A Head Full of Ghosts: A Novel (16 page)

Mom said, “An atheist doesn’t believe there are any gods, Merry.”

I wasn’t sure what I was. I thought about asking if there was a name for that, a name for me. But I just said, “Okay.”

Father Wanderly said, “Dr. Navidson is both a man of science and a good Christian. Our Bishop Ford recommended him highly. He has seen all the videos and read your interviews and he’s coming over today to talk with Marjorie in person. I’m going to be in the room. Your parents will be there, and I’d like to ask if you would consider joining us as well, because we need your help.”

I sat up, scooted toward the edge of the couch, and looked at both of my parents, trying not to seem too excited.

Mom said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Dad didn’t say anything.

“I want to. I want to help! What do I get to do?” I wondered if I was going to have to dress up in a black shirt with buttons (I didn’t like black shirts and I didn’t like shirts with buttons) and wear a white collar and say some of the words in the book Father Wanderly had on his lap. I couldn’t read the cover. It was in a different language that almost looked like English but wasn’t.

Father Wanderly said, “For now, just your being there in the room is the help we need, Merry.”

“How will that help anything? I want to do something. I can read
stuff. I can use my camera.” I tried to get Ken to look at me, but he was hidden behind Tony the cameraman who had left the periphery and now stood only a few feet away from the couch.

Father Wanderly said, “We’ve all noticed that the spirit inside Marjorie manifests or reacts strongest when you are in the same room as Marjorie, and on more than one occasion, the spirit has taken her to your room, as though seeking you out to be its audience. Please let me be clear, I’m not saying that you are the cause of her affliction or that what she does is in any way your fault, Merry, because it’s not. Not at all. But we do think the demonic spirit is attracted to you because it shows itself primarily when you are around. So by being in Marjorie’s room today during Dr. Navidson’s visit, we’ll increase the chances that he’ll witness a manifestation event—”

“A what?”

“He’ll see something that Marjorie does and will then know that she has a demon inside her. And then he’ll be able to report to the bishop that poor Marjorie is truly suffering at the hands of an evil entity.”

“Okay.” I put my notebook back in my pocket and I leaned against Mom’s chest again. I felt cold all of a sudden and thought I might start shaking for the rest of my life.

Mom hugged me and said, “I’m going to be with you and if it gets to be too scary or too much, we can leave whenever you want, I promise.”

Dad said in a low voice, “I’ll be in there with you too.”

I didn’t ask for further explanation, but Father Wanderly kept going and said, “If the visit goes like I think it will go, we can petition Bishop Ford for permission to perform the exorcism. I would then prepare myself over the course of the following week: fasting, praying, making confession—not in the room upstairs of course, but in a church—and say a Mass for Marjorie and ask for God’s help.”

“Then?”

“Then you all will help me perform the rite of exorcism, and we will expel the evil from Marjorie.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll perform the rite again. As many times as is necessary.”

“Is that other doctor coming over soon?”

Mom said, “Later tonight. But everyone hold on a second. Merry, sweetie, look at me. It’s going to be hard. It’s probably going to be . . . scary. We don’t really know what she might say or do.”

Dad said, “You mean we don’t know what the
demon
might say or do, right?”

Mom said, “Yeah. Right. So are you sure about all of this, Merry?”

“I’m sure,” I said, but I wasn’t sure at all. I didn’t know what a rite of exorcism was. I didn’t even know how to pray, really, or I didn’t know any prayers, anyway. And what if Marjorie did something so bad to me in front of everyone that would make me upset and blurt out that she was faking, that all of it was a fake? But what if she wasn’t faking and it was some evil spirit inside her that told me she was faking? I didn’t know what to think and just started talking even though Dad and Father Wanderly had already stood up and drifted over toward Barry. “Yeah, I’m sure I can help. I’m not scared. I’m tough. Ken said I was tough when we were playing soccer so I know I can do it.”

Ken smiled, closed his notebook, gave me a little wave with his hand, and then left the room and the house. When he opened the front door, the front foyer filled with light.

Father Wanderly said, “You’re a very brave, remarkable little girl, Merry. I bet you give all the boys trouble on the playground.”

“I don’t give anybody trouble.”

Mom said, “Why don’t you go out back and kick the soccer ball around. I’ll come out there with you in a few minutes, okay?”

