Dybbuk

Dark.

The whole length of the street flickered and popped and now there was no light. No sound and no witness. Neighbors cautiously opened doors, peeking out, noticing their house wasn’t the only one subjected to the night. Others stepped out, small glowing cell phones acting as beacons in a sea of shadows.

Lina bypassed all of this.

She only wanted one house.

One family.

This house would be darker than the rest. Oppressed. Ashamed.

Lina stopped her Vespa.

This, this is the house.

Yellow and black tape warning of bad things barred the front porch. More of the same taped crisscrossed over the front door, Lina noticed both barriers were undisturbed. A Bronco was in the drive way. Victor was right, “her” Detective was here. She’d know that beast of an automobile anywhere.

She’d go around back then.

But not before she grabbed a few things. Lina lifted the seat of her Vespa, a small emergency kit filled with oils and salts and herbs sat tucked under the seat itself. Her brother always made fun of her for it; said she was more traveling chef, than an exorcist.

Lina grabbed the glass bottle filled with blessed salt and olive oil. Each creature, each spirit had its weakness and Lina knew just about every one of them. And if she didn’t know it, she’d find it. Like with the dybbuk. They might require a Seraph to sunder it, but the salted olive oil would at least loosen its grip on Wilc. Leaving her enough time to exorcise him.

She shook her head.

There was no way Wilc would stay a skeptic after all this. He might even stop accusing her of murder every time a body turned up in Clarion.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Lina put her seat back and quietly made her way to the backyard.

It reeked of cat piss, jasmine and juniper. Tears worked their way to the corner of her eyes as the smell forced its way up her nose. There was another, cloying sweet, pungent smell under all of it.

The scent of death.

The back gate was ajar. She stepped through the small space, maneuvering so as not to make a sound. The backyard was covered in more brickwork and dead rosebushes. She could feel the loss here. Victor put so much sweat and heart into this place, even the roses lamented his passing. As Lina crept past the mourning roses, she wondered why the dybbuk would risk bringing Wilc and the family here.

Unless it still wanted Victor? And Wilc was a possession of convenience? What better way to get Victor’s soul, and the souls of his family than by luring poor old Victor back to his death site?

None.

Lina reached the back door; it too was left open, swinging wide on its hinges. Yellow and black tape, ripped and fluttering. A gaping hole in a place of comfort and protection. It always angered Lina how easily a place could be sullied and ruined by one thoughtless, violent act.

She stepped inside.

A streak of fresh blood, wound its way past the kitchen island and further into the house. Small shoe prints followed, smearing the trail. The kitchen was a mess, but it an old one, compared to the new additions. The smells were stronger here. Every cupboard, every drawer wide open and vomiting their contents. Food left out and rotting only added to the stench.

Not good. Not good at all.

Lina navigated the mess, over dropped pots and shattered plates, careful not to disturb any of debris. A small muffled whelp sounded deeper into the house. Lina crouched at the kitchen archway, the one that lead into the living room.

She peeked around the corner.

Furniture over turned, large swatches of old blood covered… everything. Victor really fought his hardest against this thing. She looked up; there was cutlery in the ceiling. A tug of a shadow caught her attention. Lina crouched lower, it came from the living room.

It was a woman. What moonlight came through the windows, showed her propped up on the couch. Chin on chest and not moving.

Another shadow took shape at the mouth of the hallway.

Shit.

She’d know that silhouette anywhere.

Lina never saw that man out of suit and tie. Usually annoyingly immaculate, Wilc now looked haggard. Well, more like seemed that way, since she couldn’t see much of anything. Envy, anger, despair, and confusion all radiated off of him, consuming him like a blaze.

Wilc made his way to the living room and crouched. Lina heard the turn of a handle and a light hiss. The strike and soft burn of a match created a small pool of light, and then Wilc tossed it. A high flame swallowed the match hungrily, feeding its light and heat into the living room. Steep shadows clung to the walls and floor. Except for one.

Wilc had no shadow.

