Madison's muffled screams reverberated through the house, bouncing off the water-stained walls and seeping into the very foundation. The sounds were distorted, animal-like, yet unmistakably human in their desperation.
The front door eased open with a prolonged creak that seemed to announce Erik's presence to the empty living room. He paused at the threshold, listening. The screams had stopped, replaced by Grace's voice, the words indistinct but the cadence unmistakable—a prayer, or perhaps an incantation.
"Let us pray. Almighty Lord. Who grants them the authority—" Grace's voice floated from somewhere down the hallway, muffled by distance and closed doors.
Erik crept inside, his footfalls deliberately placed on the worn floorboards that were least likely to protest his weight. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the faded family photos on the walls, the outdated furniture, the heavy stillness that clung to everything like a funeral shroud. His gaze fixed on the dark mouth of the hallway, the source of Grace's voice. "—to say, depart, you devils! And by whose might, Satan was made to fall from Heaven like lightning."
Erik moved silently toward the kitchen, his body hunched low as though expecting a blow from above.
The kitchen felt wrong, like the air had been holding its breath for decades. A stale heaviness pressed down, and the dim light seemed to cling to the walls, reluctant to let go. Erik pulled open a drawer, the metal runners protesting quietly, and extracted a large knife. The blade caught what little light there was, reflecting it back in a cold, metallic wink.
Grace’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and steady, carrying into the kitchen. ”I humbly call on your holy name, in fear and trembling, asking that you grant me, your unworthy servant, pardon for all my sins, steadfast faith, and the power—“
The knife felt both foreign and familiar in Erik's grip. He tested its weight, adjusting his hold as he edged back into the hallway. The wood-paneled corridor stretched before him like a throat, dark and narrow. At its end, a sliver of light spilled from a partially open door, accompanied by the continued murmur of Grace's voice and something else—a sound that made Erik's blood run cold.
Madison's muffled pleas.
"—supported by your mighty arm to confront with confidence—"
Erik moved down the hallway, each step measured and precise. The light from the bedroom painted a narrow stripe across the floor, a pathway leading him forward. His breathing was shallow, controlled, as he approached the door.
"—and resolution, this demon."
Through the crack in the door, Erik could see only a portion of the room—not enough to make out the bed, but enough to glimpse Hope standing rigid with fear. Her face was a mask of conflicted emotions—terror, doubt, and something deeper, more primal. She was looking at something Erik couldn't see, something that made her eyes widen, and her breath catch in her throat.
Erik tightened his grip on the knife, the handle smooth and cool against his palm. The metal seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, or perhaps that was just the blood rushing through his veins, loud in his ears. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage for what lay on the other side of that door.
Chapter 33