The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell

can’t come. Then clear out this spare bedroom the Garth girl was resting in, clear it of all breakables like pictures and vases and things. Well, that made sense, anyway, after what had happened in the parlor, her throwing the breviary and smashing the picture of the Holy Virgin.
    And rope. Rope, His Excellency had told her to get; good strong rope, he said; clothesline would do if it was stout enough. . . .
    Ah, things had not been the same at St. Michael’s ever since the girl had started coming to Father Halloran with her troubles. That poor man had been plagued enough by that looney one, and now it was Father Sargent that had the cross to bear. A booby hatch was where she belonged, the wild creature. A paddle across her round little bottom . . . knock a little sense into her, a little of the wildness and looniness out of her. . . .
    But no. Treat her gentle. Be nice as pie to her. Priests were queer ones entirely.
    And there they were, the two of them, coming in the front door. She’d best get herself downstairs and see what they’d be wanting of her . . .
    â€œHow is the girl?” Gregory asked the housekeeper as she walked into the parlor.
    â€œStill dead to the world, Father. But not resting easy, I wouldn’t say. Muttering and jerking in her sleep. I’ve locked the bedroom door.”
    â€œGood,” said Gregory. “Mrs. Farley . . .”
    â€œYes, Father?”
    â€œYou have relatives nearby, don’t you? A sister?”
    â€œAnd her husband and six children, yes, Father. Just a few miles north of here. Why do you ask?”
    â€œFor a few days, Mrs. Farley, it might be a good idea for you to stay with them.”
    â€œSaints be blessed, Father, and what for?”
    Gregory looked to the Bishop for aid. “Mrs. Farley,” said the older man, “things may be a bit unpleasant here during the next few days. Even dangerous . . .”
    â€œIn the rectory, Your Excellency? Dangerous?”
    â€œYes. So for your own safety—”
    â€œBut I don’t understand, Your Excellency.”
    The Bishop said, “Sit down, Mrs. Farley.” She did, and the Bishop followed suit. “What I am about to tell you,” he said, “you must promise on your oath not to repeat to any living soul. Not to your sister, not to her husband, especially not to the girl locked in the bedroom upstairs.”
    â€œI—promise, Your Excellency.”
    â€œThat girl is in a very bad way, Mrs. Farley. What is wrong with her is a thing even Father Sargent finds hard to believe. She is—” The Bishop broke off and tried a different tack. “Mrs. Farley, you have lived among priests for a long time. You have probably picked up some of their terms and phrases. I am wondering if you have ever heard the word
exorcism?”
    Mrs. Farley had been frowning with the suspense of it alland the surprise of being asked to go live with her sister. Now the frown slowly vanished and her face became smooth and blank, but it was a smoothness and blankness that expressed, more than any frown ever could, an awe and an understanding. It was very quiet in the rectory parlor. When Mrs. Farley spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically soft: “Ah. I see. So that is what is wrong with the poor soul.”
    The Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Farley continued:
    â€œLong ago, in the old country, when I was a slip of a girl, there was a man in our town. They said he was mad. I used to hear him scream out in the middle of the night, sometimes laughinglike, sometimes yelling words, foul stuff that had no meaning for me then. Doctors and healers came to him but could do no good for him; the constabulary threw the wretch in jail for a time, but the whole town could hear him screaming through the bars—it seemed like he screamed most of his waking hours, like he had a strength no man had ever had. And