Familiar Spirit

The house haunted Sarah’s thoughts, waking and sleeping, and she found it hard to stay away. Half a dozen times every day she had to fight off the temptation to return. Often it was for practical reasons—a book, or a sweater, or a pair of shoes she had left behind in her flight. In the bright October sunshine, among crowds of people on the Drag or in the cool stillness of the library, Sarah’s memories of what had happened to her in that house seemed suddenly thin and vague, and she couldn’t quite believe in the demon called Jade.

But if she was in any danger of forgetting, the nightmares reminded her. Once or twice every night she woke, sweating and shaking, from terrors which seemed far more real than the bed she found herself in. And so she stayed away from the house, as she had agreed, and spent long hours in the library, researching witchcraft, magic, and the little-known ways of demons. She copied out ancient spells in a spiral-bound notebook, and her confidence began to grow. She would find the way, she thought. She didn’t need the untrustworthy Valerie’s help at all. A long-time student, Sarah trusted in books, and felt secure, on her own ground, in the familiar territory of primary and secondary sources. Somewhere among all these printed pages lurked the answer she sought.

Pete spent nearly as much time as Sarah in this research. Magic was all they talked about in the evenings, to Beverly’s growing boredom. Pete continued to maintain his detached attitude towards the subject, and the ease with which he could be distracted by tidbits of superstition and useless information annoyed Sarah, who thought he should be taking his reading as seriously as she took hers. But, she had to admit, even if he looked upon it as a diversion, he was reading as widely and intently as she was herself. It was from Pete that Sarah learned that a witch in seventeenth-­century England had claimed a toad called Lunch for his familiar. She wondered if Valerie had run across that fact in her reading, or if the name originated with Jade. Familiar spirits, according to the books, were given by the devil to his converts to aid and comfort them. Did that mean that Jade was the devil? The idea sent Sarah into despair. How could she fight the devil? She didn’t believe in the devil—but, then, neither had she believed in demons before she encountered Jade. What was Jade, exactly? And what was Lunch?

Sarah scanned book after book until she lost her bearings and simply swam in the subject, her mind a confused jumble of magic words and names, rites, rituals, powers, and horrors.

On Tuesday afternoon, as Sarah was getting into her car to go to the library, she caught the sleeve of her blouse in the door and ripped it. She swore, staring ruefully at the torn sleeve. She could go back inside and use Beverly’s machine to stitch it up, or she could borrow one of Beverly’s tops and go through the day feeling too tightly packaged.

She swore again and decided, getting into the car and slamming the door. Enough of this nonsense. She would go over to the house on West 35th Street right now and get the rest of her clothes.

Her skin prickled and her heart was beating faster in anticipation. Now she would see if it was all a dream, or real. Her memories of the demonic cat, the rat, the suffocating presence inside her head, the dead voice on the disconnected telephone all seemed as distant and unreal as the things she had been reading about. Had they really happened, or had she dreamed them?

But despite her doubts Sarah was cautious as she entered the house. Everything was so peaceful that she suspected a trap. The quiet, high-ceilinged rooms were filled with the cool, underwater light of sunlight through leaves, and a faint breeze freshened the air. The only sounds were those she made herself, footsteps on bare boards, her own breathing.

Sarah looked around, feeling a curious sense of loss. It was wrong for this house to be so empty. She had brought her things here and then abandoned them, making no effort to turn this place into her home. Why shouldn’t she be happy here? She sat on the couch and looked around at her books and posters. I belong here, she thought. She closed her eyes, trying to sense another, alien presence, trying to discover where Jade was hiding, but she felt nothing. She was alone.

The sound of a car pulling up in back distracted her and she opened her eyes, waiting to hear the sound of it reverse. Cars often took a wrong turn, not realizing the road led only into the camp. But instead she heard the sound of an engine being shut off. She rose and went to the back door to investigate.

Pete was walking toward the house, his expression apprehensive. “Sarah! Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing. I came to get some of my clothes,” she began, her tone faintly apologetic. Then she realized the strangeness of what Pete had said.