Shaun Jeffrey: Dead Man's Eye

Malachi held his physical hand up and said in a mocking voice, “Holy water. Please, please not the holy water.”

Joanna and Stephen backed towards the door.

“Will someone just grab them,” Malachi said.

No one made a move.

“Do I have to do everything.” He stepped forwards, and Joanna fired.

A stream of water hit Malachi’s face. He licked his lips as though to savour the taste. “I prefer it with a dash of lemon.”

Joanna’s look of confidence vanished, replaced by a look of fear. She fired again.

“I had a shower earlier, but thanks anyway,” Malachi said.

Joanna pulled Stephen towards the door. None of the other demons moved to intercept them. Although he was immune to the water’s effect, he knew that his brethren weren’t. To think that a little blessed water could cause all this trouble.

Fear rushed through Joanna’s veins and arteries. She couldn’t understand why the holy water didn’t work on Lincoln.

While the other demons hung back, Lincoln strode towards them, barking orders to his underlings.

Joanna grabbed Stephen’s hand in hers – didn’t want to get separated. Stephen cried out in shock,

“It’s me,” Joanna said, keeping hold of his hand as he tried to escape her grip.

When he stopped resisting, she headed towards the exit.

Lincoln was approaching fast. Too fast.

Recalling the effect the water had on the other demons in the church, she said, “Shoot the other demons.”

“What’s the point? It doesn’t work any more.”

“Just do it.” Although it didn’t work on Lincoln, she knew that the other demons were holding back for a reason.

She aimed at the nearest figure and squeezed the trigger a couple of times, rewarded with an ear piercing scream. The human skin blistered and popped. Small curls of smoke rose from the skin.

Panic ensued as the demons tried to avoid being hit. As Joanna hoped, they blocked Lincoln’s path.

Knowing she only had a limited amount of water left, she increased her pace.

She edged back, using the cupboard as a point of reference. Something rattled as she knocked against it, and she let go of Stephen’s hand to grab it and found herself holding aloft a spade.

A guttural sound caught her attention, growing closer and she spun to see a blonde-haired woman rushing towards her. More out of terror than actual thought, she spun the spade around as hard as she could, felt the metal head connect with the demon, a jolt of pain thundering along her arm. The woman stopped mid-stride, head tilting at an odd angle. Then the dark umbra went out like a flame being extinguished. The woman dropped to the floor, head almost severed.

Joanna gagged and she fought not to throw up.

“Jesus,” Stephen said as he stared at the corpse. “That’s one way to stop them. Way to go.”

Joanna didn’t feel at ease with the compliment. Albeit possessed by something terrible, she had just killed someone. Sickened. Saddened. Morose. Tired. She felt anything but proud. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, not with the spawn of Satan breathing down her neck.

She scuttled towards the door, squirting any demons that came too close.

Each howl of pain made her cringe, because she knew that each of the demons she fired at was once human; a living breathing person with hopes, dreams and fears.

Outside in the corridor, she turned and ran.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Stephen no longer accompanied her.

She stopped and turned back.

“Stephen,” she shouted.

She gritted her teeth. Come on, where are you?

Seconds later, as though conjured by her wishes, Stephen stepped through the doorway.

Joanna stared at him. It took her eyes a moment to differentiate between the background and her boyfriend, but despite her best wishes, there was no denying the black corona that surrounded his body.

Her jaw dropped. Not Stephen. God, no.

He stared at her, and she realised that if the eyes really were windows to the soul, Stephen was damned. “It’s no good running. Accept your fate,” he said.

“I believe we make our own fate,” Joanna said. She lifted the water pistol, gritted her teeth and squeezed the trigger.

Stephen’s haunting scream followed her along the corridor as she turned and ran, almost blind with tears.

Joanna ran for all she was worth. Her thighs felt like molten lead, her calves like brittle sticks; each step excruciating, but she couldn’t stop. Willpower and fear were all that drove her on.

She didn’t dare look back, but could still see Stephen’s face in her mind as the water hit. His skin had actually sizzled, blistering immediately as though the water was acid.

Joanna burst through the door at top of the stairs, alarming a middle-aged man and woman who were passing by.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” the man asked.

Ignoring him, Joanna continued along the corridor.

Stephen. Her beloved Stephen, possessed by a monster. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes and she sobbed.

The corridors felt like a maze, she their prisoner. Exit signs teased with the promise of release, but it never seemed to materialise, just led her deeper into the labyrinth building.

People appeared like ghosts, ethereal under her tearful gaze. If only they knew the horror that lurked beneath their feet.

After what seemed like a lifetime, she found her way out, welcoming the cold night air. The automatic doors slid shut behind her with a laughing hiss.

Joanna hurried away.

The back street doorway smelled of urine, but she didn’t care. Nothing seemed important anymore. Hunched over, she hugged herself, but the shakes wouldn’t subside.

Stephen!

How could she have let it happen?

She should have realised that he hadn’t followed her out. Should have gone back for him.

But it was no good dwelling on it now.

She was all alone. No one else knew what was happening, and there was no one else she could trust.

Her phone rang, startling her a little. She pulled it out of her pocket. It was her mum.

She wiped her nose and answered the call.

“Joanna, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“Mum, I-”

“The police are here. They want you to hand yourself in.”

Joanna bit her lip. “Don’t believe what they tell you. It’s not true. None of it.”

“Joanna… Jo, please, just come home.”

“I… I love you mum.” She disconnected the call and stared at the phone. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about the video she had recorded from her hiding place in the cupboard. She pressed a few buttons to access the video clips, scrolled to the one she wanted and pressed play.

The view from her vantage point had been pretty poor, and most of the shot only showed people’s legs. The best thing about it was the conversation, but even she knew that without hard evidence to back it up, people wouldn’t believe any of it.

Her phone rang again and she turned it off, afraid that they could trace her by triangulating the signal somehow.

She shivered; tried to think what to do next. She wasn’t going to give in without a fight. Not now. But who could she turn to? Who in the world would believe her?

That’s when the inspiration struck.

There was someone. A person who denied it all, but someone who Joanna felt was lying.

The other cornea recipient.

Margaret Jones.

Without Stephen to drive her there, and being early in the morning, it took a combination of buses and taxis to reach Margaret’s house.

When she arrived, Joanna didn’t hesitate. She stormed up the path and knocked on the door. She continued knocking until a light came on.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Margaret said as she opened the door. “You’ll wake Charlie.”