The Moore House Read online

  The German shepherd lunged, ripping into the man’s face, pulling skin and muscle from bone. Screaming, the man’s hands flew to the beast’s mouth. His fingers wrapped around the dog’s lower jaw and he pulled. Rows of ragged teeth clamped down. Pulling his arms back, the homeless man fell to the floor. Without digits, his stumps slid on the pooling gore.

  The odor of blood filled the man’s nostrils, vanishing seconds after it appeared. The remnants of his nose, pushed along by the dog’s tongue was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

  The gnashing of gristle between the beast’s teeth and subsequent gulps filled the man’s ears. Those sounds were the last he would hear.

  The dog didn’t stop tearing him apart until the window prevented it from doing so. Finished, the beast shook bits of flesh from its head and coat. It walked to the door but faded to nothing before reaching the hallway. The human carnage covering the room was sucked into holes that could not be seen. The floor was clean; the bed snow white once again, and the window was closed and clear enough to sparkle if the sun hit it. Outside the house, under the bedroom window, a pair of legs dripped blood onto the ground.

  CHAPTER 1

  Celeste sat at a dining room table in the Millman family home in Leominster, Massachusetts, silent, her hands folded in her lap. The 1960s-era ranch was about to play host to the investigation of a possible demonic presence.

  This was Celeste’s first assignment as an empath with Agnes and Nora, two older, more experienced women. Celeste studied the two women. She considered them attractive for their ages, if a little on the heavy side. With their similar builds, matronly hairstyles, and soft voices, the two could almost be sisters—If Nora weren’t African-American or Agnes wasn’t white. Aside from a simple greeting, Nora hadn’t spoken much during their brief introduction before entering the home. Not that she wasn’t talkative, just cautious; her snarky sense of humor hadn’t always been well received. Agnes had been equally reluctant to share information but had instructed Celeste to concentrate on the father. Agnes would focus on the mother, and Nora the daughter. Their superior, Father MacLeod, had told Celeste to listen, learn, and take cues from her two partners. That’s what she’d do.

  The Millman family—the young daughter bookended by her mother and father, sat opposite Celeste and the two other women in her group. Although it was the Millmans’ home, it was the family rather than their visitors who fidgeted in their seats. The parents couldn’t have been much older than their late thirties, their daughter possibly crossing the mid-point of her teenage years.

  The mother slouched in her chair, a posture Celeste initially took as a sign of despondency, but after a prolonged view, she caught what might have been indications of defiance. Though the woman’s shoulders were sunken, she held her neck straight and her chin up. Her gaze was focused but unthreatening as she measured up her visitors one at a time. Whenever the woman shook her head, it was unclear whether she was silently critiquing them or chasing away errant thoughts.

  Celeste switched her attention to the father and flinched. He stared at her with a neutral expression, his eyes hard and his glare unwavering. Something in his eyes made her uneasy: they were dilated, his irises dark except for two brilliant pinpoints—reflections from an overhead lamp. He might have assumed he was projecting stoicism, but his body betrayed him. The man squirmed in his chair as if trying—and failing—to get comfortable. His daughter leaned away from him.

  The girl was in constant motion, as she had been since they’d sat down. Her upper body bobbed to a peculiar rhythm; if she was following a tempo, it was more chant-like than hip-hop. Her head was bent too low to see her face, so Celeste imagined the young girl’s eyes were wide open, directed at a random spot in her lap.

  Celeste next observed her partners. Agnes, the oldest and the one in charge of the meeting, sat in silence, patiently waiting for the right moment to begin.

  Nora leaned forward, her elbows on the top of the table and her gaze fixed on the daughter. Nora’s glasses rested on the tip of her nose, held secure by a beaded strap wrapped around the back of her head. Celeste grinned; Nora looked like a librarian!

  Mrs. Millman kicked off the conversation. “Thank you for coming.”

  Agnes nodded politely. “Father MacLeod told us about your troubles, Mrs. Millman—”

  “Please, call me Mary.”

