7.

‘Dear God, hon. I mean what the fuck happened back there?’

Sofie remained motionless in her passenger seat, staring outside, scanning the endless tunnel of trees enveloping them, whirring past. The tunnel of forestry reminded her of her holiday in Vastmanland when she’d discovered the hidden burial ground deep beneath the earth, unknown she stumbled across it.

‘I have it inside me,’ Sofie blurted out.

‘What? What d’you mean you have inside you? You need to explain to me.’ Janice said this in a brusque tone, and then chastised herself for being so insensitive. Her alarm for Sofie had now fallen into second place behind confusion. ‘Look, just tell me as best you can what happened and what you mean by having something inside you. Please.’

Sofie had been about to answer Janice as coherently as she possibly could when a figure leapt from the back seat and grappled with Janice for control of the steering wheel. The abruptness caught the two girls completely off-guard which was what the witch had been anticipating. The cooped-up interior was pierced with shrieks, two natural, one not belonging to this civilised world. Sofie undone her seat belt and punched the witch in the side of the head only to be backhanded and have the back of her head cracked the passenger door window that resembled an elaborate spider web.

Using her long nails, which were more like claws, the witch scratched and scraped feverishly at Janice’s face, causing the Fiat to swerve across the meandering road then back again when Janice manage to fight the inhuman thing that gripped onto the headrest. In the panic that had followed the initial shock, Janice’s foot had depressed the accelerator more than she’d meant to. She eased her foot off in time to regain control only to be blinded by a sharp, pointy nail stabbing her in her right eye. Instinctively, Janice put a hand to her wound and did exceedingly well to steer around a sharp bend with one hand.

Sofie leapt across her seat and punched the witch again. The witch’s head snapped to the side. However, in the next instant, she gripped Sofie by her mane of blonde hair and rammed her head into the cracked window which shattered on impact then yanked Sofie’s head forward again before her face became severely lacerated. Sofie slumped in her seat unable to aid her friend any more.

Janice couldn’t tell if the liquid streaming her cheek from her wounded eyes was a tear or blood. Neither could she tell how bad the wound was. All she knew was she was driving on a winding, rural road, feebly doing her utmost to fight with a witch for control of the vehicle with the use of one eye and one hand. Yet what placed her in the biggest disadvantage was whenever she ducked or turned her head to avoid having her eyes gouged out she had to steer blindly.

Eventually Janice’s luck ran out and the Fiat careered headfirst into a rocky boulder at nearly forty-five miles per hour. The impact was explosive. The Fiat’s bonnet crumpled and the vehicle itself got knocked backwards several feet. The hellish impact and the inflatable crash bag had knocked Janice unconscious and sent Sofie flying forward off her seat where the side of her already badly bruised hear walloped the dashboard, ferociously. The demon’s body had been thrown forward into the back of the driver’s seat, crushing Janice even if she had survived the crash itself and was then thrown into the back seat like a rag doll, knocking the breath out of her.

She clambered over the seat opened the driver’s door, which fell off its hinges, clanging to the concrete surface, seized Sofie’s lifeless form by her two arms and dragged her out of the wreckage where the glass from the shattered windscreen glinted in the headlights glow. The witch couldn’t be certain that Janice was actually dead, (although the odds of her surviving a crash like the one they’d just been involved in was miniscule) so she leaned over rammed her long, point nail of her index finger through the soft layer of skin around her throat and withdrew it in a fluent motion, drawing a thin red line appeared, leaking a miniature crimson waterfall that soaked her white woolly jumper a new colour.

Scanning her surroundings to make sure there were no witnesses, the witch hoisted Sofie up onto her shoulder and carried her back in the direction of the house as effortlessly as one would if they were leaden with a grocery bag, never once looking back at the carnage she had induced.

The darkness was its ally, enveloping it, making it invisible to the naked eye.

Charles could hardly believe his eyes. He even rubbed them to make sure he wasn’t seeing something he hoped was true but only in his wildest dreams. Nevertheless, not only did the image linger it increased in detail, growing even more tangible as it neared. For what he saw was the witch who had performed the satanic ritual. The only one who would live long enough to be able to perform the ceremony accurately and live long enough to see not only the birth of their leader but the rise and dominance it would soon possess over all that was evil. It approached him now, her hideous countenance dappled in fresh blood, carrying the bundle that was the most precious thing in their world.

Together, the witch and Charles carried the bundle into the living room and gently placed her on the sofa. Then the witch (who didn’t speak English) exited the house, leaving the elderly man with a new predicament: he needed to get some proper assistance on how to keep Sofie out of sight from when the authorities came looking for her and her friend. Charles didn’t know precisely what had transpired, although he knew that Janice had been murdered at the hands of the witch and that she’d prevented Sofie escaping, who would then inform the authorities what had gone on at their home. When they saw Margaret’s face it would be enough evidence along with the young Swedish woman’s bloodstained pentagram and wounded abdomen to convict them of performing a satanic ritual that had made Sofie pregnant, against her will.

He went to the phone on the table in the vestibule, riffled through the silver book of phone numbers, punched in the numbers and listened to the dialling tone. His entire withered form shook from an unstoppable force as he waited, drumming his fingers on the doorframe. Then exhaled explosively with relief as the dialling tone cut off abruptly and a soft, dulcet frail voice answered. ‘Hello?’

‘Reverend Ward. It’s Charles.’

‘Hello, Charles. How did the initiation go?’

