Metronome

Ooky Spooky

One Year Prior...

"Early onset schizophrenia symptoms"
"Pediatric psychiatrist New York City"
"Mental health facilities New York City"
"How do I know if my house is haunted?
"Carrot cake recipe"
"Catholic priest exorcist"
"Do exorcisms work?"
"What to do if priest can't exorcise demon?"
"Prayers about possession"

Her browsing history was a real wild ride. Barbara didn't know what to do. Her son was not her son anymore. She knew that that thing inside of him intended on harming him. He'd already cut his arms bad enough to need stitches. He had to stay at a mental facility for three days to seek counseling before he could come home after that hospital visit. But, whenever she took him to the doctor, it all went away. Suddenly, Josh was normal again. She felt like they thought she was crazy.

Barbara had began to film the things going on at her house. The slamming doors when no one else was home, the nights her son would be walking up and down the halls, but when she called to him, he was suddenly fast asleep in his room, the noises. Oh God, the noises.

She had contacted several priests once she'd decided that maybe this was something demonic. But every exorcist that came to visit her son was unsuccessful. And, after the last one was attacked, anyone else refused to help. Barbara felt betrayed. They were supposed to help people like this! Not shun them! She felt hopeless as she scrolled through the pages of useless suggestions. She was on the verge of tears again. Then, she decided to check her e-mail for the fifth time. Maybe one of them had finally responded.

They hadn't. Instead, a man named Isaac Partway had sent her a message. She opened it, curious.

"Subject: Concerning your son's problem.

Hello Mrs. Renolds,

We haven't met, but I have heard about your son. I know that you must be very scared, and I am truly sorry that this is happening to you. I have been informed that your case seems to be particularly difficult, but I believe I know someone who can help. My partner and I are exorcists, and we specialize in cases such as this. Attached is a document that will specify our requests, including payment methods and legal paperwork. If you would like us to visit, please fill it out and e-mail it back to me ASAP.

Sincerely, Isaac Partway."

Barbara was quick to respond. If only she had known what trouble those two would bring.

___________________________________________________________________

The camera shook as she slowly walked down the hall. The noises were coming from her son's bed room. Guttural growls and wet snarls. She tried to quiet her breaths as she slowly pushed the partially open door. The room was dark, the camera quickly adjusted, showing the figure of the young teen standing in the middle of the room. His eyes were glowing with a menacing green hue. The boy lunged at the door, and the woman screamed and fell back in shock. The door slammed shut.

Barbara quickly jumped to her feet and practically threw herself at the door. That thing had her son! Her motherly instincts overcame her fear. The door slammed open and she flailed for the light switch. The camera was shaky as hell, but it caught the distorted image of the boy hanging by his neck from the ceiling fan, and the blood curdling scream of the terrorized woman. The room went pitch black for just a second before the light came back on. Josh was now laying in bed, under the covers, asleep.

"Mom?" He opened his eyes and sat up. "What are you doing?" He rubbed his face.

"Josh?!" Barbara had tears streaming down her face.

"What are you doing, mom? What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" The boy's voice grew louder and angrier, sounding much more menacing than any 13 year old could ever sound. An invisible force shoved Barbara out of the room and slammed the door shut once more, and the video camera flicked off. The footage was, overall, grainy and shaky. Some portions were distorted, as if something had been interfering with the device. Barbara didn't watch these videos anymore, even though she had kept them pristine and organized. She couldn't bring herself to relive that horrible time of her and her son's life. If only she could go back and stop it from happening.
_______________________________________________________________

The brownstone was innocuous enough. A planter outside held dried and long since dead ferns, and the front stoop was covered with unswept leaves. A cobweb was nestled right above the door. Perhaps it could use a little love and care, but the home hardly stood out.

It took a while before the knock was answered. The door creaked open slowly, cautiously. Peaking through the crack was a woman. The woman looked aged beyond her years. She had lost weight, and her hair was significantly grayer than the year before. Stress lines formed creases on her face.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was wavering, unsure.

Ooky Spooky

A man sat alone at a diner, sipping a black coffee and looking out the window. He was very unassuming: plain, not particularly handsome. He appeared to be in his early forties and of possible South American decent. His tan skin and short raven black curls gave away a possible foreign heritage. He sat alone for a while before another man came and plopped himself down across from him.

