Soul Breather

By Vanessa K. Eccles

When sixteen-year-old Adalind Rivers begins displaying odd, violent behavior, her family turns to the local priest. It becomes a matter of life and death to rid her of the beast they find. She fights like hell to regain her soul but quickly realizes this is only the beginning.

 

One night she dreams of being crucified next to Christ and awakes in a pool of her own blood to see that her wounds are real. To further complicate matters, she discovers that she can resurrect the dead. This brings her to the attention of the Beloveds, a mysterious religious organization. With so many interested in the girl who has gone to hell and back, she'll never be free again. She will forever be a SOUL BREATHER, which is sometimes a blessing and always a curse.

 

WARNING:

This book contains sensitive subject matters.

• child abuse

• sexual abuse

• suicide

• bullying

• death

• religion

• profanity

Reader or parental discretion is advised.

Intended for 16 years old and up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fabled Collective
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223880233

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Late afternoon’s darkness crept in until it enveloped every corner of the room. The shadows of candlelight danced on the plaster walls in response to the priests’ chants and provided the only light to the room’s black mood. The air was thick and smelled of sulfur. The space felt anxiously heavy, and the atmosphere seemed resistant to what was about to take place. Emotions splashed over me like waves, some gentle and some with force. I’d never felt such fear and calm all at once. I knew my life would soon be changed forever, or at least, I hoped it would.

It felt like Rome. Not that I knew what Rome felt like, but it looked like what I’d seen of it on television. The vaulted ceilings, the stained glass, the arched pews—it all reminded me of a movie.

We can’t do it here, the older priest said, weathered face furrowed in frustration. This place is holy. And we’re unprepared. None of the proper questions have been asked.

We don’t have time to move her. Look! She’ll shift any minute. Besides, where can we take her now? For once, can we just forget all the rules and deal with what’s important? The young priest ran his hand through his hair, as if pushing away the older one’s objections.

As I lay on the pulpit’s floor, I tried not to watch them pace back and forth. They made me nervous. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, yet their hauntingly foreign words were making me crazy. I wished they’d speak English.

What are you saying? I finally asked. They stopped momentarily, exchanging glances with one another, but began again. Please. It hurts.

Everything’s going to be okay, the young one said, brown hair hanging in his dark eyes.

The older priest began praying louder, light eyes and gray hair shimming in the candlelight. My body became more and more tense with every word. It was as if each syllable was a poisoned dart piercing something dark and deep within me.

Stop! I screamed. I rose up from the pulpit floor and tried to run away, but the younger man pinned me down, his hands pinching into my arms.

What are you doing? I asked while trying to yank my arms out of his hands.

I told you. It is going to be okay. We’re not going to hurt you, he whispered softly as his features relaxed.

Something inside me told me to trust him, but the priests’ prayers were so painful. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. I tried to lie back down, but before I could relax, I felt it again. The fiery burning spread from limb to limb, the smell of sulfur filled my nostrils, and the surge of something alien gripping my insides rose within me.

It’s coming, I said anxiously.

We know, they replied in a calm unison.

Their mouths spat agonizing words in seemingly slow motion, piercing like thorns in my flesh. Then I retreated. Like every time before, I tucked myself away in a safe place buried deep in my mind. For a moment, I was glad to be there. Nothing could bother me in this little corner of my imagination, but before I knew it, the older priest was bent over me, screaming in my face. The young one held me down, but my body fought him fiercely. But I wasn’t struggling. Then a strange, terrifying voice boomed from an unknown source. It sounded like the same language the priest had spoken their prayers, but the voice was much deeper and had an echo that bellowed throughout the room.

The old wooden windows began to shake as the rain and wind grew stronger outside.

What’s going on? I tried to say but couldn’t find my voice. The only voice rumbling was the deep, dark one. The priest’s mouth moved, but no words came out. When I looked over at the young man, still holding my wrists, his eyes were wide and frozen on mine.

Something the priest said must’ve struck the beast inside me because it began to speak English. It growled then spat: Welcome to my world. You think just because we’re in a church, you’re safe? That’s comical. There is nowhere on earth to hide. Where’s your Savior now, oh holy one?