‘Good. But now we’ve got a huge problem. Her friend returned to the house. There was an altercation involving Yvonne and her friend...’ He cut himself off. He didn’t have time to explain. He needed to get to the point. ‘Anyway, she’s been rescued by her. Only there must have been some hellish incident to get her back. The police will certainly come looking for her, as this was the last place she -’

‘I understand,’ Reverend Ward interrupted. ‘You want me to collect the child, place her under my protection until this whole incident passes over. Yes?’

‘Yes. Please, come quick. Margaret and Yvonne have both been injured. I have a lot of mess to clean up and not much time. Thank you.’

‘I’m on my way,’ the reverend explained.

The conversation was terminated. Charles put the receiver back in its cradle, closed the front door and then went into the living room where Sofie lay sprawled out on the sofa, one arm dangling over the side. Noticing her incapacitated condition, Charles went to get his walking stick, returned to the living room and brought the stick down with full force on the arm. SLAP! Sofie stirred. Her eyelids flickered. But she did not regain consciousness. Charles repeated this twice more then threw the stick down and collapsed into the armchair, taking immense pleasure at seeing her forearm swell and turn a vicious red at where he’d struck her in retaliation for the problems she’d induced for not excepting her destiny.

Five minutes later Charles escorted his wife and daughter into the room. The two women spat in the girl’s face. Margaret even resorted to smacking the unprotected girl across the face leaving her cheeks with a nasty rash. Nevertheless, they were mindful not to induce too much harm as from the looks of it she had already suffered on top of the punishment she’d endured the night before and earlier that day. She was still carrying the child of their leader in her womb, after all. However, Margaret’s face looked like raw meat. She still kept an icepack pressed to her face that burned to such an extent that she could feel it devouring the layers of flesh until it ate its way to the bone. The blood vessels behind her eyes had burst and she looked as though she’d become infected with some incurable virus.

Yvonne’s hip felt as though it was disjointed from the rest of her anatomy. She couldn’t sit motionless for a couple of minutes without groaning and then having to readjust her position. This in itself became frustrating for herself and her family.

When the doorbell chimed, Charles got up and answered, nearly hugging Reverend Ward, seeing him standing on the porch, thinking it could have been the police. But it was too soon for that. He moved aside to allow his fellow worshipper to enter and escorted him into the living room.

Reverend Ward wore working attire, which consisted of black shirt, black neatly pressed trousers and polished shoes under a thick, fur-lined winter coat. He removed his gloves and placed them in his coat pockets as he crossed the room to where Sofie lay, unaware of anyone’s presence or where she was.

‘Such a beautiful girl,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at Charles. Then he noticed the arm draped over the side swollen already developing a colourful contusion. His eyebrows knitted themselves together as he pointed at the red welts. ‘What’s happened here?’

Margaret told Reverend Ward what had happened, bringing him up-to-date with the present, never omitting any detail, showing him her scarred face and indicating Yvonne who seemed to be struggling with her injury.

The bald-headed revered with a grey goatee that spoke and had a similar appearance to the great British actor, Donald Pleasance, fell silent, contemplating on how best to proceed. He told Charles that he ought to drive his wife and daughter to the nearest hospital; how he ought to make up a story about how is wife and tripped and fallen, knocking over Margaret who had been pouring scalding water from the kettle at the time, or something along those lines. He could actually see the boils where Margaret’s flesh had sizzled and popped from being doused with the boiling hot tea and contorted his features, seeing and trying to imagine how much agony she must be in even after submerging her head in a bathtub fully of cold water and ice-cubes.

‘There is to be no more harming this child. Is that understood? She is now the single most important part of what we stand for. If any harm were to come of her, I fear she would suffer a miscarriage. We would suffer the consequences, which I can guarantee would be dire. All evidence that she stayed here must be wiped away without any trace whatsoever. Did she bring anything?’

Charles handed the reverend her bag containing her law books and A4 notepad. Then he waited for further instructions from the wise old man whose gold necklace where a pentagram pendant dangled beneath the religion he practised to his parishioners but which he secretly loathed as it went against all his true, inner beliefs.

‘Tonight you were very fortunate that the one who performed the rites of passage came to our rescue when it did or we would have lost everything we have worked for so long. There are no excuses when you have in your possession something so precious. But let us not dwell on our mistakes but put what’s wrong right again. I understand why you inflicted these injuries upon this girl, but you must waive all your vengeance and see that she was merely frightened, not vindictive. Harming her has only harmed yourselves. I shall take her in my care now where she shall receive the treatment she quite rightly deserves.

‘Charles, you need also to make sure the house is tidy. No broken pieces of furniture or any signs of a struggle must be visible. My understanding is that something necessary although tragic has occurred and a young life has been lost that will attract unwanted attention. When you return - or better yet do it before you go to the hospital - you must get rid of the statue out front and either dispose of it or put it somewhere no one will ever see. We do not hide the symbols of our belief because we are ashamed. We do so because it is necessary.’

Having made his speech, Reverend Ward pushed his hand down on his knee and stood upright, bending over and carefully pulling Sofie up off the sofa, breathing heavily with the exertion of her dead weight until Charles came to his assistance. They carried the unconscious girl outside to the reverend’s car and placed her in the back seat. The black Mercedes went well with the reverend’s appearance as he stood next to it and raised a hand to Charles in farewell before driving away from the house and taking a right, heading in the opposite direction of where the horrific accident had occurred less than an hour ago.