"Isaac," The new man nodded a simple greeting, just like an old friend. This new man was younger. He couldn't have been a day over thirty. But yet...he looked worn. The subtle hints of a hard life plagued him: tired eyes, rough hands, a couple gray hairs peaking out in his otherwise dark, well groomed head. This man was of some sort of European decent; one could tell by the accent. But the accent itself was impossible to place. He had a dark olive skin tone and deep, brown eyes. He was dressed very modestly: A black sweater and gray dress pants. The removable white collars tucked into the neck of his sweater suggested his occupation: A Catholic priest. A waitress came by and set a hot coffee down in front of him as well, and when the younger man reached for it, a noticeable scar marred his right hand and arm. It spiraled up towards his elbow. A peculiar mark for a young priest. What could he have been getting up to in his spare time?

Isaac, as the other man named him, nodded back silently and brought the hot mug to his lips once more. He spoke as he set it down. "We always meet like this, don't we?" He gave a half-smile. The other man chuckled.

"Next time I'll take you to the movies, then." There was a shared chortle, and then silence again.

"I have a bit of business for you," The younger man spoke softly, setting a small, white envelope in front of Isaac. "They've been getting more numerous by the week."

Isaac reached down and picked the envelope up, tucking it into his front shirt pocket before glancing back out the window. "He's been doing all he can; at this rate, he'll kill himself with exhaustion."

The other man went silent for a moment. Then, "Word is that the press is catching on. Any day now, they'll be hounding a story."

"Is that so?" Isaac turned back to him, eyebrow raised.

"This could be useful. If the word gets out, we can drag this thing into the light. Secrecy breeds their strength, I've been telling you that for years."

"Puh," Isaac snorted. "No one will believe it anyway."

"They will if they can see what your friend can do."

"Yeah, because I'm sure he'll be all for having media flocking the house. He's great with people." The sarcasm dripped from his words.

The younger man shrugged and stood. "You do what you want, Partway." He picked up his mug and drank down the rest of his drink. "Thanks for the coffee." With that, he turned and left, leaving the other man gazing silently out the window.

Ooky Spooky

He jerked his arm away. "That's what you said about the advice column, and the fashion bullshit, and the editing. It's not going anywhere! And neither are you!" He snapped. He scowled at her.

"But I am. I'm tired of working my ass off for rent money while you screw around, writing for that jackass. I'm done, Evie. I'm leaving." He stormed into the bedroom to grab a backpack and began stuffing it full with essentials. He'd be back for the rest later. When he was done, he stormed to the front door.

"Call me when you get some fucking sense," He said coldly before walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

Ooky Spooky

He looked between her and the folder. "Really, babe?" He asked incredulously. "Three little snippets is your big break?" He couldn't believe she couldn't see what was going on here. Was she really this dense? "That isn't a 'big break'. That's busy work. This shit isn't gonna' lead anywhere."

He scoffed and stood up. "I told you to quit this 'big time journalist' shit months ago. Journalism is dead. We can't pay rent with a blurry fucking picture!" He was getting worked up now, pacing angrily.

Ooky Spooky

A soft snore came from the sofa. A skinny man with bedhead snorted as he lifted his head. Was it six already? He sat up and scrubbed his eyes.

"What, babe?" He asked groggily. His last shift had really taken it out of him. He probably should have gone to bed rather than watch TV on the couch.

---

Meanwhile, the autumn air danced a few stray leaves across asphalt. A brisk chill was settling over the city. Orange leaves dappled the ground in the streets, and schools were back in motion. New York city was known as a place where anything could happen. People from all walks of life inhabited this one jungle of buildings and roads. It was safe to say, however, that no one could have predicted the events that would unfold here.

"The end is near, people! Revelations is upon us! The ground will break open and flames will devour us all!" Most people would have written this guy off as just another loon. But, given the recent and out of place earthquakes, maybe he was on to something. The dooms dayer was standing by a section of taped off street, the road having collapsed in the middle. It had happened the night before, during another unusual tremor. Earthquakes? In New York? That's what just about everyone was saying. So far, no one had been hurt.

As police kept the section of road blocked off and construction workers mulled around, a stranger loomed just on the outskirts of the scene. He was dressed in an old, black wool coat and slacks. He looked like someone who had just stepped out of an old timey movie. Or maybe as if he'd raided some old man's closet. Hipsters ran around dressed like this all the time now adays, but this guy was different. His face was tucked into a scarf, and he seemed to be avoiding anyone who came close to him. He was distinctively uncomfortable, but he'd remained to hang around for at least an hour now. He held a small notepad in his hands, which he would write in occasionally.

Finally, one of the workers noticed his odd behavior and went to question him. The man looked up from his notes and backed away as he was approached. Finally, he turned and walked off quickly, disappearing around the corner and out of sight. He wouldn't be back. The worker shook his head and went back to surveying the scene.

