Adelaide’s Saturday morning exorcism
Date: 2025-06-28 10:02
(Adelaide’s Saturday morning exorcism)
[Sat Jun 28 2025]
In an empty house
It is about 65F(18C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Foxglove and Woodcrest/span>/spanThe front door of the weathered colonial house stands slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of sunlit hardwood floors within. Adelaide and Matias approach the Bayview property after receiving an urgent call from Sarah Chen, whose brother Marcus has been missing from his usual haunts for three weeks. The ocean breeze carries the distant sound of gulls and something else – a low, rhythmic murmuring from somewhere inside the house.
Through the salt-stained windows, they can see a figure pacing back and forth in what appears to be the living room. The man moves with jerky, unnatural steps, his lips moving constantly as if in conversation, though no other voice can be heard. Occasionally he pauses to stare out toward the harbor visible in the distance, his posture rigid with tension.
A stack of real estate flyers lies scattered on the front porch, their pages fluttering in the coastal wind. Several show waterfront properties circled in red ink, with handwritten notes in the margins that are too far away to read clearly. The metallic scent of salt water seems unusually strong here, despite being several blocks inland from the actual shoreline.
The murmuring from inside grows slightly louder, and now carries an odd cadence – almost like the rhythm of waves against a hull.
“You are quite tall and have a Bram Stoker inspiration.” Matias agrees as he lets the rosary beads slip through his fingers on his left hand while approaching the mysterious man that may be Marcus Chen. “Marcus, good afternoon. I am Professor Matias and this is my colleague. Are you feeling alright?” he asks in a brazilian accented english whilst under his breath he begins a spanish litany prayer seeking to unveil that which is hidden, reveal evil intent, and bring intent into the light of the lord.
“I am older than the man himself,” Adelaide reveals to Matias when Bram Stoker is brought up, as though it were a fun fact. “If only by a scant few years. I do so wish I had gotten to meet him while he lived, but alas,” her hand goes up to her cheek in mild dismay, eyes glancing over the flyers laying around scattered and drenched in the rain before she mentions to Matias, “I do hope, that if I were ever to act strange, it would take someone less than three weeks to finally reach out. Quite an irresponsible sister, do you not think, Professor?”
The figure inside freezes mid-pace as Matias’s voice carries through the open door. Marcus Chen turns slowly, and the change in his appearance is immediately striking – his once-full face is gaunt, cheekbones sharp beneath skin that has taken on an unsettling grey-blue pallor. Dark circles ring his eyes, and when he focuses on the approaching pair, his gaze seems to look through them rather than at them.
“Professor?” Marcus’s voice carries an odd echo, as if spoken from the bottom of a well. Salt water begins to bead at the corners of his eyes, though he shows no sign of crying. “I… I wasn’t expecting visitors. The tide charts, you see, they’re all wrong.” He gestures vaguely toward papers scattered across a coffee table inside, covered in frantic scribbling.
As Matias begins his quiet prayer, Marcus’s head tilts unnaturally to one side, like a bird listening to a distant sound. The rhythmic murmuring that had been emanating from the house suddenly stops, replaced by an oppressive silence broken only by the creaking of old floorboards.
“Sarah sent you, didn’t she?” Marcus continues, his voice now carrying the faint sound of waves lapping against wood. “Always meddling in waters too deep for her understanding. But you…” His grey eyes fix on Adelaide with sudden intensity. “You smell of old things. Old salt. Old storms.”
The scattered real estate flyers on the porch flutter more violently despite the steady breeze, and the metallic scent of brine grows stronger.
As the scent of brine and an interior wind begins to rise Matias drops the subterfuge and begins to speak the litany loudly and at Marcus Chen directly. No longer is it an appeal for intentions to be revealed but a command for demons to reveal their name by the power of the holy trinity. As the litany finishes there is a grimace from the academic while looking aside to Adelaide, “I do not know, most people seem to have estranged relation with family. Perhaps a Knight or Vassal would say something quickly, but family. Do you talk to ‘family’ once a week?” he wonders skeptically to Adelaide.
“Oh, are you acquainted already?” Adelaide tilts her head to the side in curiosity, eyes flickering between Marcus and Matias, and there’s a pause when the former fixes his gaze upon her with intensity. “Just a new pile of antiques I was sifting through,” she answers him with a thin-lipped smile. “There is a storm in Killgrove, is a week-old counts as… old. Perhaps you should visit sometime, see what we have for sale.”
Matias’s question gets a sharp smile. “I would enjoy that quite a lot, were they not all deceased for many decades.”
Marcus’s body goes rigid as Matias’s commanding litany fills the air. The salt water streaming from his eyes increases to a steady flow, and his mouth opens in a soundless scream before a voice that is decidedly not his own erupts from his throat.