If Wilc had no shadow, it meant that the dybbuk had Wilc.

Lina sank back further into the dark of the kitchen.

“Is Mommy okay?” A shaky little voice asked.

Lina risked another peek.

“She will be.” Wilc answered, “If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told.” His words were doubled over, echoing and off key. Nothing at all like the handsome-accusatory voice she was used too. This was getting worse by the second.

The little boy nodded.

“Jadon, can you call your Grandpa?”

“I don’t know his phone number.”

Wilc laughed, “No. Call out to him.”

She fell back further into the kitchen.

No time for a Key or salt circle.

Or even a plan, only a prayer.

Why wasn’t Victor here? Maybe he did show up. He could have been displaced, if he’d come on too strong. The dybbuk in Wilc would need a docile Victor to give up the ghost. A poltergeist would be too angry for that. She needed to stop this, and she needed to do it now.

Lina backed up further into the kitchen and out the door.

Quietly, she pawed through the rose bushes, until she found one small bud. Drawing a circle into the dirt, and giving thanks for the sacrifice, she snapped the bud from its stem, placing it into the circle.

“Spiritus mundi, I call to you.” Lina’s words came out quick and quiet. “Spiritus mundi, I call to Victor by use of this rose. It loved him in life and offers this gift in death. Spiritus mundi, I call to Victor, come to me.”

There was a small flash and a curl of smoke.

The rose bud was gone and in its place…

“Lina?”

“Victor.” She looked up, his image flickered, a spider web of stark veins spread across his face. But his eyes were clear. That was something, at least.

“Help me,” he whispered.

“I’m trying.”

“My family.” Victor insisted, “He has a box. The Box.”

Shit.

Lina figured out that there were two Dybbuk Boxes, but she was really hoping Wilc didn’t have one on him. That could complicate things.

“Gran-pa?” A tentative voice called. It echoed out of the summoning circle.

Victor looked down.

“Gran-pa?” It was Jadon, “Are you there? Mom’s hurt. We need help. I’m scared.”

Victor crouched and covered his ears.

“Lina,” He eked.

“Stay with me, Victor.” Lina crouched next to him, “I need—”

“Gran-pa?”

Victor flickered, his veins darkening.

“Distract him.” Lina whispered urgently. “Distract him and for God’s sake, don’t touch the box. Whatever you do. Don’t touch it.”

He winked out.

Lina looked back at her summoning circle. The little rosebud was gone, only ash remained. She wiped it out, went back into the kitchen, and hid under the archway.

“Come on Jadon,” Wilc’s dueled voice rasped into the darkness. “Call your Grandpa, because your mothers hurt real bad. If she dies it’ll be your fault, because you didn’t try hard enough. Do you want your mother to die?”

“No,” the boy whined.

“Then try again.”

“Gran-pa?” Jadon whimpered into the ruined house. “Please. Please come out.”

The baby began to cry.

“Please,” Jadon hiccupped.

The temperature dropped, and Lina’s breath puffed out.

The flame in the fireplace choked and smothered. Wilc turned towards it, his back to Lina. Psalms ninety-one, she would recite it. Verse to verse, beginning to end in Hebrew, thank you Jeri, hit him with the blessed olive oil and vanquish that thing riding Wilc.

Close your eyes. Victor whispered, she did as the flame belched and flared.

Wilc cursed.

“O thou that dwellest in the covert of the Most High,” Lina stood, begging the verse, “and abides in the shadow of the Almighty…”

“No,” Wilc snarled, “Nooo.”

“I will say of the Lord,” Lina popped the cork of her olive oil. “Who is my refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust… That He will deliver thee from the snare…”

She flicked the oil out, hitting Wilc across the chest. He sizzled and screamed. Attempting to dodge, he couldn’t. Not while she reciting the verse, rooting him to the spot.

“…Under His wings shalt thou take refuge…”

The Key tattooed on her wrist grew warm.

