The Summoning
by L M Glegg
“This is not an uncommon occurrence following a possession – especially one that has been so intense,” Father McCreary announced with a detached, authoritative air to Billy Drummer's distraught parents.
“But, he – he's been like this ever since the exorcism,” Mrs. Drummer exclaimed between sobs. She stopped wringing her hands long enough to mop the beads of perspiration from her teenage son's glistening forehead. 16 year-old Billy was oblivious to all who were crowding his small bedroom. He rocked gently in his chair while softly humming himself a lullaby. The young man's eyes were focused on something distant, unseen. An absolute blankness painted his face.
“I can assure you with all certainty, Margaret, that every vestige of the malignant spirit has been cleansed from his body,” the priest continued with practiced compassion. “The primary task at this point is to bring his mind back into the realm of the living.”
“We've known you too long to stop trusting you now,” Harold Drummer confirmed, a note of desperation in his voice.
Doing a rather poor job of disguising his arrogance, Father McCreary nodded a silent thanks to Billy's father.
“I just don't understand why he has to be locked in his room - in the closet,” Margaret managed to choke out before burying her head in her hands.
In a tone that suggested he had explained it at least a hundred times before, Father McCreary repeated with an impatient sigh, “Billy was in this closet when he first summoned the demon into your home, and the closet is where it fled after I purged it. When your son discovers the protection I've given him will not permit any further invasion without his consent, the terror that is now gripping his mind will release it. It comes down to a simple matter of him facing his fears.”
Father McCreary glanced at his watch, then at his assistant, and motioned toward the exit with his head. “Please, folks, follow Justin downstairs and leave this to me. I'm sure all our brothers and sisters from the church have arrived by now.”
Harold walked over, put an arm around his wife, then gently helped her up and escorted her from the room. Justin lingered momentarily in the doorway as the Drummers made their way down to the first floor of their modest farmhouse.
“That was handled very well, Father,” Justin effused.
“I saw no reason to worry them any further.” He glanced over at Billy, then added with just a slight note of confusion in his voice, “It's almost as if he regrets releasing the spirit – as if he's....” The priest's voice trailed off, and he stared at Billy for another moment in silence before turning back to his assistant. “Remember, no matter what you hear, do not open this door. I may have to bring the beast back into our presence before I can send it to Hell once and for all. With any luck, I'll be down before Mrs. Leonard's meatloaf gets cold.”
Justin smiled at the confident clergyman, shut and locked the door from the outside after receiving a final reminder to lay out the collection plate, then turned to join the gathering that had been called to comfort the beleaguered family.
Down in the living room everything was reserved and awkward at first, but after a few hymns and some polite conversation, the tension slowly faded. There was not so much as a sound from the room upstairs which now seemed so far away, and by midnight, the good Father and his young ward still had not emerged.
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Justin awoke with a start, jerking his head up from the kitchen table to see morning sunlight streaming through the windows. With bleary eyes, he barely took notice of Mr. Drummer dozing in an easy chair, or his distraught wife passed out on the couch, as he raced upstairs. Orders aside, he hurriedly forced the key into the lock and burst into Billy's room.
The heavy curtains were drawn tight and completely obscuring the morning sun. Justin flipped a nearby light switch without results, and was forced to grope his way through the murk in search of illumination. Feeling along the wall, he found another switch that sparked a small light inside the closet. A quick scan of the closet found it strewn with clothes and games, but otherwise empty.
The room was heavy with silence, and Justin tiptoed along the carpeted floor, somehow fearing to make a sound. He finally made his way to the only window in the room and pulled open its curtains to find it securely locked. Justin turned to follow the brilliant shafts of light that poured through the large window and his eyes fell upon Father McCreary rocking gently in Billy's chair. Billy was nowhere to be seen, but the wooden cross that had hung from his neck was now lying, broken, not far from the closet door.
The priest was oblivious to Justin's presence; his eyes were distant, and an absolute blankness painted his face. Justin approached his mentor with the same caution one would use when approaching an unfamiliar animal, holding out his hands in a mute sign of submission. The young assistant stopped in front of the priest, knelt down, then called his name in little more than a whisper. Justin's insides turned to ice as Father McCreary, his expression unchanged, began softly humming himself a lullaby.
Author's Note: When this story is finally compiled with several others into a single volume, it will be credited to R J Spencer, an alternative pseudonym used to distinguish my “Disturbia” from the other genres in which I write.
Copyright L M Glegg 1997 - 2018. All rights reserved.
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