Somebody's Watching Me

Sheila has an unwanted and dangerous guest...

Sheila knew something was wrong when she nearly tripped over the rug sprawled across her front entry, coming back from work that evening. She never left the doormat bunched up.

As she bent to straighten the rug, she realized the kitchen radio was on, blasting an ugly hip-hop station she wouldn't dream of playing. Her skin prickled, hairs standing on end. Someone was inside her apartment. She reached into her purse for her concealed carry gun.

"Sheila!" A deep voice called out from somewhere within.

She jumped, tremors rippling down her spine. Her heart stuck in her throat. Falling back against the door, she slipped into the outer hallway and pressed herself flat along the wall. She pulled out her phone. It was all very well to be armed, but this required backup.

"911, what is your emergency?"

Ten minutes later, three police officers arrived: two men and a woman. The female officer stayed with Sheila in the hall while the men ventured into the apartment. One reappeared in the doorway within minutes.

"Nobody's here, ma'am."

Sheila stepped back into her living room and watched, sweaty hands squeezed together, heart racing, as the police searched for signs of an intruder. Her apartment was on the third floor, and the only other way out was down off the balcony.

"Are you sure you heard a voice? Perhaps it was just the radio," the woman suggested.

Sheila shook her head. The radio in question was still playing, angry rap music echoing her growing frustration and anxiety.

"No. I distinctly heard someone calling my name. And I never leave the radio on when I'm gone. Certainly not to this station."

The police found no evidence of forced entry, nor any indicator a stranger had been in her home. They shrugged it off and told her to let them know if anything further happened. But she could tell they weren't especially concerned.

Alone at last, Sheila sank into a chair at the kitchen table and slapped off the radio. Her ears rang with sudden, oppressive silence. Alone. Really? She still clutched her purse with the gun in it. Frozen in her seat, she couldn't bring herself to do her evening routine. She was waiting for something. But what?

In the aching silence, a drop of water hit the stainless steel sink, dripping from the faucet with an explosive bang much louder than it should have been.

Sheila cleared her throat just to hear a normal sound. She pushed her chair back to stand up. This was getting ridiculous. Walking into her bedroom, she kicked off her heels and set her purse down on the bed. She turned to the dresser.

When she glanced in the mirror, she let out a scream. A man was standing in the corner of her room, watching her. She spun around to face him, leaning over to snatch her purse off the bed.

"Sheila."

He was tall, with a shock of black hair, bushy eyebrows and eyes too dark to see the pupils. He wore a black suit. He also wore a slight smirk.

"I knew you were still here." She pulled her gun out of the purse. Her jaw set, lips stretched thin. "Where were you hiding?"

"In plain sight."

"Who are you?"

"I am Moldoff. I've been watching you."

"Why? What kind of a name is that?"

"You wouldn't understand. This is my territory."

"Oh yeah? Baloney. Get lost."

He let out a deep, heavy laugh and moved closer to her.

She pulled the trigger. The bullet passed right through him without a trace, lodging in the drywall behind with a splintering crackle. A yell came from beyond the wall, presumably a horrified neighbor.

"Now you've done it," Moldoff snickered. "Sheila, don't you understand? I'm incorporeal."

"You—you're a ghost?"

"Oh no, much worse than that. I'm not merely a haunter—I'm a hunter."

With that, he faded away, leaving a faint odor of hot sulphur.

The next thing she knew, the police were banging on her door.

***

Father Fred Dana was surprised when his old friend Sheila knocked at his vicarage door one morning, with dark shadows under her eyes.

"I need help." Her words were blunt as she told her story. "They had me in for a mental evaluation after I shot through the wall. I can't go back home. Something's there—something evil!"

He rubbed his chin, eying the crucifix above his desk.

"Sounds like you have a demon plaguing you. How's your spiritual condition?"

She rubbed her forehead, sinking into an armchair with a sigh.

"You know I never took my catholicism seriously. If anyone told me this, I'd have assumed they were crazy. But it happened to me!"

"Have you done anything recently to open yourself up to evil forces?"

"You mean like—?"

"Sins. Have you committed any mortal sins lately?"

She groaned.

