Father Anderson raised an eyebrow and turned toward the group gathered beneath the underpass.
The teenager with the buzz cut removed the cigarette from his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Father!
Do you think God takes a dump?”
His friends immediately burst into laughter.
Their mocking voices echoed through the concrete tunnel, harsh and grating in the early-morning silence.
It was obvious that they were only trying to provoke him.
Anderson wasn’t offended, but the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint, knowing smile.
If those boys continued behaving so recklessly, sooner or later, they would attract something they couldn’t handle.
This world wasn’t like the peaceful Earth Anderson remembered from his previous life.
Here, demons, restless spirits, curses, and other supernatural entities were real.
He couldn’t say with absolute certainty that God existed.
However, holy water burned demons, sincere prayers weakened evil spirits, and consecrated objects offered genuine protection—even when used by someone whose faith wasn’t entirely pure.
There was another compelling piece of evidence.
Every demon Anderson had encountered cursed God with genuine hatred.
That alone suggested someone was listening on the other side.
These foolish teenagers had no idea what kind of attention their mockery might attract.
In a world where words could carry spiritual weight, careless blasphemy sometimes became an invitation.
Anderson stopped walking and slowly made the sign of the cross.
“May God remember what you said today.”
The teenagers laughed even harder.
“Listen to this idiot!”
“Is that supposed to be a blessing?”
“I’m terrified!”
Anderson studied them with quiet pity before turning away.
They would understand eventually, but by then, it might already be too late.
As he continued down the sidewalk, an elderly man with neatly combed white hair emerged from a nearby apartment building.
He walked with a slight limp, but his disciplined posture still revealed the habits of a career serviceman.
“Good morning, Father Anderson.”
“Good morning, Mr.
Brown.”
Anderson recognized him as a regular member of his congregation.
Mr.
Brown often visited St.
Michael the Archangel Church to pray for his wife, Judith, who had been seriously ill for several months.
The old man had served as an officer in the United States Navy before retiring.
“Heading to the hospital?” Anderson asked.
“Yes, Father.”
Mr.
Brown glanced toward the teenagers still laughing beneath the underpass and shook his head.
“Don’t waste your time on them.
They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Perhaps.”
Mr.
Brown made the sign of the cross.
“Amen.”
Anderson returned the gesture.
“May the Lord watch over you and Judith.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Mr.
Brown offered him a grateful smile before continuing toward the bus stop.
Anderson watched him leave, then resumed his journey toward the Morgan residence.
The house stood in a quiet middle-class neighborhood several miles from the church.
It was a typical two-story Colonial home with pale siding, a neatly trimmed lawn, and a fenced backyard.
Nothing about it appeared unusual from the outside.
The neighborhood was considerably safer than the streets surrounding Anderson’s parish.
Police cruisers patrolled regularly, the sidewalks were clean, and there were few visible signs of gangs or open drug use.
Mrs.
Morgan and her husband, Sandy Morgan, were already waiting near the front door.
“Father Anderson!”
They hurried toward him, anxiety written across their faces.
Rather than immediately entering the house, Anderson lowered his backpack onto the porch and opened it.
“Don’t rush.
I need to give both of you some protection first.”
The couple exchanged a confused glance before nodding.
Anderson removed a small silver aspergillum from his bag.
Its hollow head had been filled with holy water and carefully sealed before he left home.
He raised it and lightly sprinkled both of them.
Drops of blessed water landed across their clothing and exposed skin.
Anderson watched their reactions carefully.
There was no smoke, no strange odor, and no sudden change in either expression.
Only then did he relax slightly.
Demons and hostile spirits were dangerous precisely because possession wasn’t always obvious.
Anderson had several ways to protect himself, but ordinary people were far more vulnerable to spiritual influence.
“I’ve placed a temporary blessing on both of you,” he explained.
“It should make it more difficult for the entity to influence or possess you.”
He removed two small crucifixes from the backpack and handed one to each of them.
“Wear these at all times while we’re inside.
Stay behind me, follow every instruction, and do not remove them for any reason.”
Mrs.
Morgan accepted hers with trembling hands.
“Thank you, Father.”
She quickly placed it around her neck before helping her husband secure his own.
Anderson usually allowed close relatives to remain nearby during an exorcism, provided they followed his rules.
Their presence reassured the family and ensured there were witnesses to everything that occurred.
Possessed victims often remembered little or nothing after being freed.
Anderson had also heard too many stories about fraudulent clergy exploiting frightened families.