When I was outside waiting for Mom and kicking the ball as hard as I could into the net, I wasn’t thinking about being in Marjorie’s room with everyone else including the new doctor. Instead, I obsessed over Father Wanderly’s trouble comment. I imagined being at a playground and handing out little black bags to all the kids, not just the boys. They opened them and found little hard candies inside, each poisoned with trouble.

DR. NAVIDSON CAME
to our house shortly after we finished eating dinner.

When the doorbell rang, Mom was upstairs in the confessional room with a glass of wine, Dad was in the kitchen being asked on-camera to talk about what he was thinking and feeling before the arrival of Dr. Navidson, and I was sitting on the living room floor doing my math homework but listening to Dad. Ken and Father Wanderly were in the living room too; Ken lost in his black notebook, Father Wanderly lost in his special red, leather book.

I ran to the door and Dad called out from the kitchen, telling me to wait for him. I didn’t wait for him. I threw open the door and nearly shouted, “Hello, Dr. Navidson.”

He said, “Hello,” back and sidestepped around me and into the house, careful not to make any accidental contact. Dad rushed up from behind and practically pushed me away and onto the steps.

Dr. Navidson was shorter than the other men, had light brown hair, and a thick, wooly beard, the kind that had to have taken years to grow. I hadn’t seen any foxes in real life but I imagined his beard and hair had the same consistency as a fox. He was younger than I had expected, and wore glasses with thin silver frames that boxed in his nervous eyes. He wore a black sweater and jeans, black shoes that had thick rubber soles, and he carried a laptop that was as thin as my Richard Scarry book.

There wasn’t a lot of standing around and chitchat like normally there would be for a new guest in the house. He politely shook hands with my parents and declined Mom’s offer of a glass of water while Dad herded him into the living room. He and Father Wanderly greeted by using first names and briefly embracing.

Dad was agitated and paced the living room, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Dr. Navidson is a very busy man. We should probably head upstairs as soon as possible.”

Father Wanderly put a hand on Dad’s shoulder, which stopped the pacing, and said, “Yes, of course, John. I know you’re anxious. We’re all anxious.” Then he insisted that we join hands and pray before going upstairs to Marjorie’s room.

I went and stood next to Mom, who put her hands on my shoulders. I motioned for her to come down to my level so I could whisper into her ear. “I don’t know how to pray.”

She whispered down to me and breathed on my face. I covered my nose. “It’s okay. Just bow your head and think good thoughts for Marjorie and if you want to, ask God for help.”

The three men held hands. Dad held out a hand to Mom or me. Mom took it, and then she took my hand. Father Wanderly said a prayer asking for God’s love and strength in the face of the evil we might encounter. Dr. Navidson’s eyes were closed so tightly, it was as though he was afraid
to open them. Father Wanderly said, “Lord, hear our prayer,” which was echoed by Dad and Dr. Navidson. Then he started another prayer that began with “Our father, who art in heaven,” and everyone joined in, even Mom. I moved my mouth, pretending that I knew the words too.

When we finished, Father Wanderly walked over to me and said, “Do not be afraid, Merry. Anyone who believes in our Lord Jesus Christ has nothing to fear.”

Mom bent down and whispered to me again, before Father Wanderly had stopped talking. “Don’t worry, I’ll be up there with you, and we can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Barry jogged downstairs and asked that we give him one more minute for them to set up the shot and the lighting in the hallway and in Marjorie’s room. He clapped his hands together and no one said anything. Dad started pacing again. Mom finished her wine and left the glass on the coffee table.

After getting the okay from Barry, us Barretts led the way upstairs. Dad went first, with Mom and I right behind him. The rest of our wagon train followed: Father Wanderly, Dr. Navidson, and Tony the cameraman. Jenn was already at the top of the stairs, following our expedition’s progress.

The second-floor hallway was warm and brightly lit. The ceiling fixtures had been scrubbed clean and the yellowish bulbs replaced with bright white ones. The two spotlights from inside the confessional/sunroom were pointed out into the hallway, flooding the second floor with their wattage. I could feel their heat on the back of my neck.

Marjorie’s door was shut, but the doors to the bathroom and the other bedrooms were open. In those other rooms the lights were off, and each doorway was a dark mouth.