“VORTHAK!” The name crashes through the house like a breaking wave, causing the windows to rattle in their frames. “Captain of the Sorrow’s End, Devourer of Hope’s Last Breath!” Marcus’s voice has become layered, as if multiple people are speaking in unison from different depths underwater. “You dare command the depths to surface, priest?”
The possessed man’s skin takes on an even more pronounced blue-grey hue, and dark veins become visible beneath the surface like underwater currents. His eyes roll back, showing only whites that have turned the color of storm clouds.
“The old one speaks of storms and antiques,” the demon continues, Marcus’s head swiveling toward Adelaide with an unnatural, jerky motion. “But I smell older salt on her. Salt from when the world was young and the first ships learned to fear the deep.”
The floorboards beneath their feet begin to creak rhythmically, like the deck of a ship in heavy seas. From somewhere in the house comes the sound of water dripping, though no pipes are visible.
“This vessel is nearly ready for the final voyage. Soon he will take others to join the crew below.”
In his left hand is a rosary and then in Matias’s right there appears a saint minted coin. Moving in on the quickly transforming Marcus Chen or VORTHAK the academic tries to press the coin to his forehead. With his left hand he tries to grab a wrist to keep him from using some demonic strength to just throw him across the room or something equally painful. “Vorthak, Captain of the Sorrow’s End. In the name of the Son the Father and the Holy Ghost I bind you. In the endless turn of the sun and moon, I still you. By the nameless souls you have consumed, I take your name.” he begins to chant in a resonating english, trying to force the possessed man to his knees with the holy metal coin to his head. “Nameless Damned of No Where. I cast you down, leave this soul.”
“Not quite so old, I’m afraid,” Adelaide tells someone with a click of her tongue, watching the demonic possession physically take over Marcus until he’s grey-skinned and storm-eyed, and entirely unable to hide the glint of curiosity in her features as she does so. She lets Matias move in to handle the difficult parts, perhaps out of laziness, perhaps simply out of convenience, remaining ready, if not too eager, to step in in case things take a turn for the worst. “Excellent technique,” she praises Matias idly as an aside.
“Not quite so old, I’m afraid,” Adelaide tells Marcus with a click of her tongue, watching the demonic possession physically take over Marcus until he’s grey-skinned and storm-eyed, and entirely unable to hide the glint of curiosity in her features as she does so. She lets Matias move in to handle the difficult parts, perhaps out of laziness, perhaps simply out of convenience, remaining ready, if not too eager, to step in in case things take a turn for the worst. “Excellent technique,” she praises Matias idly as an aside.
The moment the blessed coin touches Marcus’s forehead, a sound like a ship’s hull cracking against rocks fills the house. Vorthak’s borrowed voice becomes a shriek of rage and pain as the metal burns against the grey-blue skin, leaving a bright red mark.
“You know nothing of binding, land-crawler!” The demon fights against Matias’s grip, but the holy metal seems to weaken its hold on Marcus’s body. “I have weathered storms that would shatter your faith like driftwood!”
Marcus’s knees buckle as Matias forces him down, but instead of submitting, the possessed man’s free hand claws at the air. The sound of rushing water grows louder, and suddenly the hardwood floors around them begin to darken with spreading moisture, as if seawater is seeping up through the boards.
“This vessel chose the depths willingly!” Vorthak snarls, Marcus’s voice cracking like breaking waves. “He called to us in his drowning, begged for an end to his suffering. The contract is sealed in salt and sorrow!”
The temperature in the room drops noticeably, and their breath begins to mist. Through the windows, the distant harbor seems to have grown closer, its grey waters visible where they shouldn’t be. The demon’s storm-cloud eyes fix on Adelaide with desperate cunning.
“But you… you understand the old contracts, don’t you, ancient one? Tell this fool priest that some bindings cannot be broken!”
Perhaps unexpectedly Matias simply lets go of a flailing limb, pulls out a dagger and presses it to the throat of Marcus Chen as the demon claims it was willingly invited. “Damned be damned. Nameless Demon invited in, wait in hell for this soul or I send you both down now.” he says in an unsympathetic brazilian accented voice. The coin still pressed to the forehead, knife at the throat.
That does give Adelaide pause. She watches the man fall to his knees before Matias, the stark red brand from the coin glowing upon his forehead. “He does have a point,” she admits. “If it is a contract willingly made, sealed in salt and sorrow, as you say… it is not so simple to break. And, truly, they do seem a less fractured being than the artist we visited – Sienna, was it?”
While she speaks, Adelaide comes to kneel near Marus, watching him from up close. “Are you still in there, Marcus?”
The knife’s cold steel against his throat causes a visible shudder through Marcus’s body. For a moment, the storm-cloud eyes flicker, and something desperate and human breaks through the demonic possession.
“Please…” The voice is Marcus’s own, weak and hoarse. “I didn’t… I didn’t know what I was asking for. I just wanted it to stop. The debts, the threats, watching everything my father built crumble…” Salt water streams more heavily down his cheeks. “But it’s been three weeks of drowning while still breathing. Every day deeper, every night the voices of the crew calling from below.”