Similar scandals had existed in his previous world, and this one was no different.
Witnesses protected everyone involved.
“Take me to Sarah.”
Mrs.
Morgan drew a shaky breath and opened the front door.
“This way.”
Before following, Anderson studied the entrance hall and adjoining rooms.
The atmosphere wasn’t as oppressive as he had expected.
The lights still worked, the air remained relatively warm, and no unnatural shadows clung to the corners.
Compared with several previous exorcism cases, the house appeared almost normal.
Almost.
Anderson followed the couple upstairs.
The moment he reached the second floor, a sharp and nauseating odor entered his nose.
Sulfur.
The stench resembled burning rock, scorched metal, and rotten eggs mixed together.
It was intense enough to make an unprepared person vomit.
Anderson’s expression hardened.
That was the smell of brimstone.
Whatever had taken Sarah wasn’t merely a wandering ghost.
It was a demon.
Anderson looked toward the bedroom door at the far end of the hallway.
A crucifix hung above the frame, but it had tilted several inches to one side.
“Mrs.
Morgan,” he said quietly, “did you hang that crucifix straight?”
“Yes.”
She moved closer to her husband.
“I’m certain I did.”
Anderson narrowed his eyes.
The shifted crucifix suggested that the entity inside could exert influence beyond Sarah’s body.
Its angle also offered a rough indication of the demon’s strength.
If the crucifix had been completely inverted, they would have been facing something far more powerful.
Still, this demon wasn’t weak.
Anderson moved ahead of the couple and approached the bedroom.
With each step, the temperature dropped.
By the time he reached the end of the hallway, his breath was almost visible.
The silence surrounding the room had also become unnatural.
He could no longer hear traffic outside.
The hum of the heating system had disappeared, and even the faint creaking of the old house had stopped.
It felt as though the bedroom had swallowed every sound around it.
“The key.”
Mrs.
Morgan quickly retrieved it from her pocket and placed it in his hand.
Anderson inserted the key into the lock.
The moment it turned, something shifted behind the door.
Before he had fully opened it, a deep masculine chuckle emerged from the bedroom.
“Heh…heh…heh…”
Anderson pushed the door wide.
Sarah lay bound to the bed by her wrists and ankles.
The gentle young woman he remembered was barely recognizable.
Her body had become frighteningly thin, her lips were pale, and dark circles surrounded her sunken eyes.
Her skin looked cold and almost bloodless.
She stared at the doorway with the fixed intensity of a predator watching prey enter its territory.
Then the deep voice came from her mouth again.
“What is that smell?”
Sarah’s face twisted with disgust.
“Damn, it stinks in here.”
Her gaze shifted toward her mother.
“Dear Mommy brought the priest.”
Her voice suddenly returned to its normal feminine tone, though the cruel smile remained.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
She chuckled again, and the sound gradually deepened until it no longer seemed human.
“Sarah, I—” Mrs.
Morgan began.
“Quiet.”
Anderson’s command immediately silenced her.
He didn’t take his eyes off the bed.
“If you want to save your daughter, don’t answer anything it says.
Don’t argue with it, don’t correct it, and don’t react to its insults.”
Mrs.
Morgan pressed her lips together.
Sandy reached for his wife’s hand and shook his head, reminding her to remain silent.
His expression was strained, but he maintained control of himself.
Anderson glanced back at him.
Such a calm family member was rare during a possession case.
Sandy gave him a firm nod, silently granting permission to do whatever was necessary to save Sarah.
Anderson returned the gesture before placing his backpack on the floor.
He knelt beside it and began removing his equipment.
Sarah suddenly lifted her head.
“Dad!”
Her voice sounded frightened and completely human.
“You’ve always wanted to get rid of me, haven’t you?”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I’m your daughter!”
Sandy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
He only gripped his wife’s hand more firmly.
Sarah’s pleading expression vanished.
In the next instant, she began thrashing violently against the restraints.
The wooden bed frame slammed against the floor as her body twisted with unnatural force, shifting the entire mattress several inches.
Her face contorted into something savage.
“Heh…heh…heh!”
The masculine voice returned.
“That filthy priest cannot save your daughter!”
She pulled against the restraints until the skin around her wrists turned red.
“You have no hope!”
One moment, Sarah begged like a terrified young woman.
The next, she snarled and laughed like a rabid animal.
Standing beside the bed, Father Alexander Anderson calmly continued preparing his tools.
End of Chapter 2