture of caffeine, enthusiasm, and raw adrenaline. It was sobering to think that what we had experienced was only a small fraction of what Vanessa had suffered in the very same house.
In the front room, I dozed fitfully on the couch, my feet extended toward one of the electric heaters to try and stave off the cold. A blanket covered me from my thighs to my neck, and I was snoring softly and rhythmically, snatching a precious few hours of sleep before daylight brightened the curtains once more.
Lesley did much the same thing in the armchair next to the fireplace, curling up with her legs tucked underneath her and her head resting on a cushion.
Only Stephen seemed incapable of sleep. The priest had spent the past hour deep in thought, sitting at the sturdy wooden table inside the actual prison itself. His mind had ruminated on many things: The nature of the evil entity that was said to be found at the heart of the Cage; the likelihood of other spirits, possibly innocent spirits, finding themselves trapped here, earthbound because of its malign influence; and lastly, perhaps most importantly of all, the possibility of ridding the Cage of this dark and vicious overseer once and for all … if it was still here at the present moment, that is. Personally, Stephen had his doubts. Although he believed Vanessa’s stories concerning her encounters with the dark man, he was not picking up on the presence of a specific spirit in this place right now.
It was his belief that in addition to having a static number of entities remaining earthbound within its walls, the Cage was also something akin to a spirit portal or a vortex: a sort of psychic bus station or a rail terminus, a place from which entities could cross back and forth from the other planes of existence.
In his view, there were a significant number of spirit visitors passing through the old prison; some were good, some were middle of the road, and some … were just plain evil.
Malevolent replies had certainly come through in answer to specific questions that the team had posed during their question and answer sessions. During his time in the Cage, Stephen had indeed picked up on feelings of malice and evil intent, but they had tended to ebb and flow in waves, rather than form the constant backdrop that Vanessa had experienced. Could it simply be that she was more attuned to the atmosphere and energy shifts within the Cage, due to a combination of her sensitive capabilities and through sheer long-term immersion in that environment?
The atmosphere was quiet and peaceful, as borne out by the sight of the two investigators snoozing contentedly in the adjoining room. Stephen had turned down the lights, leaving the front room immersed in darkness. Only a single light was on inside the Cage itself, allowing him just enough light to make out shapes and general outlines. By all accounts, the predatory forces that lurked here usually preferred it that way, avoiding the spotlight where possible. Yet they had not put in an appearance so far, and Stephen was beginning to doubt whether they ever would. The darker entity or entities seemed to be scared of the visiting investigators, or at the very least were reluctant to show themselves openly to them.
Stephen narrowed his tired eyes. Different tactics were obviously needed if he was going to draw anything out. He would get to that presently.
The door leading from the front room to the Cage itself and the kitchen had been left ajar, letting a soft glow through the small gap between it and the frame. The priest had been turning the events of the past evening (and the entire week) over and over in his mind, examining them from every possible angle, making connections between data points, and assessing and discarding extraneous or doubtful information where necessary.
His mind kept going back to the dowsing experiment, the Ouija sessions, and the human pendulum techniques. All had implied that the Cage was the site of a number of “walk-ins” or “drop-ins,” terms used by mediums to denote entities that were not rooted at a particular location but became present when the mood took them in order to interact with those who resided there.
Searching for something useful to do, Stephen finally settled upon analyzing just one sample of the many hours’ worth of audio data that the team had recorded over the course of their investigation. He had already copied the audio files from the digital voice recorders onto the hard drive of his laptop. Now he cued up one of the recordings at random, slipped the earphones into his ears, and hit play.
It wasn’t long before the priest found himself completely immersed in the playback process, listening with a half-smile to events that had taken place in this very room several days before.
And then he felt it. The presence was subtle at first, but it was most definitely there. Frowning, Stephen hit the pause button and took out the earphones, laying them gently on the tabletop in front of him. He was being watched.
Had one of his fellow investigators woken up? He listened carefully. My snoring had now reached chainsaw-esque proportions, and in between the gaps he could hear Lesley’s softer inhalations and exhalations.