Mom and I were jostled by the others jockeying for position in front of Marjorie’s door. Dad knocked lightly and said, “Honey? We’re here. We
just want you to meet with Dr. Navidson and Father Wanderly for a few minutes like we talked about.” There was no response from Marjorie. Dad turned the knob and slowly opened the door as he said, “They’re going to ask you a few questions.”

Dad walked in first, followed by the men. I was the last one in, shuffling behind Mom. Jenn stayed in the doorway, effectively blocking off my promised escape route. I felt tricked and trapped initially, but decided I’d be able to dash under and between her legs in an emergency. It was always smart to have a plan.

Marjorie’s desk lamp was the only light on in the room. Everything looked clean and tidy. Her posters were gone. Her bureau top was visible and her closed laptop sat by itself on her desk. The stuffed animals and knickknacks had been taken away. The wall she’d kicked and punched holes into had been replastered but not painted.

Father Wanderly said, “Hello, Marjorie. This is Dr. Navidson.” The two men sat in skeleton-thin wooden chairs that I’d never seen before. The chairs flanked her bed. The built-in lights on the two cameras focused on Marjorie, leaving the two men in shadow. She sat up with her back against the windowsill, legs hidden under the blankets. Her earbuds were in and I could hear faint, tinny music echoing from the bowls of her ears. She was wearing only a sports bra for a top. A dusting of acne colored the skin around her collarbones.

Dr. Navidson said, “Hello, Marjorie. Nice to finally meet you.”

Marjorie didn’t acknowledge him.

Dad said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Barry, shouldn’t we get a shirt on her?”

Barry had hovered out of camera range to the back of the room, near her closet. He shook his head no and made a camera rolling motion with his hand.

Dad threw up his arms. “I’d like to put a shirt on her. She’s only fourteen.”

Mom said, “Marjorie, do you want to put a shirt on? Are you comfortable being filmed this way?”

Marjorie shrugged and looked bored, as though she were being asked to do some extra homework. “I’m okay, you okay.” Her speech was slow. Some of the letters were heavier than others.

Dad said, “Can you take your earphones out at least?”

“I’d rather leave them in. I feel better that way, you know?”

“We just want to talk for a minute and—”

“Dad, I can hear you fine. I can hear everything fine.” Marjorie grunted the words not like a demon, but like only surly teens can.

Dad uncrossed his arms and took a quick half step toward Marjorie’s dresser, then stopped. What he wanted to do was to stomp over to her dresser, start ripping open random drawers until he found a T-shirt, throw it at her, yell at her until she put it on, and then rip the earphones off her head and chuck them across the room. But he couldn’t because of the cameras and his beloved priestly mentor.

That’s a lot to read in uncrossed arms and a twitch toward the bureau, I know. Likely it’s hindsight, and all that happened after that has entwined with and mutated my memories of that night in Marjorie’s room. But it doesn’t mean my read of Dad isn’t an accurate one.

As Mom withdrew and detached, Dad became both more pious and blindingly angry, and on that night I remember the fury emanating from him in waves, like heat from a space heater. Marjorie knew it too, and she smirked and rolled her eyes at him to make it all worse.

Marjorie finally saw me latched on to Mom’s side and she perked up. “Oh, hi there, Miss Merry.”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer her, if I was even supposed
to talk at all. During the post-big-meeting proposal, the adults hadn’t told me anything other than that I was going to be in the room with them. I was mad that they hadn’t given me more specific directions. It made me think they didn’t really know what they were doing.

I’d been quiet for a long time so I hurried out a quick “Hi?” like it was a question.

Marjorie tied her hair back and then adjusted the straps of her sports bra. She said, “Don’t talk to me, Merry. It’s not safe. Didn’t Father Wanderly tell you that you shouldn’t be talking to me?”

I caught Father Wanderly throw a quick look to Barry in the back of the room. Then he looked at me and nodded. “It’s okay, Merry. You may answer her if you wish.”

I said, “No, he didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh, man. Mom and Dad, you need to get a better priest.”

Dr. Navidson opened his laptop and pecked at the keyboard with exaggerated finger strokes, like he was trying to poke a hole in the machine. He said, “Why is that, Marjorie?”

“Idle and curious chatter with the demon should be avoided at all cost. It’s Exorcism 101. I’m surprised you assholes don’t know that. No, wait, I’m not surprised.”

