Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

She whipped around. In the chair, Martin sat with eyes wide open, staring in terror at the thundering chaos around him.

Robin gasped, fixed on his face. “Martin?”

He looked back at her, small and lost. “What’s happening? Where are we?”

His voice was hoarse, but the horrible alien sound was gone. Robin stared at him, hardly daring to hope. There was no sign of the mad gleam of the Qlippah.

Martin’s eyes fell on Patrick’s dead body tied across from him. He cried out, “Oh my God…what’s happening?”

A ceiling beam split and crashed down toward the floor. Cain barely leapt out of the way in time.

Robin ran to Martin, squeezed his shoulders. “Hold on. Don’t let it back in.”

The energy whooshed around the room, then blew straight against the table, flipping it, crashing it against the wall. The four of them struggled against the blast, screaming. Patrick’s dead body jumped with the force of it. Glass blasted inward as all the windows suddenly burst, showering them with shards of glass. Rain gusted in from the outside; lightning branched in the sky. A guttural, disembodied howl of rage tore through the room. The energy cycloned, shaking the windows, making the fire blaze up, shredding the curtains, spiraling papers and plaster and broken furniture up into a funnel of black wind and rage.

And then it was as if the cyclone had been sucked into space. Suddenly, everything was still.

The silence was deafening, like a ringing in Robin’s ears. The four of them looked around them, stunned.

The lounge was wrecked, broken furniture and glass everywhere. Curtains billowed inward as rain blew in from the smashed windows.

Lisa gulped out, her voice tiny. “Is it…over?”

Cain took a deep breath. “It’s gone…I think….”

Then Robin felt her heart leap wildly in her chest as Patrick’s eyes suddenly opened.

The corpse jerked up to a sitting position, grinning wolfishly. The dead voice grated. “Did…you…miss me…children?” The dead eyes were black, fathomless.

Lisa stared at him, her face white. He waggled his tongue at her and she bolted back.

Patrick’s voice was slow and thick, his face distorted, the muscles slack and grotesque as the Qlippah tried to speak through dead vocal cords. “Big…boy…woudn’…mind….”

Lisa and Robin backed away, shaking.

Behind them, Martin gasped out, “Burn him.”

Cain whipped around, staring at him. Martin looked up at Cain from where he was still tied in the chair. “Fire. We have to drive it out.”

Cain’s face tightened. “Cut Martin loose, quick.” With his good hand, he fumbled his pocketknife out of his pocket.

Robin leapt to take the knife, then sliced through Martin’s ropes with the blade. She helped Martin stand shakily and the four faced Patrick.

The corpse jerked spasmodically in the chair, the Qlippah trying to work the dead muscles. It strained against the ropes, bellowing, “NOOO. NOOOOOO….”

Martin spoke loudly over it. “Burn the body. Drive it out. Fire is pure light.”

“ NNNNNNOOOOOO! ”

Patrick’s body writhed grotesquely. The chair started to rattle on the floor. Darkness seemed to gather around it.

Beside Robin, Cain gasped in disbelief. “Oh shit.”

The three of them watched, stupefied, as the chair rose slowly into the air.

Martin shouted, “Burn him! Do it!”

Cain spun and grabbed the Coleman lantern, from where it lay overturned and dark in the debris on the floor. He twisted the lamp open and threw the fuel over Patrick, soaking the corpse’s clothes.

Robin spotted the matches on the mantel and grabbed for them, but then she hesitated, looking toward Lisa.

Lisa stepped forward, staring at the writhing corpse above them. Her voice was deadly and sure. “Kill it.”

Robin struck a match, ignited the matchbook, and threw it at Patrick.

The Qlippah bellowed. “NOOOO—LIFE—LIFE— NOOOO—”

Flames exploded around Patrick, licked up his clothing, eating at the rope. The corpse shrieked, straining and contorting its chest; the chair hobbled wildly in the air.

Then suddenly, the ropes binding Patrick burst. The chair fell to the floor.

Patrick’s corpse lurched grotesquely forward, dead limbs flailing like a puppet with its strings cut. Flames ignited his hair, searing the dead flesh.

All four of the others stood paralyzed, staring in horror and shock. Around them, reality seemed to ripple; what was left of the lounge was suddenly insubstantial, as if there was nothing but darkness around them, swirling forms in the wind. Robin groped for the Star of David in her pocket.

Cain grabbed Robin’s arm, shouted, “Everyone out—”

Lisa and Martin were already backing for the door. Robin clenched the metal piece in her hand, thinking mindlessly, Help … .

And at that moment, across the room, she saw him. Just a shade, incorporeal, very still in the swirling chaos of the room, standing at the top point of Cain’s chalked pentagram: the pale young man from the yearbook, from her dreams.

As Robin stood, transfixed, Zachary locked his bottomless eyes on hers and raised his fist to his chest: the gesture from the ritual.

Cain pulled violently at her arm, shouted in her ear above the maelstrom. “Robin! Now!”

“Zachary—” she gasped out. Cain stared at her, uncomprehending. Martin and Lisa hesitated by the arched doorway, glancing back blankly.

They don’t see, Robin realized.

She looked back toward Zachary, who again pressed his fist to his chest. Robin’s eyes widened in comprehension. She spun to the others, shouting, “Finish the ritual. The others didn’t finish.”

At the archway, Martin stopped in his tracks. He grabbed Lisa and spun back, shouting, “ Yes .”

Robin faced the staggering, burning corpse and raised her arms before her, shouting, “We close the portal of earth!”

She pulled her hands together, shutting the curtain. The burning corpse started to howl.

“LIFE. WARM. BODY. BLOOD. LIFE.”

Robin’s eyes were streaming. She gagged on the stench of burning flesh, but she spun to Lisa. Terrified, Lisa faced the burning corpse and shouted.

“We close the portal of water!”

She raised her arms as far as she could, shut her hands together. The corpse staggered jerkily toward her, burning arms raised. As Lisa stumbled back, screaming, Robin and Cain surrounded the corpse on the other side. Martin raised his arms, shouted over the howling: “We close the portal of air!”

The corpse turned away from Lisa, jerked toward Martin spasmodically.

“BREATH LIFE BODY GOD BLOOD DAMN BLOOD.”

Cain raised his arms, shouted, “We close the portal of fire!”

The burning corpse flailed horribly, screaming.

“GOD DAMN DAMN GOD DAMN YOU.”

Cain and the others all pulled their hands together at once.

And Patrick’s screaming body exploded in flame.

The force of the explosion tumbled the four of them backward. Flames ripped through the room, searing the walls and furniture.

Cain, Robin, Martin, and Lisa staggered to their feet, beating sparks off their clothing.

Above them, the roof beams burst into flame. Fire raced over the walls, lapping at the dry old wood of the paneling and furniture.

“Run,” Cain shouted.

For a split second, Robin looked toward the specter of Zachary, still standing on the point of the pentagram. Time seemed to stop. Then Zachary raised his hand to Robin—a farewell, or a blessing. Tears pushed at Robin’s eyes; then she turned away and shouted to the others against the wind, “ Go .”

She seized Martin’s arm and ran for the door. Cain grabbed Lisa and ran with her.