The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely Read Free Book Online Page B

worse than Dessie Mitchelson. According to Heather, he was a serial child abuser. To complete the picture of depravity, he seemed to have her mother’s tacit approval to do whatever he pleased with the children.
    Given such circumstances, Heather and her brothers stood little chance of ever leading normal, well-adjusted lives. The boys emerged into adulthood as aggressive and violent as their father. Like Dessie, they abused alcohol—and drugs—and were frequently in trouble with the law. Heather, for her part, withdrew into herself; she developed an eating disorder, tried to kill herself twice, and, likeher mother, suffered prolonged periods of depression that required hospitalization.
    It was while she was undergoing treatment, having survived her second suicide attempt, that she had the good fortune to meet Joe Kilmartin. He was visiting his sister, who shared Heather’s hospital room. When Heather was well again, Joe looked her up. Romance followed. They set up a home together. Heather, for the first time in her life, felt settled and happy. Having endured an abusive father, deviant relatives, and a pedophile stepfather, she had found a “normal” man.
    Her happiness was to last a little short of two years. In 1992, she had her first experience of the preternatural.
    The encounter took place after dark. Joe was not at home; he often worked nights. Heather was roused from sleep.
    Her bedside clock told her that it was close to three in the morning; it was still dark, and would be dark for hours yet, this being late February.
    Standing at the foot of the bed was the figure of an elderly woman, clearly visible by the light given off by a street lamp close by Heather’s window. The figure was stooped, the lined face set in a smile.
    Heather was alarmed, and with good reason. She was looking at the woman whom she had not seen since the age of ten. Nan Sal had been dead all of fourteen years.
    The grandmother was wearing what could have been a pale blue nightgown but might equally well have been a ball gown; it was a long, flowing garment with a frilled neckline and cuffs. Heather wanted to scream but was too frightened to do even that. She shrank back against the headboard.
    â€œNan Sal,” she ventured, surprised that she could even find her voice, “what do you want?”
    She hoped that, by speaking, she might cause the vision to disappear and prove it was nothing but a dream. The last thing she expected was for her dead relative to answer her. Like most people, Heather had grown up with the notion of ghosts being no more than moving images, phantoms that do not as a rule interact with the realworld of the living. Now the phantom was proving her wrong, and the words her dead grandmother uttered filled her with abject terror.
    â€œHeather,” the vision said, “soon you’ll be with me.”
    As if that were not frightening enough, the ghost of Nan Sal went further. It raised its hands to its throat and made strangling motions.
    There were no more words spoken. As the hands were lowered, Heather saw a ring glinting on the old lady’s middle finger. She remembered that her grandmother used to wear a ring of striking appearance, but in her agitation did not consider if it was the same one. The apparition was disappearing slowly, fading away to nothing—as ghosts sometimes do. Heather was shaking with fear. For there could be no interpretation of the words other than that Heather was soon to join her grandmother in the afterlife.
    She stumbled out of bed, desperately calling out for Joe. But her voice rang through the dark, vacant house, making her feel even more frantic and helpless. He would not be returning before noon that day. She had to face this alone.
    Sleep was out of the question. She ran from the bedroom, pulling the door shut. Whom could she call? It was after three. They’d have me locked up, she mused grimly, recalling her mother’s record of