Immediately, the two men backed away from me. That’s when I realized where the voice was coming from.

Where are your mighty fierce angels? it continued. Let’s play, shall we? Let’s see how many lashings it’ll take for you to call me your God.

They started repeating another prayer in unison. I tried to scream and fight, but I had no control over my body. For the first time, I was witness to the beast inside me. My body rose up from the floor. The beast’s voice became louder until their prayers could no longer be heard, and before the men could escape, my body had attacked them. I watched helplessly as my arms swung at their faces, as my hands strangled their breath, and as my mouth cursed them. It was surreal.

Tell me who you’ll serve, it said. Tell me who you’ll worship. There’s no God to save you. No one’s here to keep me from stealing your life.

The priest untangled himself from the beast and ran to the back of the church. The younger one still struggled to fight it off. I was surprised to see the other priest return. He had an offering plate filled with what appeared to be water. He screamed, I believe in the Lord God Almighty, maker of heaven and earth... He then tossed the water toward us. The glass window cracked at its seal. I screamed as my body began to burn like it’d been set on fire. I was no longer in my safe place.

Our shrieks filled the church and boomeranged back to us. For the first time, I could hear my own cries virtually hidden beneath its growl. We looked toward the priest. He flung more water upon us.

I still had no control over my body, but I felt us leap toward him. I watched as three slashes appeared on his wrinkled face. He continued to pray while blood-soaked tears streamed down his cheeks.

My hand slashed him again, this time in the chest. My nails, which looked entirely foreign to me, ripped his robe. They were only recognizable by the deep shade of blue I’d talked Mom into purchasing for me at the drug store the other day.

The priest clung to the cross he wore around his neck and continued to stand fast. If I were him, I would have cowered or ran, but he faced the beast inside me with a conviction like nothing I’d ever seen. The beast roared in rebellion. The older priest’s face crinkled in response.

What keeps me from killing you? it exclaimed.

Though I shall walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, his voice trembled.

You look scared to me. It laughed.

For thou art with me, he continued and looked at the stained-glass window where his crucified Savior hung, illuminated by a streetlight.

The beast laughed and took another step closer to him. I tried to regain control of myself, but there was a block between my brain and my body. I could feel my body but couldn’t master it.

It grabbed the priest’s throat and raised him from the ground. I watched as his feet dangled inches above the wood floor. He gagged and tugged at my arm. My fingers began to strangle the life from him. The same fingers I’d played piano with for a summer, the same ones I used to write poetry, the one dressed with my grandmother’s ring. I screamed for it to stop. A faint echo of my voice quivered throughout the sanctuary. A flash of hope crossed the priest’s dimming eyes.

The room then fell away like a backdrop in a play, and everything turned black. I was lost in nothingness for a short time, until I suddenly realized I was lying flat on the floor, head throbbing and fingers digging into the cold stone.

What happened? I asked.

The younger man was leaning over me, eyes wide with concern.

Is he okay? I jumped up and looked around the room. I was still in the candlelit church, but the older priest was nowhere to be found.

He’ll live, he said solemnly. The candle flames danced ominously as if they had been disturbed by something. Dark shadows lurked in the corners of the church—with the only light bleeding in from the stained-glass windows.

I took a deep breath and said, Thank God. The man leaned away from me and collapsed on the floor.

I’m so sorry, I whispered. His eyes filled with tears as he propped himself against one of the pews.

So, you were there? The whole time? he asked, anxiously blowing out several short breaths.

Not the entire time, no. I can only remember the last part of what happened. I could feel its pain when he threw water on us. I studied my arms to see if there were any visible burns. There weren’t. I couldn’t stop it. You must know that. I swear, it wasn’t me! I said, growing more desperate and trying to read his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he doubted me, doubted my story, and possibly doubted everything.

Can I see him? I just want to apologize for what it’s done, I asked. He shifted uncomfortably as a deep howling echoed outside the church. He looked at me as if astonished I’d even ask.

Please.

Father Frank has been through enough hell today, he finally said. I’ll call your parents and tell them we’re done.