  “Okay, Mary it is.” Agnes gave a small smile and another nod before continuing. “We’re very sorry you are all experiencing such tough times. As we understand it, you contacted Father MacLeod for assistance in dealing with supernatural occurrences in your home.”

  The daughter lifted her head. Ceasing her bobbing and weaving, her eyes locked on Agnes. Her mother reached a hand out to her.

  “Yes,” Mary replied.

  Agnes continued. “While the Massachusetts Dioceses doesn’t receive many requests to investigate such things, it is not unheard of. As infrequent as these occurrences are, the Church has neither the time nor the workforce to investigate every one of them. They call for outside help—third parties, like myself, Nora, and Celeste—to do the preliminary work. If we determine there’s a reasonable explanation, either physiological or psychological, the Church will cease any further investigation. They will, of course, be happy to provide comfort and support however they can, but they’ll go no further.”

  The girl’s father spoke up. “Look, I know my wife asked for this, and I thank you for coming, but”—a tinkling sound stopped him short. It was off to Celeste’s far right. They all turned toward it.

  Against the wall, an oak china cabinet with glass doors shuddered. Dinnerware rattled, glasses clinked; the contents colliding with one another as the room filled with the sounds of plates breaking and glasses shattering.

  The cabinet rose an inch, then fell back to the floor. It happened again—several more times, in quick succession. With each occurrence, the thumping resonated through Celeste’s shoes.

  The rattling of the dinnerware grew louder, each time the contents of the cabinet clattered against the doors. The panes fractured, then burst, spewing pieces of dinnerware and shards of glass onto the floor.

  Celeste stiffened. She closed her eyes, made the sign of the cross and formed a protective X over her chest with both arms. After a short prayer, she opened her eyes.

  The Millmans had enveloped their daughter in their arms. Both Mary and the young girl had their eyes closed, but their mouths were parted enough to display gritted teeth.

  The father’s eyes were open, focused on the cabinet.

  Celeste gathered her courage and leaned back in her seat. As previously instructed, she blocked out the noise and concentrated on the father. She had expected to pick up signals of terror from the man, but this wasn’t the case. Instead, an overwhelming feeling of guilt coursed through her. She bolted upright in her chair. Something else came to her before she broke contact.

  She cut away too soon. It was fleeting, but she couldn’t deny the sensation of pleasure that lingered in her groin. Confused, she studied the man’s face. He was a far cry from Harrison Ford; definitely not groin tingling material.

  An explosion made them both jump. She turned her head toward the sound to see the double doors at the bottom of the cabinet had blown open. Pots, pans, and appliances sailed out with enough force to dent the floorboards. The eruption lasted only seconds; when it was over, the utensils lay still on the hardwood. Then the rumbling started. On the floor, the remnants of the cabinet vibrated, and inching forward, they crawled toward the dining room table.

  The eruption had been a shock, but the sight of cookware creeping toward them pushed Celeste close to the breaking point. She trembled, her teeth chattered. The skin on her hands turned red with the balling of her fists.

  When Father MacLeod had asked her to join this investigation, she’d seen it as an opportunity to use her talent to further God’s work. She was told that she’d only be sharing her impressions of the Millman family wit
h Agnes and Nora, nothing more. The priest never told her about this shit.

  Forks, spoons, and knives vomited forth from the ruined cabinet drawers.

  Celeste, eyes wide, her shoulders shaking hard enough to induce pain, looked up at the ceiling, silently praying for this to end. God’s answer was not the one she’d been hoping for. The cabinet lifted once more, higher this time—more than a foot off the floor—then slammed down hard enough to cause two of the legs to split. The cabinet rocked in place for a moment, then twisted a hundred and eighty degrees before toppling. The remaining fragments of dinnerware discharged through the newly created openings like a volcano.

  Unable to contain herself any longer, Celeste jumped from her seat. “Agnes,” she screamed, “What the hell is happening?”