Dad sucked a breath in through his teeth. Mom squeezed my shoulders. They’d heard her swear plenty of times, especially during the last few months, but in this setting and in this company, they reacted as though she’d just punched each of them in the gut.

Father Wanderly said, “Are we speaking with a demon right now?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Marjorie smiled and winked at me, which seemed like proof that she was faking, or proof that she really did have a demon inside her.

Marjorie said, “Hey, Mom and Dad,” and then she paused to blow
them a kiss. “Dr. Navidson, and everyone watching at home, did you know that Father Wanderly is breaking, like, one of the most important official rules according to the church?”

Father Wanderly had his legs crossed and his hands folded on top of his leather-bound book. He said, “And what rule is that?”

“No media, right? You’re not supposed to make a spectacle of the sacramental rite of exorcism. Duh. I’ll directly quote the Vatican for you.” Marjorie cleared her throat and then spoke in a voice that sounded decidedly, if not comically, male. “‘The presence of media representatives during an exorcism is not allowed.’”

Mom said, “Is that true?”

Father Wanderly said, “It is, however—”

Marjorie interrupted. “No, no, no. Let me.” She changed her voice again, sounding airy, breezy, words stopping and breaking in an off-putting rhythm, and sounding very much like Father Wanderly. “However, Pope Francis just performed an exorcism in public, right? In front of cameras and everything. You can even watch it on YouTube. It’s on there like four different times and one of them has over two hundred thousand views. That new Pope, he’s such a rebel!” Marjorie stopped and coughed; it seemed exaggerated. “It hurts to talk like you, Father, so I’m stopping. But lucky for you, I guess, that the no-media rule has already been bent. So why not use me to shoot what’s going to be like a recruitment video, right? Some Norwegian dude tried it once already with a documentary featuring a Vatican-approved exorcist. But seriously, who watches Norwegian documentaries, right? Father Wanderly’s TV show will be a much bigger hit. It already is. The pilot episode was the Discovery Channel’s highest rated debut ever. So I’m told. Already, after two episodes, everyone involved, everyone in this
room
is making fistfuls of money, right? And just imagine all those gawd-fearin’
sheep-in-training out there watching our show, itching to come back to the church, soon to be saying their hallelujahs and filling donation baskets.”

Mom had moved away from me toward Dad while Marjorie spoke. She put an arm around his midsection. Dad kept his arms crossed and when Marjorie finally finished talking, he started stammering, “Marjorie? What are you—I don’t—How does she know all this?”

Father Wanderly said, “Do not be fooled by the lies.”

“Lies? What lies? Nielsen ratings don’t lie. I can show you the Norwegian documentary. And it would take me two seconds to pull up the clip of Pope Francis and the cute little possessed guy in the wheelchair. Did you know that the chief Vatican exorcist said the reason the guy in the wheelchair was possessed was because of Mexico’s abortion laws? Makes sense to me. And now the archdiocese in Madrid wants to hire eight more exorcists. Maybe we can make them bump it up to an even ten after our show, yeah?”

Dr. Navidson was a marble statue lit by the glow of his computer screen. He wasn’t typing anymore, and he sat with one hand partially obscuring his face and chin. He asked, “Can you show us on your laptop where you’ve been getting this information, Marjorie?”

“Laptop? No laptop, necessary. It’s all common knowledge. Everybody’s talking about it, all my friends at school. You know, that’s what we talk about when we’re not talking about boys and their penises. No, wait. That’s not true. I get this all from the voices in my head, yeah. They’re not my friends but they tell me everything. It’s cool, but I have to shut them up sometimes, just to get some rest.” Marjorie pointed at her earbuds. “Or maybe the voices are useless and just suck and don’t really tell me anything but gibberish, stuff that almost sounds like words so I listen. And I think that if I just listen closely enough I’ll finally understand what they’re saying, and then they’ll stop, and then, boom! it’s like five hours later and
I’m still listening so hard I want to cry, and I’ve bitten off all my fingernails until my fingers are ragged, raw, bloody, worn-down red crayons, and the voices are still there and I’m ready to stab out my eardrums and then stab everyone else. No, wait, I haven’t stabbed anyone yet, so maybe it’s all Merry’s fault. Yeah, Merry told me and tells me everything about everyone. She’s so sneaky! She can’t be trusted!”