But we’re not done. I still feel something. Deep inside the pit of me, I can still feel it lingering. Please believe me, I pleaded. Whatever you were doing was working. I’ve never been present for an episode until now. I’ve never seen it do anything until tonight.

I pray you never see it again, he whispered. He slowly got up and walked into the back of the church, disappearing into the dark corridor where their offices were located. I lay back on the floor, trying to force my muscles to release their tension and stared at the haunting glow of the crucifix.

CHAPTER 2

Church bells rang, vibrating the floor beneath me. It’d been a whole hour since the priests had left me here. A cool breeze swept in as the front door opened.

Are you okay, baby? Mom asked as she came to me, falling to her knees and embracing me while Dad hung back looking like he didn’t know how to respond.

I’m fine, Mom, I told her, wiping a tear. I think it was working. I’ve tried to convince them to keep going, but he told me they were done, I said, looking up at the younger priest.

Many of the once blazing candles had now gone out, leaving the room even darker than before. I used my hoodie’s sleeve to cover my nose as the lingering smell of sulfur mixed with incense continued to assault my senses.

Dad stepped forward. Thank you, Jarrod. We really appreciate your help. We’re so sorry about Father Frank. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know, my dad said while extending a hand to shake. Jarrod reciprocated with a nod and left us.

I want you to tell us everything when we get home, Dad said, lifting me to my feet. My entire body limped in exhaustion, and I nearly collapsed.

I don't think that's a good idea, Mom whispered to Dad. What does it matter what happened? What matters is that it's still there, and it's strong, she added. Dad pulled me into his arms and carried me out of the church. I nestled into his muscular shoulders and breathed his scent, a mix of coffee and detergent. I was grateful he didn't argue with her; he just let it ride, as he’d always say.

Thunder rumbled the ground, and lightning lit up the black sky as we walked into the empty parking lot, with the exception of our car and one other. A Styrofoam cup tumbled into the street, and a car driving way too fast crushed it to almost nothing. I turn away, not wanting to witness any more signs of destruction.

It's about to flood again, Mom said as she opened the back car door for us. I couldn't help but notice how the new car smell juxtaposed reality as I slid into it, not even having enough energy to buckle my seat belt. As Dad drove away, Jarrod helped Father Frank to the only remaining car in the lot. The old man appeared much frailer than earlier. He held a blood-soaked cloth to his face, and our eyes met. A flash of terror blew across his face. I broke the glance and looked away. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach causing me to feel uneasy. I looked down at my hands and saw his dried blood under my blue nails. I wiped away a tear and angrily stuffed my hands into my coat pockets.

I dragged myself into the shower as soon as I got home. My legs wobbled, but I somehow managed to keep myself standing. I rigorously scrubbed the blood away. I wanted everything about that night to be wiped clean. Inside my room, I desperately scraped off the blue polish and threw the bottle in the trash.

Is everything okay, Adalind? Mom asked, arms outreached as if she was witnessing me fall and hoped to catch me.

I can’t believe what I did! I cried desperately. She rushed to my bed and wrapped her arms around me.

I know, baby. I’m so sorry. We’re going to do whatever we have to do to get rid of it, okay? I can’t even imagine. She rocked me, my fingertips clasping her baby pink cashmere sweater as I inhaled her sweet perfume.

Even though all I wanted to do was sleep, I couldn’t rest at all that night. Flashes of the horror that had taken place hours earlier throbbed like fresh wounds, and I had a feeling they weren’t likely to heal for years. I tossed and turned at the memory of Father Frank’s scarred face.

The next morning, I was faced with a new horror—school. I’d been suspended for the past few days because I’d lost control when I was asked by my teacher to solve a math problem. From what I’ve been told, I threw a desk that collided with the homecoming queen. But I didn’t do any of that. I don’t remember it at all. That’s what happens when the beast comes. It completely takes over while I am tucked away inside my mind in a place that’s safe and untouched by the whirlwind around me. I had no control of it, and the idea of returning after all that had happened, made my heart shudder.

Morning, Dad said, taking a sip of coffee as I made my way into the kitchen.

Mom poured my cereal and eyed Dad and me nervously.

I’m not sure I can do this, I finally said, breaking the tension.

