Chapter 2

Esli, Amos, Kenan, Joanan, Levi, Melki and Demas, the seven sons of Sceva the high priest, walked down the street with shoulders high and ceremonial robes swishing in the evening breeze.

Their black elaborate garment fluttered around their feet, its wide sleeves had ancient Hebrew text embroidered with silk, and the hem had clusters of tassels soaked in lamb’s blood. On their heads, tied with a thick cord, was a small box containing miniature scrolls of the Torah. The small box acted as a helmet of sort that kept the evil spirits from seeing them as the next potential host.

The adulation did it for Demas. He lived for the awe-struck look on the people’s faces as they stared as though they were angels walking amongst men. He also lived for the money. Though, he never told those he rendered his services that silver did absolutely nothing in the actual exorcism, he made it seem as though it was the very backbone of the ritual. One of the means of getting people’s wealth quite easily was to make them not just think but believe their money was going into a righteous cause. If one successfully made them believe that, the silver would never stop coming.

“We are here, brother,” Elsi, the last of his brothers who was almost eighteen, said as they came to a door. He held up an iron oil lamp, the amber glow washing over the impoverished surroundings.

The thick smell of mushroom and moss hung in the air. Demas wrinkled his nose and hoped the house wasn’t defiled by mildew. “Knock.”

Esli made three sharp raps on the poor excuse of a door. It was almost as if a strong enough breeze could rip it off its hinges and slap it to the ground.

When Esli attempted to knock once more, the door opened of its own accord, creaking harshly before slamming against the wall with a bang. Demas’ heart crashed against his ribs in time with the sound.

Yahweh protect us.

After waiting for some time and nothing out of the ordinary occurred, Demas took a tentative step in.

“Misker, you came.”

It was the woman who spoke. Though the room was dimly lit by a lone oil lamp that sat on a windowsill, Demas was still able to make out her small figure. As he took another step into the house, he shut his eyes and tried but failed to perceive the presence of a hostile spirit with his inner eye. The air in the room sat still, stubbornly refusing to give a hint.

A sudden panic seized Demas, urging him to flee the place. The description of her son’s symptoms were nothing like what he’d witnessed in all his years of exorcism.

… but the money.

“Something does not feel right.” Melki, his immediate younger brother whispered to his left.

Demas opened his eyes and looked about the room, taking in its bare state. The woman had listened. He had sent words, instructing her to clear the largest room in her home in order to perform the needed cleansing. “I sense what you say, Melki, but if you are not willing to be here, I suggest you leave.”

Melki chuckled. “You know I can’t leave. After all, Yahweh is in need of the silver.”

Demas would have laughed at his brother’s sarcastic reply, but he fought the urge. Turning to the rest who still stood outside the house, he beckoned to them. “Come in brothers. Seven is the number of strength. We will banish this spirit the same way we’ve banished others.”

They obeyed, walking in carefully and looking about.

Demas beckoned to the little servant boy that pulled the cart containing their equipment. “Bring it in.”

Once the boy offloaded the content of the cart, he rushed out of the house like the hoard of sheol were snapping at his heels. Coward.

Being the first of his brothers, Demas stood aside and observed the rest prepare the place. In a short time, the room was awash in the bright yellow glow of several candles and he was finally able to take in the appearance of Gasmir’s widow.

She was seated on the floor at a corner, looking traumatised and tired. Her shawl covered her head as he instructed, and her garment was long enough to cover her feet. She was swaying slightly, eyes fixed ahead and lips trembling. Demas shook his head and looked away. She must have witnessed something terrible.

A wide basin of water was placed at the centre of the room, and a large star of David was drawn around it with salt. Taking careful steps forward, his brothers made way, each stepping aside as he approached. Demas retrieved three holy scrolls written by the high priest before his father. Reaching the iron basin and being careful not to step on any salt-line, Demas unrolled each scroll and submerged them in the water. Turning, he stepped out of the star. “Bring him.”

This was the moment-the fragile moment where each word and action must be treated with utmost caution.

When the widow stood and approached a door to her left, it swung open of its own accord and slammed against the wall. She muffled a scream and jump back.

