Supernatural: One Year Gone (34 page)

She had recently arrived in the town of Philadelphia and had left a sizeable estate up the river in the care of her son, Arthur. It seems that she had become rather frightened of her only son; that he was not himself. Once a gregarious, kind-hearted young man, he now seemed sullen and mean, and was seized by frequent violent outbursts. Not knowing if a disease had taken over her son, Mrs Moreland had fled to her city house.

Caleb believes she is mad, and has made a bet with me to prove it.

“This will be a waste of our time,” Caleb said, “you’ll see. She will turn out to be a fussy old hen who is making up stories.”

I told him we would see for ourselves.

As it turned out Mrs. Moreland was neither fussy nor an old hen. She was a stocky and sane woman who seemed to have her household in order. Her son was her main concern.

We arrived at seven, just in time for dinner, and she invited us to join her. Caleb and I looked out of place in our leather coats and canvas trousers at her polished dinner table, piled high with roasts and pies. After a meal that rivaled our Christmas feasts, we sat down to speak about her son. After some discussion, it was decided that Caleb and I would ride up to her estate and survey her son’s behavior.

It seemed however that Arthur had other plans.

Arthur arrived at his mother’s brick townhouse, unannounced, just after ten. He seemed surprised that she had visitors, namely two gritty gentlemen like Caleb and myself, but he put on his best face to hide his disgust.

It was decided that we would spend the night. Caleb and I shared a room which contained two of the largest beds we had ever seen. Arthur slept across the hall. Or so we thought. At around two in the morning we heard him sneak out of his room, creep down the stairs, and then we heard the click of the front door latch. Caleb and I jumped into our boots and followed him.

The fog hadn’t dissipated any as we followed Arthur down the damp streets. At some point he turned a corner into a darkened alleyway. Not having been in the town of Philadelphia before, Caleb and I were unfamiliar with its streets. Perhaps there was another way around, but we didn’t know for sure, and since we risked losing Arthur’s trail, we followed.

We made our way after Arthur as quietly as we could. The narrow passage stunk of wharf rats from the nearby piers. Behind a brick house we saw Arthur steal into a recessed basement of some sort. When we were sure he was shut inside, we peered into the street-level windows: inside was full of merry men and women, dancing and drinking. Not so unusual, we thought, he’s just a regular young man out for a night of fun.

But then from behind us came a sound. We hid behind a couple crates of trash and watched a young man in upper-class finery walk to the same door. He looked in our direction and though I’m sure he couldn’t see us we were caught with a most surprising site. His eyes were black—jet black as the night.

Dearest sister, father once told us of demons, but we have never encountered them ourselves. We are in need of any and all of the Latin exorcism texts, as well as your expertise.

We are afraid there is a scourge of demons in Philadelphia. Please come quick.

Your dearest brother,

Thomas

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