Ooky Spooky

He held up his hand to stop her groveling. That folder had been gathering dust for a while. It was pretty obvious no one was interested in the assignment, and the deadline was coming up...

But the story had potential, he could feel it. And giving out a video assignment to an intern? One that had never worked in video media before?! Unheard of! Although....maybe giving her the assignment would stir up some interest around it. And, after all, if her video was shit, they could just use it for B roll.

"You know what, kid. I admire the gall. The assignment's yours." He paused. "But if I catch you takin' shit off my desk again, you're outta' here!"

Ooky Spooky

Joe was on the phone, feet kicked back, and talking to someone or another about some advertisement job. His desk was a mess, but yet somehow organized. He could find each and every piece of paper on it if he wanted to. His trashcan was piled with old coffee cups and sandwich wrappers.

The middle aged man ended his call right as Evie walked in. Perfect timing. Fate, perhaps?

"Ah, Eva! I hope you remembered the vanilla this time," He said, swinging his feet off the desk and leaning forward to take his cup. He never remembered her name correctly. His slightly beady eyes landed on the manila folder she was holding. "What, uh, what do ya' got there?" He asked, almost suspiciously. That looked like a report folder, and not the one for the fashion column he'd given her last week.

Ooky Spooky

heyo

Ooky Spooky

Name: Joe Chambers
Age: 42
Gender: Male

Personality: He likes to treat the office interns as his personal coffee jockeys. He's the type of boss that would refer to the company as being "like a family". And by "like a family", he means that he will cut your ass out of the will.

Appearance: A stocky man with a penchant for tweed suits, and hair styles perfectly to hide his receding hairline.

Ooky Spooky

"I took this picture with my iPhone last month after I heard about this weird guy wandering around town. Just like my buddy said, he didn't have a mouth. Like, what the hell? I didn't stick around too long. The guy seemed agitated and I didn't want to get too close." -Mr. Johnathon Waller.

"Barbara Renolds's son, Josh, died during what was described as a botched exorcism. Josh, 13, began acting strangely in the Spring of last year. He was taken to multiple doctors, but nothing could be found wrong with him. When other abnormalities began to occur around the house, Barbara, a devout Catholic, thought something sinister might be targeting her son. She was visted by two priests, neither of whom could exorcise the demon they believed to have possessed Josh. That was when Barbara grew desperate. She was doing research on her computer when she found out about a man who could supposedly do what no orthodox priest could. She contacted him right away.

"He was called Lucas by his partner, Isaac Partway, the one I spoke to the most. He never mentioned a last name, and now that I think about it, they could have been using fake names. I was really desperate at the time; I just wanted my son back. Mr. Partway asked for a fee of 1000 dollars, and, stupid me, I paid it. When they came over, this other man, Lucas, never spoke. He kept his face tucked into a scarf and didn't make eye contact. I got the feeling that there was something off about him, but I didn't pry. Mr. Partway asked that no cameras or phones be used to record the exorcism, which I thought was a bit odd, but I agreed. Now that I look back on it, the whole thing was just too fishy. I led them to my son's bedroom. We had to tied him to his mattress at this point, because he'd just become too violent. He wasn't my boy anymore. From the moment the silent man entered the room, I could hear Josh screaming. I couldn't just stay downstairs and listen to it, so I ran up to see what was going on. By the time I got there, that man, Lucas, was standing over my son. Josh was dead. That man, that monster, had killed him. I'll never forget that horrible face. They left quickly, before I could even call the police. I later received my 1000 dollars back, in an envelope left on my doorstep. But I'll never get my son back.""

"Father George Walter, an experienced exorcist for the Catholic church, speaks about the new rise of freelance exorcisms.

"The church is aware of this phenomenon, but there's little we can do to stop it. These people are not trained by our schools; we don't know where they get their training from. And, unfortunately, sometimes these people can bring tragedy into the homes of the people they are trying to help. Do I think this young man we've been talking about is a murderer? No, I don't. I think he may have honestly intended to help these people. But, this isn't the type of thing to play around with. We've tried to reach out to him several times, but he remains silent on all accounts. It seems that, whoever he is, he doesn't want help.""

---

The folder held only three sparse leads. A fuzzy photo and a brief description, a report from a batty old woman, and some Peter Popoff wannabe talking about demons and exorcisms. The boss wanted a video mini-documentary on this particular story. He was out of his damn mind. There was almost nothing to go off of, and it sounded like poorly written trash fiction. It didn't go without saying that the folder sat on the assignments desk for a few days, untouched.