The Exorcism of Kala Martin By Olivia Salter | Short Fiction

 

The Exorcism of Kala Martin

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 1,807

Father Thomas’ hand trembled as he turned the tarnished brass doorknob. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears like a frantic drum as the bedroom door creaked open, revealing a scene infused with despair. The sickly green light inside didn’t seem to come from any known source; it hung in the air, casting long, unnatural shadows that stretched and twisted across the room. He held his breath without thought; by natural instinct, the strong and unpleasant stench of sulfur and decay burned deep into his nostrils.

Beside him, Father Michael’s fingers danced nervously over his rosary beads, his lips moving silently in prayer. He was young—too young for this kind of battle, Father Thomas thought, feeling a high concern of protectiveness. Michael’s wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the broken objects, the deep scratches gouged into the walls. The shattered mirror on the floor seemed to reflect their fears, as if the room itself were alive, feeding off their uncertainty and anguish.

On the bed lay Kala, her body a fragile shell of the vibrant girl she had once been. Her reddish-brown hair, once thick and full of life, now clung damply to her forehead. Her skin had lost its warmth, and her eyes—once bright and full of curiosity—rolled back into her skull, leaving only the whites visible. The ropes binding her wrists and ankles had left raw, angry marks where she had struggled, a testament to her desperate fight against the encroaching darkness. In the corner, Sarah, Kala’s mother, crouched in a ball, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She looked utterly broken, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, her face haggard from days without sleep. Her hair, once meticulously kept, now hung in disheveled strands, matted against her sweaty skin.

“How long has she been like this?” Father Thomas asked, though he already knew the answer. He needed to hear it—a confirmation that could anchor him in the reality of the horror they faced.

Sarah lifted her head slowly, her lips trembling. “Three days. It started with nightmares, and then...she changed. My little girl...” Her voice cracked, and the dam of her sorrow broke as she buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs. “Please... please help her.”

Father Thomas swallowed hard, fighting the knot forming in his throat. He couldn’t let her see his fear; he had to be the rock in this storm. He stepped closer to the bed, but with each step, the temperature plummeted. His breath fogged the air, and the room seemed to close in around him, as if the walls themselves were closing ranks against him.

As he and Father Michael ventured deeper into the room, the air thickened with a perceivable sense of dread. The sickly green light pulsed, casting eerie shadows that seemed to thrash and twist like serpents. Each flicker of the candles revealed glimpses of grotesque faces lurking in the darkness—faces that seemed to mock them, whispering ancient curses that clawed at their minds and threatened to unravel their faith, preventing the work they had to accomplish.

Kala lay on the bed, twisting and bending out of her normal shape, unnaturally, a marionette in the grip of a malevolent puppeteer. The ropes binding her wrists and ankles pulsated with a life of their own, as if they were extensions of the dark entity that had taken hold of her. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, reflecting the ghastly light as her breathing grew shallow and erratic—a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos surrounding her.

Father Michael gripped his rosary tighter, his knuckles turning white. “We have to do this,” he murmured, though his voice trembled, betraying the fear that gripped him like a vice. The weight of the darkness pressed against his chest, a heavy hand crushing his spirit.

As they began the prayers of exorcism, a low, harsh growl erupted from Kala, and a loud sound repeated several times as an echo off the walls—a sound that defied humanity. “You think your prayers can save her?” the entity hissed, its voice a jarring, clashing mixture of sounds of whispers layered over one another, echoing like a thousand souls trapped in torment.

“You cannot save her!” The voice slithered through the air, wrapping around them like a serpent, squeezing tighter with each chant. “This soul belongs to me!”

Father Thomas felt his faith waver, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand firm. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave her!” He shouted, his voice rising above the loud noise of chaos, a beacon of defiance in the darkness.

With each word, the room reacted violently. The temperature dropped suddenly, and a bone-chilling wind swept through, extinguishing candles and plunging them into near-complete darkness. Shadows danced wildly, morphing into grotesque figures that seemed to reach for the priests, claws grasping and teeth bared.

Kala’s body convulsed violently, her back arching unnaturally, as if trying to escape the very skin that bound her. The ropes strained against her movements, threatening to snap. “You are weak!” the entity screeched, its voice now a chilling echo, vibrating through the room. “You think your faith can protect you? I will feast on your fear!”