Lina placed herself between Wilc and Victor’s family. She wanted to tell the kids to close their eyes. To turn away, but she couldn’t. She had to keep repeating the verse. All the while they cried and screamed, too scared to move, to run as good little kids should.

Lina flicked the oil again, “…no evil befall thee…”

Wilc screamed, tearing at his coat, pulling his tie. He wrenched and twisted, but she wouldn’t let him go. Now touch him with her Key.

Another flick of oil, “…He shall call upon me, and I will answer him…”

Lina stepped closer towards Wilc.

He grabbed her first.

Wilc twisted her arm and Lina screamed. The verse was broken and so was her hold over Wilc. He knocked the oil from her grip and bashed her face with his head.

A small spurt of blood and her head spun.

“No,” he grunted. “You will not take this from me.”

“I will be with him in trouble…” She mumbled.

“No.” He threw her to ground, she slammed onto the stone steps of the fireplace.

Something slipped out from her shirt, and glinted in the fire light. The medallion. Wilc knelt, he caught sight of it too, tugged at the chain and threw into the fire with a hiss. He wrapped his hands around her neck.

“I will rescue him…” she sputtered.

A flutter of flame, a rush of wind followed by a howl and Wilc was scooped off Lina. She gasped for air. Trying not to vomit. The kids were screaming, crying.

There was a crash.

Victor rushed Wilc, hurling him into furniture. Flinging him up into the ceiling, knocking down cutlery. Lina could feel his righteous anger, flooding her with the pain the dybbuk inflicted on him. Infusing her with Wilc’s confusion. She couldn’t block it out.

Wilc landed next to Emma, knocking her off the couch, revealing the music box. Victor charged, just as Wilc took hold of the box and yanked opened the lid.

A white flash of light.

The rushing wind died.

Victor was gone, and Wilc…Wilc was laughing.

Lina rolled over, her head swam. The olive oil and its bottle was shattered. What now?

Something took hold of her hair and yanked, forcing her to flip over. Wilc put a knee on her chest, leaving his hands free to wrap around her neck and smother her.

“Don’t think I forgot about you,” Wilc spit out, blood flecking across her face.

She couldn’t breathe. Lina pried at his fingers, they wouldn’t budge.

“I know your kind,” Wilc-that-wasn’t-Wilc growled. “Meddlers. Interrupters. Unable to keep your noses clean. You would have trapped me. Locked me up. Not like our great Ibbur. Not my ahkh. He gives purpose. Freedom. Not like you. You only give death.”

Lina kicked out, twisting this way and that. She couldn’t breathe. The Shofar grinding against her spine. The fire, so hot. Smoke from the char of her hair made her eyes tear, tossed in the fire like the medallion.

The medallion.

Her eyes rolled up. She could see the chain. The medallion sat under the gas grill and fake wood. It doubled and blurred. Lina reached back, ignored the searing heat. Ignored the sting and burn of the hot chain and pulled the medallion towards her.

Wilc looked up.

She bit his hand.

“Bitch!” He jerked away.

Lina took in a breath, “I will rescue him,” her voice rusty, “and bring him to honor…”

Wilc flung his hands up to his ears. Covering them, screaming.

“With long life will I satisfy him…” She took hold of his shirt and tore, the buttons popping as she exposed his chest.

“NOOOOOO!” Wilc screamed

“And make him my salvation…” Lina completed the verse as she shoved the medallion onto his skin, branding him with the sacred AGLA right over his heart. “…I vanquish thee.”

Wilc screamed and screamed as Lina reached up with her Key-inked hand, made a fist as if grabbing hold and pulled. His skin stretched and his screaming grew louder. Still Lina pulled and her Key grew hot. Wilc began to step away, helping to vanquish the dybbuk inside. His chest expanded, his skin elongated and snapped as Lina cleansed Wilc of the dybbuk. There was a crack and smell of ammonia and something else Lina wasn’t expecting.

Frankincense.

Then it was silent.

Where the dybbuk had gone, Lina couldn’t be sure.

All she knew was that Wilc was safe, and so was the family. For now.