Vorthak’s presence surges back, the grey-blue pallor deepening. “Silence, vessel! You begged for release from your burdens. I have given you purpose – to gather others who suffer as you suffered. The lonely widow on Elm Street, the bankrupt shopkeeper, the veteran who cannot sleep. All crying out for an end to their pain.”
The seawater spreading across the floor begins to swirl in small whirlpools around their knees. Through the darkening windows, ghostly shapes of old sailing ships can be seen moving through the impossible harbor waters.
“But the contract…” Marcus’s voice breaks through again, weaker now. “It said I could change my mind. There was supposed to be a way out if I found the strength to fight.”
Vorthak’s laugh is like waves crashing against a breakwater. “Strength? You have none left to give.”
“If you would encourage our wayward soul.” Matias asks Adelaide before taking a deep breath. Keeping the knife at Marcus Chen’s throat the threat to simply cut it should the now nameless demon try and do anything drastic looms. Meanwhile he begins to chant in a spanish litany, beseeching strength for the sinners, forgiveness from the father, and shame for the fallen from heaven seeking to weaken the demon for the time being.
Adelaide sure can do just that. “Marcus Chen,” she begins, voice low and almost crooning. “There are two choices ahead of you. Either you become strong enough to fight off this demon, and break the contract that was formed,” she pauses to let the words hang in the air, for a bit. “Or you die, and he returns whence he came. Which one shall it be?”
Nobody said she had to encourage nicely.
Marcus’s eyes widen at Adelaide’s blunt ultimatum, and something shifts in his expression – a flicker of the determination that once built a real estate empire from nothing. The Spanish litany seems to resonate through his body, causing Vorthak’s grip to waver visibly.
“I… I remember now,” Marcus whispers, his voice growing slightly stronger. “The contract. There was fine print. ‘Should the vessel find the will to choose hope over despair, the binding dissolves like salt in fresh water.'” His hands clench into fists. “But I haven’t felt hope in so long…”
Vorthak’s presence roars back with fury. “Hope? Look around you, fool! Your business is ruined, your wife gone, your reputation destroyed! I offer you peace in the depths!”
The ghostly ships in the impossible harbor begin to move closer, their spectral crews visible on deck. The seawater around their knees grows colder, and the sound of creaking rope and groaning timber fills the air.
But Marcus is fighting now, his human voice cutting through the demon’s influence. “No. No, I built something once. I can build again. Sarah… Sarah still believes in me, or she wouldn’t have sent help.”
The red mark from the blessed coin begins to glow brighter as Marcus’s will strengthens. The swirling seawater starts to recede slightly, and Vorthak’s storm-cloud eyes flicker with uncertainty.
“Choose quickly,” Adelaide’s words echo. “The tide is turning.”
Matias looks out the window towards spectral ships and down to the seawater gushing up from the floorboards while still reciting a spanish litany. At this point the academic plays more support than banisher, seeking to bind the possessing demon’s powers as Adelaide and Marcus resist his presence and should all else fail the knife lingers at the throat ready to snip the cord and send both soul and demon back to hell.
Adelaide didn’t make any nautical references, to be clear, but hey, as long as it gets the meaning through. “I am glad you understand,” she tells Marcus with a thin-lipped smile, now rising from her kneel to her full height. A warding gesture through the air provides strength to Matias’s own magic, bolstering him to finish the job, just as soon as the contract between demon and vassal is severed.
The combined force of Matias’s binding litany and Adelaide’s warding gesture creates a visible pressure in the air. The spectral ships in the harbor begin to fade, their ghostly crews pointing accusingly at the house before dissolving into mist. Vorthak’s presence writhes within Marcus like a trapped animal.
“I choose…” Marcus’s voice grows stronger, his natural color beginning to return to his cheeks. “I choose to fight. I choose to rebuild. I choose hope over the depths.”
The words hit Vorthak like a physical blow. The demon’s scream of rage shakes the house foundations, but the sound is already growing distant, as if being pulled away by a retreating tide.
“The contract… dissolving…” Vorthak’s voice becomes fragmented, like words spoken underwater. “But I will find others… others who call to the depths in their despair…”
The seawater on the floors begins to evaporate rapidly, leaving only damp stains on the hardwood. The blessed coin’s glow intensifies one final time before the red mark on Marcus’s forehead fades completely. His eyes clear, returning to their natural brown, and he collapses forward, gasping as if he’s just surfaced from deep water.
The ghostly harbor disappears entirely, replaced by the normal view of Bayview’s distant shoreline. The oppressive cold lifts, and warm afternoon sunlight streams through the windows once more.
Marcus looks up at his rescuers with exhausted but genuinely human eyes. “Thank you. I… I remember everything now. The people I was going to hurt…”