Read Online The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely - Free Book Online

noted the same unpleasant stench, even though the window was open. He said nothing of this to Heather.
    They were ready to leave. Rip would ride in the back with the overnight bags. Joe went to Heather’s side and offered words of reassurance. He took one last look at the house.
    â€œMy blood ran cold,” he says. “I happened to glance up at the bedroom window. We slept at the front of the house. I remember distinctly that I had just opened the window. But somebody had shut it.”
    That was not all. As Joe watched, he saw what looked like a figure standing just beyond the opened drapes. He could swear that he saw the drapes move. That was enough for him. He climbed into the car and they sped off.
    He said nothing to Heather about the shape at the window. She was upset enough.
    Â 
    The couple spent three nights with Aunt Breda. Her home was small: big enough for one, cramped for three people and a dog. Onbalance, it was inconvenient for everyone involved. Breda was afraid of dogs; Joe disliked his aunt’s disapproval of his cohabiting with his girlfriend; Heather felt that she was intruding in another woman’s house. But they managed.
    They left when Heather felt up to returning home. Breda, a deeply religious woman, gave her nephew a small crucifix, together with a novena, and promised to pray for them. She assured them that, as far as she knew, a ghost never harmed anyone. Joe wholeheartedly agreed. It was with such assurances, coupled with Joe’s promise to adjust his work timetable to exclude night shifts, that Heather agreed to return home.
    They went back in daylight and found things much as they had left them. Joe went first to the bedroom and was relieved to find that the strange odor had gone. But the window was shut, and that fact disturbed him.
    He had bought spare lightbulbs, but they proved unnecessary. Inexplicably, the light in the bedroom was working normally. Loose wiring, he thought, and made a mental note to check it.
    That night, Joe fell asleep without difficulty. With Heather it was otherwise; she lay awake for a long while, listening to his breathing, until she, too, finally nodded off.
    Something roused her in the early hours. She had the distinct impression that somebody had just run fingers through her hair. She could still feel her scalp tingling from the touch.
    She raised herself on an elbow. She thought it likely that Joe had done it in his sleep; but Joe lay with his back toward her, sleeping soundly. She lay back down again and pulled the comforter over her head.
    Heather was fully awake when it happened a second time. The fingers of a spectral hand pressed themselves deep into the nape of her neck and raked swiftly through her hair, right to the crown of her head. All she would remember later was her uncontrollable screaming and seeing Joe’s startled face, his arms reaching out to console her.
    The following day, Heather insisted that they move out again. Joe refused, despite her pleading. He thought she was going crazy—which was understandable, given her history. He advised her to see the doctor. Heather rejected the suggestion out of hand. She was not sick, she told him. She had not taken medication for two whole years and did not feel depressed. Scared, yes, but not depressed. For the first time in her life she had stability: a partner who loved her, a home, and a steady job. She was determined that nothing would jeopardize this hard-won security.
    They reached a compromise. Joe pledged that they would only move out again if he saw, or sensed, the ghost. Heather had little choice but to agree.
    Joe still said nothing about the night they left to move in with his aunt. But he had his reasons. “I wasn’t at all sure what I saw that night,” he admits. “I mean, it was dark; we were both upset. I thought: could be I did shut that window. Could be I only saw a shadow or the reflection of a cloud or something.”
    A week passed without