Both of Stephen’s companions were fast asleep. This was something else entirely. At first he considered the possibility that it was simply a week’s worth of jet lag, sensory overload, and cumulative fatigue catching up and playing tricks upon him. The investigators were all strung out, running on fumes. But as the seconds gave way to minutes, the feeling gradually strengthened, until finally there was no doubt about it whatsoever: a spirit was present. He could sense it.
Letting out a long sigh, Stephen got slowly to his feet and closed the screen on his laptop. This new, palpable presence within the Cage was still unidentified, but it was best to take no chances, particularly as the team was leaving later that coming morning. The last thing that anybody wanted was for a spirit to attach itself to them, taking along an invisible psychic hitchhiker back to their home. It was time for Stephen to offer up a little protection, both for himself and for the rest of his team.
A simple ritual of cleansing should suffice, the priest thought to himself as he opened up his backpack and began to rummage around for the bag of salt. He had blessed the salt with great care, over one week and almost five thousand miles ago, and now it was time for it to earn its keep.
There were three prayers that Stephen wanted to employ. “Our father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass again us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”
As he intoned the prayer under his breath in order to avoid waking his colleagues, Stephen went from room to room inside the Cage, sprinkling the blessed salt carefully around each and every doorway and window. He left a thin trail of the mineral substance on every window ledge, above each doorframe and on either side. Wherever there was a possible point of entry into the structure, no matter how large or small, he made sure that it was covered.
“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
This time Stephen followed up on the salt with a trail of holy water. His final prayer was one commonly chosen by those who were about to engage in spiritual combat with dark forces. Given the testimony of Vanessa and so many other visitors that spoke of an evil presence within the Cage, this would be the most important prayer of them all: The Prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel.
“Saint Michael Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”
The cold, gray light of a February dawn was seeping through the windows of the Cage by the time Stephen had finished. Although he went upstairs to bless each bedroom, the bathroom and the landing, he focused the majority of his time and attention on the ground floor … particularly on the prison itself.
“I am now speaking to any and all tortured souls who are bound against their will to this location,” Stephen intoned, standing in the center of the Cage with a Bible held loosely in one hand. “You may now use this opportunity to leave this place, for now and for all time. Your torture is over, and I invite you to move on in order to receive peace, tranquility, and your just rewards.”
There were so many stories of innocent spirits haunting the Cage: men, women, and children falsely accused of witchcraft and then imprisoned within its walls under the most horrific of conditions, tortured by the jailers for little more reason than their own sick sport. Like some sort of spiritual traffic cop, the priest was trying to direct any such earthbound souls toward the freedom that they had been denied for so very long.
Once the ritual had been repeated on both floors of the house, Stephen poured what little remained of the holy water and blessed salt into small jars that he had brought along for just such a purpose. He placed the jars behind other, larger jars that sat high up on shelves in the kitchen, silent sentinels that would stand watch over the troubled old prison. They remain there to this day.
Soon it was time for him to wake his fellow investigators.
Lesley, Stephen, and I went from room to room collecting our equipment and giving the place a quick once-over, policing up any trash and straightening things up in preparation for the next tenant of the Cage.
I had been the first team member to enter the Cage nearly a week ago, and now I was the last one out, turning out the lights behind me and hiding the key in a place where only Vanessa would be able to find it. Just as we had done at sunrise every day that week, we gathered outside the big wooden door and took a celebratory survivors’ selfie. Our eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but there was an overall mood of optimism and accomplishment. The past week had been a roller-coaster ride, full of ups and downs, highs and lows, and it was one that we wouldn’t have missed for the world.
A pair of headlights emerged out of the darkness. Caz pulled up in front of The King’s Arms pub and popped open the back hatch of the car. It only took a couple of minutes for the team to load up their cases full of gear, Tetris-like in the back, and then we hit the road.
As the prison receded behind us in the rear view mirror, I couldn’t resist taking one last look back, wondering whether I might see the apparition of the skeletally thin woman standing in the window of the master bedroom, staring down at us as we left. But there was nothing. The Cage was silent and dark, empty once more and awaiting the next visitors who would try to unlock some of its many secrets.
Caz was totally focused on driving while Lesley acted as navigator, guiding her away from St Osyth and toward the motorway that would take them to Southampton. For his part, Stephen hoped that the ceremony he had performed would bring some measure of peace to the current and future occupants of the Cage … whether they happened to be living or dead.