  Agnes stared at the daughter. With a sigh, she switched her gaze from the girl to Celeste. Shushing her, Agnes lifted her right index finger and pressed it to her lips. Turning to Nora, she opened the palm of her left hand. With the same index finger, she mimicked a scrawl on her palm. Nora nodded, producing a notepad and handing it over. Agnes jotted something down, and the two women reviewed it. Then, once more, both sat quietly and faced the family as more hell broke loose.

  Celeste swallowed hard. What the hell? A piece of furniture is doing a jig and all they do is tell me to shut up and write notes to each other?

  It was Mary who brought the episode to an end.

  “Stop! Please, God, make it stop!” she pleaded.

  The phenomenon ceased. Except for whimpers from the family, the dining room fell silent. Seconds passed. No one moved. Celeste’s heartbeat hammered. She held her breath, eyes darting around the cabinet. It was still. Nothing inside the cabinet shattered. Nothing crawled toward them. She let the air rush out her nostrils.

  She saw the relief on the family’s faces. Agnes and Nora, their heads bowed, whispered and examined the notepad.

  Mary stood. “You tell me this isn’t a supernatural occurrence the Church should be investigating. Stuff like this has been happening at least once a week for the past two months. My family needs help!”

  Agnes stared deep into Mary’s eyes. The contact lingered until Mary looked away.

  “Excuse me, Mary,” Agnes replied. “I’d like to have a brief discussion with Nora and Celeste. Would you all mind leaving the room for a minute or so?”

  Mary leaned back at the request, blinked, then nodded. Clearly, it wasn’t the answer she had been expecting.

  The mother gently tugged on her daughter’s shoulders and motioned her up off the chair. They walked towards a neighboring room, the father close behind. Before he rounded the corner, he turned back, scowling at Agnes. She shooed him away with a head gesture, and he walked on.

  Celeste sprang from her chair. “What the hell just happened? Are all your investigations like this?”

  Agnes pushed her seat back and stood. “Come on, let’s talk over there.” She pointed to the wall where the china cabinet had stood. Nora and Celeste followed Agnes, accompanied by the sounds of crunching underfoot.

  When she reached the wall, Agnes bent to pick up something leaning against the baseboard. She held it high for the other two to view. It was a belt buckle, embossed with an image of a woman with extremely large breasts.

  “Strange thing to store in a china cabinet,” muttered Nora.

  Agnes turned the buckle around and, after a short inspection, frowned.

  Considering what they had just experienced, why would Agnes pay so much attention to the buckle? The embossed pattern alone warranted a quick discard. Celeste had to admit it was an unusual find, though, and she was curious to know if Agnes was picking a vibe up from it. The woman passed it to Nora who studied it for a moment. Celeste refused to touch it. Agnes sighed and set it back against the baseboard.

  “No,” Agnes said, finally answering the second part of Celeste’s question, “Not all our investigations are like this. Tell us, what did you sense from Mr. Millman?”

  Celeste went into detail about the acute feeling of guilt she had picked up.

  Agnes asked if there was anything else; even the smallest thing could be important.

  Celeste turned red, lowering her head. “Well, there was one other thing. It only lasted maybe a second or two, and I’m not sure if it’s connected to this.”

  “What was it?”

  “I—I’m embarrassed to say.”

  “Look,” Agnes pressed, “Get over it. We need all the information we can get.”

  Celeste whispered, “I was aroused for a moment. I can’t explain it.”

  Agnes and Nora turned to each other, made eye contact, but did not speak.

  “Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” Agnes went on. “We’re going to call the mother and daughter back in here. The father stays out. You’re not to say anything, Celeste. Nothing. No matter where this conversation goes with them, you must not react in any way. You will listen and learn. Do you understand?”

  Celeste nodded. It’s as if Agnes already knows me.

