He left him and went to join the others in the drawing room, but he lifted one of the Jacobean chairs nearer the door, so that he could sit there and watch him. Father Salter would never have come here to carry out this exorcism, after all, if he hadn’t persuaded him, and if anything happened to him – if he was dragged into the wall in the same way as Francis – Rob knew he would never be able to forgive himself.
Father Salter stood in front of the cellar doorway and made the sign of the cross. After the Latin benediction, he began to speak clearly and slowly, at a pitch slightly higher and more expressive than his normal voice. Usually, he sounded as if he were patiently explaining something to somebody who was having difficulty in grasping it. Now he sounded as if he had stepped onto a stage in front of an audience.
‘Hear me, Esus! I have come here today in the name of the Lord to release you from your captivity. I come in the spirit of reconciliation, and of forgiveness, and in the understanding that all beings are equal, substantial or insubstantial, whether they recognise the supremacy of the Holy Trinity or not.’
He repeated the sign of the cross, three times, and then he said, ‘Esus! I free you from whatever spell or ritual is holding you here in this house, no matter how complex, no matter how ancient. It is the Lord who created every fibre of this world, and the Lord can untangle any knot of mischievous magic made by men.
‘Surge Esugenus et vade in via! Vacat vobis, liberum! Rise up, rise up, Esus and be on your way! You are free!’
The house remained silent except for the soft crackling of the drawing-room fire and the rain-beggars still tapping at the windows.
Father Salter went up to the cellar doorway, his chest rising and falling with stress. He waited for nearly a quarter of a minute, and then he called out, ‘Esus! You cannot ignore me, because I speak with the voice of God! Rise up, Esus and return to the moors! Rise up!’
Rob felt that deep vibration starting up again. The floor began to tremble, and the paintings on the walls began to rattle against the panelling. This time, the vibration was even more violent, and they could hear the ladles and colanders and saucepans that were hanging in the kitchen jangling like some frantic fire alarm. A kitchen chair tipped over onto the tiled floor with a loud clatter.
‘Esus! It is the Lord God who releases you! Acknowledge his supremacy, acknowledge that He alone has the power and the divine authority to free you! Accept that He is the master of the world, and the custodian of the moors over which you used to pursue your quarry! He will allow you to return there, and to ride with your hounds at night! All you have to say is, Lord, I accept your pre-eminence! Lord, let me go!’
The vibration was deafening now. It felt as if everything in the house was juddering and groaning and squeaking. From the library came the thumping of books as they tumbled off the shelves, one after the other, and from halfway up the staircase they heard one of the leaded windows crack from side to side.
Vicky came up and stood beside Rob’s chair. Her voice was watery with fear, and he could scarcely hear her. ‘It doesn’t sound as if it wants to acknowledge God, does it? Oh, please! Why doesn’t it just give in and go free?’
Father Salter stepped back into the centre of the hallway. He grasped both ends of his stole and said, ‘Esus, o evil one, I order you now to rise up and leave this house. In the name of God, and in the name of the one who commands you, Arawn, king of the underworld, lord of darkness, who also has to kneel to the Lord.’
There was a bang so loud that Vicky screamed. Out in the hallway, Father Salter stood up straight and rigid, quivering, his arms pressed down by his sides. Then the top of his head exploded like a watermelon and his skull flew up into the air, still attached to his spine. Next his shoulders burst apart, followed by his chest. His shoulder blades and his ribcage followed his skull up into the air, and all the rest of his bones came rattling up after them, some connected but some disconnected, flying up in a high arc over the hallway and into the cellar doorway, where they hit the bloodied silhouette that Francis had left behind, and vanished.
All that was left of Father Salter after his skeleton had been wrenched out of him was a pile of clothes, sodden with blood. His jacket and his trousers and his underwear were all torn into shreds, and among the tatters lay lumps of flesh held together with translucent stretches of skin, as well as his liver, which lay on top of his glistening pink intestines like a basking brown seal.
His white fringed stole had been spread out on top of his remains and his blood-spattered dog collar perched on top of that, as if they had been carefully laid there by a respectful mourner.
Gradually, the vibrations died away. There was a high ringing noise from the kitchen as one metal spatula dropped off its hook, but then there was silence again. Rob stood up. He took a step towards the doorway but Vicky snatched at his sleeve and said, ‘No, Rob. Wait.’
‘I’ve killed him, Vicks. I should never have persuaded him to come here. He didn’t
