Familiar Spirit

From out of the darkness a deep, empty voice spoke. “I could keep you here forever, playing with you. Let us have an end to games. Let us reach an agreement. I will give you what you want, and you must give me what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Sarah asked harshly. “My body? My soul?”

It laughed.

Sarah clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears against the horrible, scraping sound.

“You have put up a respectable fight,” it said. “You are braver than most, and with a strong will. I admire your spirit, and I would like to reward you.”

“Then go away,” Sarah said. “Vanish. That’s how to reward me. Go back to hell.”

Again that awful laughter.

“I prefer this earth to any hell, thank you. And I need a body to enjoy it. Animal forms are plentiful, and easy to take, but they are limited. I need a human body. All you must do, on your side of the bargain, is to supply me with one. Just bring someone here, and I will do the rest.”

“Forget it,” Sarah said. “No way will I help you.”

“But I can give you whatever you want, whatever you most desire. Your lover. I can tell you how to win him back.”

Rage bubbled up, almost burning away Sarah’s fear. “NO!” she shouted furiously. “I don’t believe you. I won’t help you, go away!”

“I will go when you have brought me my body.”

“I’ll never help you.”

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees, and Sarah shivered.

“Then I shall have you, Sarah. I will have a human form, with or without your consent. If you want to save yourself, bring me another victim.”

“You can’t,” Sarah cried, although there was no conviction, only bravado in her words. “You’ve already tried, and you couldn’t. I’m too strong for you—you know that’s true, so you’re trying to bribe me now.”

There was a terrible stench in the air. Sarah gagged and tried not to breathe through her nose. Then she realized she could not breathe at all, for the air had turned as thick as mud. It was filling her mouth, and she was blind, she was dying . . .

She was lying on the floor, still blind, but breathing. She sucked in the sweet, clean air greedily.

“You have not tested my limits yet,” said the voice. “You do not know how powerful I am, nor how long I have been waiting, how long I will wait to have what I want. You cannot hope to fight me off forever. I grow stronger while you grow weaker. It is only a matter of time. If you would save yourself, get out. But remember that you can have whatever you want if only you help me. Think about it. I will be waiting.”

Then there was silence. The darkness lifted, and became normal night. The oppressive atmosphere was gone. A faint beam from the corner streetlamp filtered into the room, and Sarah could hear the distant rush of the highway and the sound of the wind in the dry leaves.

Chapter Six

“She’s a witch,” Sarah said. “She conjured up a demon, asked him something, and in return gave him me. I was supposed to be the payment in blood, only I turned out to be stronger than they had expected.” She stifled a yawn and leaned back, sinking a little more deeply into the Marchants’ large, overstuffed couch. Earlier, she had been half-wild, pounding on the door, waking Pete and Beverly and insisting that they listen to her story. But now, having told it all, Sarah felt relaxed, even ready to sleep. Sharing was such a relief.

She looked from Beverly’s face—pale, wide-eyed, and framed by sleep-mussed hair—to Pete’s faintly sad, serious one. She laughed softly, not amused but touched.

“All right,” she said. “I’m crazy. I’ve gone around the bend. Thwarted love has driven me mad.”

“Is that what you think?” Pete asked quietly.

Sarah made a face at him, but before she could answer, Beverly spoke.

“I saw that pentagram-thing on the floor. Whoever went to the trouble of painting it didn’t do it just for decoration. And Sarah said before that there was something very strange about what’s-her-name—Valerie.”

Pete nodded acceptingly. “It’s possible that Valerie is a practicing witch. Austin is full of people like that.”

“Nuts,” said Sarah. “That’s what you mean. The people exist, but not the things they believe in. It isn’t Valerie who has been bothering me, but this demon of hers. Do you believe in demons, and demonic possession?”

“I believe that something happened to you,” Pete replied. “I don’t know how to define it, but I’m not denying the validity of your experience.”

“Thanks a lot. I don’t need you humoring me . . . what I need to know is, am I crazy? I’m hearing things, seeing things, talking to a demon . . . I don’t even believe in demons! But this one . . . it’s too real to deny. I need someone else to tell me what’s real and what isn’t—am I crazy or not—and what should I do?”

Beverly moved closer to Sarah on the couch and took her hand. Pete sighed and looked directly into her eyes. “Move out of the house,” he said flatly.

“Then you believe it is haunted?”