Those Who Fight Monsters: Tales of Occult Detectives

“Yes, of course,” Knight responded, “but after all these years, with Debbie’s reversal, with no further contact with that mind you swear you felt, it is possible you might start to believe you imagined the whole thing.”

Knight let the fall breeze blow about them for a moment, then interrupted its soft whisper. “Have you, Albert? Have you ever been tempted to think you were wrong about that day?”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. When he finally spoke, his voice came out low and growling, bitter with sarcasm. “Sure, all the time. That’s why I let my wife walk out. That’s why I still won’t put Debbie in a home. And that’s why I’m working double shifts, driving my mother and aunts half-crazy baby sitting! How can you ask me that? How, Goddamnit? You know what Debbie means to me!”

“I do, Albert—”

“I’m telling you…” Harper paused, his voice choking, eyes threatening to betray him, “I know — I know she’s in there somewhere. I felt it. I goddamn well felt it, do you understand? You’re not taking that away from me. Nobody’s taking that away from me!”

“I’m not trying to,” Knight told him softly. “And I apologize for upsetting you. But it had to be done.” Knight tilted his head down for a moment, running a hand through his hair and then down the back of his neck.

“You see, I’m going to tell you something. Something incredible. Something you may not be able to comprehend. But you must trust me about one thing. I believe what you just said. I don’t just believe that you believe it, I think it happened just as you said.

“And after that,” Knight added, his voice going dark and stiff, “I think something monstrous happened. Something I don’t quite know if I will be able to explain or prove to you.”

Harper turned to stare at him. The two had reached the end of his neighborhood, and were on the edge of the local business district. After surveying the block for a moment, Knight said, “Over there, I think. Come on.”

Knight moved them close to a wall between two storefronts, their large neon signs buzzing “Sarah Jane’s Boutique” and “Hobbies & Crafts” on either side of them. When he looked at Harper again, his expression was grim.

“Albert, I’m going to simply say this as bluntly as possible — I do not believe your daughter has Down syndrome. I believe she is possessed.”

Harper gaped, as if his mind could not choose between the hundreds of possible responses that were all occurring to him at once. Before he could speak, Knight went on.

“You must understand, I came across the general idea the first time years ago. It’s an ancient notion, and in older times people were more prone to recognize the signs. But, simply put, oftentimes what we think of today as Alzheimer’s, or Parkinson’s or DS, cancer, all manner of ailments — they’re really cases of demonic possession.” Harper shook his head several times, as if trying to drive the idea out of his brain.

“We’ve known each other a long time,” answered the younger man, “and a joke this sick is completely out of character for you. So, all right. Let’s say you’re not deranged.” Throwing his hands up helplessly, Albert demanded;

“If you’re not, then just what am I supposed to do? Call the church? Get a witch doctor? Bring in the Enquirer — what? What?”

“Calm yourself, Albert.” As Harper turned away, Knight put up a hand and gently stopped him. “And, please trust me when I say you don’t want to leave this spot, just yet.”

Harper made a gesture that took in the wall, the neon, the sidewalk — everything. “Why? What’s so damn special?”

“My research has led me to a number of references to priests and shamans, across cultures and throughout history, waiting for thunderstorms, so they could prepare their defenses against such creatures.” Pointing to all the pulsing lights behind them, the professor said;

“Apparently these ‘entities’ dare not approach a barrier of charged electrons. No one knows why, although many mythologies posit lightning as a weapon of the gods, not their infernal counterparts. In any case, if there is a demon involved here, and it is trying to listen to us, it shouldn’t be able to make anything out through all the interference these signs are putting out.”

“You’re serious; you’re really serious. Aren’t you?” Harper snapped, teetering between rage and tears.

“Yes, Albert, I am. And if after all the years you’ve devoted to your daughter, if you’re ready to risk throwing away what time you have left on this Earth in a desperate gamble of freeing her from this thing’s clutches, I may be able to help you.”

Harper tried to stop thinking like a protective father and strove instead to actually listen to his friend. Part of his mind had instantly rejected what he was hearing out of hand. Such ludicrous jabber was, obviously, insanity.

New Age grasping at straws. Superstition.

Nonsense.