The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely Page B

coffee. Heather could at last tell somebody about the apparition, somebody who would listen with a sympathetic ear. She told Joe about the grandmother and what she had said. She dared not tell him about the voice. She was too afraid. That dreadful, whispered warning still echoed in her head.
    Joe Kilmartin is a down-to-earth, skeptical man. On hearing Heather’s account, he was naturally incredulous. He dismissed the whole thing as a bad dream. He had never in his life seen a ghost and consequently did not believe in them. He had often upbraided his partner for reading horoscopes and visiting fortune-tellers. As far as Joe was concerned, if she believed in “all that rubbish,” she was quite capable of “seeing things,” too.
    They went out for a drink that evening and ran into some friends. The company helped Heather to unwind. Over the next few nights, with Joe by her side and no more visions at the bedside, Heather was prepared to admit that the experience could well have been an illusion, brought on by stress or too many late nights.
    Come the weekend—and especially on Friday nights—the couple had a routine. Too weary to go out socializing after a busy week, they would buy a six-pack of beer, rent a video, and treat themselves to a quiet evening at home.
    That Friday, they had just settled down and were about to start the VCR when there came a commotion from upstairs. Their bedroom was directly above the living room. More noises came; it was as though something, or somebody, was moving about up there. But who?
    Heather began to tremble with alarm.
    â€œOh, my God!” she cried. “It’s her. She’s come back!”
    â€œWhat, your granny?”
    He had been looking forward to Terminator 2. It came highly recommended and he was not going to let a figment of Heather’s imagination spoil it for him.
    â€œIt’s only Rip,” he said. Rip was their young German shepherd. The dog was known to wander about the house.
    â€œNo, it can’t be.” Heather was panic-stricken. “I put him outside earlier on.”
    At that moment, as if on cue, Rip barked outside in the yard. Joe would have to come up with another explanation. Heather was ready to scream.
    â€œAll right, honey,” he said, “all right. I’ll go and take a look.”
    As he expected, there was no one in the bedroom. But he did notice what he describes as “a foul kind of a smell, like drains, or stale pee.” He wondered what it could be. He opened the window to air the room, shut the door behind him, and returned downstairs.
    Halfway through the movie, it happened again. The second disturbance convinced Joe that it was not Heather’s imagination. From directly overhead, he heard a series of thuds; it was if someone was jumping from one part of the room to another. The thuds were loud, so heavy that the light fixture trembled. Joe paused the video. “I’ll check it out.”
    â€œTake Rip with you, will you?” Heather pleaded.
    Grown nervous himself, Joe brought the dog in and set out to investigate. But Rip was having none of it; he would not venture up the stairs. He stood with his front paws on the bottom step, barking up at something unseen.
    Heather was frantic by then. She could not remain in the house a moment longer. Breda, one of Joe’s aunts, lived a few miles away. They would spend the night with her. They had to pack an overnight bag, but Heather refused to go upstairs. Joe steeled himself for the task. He went up and pounded loudly on the bedroom door.
    â€œYou better get the f*** out of there before I come in!” he warned, fear lending him a bravado that he knew would be short-lived.
    He flung the door wide and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. He cursed. The bulb was blown. He would have to pack the bag by the light from the hallway.
    Without giving it much thought, he grabbed anything at hand and shoved it into the bag. He