You’ll do fine, Dad urged.

What if something happens again? I don’t think I can stand it, Dad. I’m serious. I can’t stop seeing my hands around his th…throat, I stuttered.

They exchanged a worried glance. A dark cloud hung over us, despite the bright, cheery yellow kitchen we stood in. My childhood home—a place of comfort and rest, familiarity and safety—felt like it'd been infected with the beast too.

She's right, Scott. What if she hurts someone? Mom asked in a low voice as if I wasn't intended to hear.

"I didn’t hurt anyone!" I raised my voice louder than I should. I knew deep down she didn’t mean to make me feel worse, but she had no idea what it’d been like for me to have this thing living inside me, threatening everything and everyone I love.

I know, baby, she said taking my hand in hers. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…

She'll be fine, Dad said sternly, always refusing to tackle the hard stuff. He took one last sip of his coffee, pushed up from the table, and walked away. We both listened as he slammed the front door.

I’ll talk to him, Mom said trying to make me feel better.

I’m scared of it. I don’t know what it’s capable of.

She nodded sympathetically. I know the last few months have been hell. The blackouts, the night terrors, the counselors and their diagnoses and medications—it’s been tough for you.

Nothing has helped. I think Grandma may have been right, though. Maybe it’s more than multiple personality disorder. The priests were making me feel something, I told her.

She stared out the window into the yard, obviously not wanting to talk about it anymore. Can’t say that I blamed her.

After forcing down my cereal, I stepped outside into the crisp air. It was relieving to walk away from those worry-filled walls. As I approached my VW Bug, I noticed something was wrong. The word WITCH was carved into the bright green paint. Hot tears filled my eyes.

Mom! She came running out the door and froze as she read the word.

Those damned kids, she said, and I could see the fury rising within her. I’m calling the school.

What are they going to do? It was done on our property.

Well, I’m at least calling the police. Take my car today. We’ll get this fixed. She handed me her keys and tried to force a smile to see me off, but I knew nothing about our lives would ever be right again. It was devastating to think about. I didn’t mean to hurt Jane Moore just days before Homecoming. I didn’t mean to ruin all her pictures and force her to wear even more layers of makeup to cover up the bruises. I just wish someone understood what I was going through.

The people in the hallway of school parted like the Red Sea. Everyone avoided eye contact. I might as well have carried the plague. When I finally arrived at my locker, the same word was etched on the metal door. WITCH. For a moment, I wished I were a witch. I would have liked to cast a spell on the whole damn school and make them all sorry for casting judgment on something they didn’t understand. Hell, not even I understood it.

Most of my classes passed uneventfully. It wasn’t until science class that the real fun began. I pulled a stool up next to Mags, my free-spirited, delightfully quirky best friend. I hadn’t seen her in a week, and I couldn’t wait to be around someone who actually liked me.

Hey, I said with a smile as I sat.

Hi, she said in a low voice.

What’s wrong? I whispered as Mrs. Mack called roll.

Nothing, she shrugged and avoided looking at me.

Don’t tell me you buy into all the crap they’re saying about me. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but it’s all B.S.

Is it? she asked finally making eye contact.

Here! I answered Mrs. Mack when she called my name then continued, Of course it is. If I were a witch I’d use my power for something much more interesting. I chuckled, suddenly feeling insecure. If she—the person I'd shared everything from toys to boys with since sixth grade—didn't believe me, where did that leave me?

That’s not it. They say you attacked Jane Moore. They say you went after her like you wanted to kill her. How could you even throw a desk? They’re really heavy. I know she’s a bit stuck up, but dang Addie. What were you thinking? The weight of her words pained me. I couldn’t believe she really thought I’d do something like that, but admittedly, I hadn’t been completely honest with her. I hadn’t told any of my friends about what was going on with me. Partly because I didn’t even know, partly at the advice of my doctors and parents, but mostly because I thought it’d go away if I didn’t acknowledge it.

Usually, school was the only place I felt normal. Well, as normal as I could be with a raging beast inside of me. Why can’t you just let me have school? I internally screamed.

What about Luke? I asked nervously. He was my dream guy. He didn't know that, of course.