In a surge of desperation, Father Michael raised his voice, reciting the prayers louder, each word laced with intense anger. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...” His voice cracked, but he pushed through, determination blazing in his heart to save Kala.

The entity responded with a roar that shook the walls, and the bed rattled violently as if caught in an unseen storm. The air grew thick with a vile, oppressive energy that clawed at their lungs. Objects began to fly across the room—bookshelves toppled, and shards of glass rained down like deadly rain, a storm of chaos unleashed.

“Your god has abandoned you!” The entity howled, twisting Kala’s body into unnatural angles, her face a mask of agony and rage. Her mouth opened wide, and from deep within her throat came a voice that was not hers—deep, echoing, and dripping with malice. “You will know true despair!”

Father Thomas felt a cold sweat trickle down his back as he stumbled back, the force of the entity’s presence nearly overwhelming him. “We can’t stop,” he gasped, fighting against the suffocating darkness. “We’re close. We have to believe!”

As he shouted, the air shifted, and a dark mist began to seep from Kala’s skin, twisting and writhing like a living shadow. It formed grotesque shapes—claws, fangs, and burning eyes—before lunging at the priests, threatening to engulf them in its eternal darkness.

“Hold fast!” Father Thomas cried, raising his crucifix high, its silver gleaming defiantly in the dim light. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I cast you out!”

With a deafening shriek, the entity recoiled, its form swirling chaotically as if caught in a violent, windy storm. The room shook violently, and deafening alarm bells of voices filled the air—screams of the damned, cries of anguish, and the whispers of the tormented filled every corner, a symphony of despair.

Kala's body thrashed against the restraints, her eyes rolling as she fought for control. “Get out of me!” she screamed, her voice breaking, a blend of her own and the entity’s. “Please, help me!”

Father Thomas felt a surge of empathy and fear wash over him. “You are stronger than it! Fight back!” he urged, his own voice trembling but resolute, a lifeline thrown into the abyss.

The darkness continued twisting, squirming movements, a violent, windy storm of shadows battling against the light of their faith. A blinding flash erupted from the crucifix, illuminating the room in a brilliant white light. The entity shrieked, a sound of pure rage and terror, as it was forced back, the darkness swirling and dissipating like smoke in the wind.

And then, in an earth-shattering moment, the room fell silent.

Kala’s body slumped onto the bed, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. As the dawn light filtered through the window, it chased the shadows away, revealing a scene of devastation but also of hope. Slowly, her eyes opened, and for the first time, they were no longer vacant but filled with warmth. “Mom?” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread, a hesitant bloom in the aftermath of winter.

Sarah rushed to her side, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace. Tears streamed down her face, her entire body shaking with relief. “Oh, God... Oh, thank you...” Her voice broke with each word, raw and tender as she held her daughter close, feeling the warmth of life return.

Father Thomas knelt beside them, his heart racing with a mix of relief and lingering fear. The battle was over, but the scars of what they had faced would remain etched in their souls.

“It’s over,” Father Thomas said softly, placing a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “But recovery will be slow. You’re going to need time.”

Kala looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Will it... will it come back?” She asked, her voice so small, so fragile, a whisper of vulnerability lingering in the air.

Father Thomas knelt beside her, his heart heavy yet hopeful. “No, child. That darkness is gone. But the memory—it might linger. Hold onto your mother, your faith, and your love. That’s stronger than any evil.”

As paramedics arrived to tend to Kala, Father Thomas and Father Michael stepped into the hallway, the weight of their shared experience hanging heavily in the air. Father Michael leaned heavily against the wall, his face pale, haunted by the thought of what they had just witnessed. “How do we go back after something like this?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

Father Thomas looked at him, his own exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “We don’t,” he replied quietly, the truth of his words settling around them. “But we keep going. The world’s full of darkness, Michael. But we’re the ones called to push it back, to be the light in the shadows.”

As they descended the stairs, the weight of what had just happened settled over them like a shroud. They had won, yes, but victory didn’t feel triumphant. It felt fragile, like they had barely made it through the storm and were now standing in the aftermath, faced with the debris of their battle.

In the room above, Kala drifted into a peaceful sleep, her mother’s hand clasped tightly in her own, a fragile bond of love and hope forged. The battle was over, but the healing had only just begun, like the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon, promising a new day amidst the remnants of night.