BOOM!
At close range, the Winchester Model 1897 was devastating.
A normal 12-gauge shell could shatter bone, tear through limbs, and destroy a human body with frightening ease.
Father Anderson’s custom rock-salt ammunition didn’t contain lead, but the shells had been blessed and strengthened with his magic.
Against a hostile spirit, they inflicted damage comparable to what ordinary buckshot would do to living flesh.
The instant Bathsheba Sherman fully manifested, the first blast tore through the lower half of her body.
Her spiritual form exploded into a cloud of black resentment.
Torn flesh and shattered organs scattered through the basement with horrifying realism before dissolving into smoke.
“AAAAAAAH!”
Bathsheba’s scream shook the walls.
Only the upper half of her body remained suspended in the air, but Anderson didn’t pause to admire his work.
He immediately worked the pump, ejecting the spent shell and chambering another.
He had watched too many movies where the hero stopped attacking because the enemy appeared defeated.
That kind of hesitation usually ended with someone getting stabbed from behind.
Anderson had no intention of making the same mistake.
Chak-chak.
BOOM!
The second rock-salt shell struck Bathsheba’s remaining body.
Her chest and head burst apart beneath the consecrated blast.
Black smoke, rotten tissue, and spiritual resentment scattered across the basement before rapidly fading.
Her twisted face appeared one final time inside the dissolving darkness.
“You—”
Bathsheba’s venomous eyes fixed on Anderson.
Before she could finish, they ruptured and disappeared along with the last of her visible form.
Anderson worked the pump once more.
Chak-chak.
He kept the shotgun aimed at the empty space, ready to fire again if even the smallest trace of Bathsheba returned.
Nothing happened.
The thick resentment that had filled the basement was rapidly thinning.
He extended his senses, checking the walls, floor, ceiling, and surrounding shadows, but he could no longer detect Bathsheba’s presence.
“So weak?”
Anderson frowned.
He had prepared a Bible, multiple consecrated crucifixes, three bottles of holy water, and fifty enchanted rock-salt shells.
He had expected a long and dangerous confrontation with the spirit responsible for tormenting the Perron family.
Instead, Bathsheba had been destroyed after only two direct shots.
It felt less like an exorcism and more like using a cannon to kill an insect.
Anderson glanced at the unused equipment inside his field bag.
A trace of embarrassment crossed his face.
“All that preparation for nothing.”
He shook his head.
“As long as the job is finished, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”
Anderson channeled magic into his eyes again and carefully surveyed the basement.
Bathsheba’s resentment was gone, but a faint thread of spiritual energy remained near the far wall.
Without the dense black fog concealing it, the presence was easy to notice.
It wasn’t malicious.
It carried grief, fear, and crushing loneliness.
Mrs.
Walker was still there.
Anderson turned toward the staircase and began walking up.
He made the sign of the cross.
“If you wish to leave this place, remain here.”
His voice softened.
“In half an hour, I’ll offer prayers for you and the others.
You have suffered enough.
Allow the Lord to guide you somewhere peaceful.”
Anderson continued upstairs, removed the crucifix from the basement door, and gently closed it behind him.
In the empty room below, a woman began to sob.
The sound was quiet at first, but gradually became clearer.
Upstairs, the situation was far less peaceful.
The repeated shotgun blasts had sent everyone inside the living room into a state of panic.
The adults formed a protective circle while the Perron daughters huddled together in the center of the safe zone.
Officer Brad Hamilton stood near the front, clutching Anderson’s backup Winchester like a man preparing for a final battle.
His entire body was tense, and the barrel remained pointed toward the hallway beside the staircase.
“Mr.
Warren,” Brad whispered.
Ed looked at him.
Brad swallowed.
“Should we go down there and check?”
Ed held tightly to the crucifix Anderson had given him.
After several seconds, he took a deep breath and nodded.
“All right.
Just the two of us.”
Before he could step forward, Lorraine grabbed his hand.
“Wait, darling.”
Ed turned toward her.
Lorraine’s eyes were focused on something beyond the physical walls of the farmhouse.
“I can’t see anything.”
Ed froze.
He understood the meaning of those words better than anyone else.
If Lorraine couldn’t perceive the spirit, there were only two likely explanations.
Either the entity was powerful enough to hide from her—
Or it was gone.
Lorraine saw the question in her husband’s expression.
She closed her eyes and extended her senses throughout the farmhouse.
The cold pressure that had surrounded the property was fading.
The suffocating hatred in the walls had disappeared, and the unnatural darkness no longer seemed alive.
She opened her eyes and nodded.
“The evil presence is gone.”
Everyone stared at her.
Hope and disbelief spread across their faces.
“You mean Father Anderson actually did it?” Brad asked, still aiming at the hallway.
“Yes,” Lorraine replied.
“Bathsheba is no longer here.”
She examined the house once more to be certain.
Lorraine’s clairvoyance wasn’t limitless.
It allowed her to perceive supernatural entities and spiritual impressions, but she remained human.
Still, the change in the farmhouse was impossible to miss.
The crushing coldness had vanished.
The house finally felt like a house again.
Drew looked deeply unsettled.
Lorraine nodded.
“Just like that?”
Drew glanced toward the basement.
“After a few gunshots?”
Ed released a long breath and finally allowed himself to relax.
“There are many things in this world we don’t understand, Drew.
That’s why you should never underestimate Father Anderson.”
The tension inside the living room began to break.
Roger pulled Carolyn and their daughters close.
Several of the girls started crying, though this time the tears came from relief rather than fear.
Then footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Everyone immediately stiffened again.
Brad reacted fastest.
He raised the Winchester and aimed directly toward the staircase, his finger moving dangerously close to the trigger.
“Amen.”
Father Anderson’s voice came from the darkness before he appeared.
Brad’s shoulders collapsed.
A moment later, Anderson stepped into view with his Winchester resting against one shoulder.
Brad lowered the shotgun and nearly fell backward onto the floor.
“Father, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
The officer sat heavily against the wall, breathing hard.
Anderson looked at him with mild amusement.
“You need more field experience, Officer.”
He lowered his own shotgun and faced the room.
“Bathsheba Sherman has been removed.
Her control over this property is broken.”
Roger stared at him.
“Is it really safe?”
“Yes.”
Anderson’s answer was firm.
“The danger is over.”
Roger immediately embraced Carolyn and their daughters.
The entire family clung to one another as tears streamed down their faces.
After weeks of terror, sleepless nights, and unseen attacks, they were finally free.
Ed and Lorraine exchanged a relieved glance before moving closer together.
Their hands intertwined, and both smiled with quiet understanding.
Drew looked from the emotional family to Father Anderson, then down at Brad sitting on the floor.
He crouched beside the officer and patted his shoulder.
“All right, you win.”
Brad looked up at him.
“What changed your mind?”
Drew glanced at the smoking Winchester in Anderson’s hands.
“My opinion about guns and ghosts.”
Brad raised an eyebrow.
Drew gave him a helpless smile.
“Apparently, evil spirits can be shot after all.”
End of Chapter 12
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