Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings (25 page)

I opened my mouth to ask those things when a giant

whoosh
of wind came down the fireplace, putting out the

flames in one go, smothering us in darkness again, and

whipped the photo out of my hand.

Then the slow, menacing
creak
of the front door.

And…

A string of explicit Swedish swear words fol owed by,

“What on earth?”

My parents were home. I could hear Ada gulp beside

me.

“Perry, Ada?” my dad cal ed out from around the corner.

“What is this stuff? Why is it so dark in here?” my mom

cried. I could imagine her face crumpled at the sight of salt

scattered everywhere.

Suddenly the lights in the hal way went on. We heard the

click of the kitchen light next, and then they both made

some sort of gasping moan together.

There was now enough light in the living room to see

each other. I couldn’t see the photograph around me and

had no idea where it had been blown away to, but I

supposed it wouldn’t have made much of a difference if my

parents found it. They were already losing their minds over

the voodoo-like mess in the kitchen.

I sighed. Figured I’d have another thing to be scared of. I

looked at Ada and Maximus.

“Wel . Time to face the music.”

Like the unit we’d become to face the unknown, we

walked out of the room and into the kitchen together.

My parents were staring at the makeshift altar. My father

was aghast, while my mother’s face was a pinkish red.

Probably from drinking and probably from anger.

They looked up at the three of us and I could see how

hard they were trying to piece everything together. They

were in for a surprise.

I explained what had happened the best I could, what I

had thought had been going on from the very beginning,

starting with feeling il , then the miscarriage, the

nightmares, the slippers, the sleepwalking.

My mother just shook her head back and forth, unable to

find the words. She didn’t need to. I knew what they were

thinking. My father was shocked and appal ed that I was

experimenting with “witchcraft and wizardry” under his roof

(his exact words, too), my mother was terribly upset that her

daughter was reverting back to the old days of seeing

imaginary people and blaming demons for lighting houses

on fire.

Of course they didn’t believe me. Why would they? They

never believed me. They only believed that I had completely

lost my mind again and was heading down the same

slippery slope. In fact, just explaining what I thought was

going on and how everything made sense in regards to that

only gave them a reason to put the puzzle together

themselves. But instead of believing I was haunted by a

ghost, they decided I was going nuts again. My mother’s

face contorted into a worrisome frown that both aged her

and reminded me of years ago.

Ada spoke up from time to time, bless her overlooked

little heart, and tried to get them to see that something

actual y was wrong here and we had the best intentions. It

didn’t matter how much she sided with me, my parents

dismissed whatever she said. Ada might have been the

favored child, but she was stil just a teenager and when it

came to matters like this, it was like she didn’t exist at al .

The only person they were wil ing to listen to was

Maximus. Only Maximus barely said anything. He didn’t

pipe up once to reinstate my case or to give me support.

He was silent, tal and watching, almost with disapproval,

like
he
was suddenly on my parents’ side, as if this whole

ritual hadn’t been
his
idea.

Final y, when I was done saying everything I could say

and Ada had quietly started cleaning things up, my parents

fixed their disbelieving eyes on Maximus.

“And what is your version of events?” my father asked

him coldly.

Without looking at me, he gave them a smile and said,

“It’s pretty much the same as Perry’s.”

I relaxed.

“
She
believes this is what’s happening to her,” he

continued. My heart paused. “And I know better than to

argue with someone with that conviction. I reckoned the

ritual would get it out of her system.”

“You sneak!” Ada growled at him as she shoved the

spices, bowls, bel and vials into a garbage bag with a

noisy clatter. “You told us this would work! You believed it!”

“Ada, hush,” my mother told her, then looked back at

Maximus. “Wel , you’ve made a fine mess of our house in

doing so.”

“I was only trying to help your daughter, Mrs. Palomino.”

She crossed her arms and eyed me. “Yes. I see that.

Wel if this continues any further, the only help that Perry wil

be getting wil be from poor Dr. Freedman. I swore we’d

never been setting foot in his office again…”

The dead butterflies were stirring in my insides again,

awakened by the bone-chil ing threat of seeing my old

psychologist. I could have kil ed Maximus right there and

then for insinuating that he was humoring me this whole

time, and I shot the deadliest of death glares at him in case

he was oblivious too.

He wasn’t. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my stare,

and said to dad, “I’l make sure this place is cleaned up ful y

before I leave. Real y, it’s just salt and spices. I’l bring the

vacuum around and it’l be sucked up faster than you can

say Atchafalaya.”

My dad narrowed his eyes at him briefly, then relaxed. “I

know you like your food down South; however, there’s no

need to make the carpets Cajun too.”

Was that a…joke?

Yes. My dad smiled at Maximus, despite what was going

on. He smiled, then patted him on the shoulder and my

mother and him left the kitchen and went up the stairs to

their room.

Once they were out of earshot and I could no longer hear

my mother’s faraway cries over the discovery of more

cinnamon and sulphur, I smacked Maximus hard across the

arm. I almost went for his face but a quick glance at his

cheek told me to back off.

“What the fuck was that?” I yel ed at him, trying to keep

my voice even and under control and failing epical y. The

anger and frustration inside was dangerously high,

swimming in my throat, ready to spew the most poisonous

venom at him.