  Agnes gestured towards their seats. Celeste and Nora returned to them while Agnes disappeared into the other room to talk with the family. It was obvious the talk didn’t go well—the father was taking loud exception to having been left out of this phase of the investigation. Though Celeste couldn’t make out everything that was said, Agnes’ tone was evidence she wouldn’t change her mind. The argument continued for several minutes, often with Mary’s voice added to the mix. Celeste and Nora exchanged glances. Their attention turned to the dining room entrance when they heard Agnes come around the corner with the girl and Mary. The three of them sat back down in the same seats as before. Agnes spoke first.

  “Now it’s just us ladies—so, shall we begin?”

  Mother and daughter nodded.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions first, Mary, then I’ll turn to your daughter.”

  Mary leaned forward, putting an arm around her daughter. “Her name is Amanda.”

  “Yes, I know, but I was addressing you.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Mary blinked a few times, leaning back in her seat.

  “Now, Mary, would you say you have a loving home?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  “Do you love your daughter?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Please answer.”

  Mary pulled her daughter closer. “Yes, of course. With all my heart.”

  “Do you love your husband?”

  Mary hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Are you and your husband having any marital problems?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Agnes smiled. “I mean things like, are the bills being paid? Are you comfortable in each other’s presence? Do you have relations on a level that you’re happy with?”

  Mary lowered her head. She removed her arm from her daughter’s shoulders and placed her hands on her lap.

  “Yes, the bills are paid. He has a job and I work part-time, mostly nights, but not every day of the week. My working late has separated us more than we’d like, but we’re putting money away for Amanda’s college. Most of my earnings are earmarked for that.”

  “That’s good,” Agnes offered. “Saving now is a good start. Let me ask you one more question. Do you think your husband is having sexual relations with another woman?”

  Celeste gaped. What could this possibly have to do with the odd occurrences in the family’s home? Was that the arousal I felt?

  Mary didn’t answer right away. She froze, staring at Agnes. Celeste couldn’t tell if Mary was mortified by the question or afraid to answer. The silence was long and uncomfortable.

  “I don’t understand the question,” she said, her voice timid, “But no, I don’t think he’s cheating on me.”

  The ceramic and glass shards on the floor rattled. All heads swiveled toward the sound. Celeste’s skin prickled. Would the ruined dinnerware resume its march toward the table? It didn’t. The rattling stopped as a
bruptly as it had begun.

  Agnes dismissed the incident with a rueful smile and resumed the conversation. “Thank you, Mary. Now, Amanda, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The young girl nodded.

  “Do you like living in this house?’

  Amanda stared at Agnes. The young girl cocked her head to the left, but her gaze was unwavering. After a moment, Amanda straightened in her seat.

  “Yes, I do like my house.”

  Agnes smiled. “That’s nice. Do you love your mother?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation in her answer.

  The corners of Mary’s lips curled upwards and she reached over to hug her daughter. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “Do you love your father?”

  There was a crash near the wall. Everybody jumped. The china cabinet had reanimated, smashing against the wall. It split into pieces from the impact. The sound grew loud enough to cause Celeste to bring her hands to her ears. In less than thirty seconds, the destruction was complete. Wooden fragments lay still on the floor.

  Amanda’s dad burst into the room.

  “What the hell is happening in here?” he screamed at Agnes.

  Agnes ignored him and focused on Amanda. “Did you do that?”

  Amanda’s eyes went wide. She shook her head. “N-no, I—I didn’t. How could I?”

  Mary leaned forward, face red. “How in the world can you think she could do something like this? What is wrong with you people? Can’t you see there’s an evil presence in this house?”

  “Please, everyone, I’ll explain,” said Nora, her voice calm, steady. “Mr. Millman, take a seat.”

  He sat.

  Nora continued, addressing Mary. “We do believe there is a presence in your home, but, in this case, Agnes and I don’t think it’s evil. In fact, we believe its origin is human.”

  Mary blinked. “What? Are you saying we’re doing this? That we’re putting on some kind of act?”

  “No,” Nora responded. “We don’t think you’re putting on a display. We believe what you have here is a poltergeist phenomenon.”