“Relax, my child, you have nothing to fear.” The priest blessed the mother with a prayer before checking in on Lucy. What he found was beyond his expectations.

Lucy had been tied down to her bed with a thick rope. Her wrists and ankles bled from the restraints. Her face was scratched, and her clothes were torn. Lucy’s mother had tried to straighten up, embarrassed by the mess, but there were multiple signs of struggle.

Shocked, the priest declared, “This is the battle for your soul!”

The epitome of the 1950s TV sit com family, the Mallory clan seemed out of place in 2023, even in Rosemont, PA. Adam, a forty-eight-year-old father of three, was never without his khakis, blue shirt, tie and pink sweater, and ran his own accounting firm with an impressive client list. Lilith, forty-two, was the president of the PTA, with perfect hair, and never wore pants or skirt above the knee. “Unbecoming of a true lady,” she would say with a way-to-cute to be real giggle. Sixteen-year-old Adder was a typical preppy menace. “Boys will be boys,” his parents would say every time the rugby captain ran his car into a tree or roughed up a date. Twelve-year-old Darcy was quiet, a tad dark, cold, but dressed as the family desired, almost always matching his father while mismatching his disposition.

Sadly, their daughter, Lucy, their youngest, had been sick for some time. She had been pulled out of school a year before. A dozen remedies had failed, and the family doctor was amiss with diagnosis.  Lucy was growing weaker and weaker.

“Mother, please, no more,” Lucy did not want to give another drop of blood or any other fluids. The pain, the stress, she had very little left to gift this world. As Sharon and the doctor left, nine-year-old Lucy simply prayed for it all to end. “Please, God, help me.”

Weeks passed. Lucy became violent. She showed strength but it was malevolent to the family, doctors and other specialists. Finally, Doctor Abaddon suggested Lucy’s ailments were beyond his expertise and suggested a more drastic solution.

“You are being superstitious, no, especially for a doctor,” Sharon laughed him off.

“Don’t you see the signs? This is not natural. A nine-year-old girl should not be able to do that. She should have been dead by now. I fear she might be possessed.” Dr. Abaddon was not normally one to be so loose with fantasy. 

The next morning, after an intense debate with Adam the night before, Lilith greeted the priest.

Father Fogarty was no stranger to exorcism and higher powers. In certain circles he was renowned for his successes. Usually, the symptoms were psychosomatic or projected by superstitious parents. This seemed real. This was real. He knew right away.

“You have no dominion here. You are not welcome. You cannot have this child.”

“This child is under the protection of my father. She is lost to you. We know you, Father Fogarty. Your sins are legendary in our halls.”

This was not the voice of a nine-year-old girl. According to the mother, in accordance with his orders, Fogarty’s name and arrival was not announced to this girl. Yet she knows his name and claims to know his history.

“Be gone, spirit. Leave this earthly bound body for your plane.  Go now. Leave this family in peace.”

“Peace? That’s a good one. Have you seen those two boys? The future Menendez brothers, no doubt.” Lucy gleefully laughed, sending a glance to mother. Lilith left, horrified.

“I will not let you have her!” Fogarty sprinkled his holy water. Lucy recoiled in pain, burn marks showing on her hands and face.

“Thou art evil. This child is beyond your reach. Spare her the pain and let her go. This is your final warning.”

Fogarty exited the room to find Adam and Lilith, sickened by what they heard inside.

“Is it true?” Adam queried. “Is our daughter possessed?”

Lilith, angrier, added, “It can’t have her. She is mine. Ours.”

Father Fogarty was solemn but hopeful. “This is going to take the entire family, perhaps the community. Gather your forces and I’ll return with my tools this evening.”

That night, the priest returned. A dozen church elders had joined the family, awaiting instruction in the living room.

Fogarty wasted no time. “If we do not work fast, we will lose this child. She belongs to this community. They can’t have her. You’ve worked too hard. You all need to be strong.”

The family and their closest friends put on their prayer robes. Every one of them looked like the Pope on Easter Sunday. One by one, they crowded into the room, gathering around the bed with the family and Father Fogarty. They all raised their little prayer books, provided by the exorcist, and read aloud together.

“O Lord, we beseech thee, this Habitation and Creature of thine, and remove far away from all the snares and assaults of the God of Abraham.”

Lucy’s body began to writhe, in pain, in strength. Her body was a battle ground now.

“Astaroth, Magoth, Asmodee, Beelzebub, Oriens, Paimon, Ariton and Amaymon. We call upon you, as generals of your father, to reclaim this sacrifice to your lord, Satan. The unholy trinity, Lucifer, Leviathan, and Belial. This child has been offered to you. Her sacrifice is freely given. The power of Satan compels you.”

All joined Father Fogarty in the chant, “THE POWER OF SATAN COMPELS YOU!”

Lucy, with the power of the angels inside her, cast aside her bindings and rose, floating above the congregation. “NO! This child is under the protection of The One True God, The Father, who cast aside your master in hell, who now casts aside his fallen again.”

And with a wave of Lucy’s arms, the entire flock flew backwards. Father Fogarty, who had clung to the bed, got back to his feet and threw his holy water, a corrosive acid, across Lucy’s face.

“You are no match for our Father, who art in hell -” Father Fogarty suddenly couldn’t speak. He grabbed at his collar and throat; he could barely breathe.

The terrified gathering cowardly retreated to the corners of the room as Father Fogarty began to levitate and spin like a ceiling fan.

“You, all of you, have abused children, this child, for the last time. Your unquenchable thirst for wealth and power makes you torture and kill your own offspring? Your service to the dark one is complete.”

“No, please, we’re sorry, we repent, we renounce Satan, we -” As the pleading continued, the earth shook, the window glass shattered inward, the curtains caught flame, followed by the bedding, the carpet and then the people themselves.

The entire house was soon ablaze, filled with screams. The very earth swallowed the purified dwelling.

Outside a group of nuns and priests prayed. Now shedding tears, fearing they failed their mission as a small figure emerged from the flames.

The reverend Mother nearly broke down, “Lucy? Is that you?” She recognized the girl’s face, but something was different, besides surviving flames without a single scorch mark.

A glow sparked from within Lucy, grew, and almost blinded the faithful, as the image of angelic wings extended far beyond the human flesh. Every nun and priest fell to their knees, shared a blessing, praising the lord for delivering the child and reached to comfort the girl.

“The Lord Father heard this child’s prayer,” Lucy’s voice was otherworldly. “I am called Azriel. My father has sent me, and we have much work to do.”

Lucy, the would-be sacrifice to lord of Hell, was now a soldier, a weapon of Heaven.