Demas narrowed his gaze and stroked his beard to mimic a calm unruffled appearance. Do not show fear.

The open door exposed a yawning darkness that seemed to suck in the light from the candles. Thick silence hung over the place and the air pulsed with the tension of every held breath.

A hand emerged from the blackness.

Each nail was dagger-like, their cuticle marred with a dark blue tinge. The fingers gripped the door frame, sharp tips scrapping the wooden surface. The lethal image it created chilled Demas to the marrow. He gulped.

“Hezekiah! My boy.” The woman, ecstatic, rushed to her son at the very moment he pulled himself into the light.

“No-” Demas admonition died on his lips.

The surprisingly sane looking young man of about twenty hugged his mother back. Demas would have sworn all was well with the boy if not for his horrifying finger nails.

“Mother, I have missed you,” Hezekiah said as he patted her shawl covered head.

With his mother’s gaze averted by the embrace, a demented grin suddenly stretched Hezekiah’s face. His eyes turned pitch black as he watched all seven brothers with the cold calculation of a seasoned predator.

Demas was shaken, thoroughly so, but he refused to let it show. The young man appeared calm and wild at the same time, like something was dying to be let out but at the same time willing to wait.

“You brought visitors?” His voice was breathy, like he was actually excited to see them. “You should have told me they were coming.”

Demas blinked in surprise when his eyes suddenly changed to its normal brown shade. The predatory look equally vanished.

The woman leaned back and looked at her son’s face, cradling it in her palms. “You were…” The woman paused, as if in search for the right word. “…sick. But now you are better. Thank Yahweh.”

She turned to Demas and his brothers. “He is better! The markings are gone. Look at him, my boy is back.”

Amos, one of the twin, walked up to him and whispered, “The boy is heavily possessed.” Amos was the one with the clearest spiritual eye. Demas agreed with him. The demon in the boy was stronger than anything he had ever encountered in all his years of exorcism.

“Step away from him.” Demas directed the sharp command at the woman.

She turned to him, brows furrowed. “Why? He is okay.” Returning her gaze to her son, her frown deepened. “Hezekiah?

His eyes were black again. The woman let her hands drop from his face. “Are you okay?”

“Okay?” The word came as a deep baritone, a stark contrast to the boy’s mellow tone. At the sound, his mother attempted to detach herself from the embrace she initiated but failed.

“Help me.” She pleaded, wide eyes darting to Demas.

“Step into the basin in the name of Yahweh,” Demas commanded the demon with what he hoped was a strong voice.

Hezekiah cocked his head, watching the seven of them with the same calculated look in those black depths. His gaze dropped to the basin. “What did you say?” He asked, still holding the struggling woman in a death grip.

“I said step into the basin in the name of Yahweh,” Demas repeated in an even stronger voice.

Hezekiah curled his lips into a snarl and in a blink, he flung the widow aside. Her small frame soared through the air before slamming against the wall. She crumpled to the floor with a dull thud and went limp. Demas winced.

“Come to that?” He asked then laughed. The sound was loud and full of mockery.

Demas second guessed himself. Perhaps he was wrong. I should flee while I ca-no! He was a son of Sceva, his first born son at that. He would never run. “Brothers, now.”

The rest stepped forward, three at each side. Moving with fluidity that years of experience afforded them, they withdrew thin scrolls held at the sash of their robes. They read the words contained in unison, their voices blending and rising with each verse. After the reading, they waited.

The demon had to obey. Demas was sure if it.

At last Hezekiah lifted his eyes, trapping Demas in that same mocking stare. “I should step in?”

Demas refused to reply the vermin. He would not defile himself by uttering another word until he was submerged in the holy water. The basin was big enough to fit a grown man if he bent his knees a bit. It would contain Hezekiah just fine.

“Alright.”

Demas nearly sighed when the demon conceded.

After taking careful steps over the salt lines that formed the star of David, Hezekiah settled into the water, sighing deeply as he did so. When he rested his back against the rim of the basin, he turned in their direction and flashed a slow, wicked grin. “So, what next?”

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Don’t know what to write here…haha.
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