“Ow,” he said, and grabbed his arm, rubbing it and

stepping away from me.

“You’re an ass!”

“Seconded!” Ada put in.

He shrugged dramatical y. “What? I couldn’t just nod

along with you ladies; that would have made me seem just

as loco as you two.”

“Excuse me?” I drew out the vowels in a shril cry.

I took a step toward him and he took a few back until his

legs hit the stove.

“What?” I asked. “You afraid of me now? Afraid of me

when you saw what happened tonight?! I mean, you saw.

You saw it. You saw the thing outside, you saw the lights go

out, the fireplace, the damn fireplace lit up al by its fucking

self. And the picture. The picture of my family, now who did

that? And don’t say I did, don’t you dare!”

“Lower your voice,” he said to me, his eyes hardening.

I walked until I was pressed right up to him and jabbed

my finger near his eye.

“Don’t you dare tel me to lower my voice. You and your,

your…passiveness,

your

chicken-shit,

yel ow-bel ied

fuckery, you nearly cost me a visit to my old shrink! You

could have ruined my life, and no I’m not saying that lightly.”

“Perry. You reckon you’re possessed by a ghost, and in

some cases, the devil. I’d say your life is already ruined.

Isn’t it?”

I had no words for that, so I just glared at him and then

walked away in a huff and stood, seething, by my sister.

She shot me an apologetic glance and said to Maximus,

“But you did see it. I saw it too, and I know I’m not cray-cray.

Wel , not always. Not often. I mean, come on, there’s

something here. And now it’s going to stay here because

you were too afraid to tel my parents the truth. You…

douchecanoe!”

She looked at me at that last word to see if she said it

right. I nodded.

“Why is it going to stay?” he asked, total y nonchalant.

“We did the ritual. The candles went out on their own, we

didn’t touch them. Al you have to do now is bury them in the

back yard.”

When I relayed the events to my parents, I conveniently

left out the part about burying the Witch Bottle. Oh, and

seeing a monster in the house. It was pointless to mention

them, real y, and I didn’t want my dad digging it up,

because he would have on account of it being al “black

majick” and stuff.

“Or the front yard, real y,” he continued. “I’l make sure to

empty the vacuum bag right away. The ritual wil stil hold.”

“How do we know that?” I asked. “You saw the photo.

The fireplace. That was after everything was said and

done.”

“It’s not buried yet.
Then
it’s said and done. And then,

wel darlin’, you know the dril al too wel by now. We just

wait and see.”

The next morning I wanted nothing more to just sleep and

sleep. Sleep for the next day, the week, the next year. After

we had buried the candles (in the front yard now, away from

my parents’ prying eyes since their bedroom looked onto

the back), I helped Maximus in vacuuming up the smel y,

powdery mess we created. Unfortunately, this meant having

to go into my parents’ room while they were getting ready

for bed but at least it was taken care of before my mother

had a conniption.

When we said our goodbyes, somewhere just before

midnight, he had gone in for a kiss. But I just couldn’t return

it. His actions had rankled me, and even though he said he

was doing it al for me, something just wasn’t sitting right.

Maybe it had something to do with what Ada had said,

about how she couldn’t trust him. Whatever it was, it had

me on edge and I was definitely in no mood to be amorous

with him, even though there was something extremely sexy

about the dominating and fierce edge I had seen during the

rituals.

But that was just my lady parts talking. My head and gut

told me to abruptly look away and say, “I’l talk to you soon.

Thanks for your help,” and shut the door. Perhaps I should

have been a bit more grateful to him.

Needless to say, I was exhausted when 10 a.m. rol ed

around and I was rudely awakened by my phone.

I pried open one eye and was met with a grey, overcast

gloom that appeared to seep in through the windows and

settle in my room. I rol ed over and grabbed the phone,

eyeing the screen with my blurry vision.

Shit. It was Shay.

I cleared my throat and quickly answered it. “Hel o?”

“Perry,” she said in an oddly professional voice. “How

are you feeling?”

“Um,” I rol ed over onto my back and scrunched up my

forehead with my hand. How to answer that? “I’ve been

better but I’m doing OK.”

“Oh that’s great to hear,” she said, as if I had just told her

I was feeling like a mil ion bucks. “Listen, would you mind

popping by today?”

“To Port-Town?”

“Yes. This isn’t a shift. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Uh oh. I was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea,

fol owed by a stab of hol owness in my chest.

“Oh…OK.”

“Don’t worry,” she said but then didn’t elaborate. “Just

come by before three.”

“I wil . See you then,” I said blankly and stared down at

the phone as I heard her hang up. I gradual y pushed the

button to end the cal and placed the phone beside me.

I’d been down this path before. I knew what was up. It

didn’t matter that she told me not to worry. I knew what was

coming.

Though, perhaps I was always too eager to jump to the

worst case scenario. Shay just wanted to see me. She

wanted to know if I was feeling better. Shay was a nice

woman; she was almost a friend. She liked me, didn’t she?

She wouldn’t fire someone just because someone was

sick. I mean, that was il egal, wasn’t it?

I let out a huge intake of air. She probably just wanted to

see me in person and work out some sort of schedule,

instead of doing it over the phone. Shay was personable