"No more than the next person. I mean seriously, I'm not bad. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs or pick up men or fake my taxes. What did I do to get myself a resident demon?"

"That's what I'm asking. Had any contact with the supernatural: ouija boards, spirit mediums, palm reading, tarot cards, the like?"

"Never touched it. I thought all that was nonsense."

"Who's been in your apartment recently?"

"The usual: plumber, electrician, pest control, complex manager. They've been in and out for years. Nothing unusual." She ran a hand through her hair, frowning. "Actually… I did Air BNB the place about a month ago while I was out of town."

"Who rented it from you?"

"A couple of young women. I never saw them. But what could that have to do…?"

"They could be witches, for all we know. Did anything strange begin after you got back?"

Sheila stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember.

"I did start having awful nightmares right around then. Good grief, are you saying—?"

"If they performed a sacrifice or seance in your apartment, that could have called up an unclean spirit."

"Eww, gross!" She shuddered. "How can we get it out?"

"First, purify yourself. Go to confession, take communion, pray the Lord's prayer. If you're right with God, He will protect you from being possessed by this spirit as I attempt to remove it from your home. When you're ready, we'll see what can be done."

"Yes, Father."

***

At her apartment door with Father Dana, Sheila hesitated. When she touched the handle, it was warm, as if the room were on fire.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"If you're absolutely certain you've prepared yourself, you should be fine. You want to stay in the hall?"

"It's my home. I have to see this through."

Opening the door, a hot wind brushed their faces as if they'd opened the oven. The apartment was smothering inside, even though Sheila had left the AC on. The radio was once again blasting rap music. She cringed as angry voices shouted curses and complained about unclean things. What would her neighbors think?

"I've never yet heard of a demon who likes rap," Dana remarked. "Hardly surprising, however."

He went to the kitchen and tried to turn off the radio. Nothing stopped the noise, even unplugging it.

"Appears your radio is possessed."

He whispered a prayer and sprinkled holy water over it. The music stopped. A glowing shower of sparks crackled out, followed by a puff of smoke which took the shape of Moldoff, arms folded with a sneer.

"You summoned me? I was having fun."

Father Dana stepped back, bumping into Sheila. Was he afraid? Perhaps he should have found someone more experienced to take this on. She edged away, fingering her rosary and resisting the urge to run as sweat gathered on her brow.

"In the name of Jesus, I command you to leave this place!" Father Dana waved a crucifix at the demon.

"Feeble attempts…" Moldoff shook his head. "Dana, surely you can do better than that."

"Your power is limited. God is stronger than you and He has you on a leash."

"Seriously?" The demon burst out laughing. "That's a good one. You call this limited?" He snapped his fingers and sent a chair flying across the room to crash against the wall.

Sheila dodged the vase that came next. Then the radio launched itself into the air, hitting Father Dana in the head and knocking him out cold on the floor. Moldoff approached her, a red glint in his unpupiled black eyes.

"You wondering why he failed?"

Sheila remained silent, twisting the rosary in her hands.

"He is one of us. Remember, a house divided against itself…"

"Liar! I've known Fred all my life. He's not—"

"Ah, but do you really know him?"

Revulsion pulsed through her. It was hard to breathe in the stifling, sulphur tinged air.

"You've turned my home into a literal hellhole. What do you want from me?"

"Would be nice to add your soul to my collection." He looked her up and down with a sly grin.

"You're not getting it." Sheila pulled in a sharp breath, going over the Lord's prayer in her head. Deliver us from evil…

"Better say that out loud," Moldoff laughed.

When she opened her mouth, he lunged forward. He knocked her flat on her back with the weight of an elephant on her chest. His hands wrapped around her throat, stronger than any man.

She tried to thrash him away. Her arms went right through as if he weren't there. She realized no one else would be able to see him right now. If someone came to help, they would have no idea what was happening.

She was being physically attacked by a nonphysical entity. It dawned on her that this was the end. What would become of her soul? Did it now belong to this hunter demon? Had she repented, confessed, atoned properly? What rules governed such insanity? She could only trust in the mercy of a power stronger than this evil draining her life.

Lord, into Your Hands I commend my spirit… Suddenly, she was looking down at her own limp body on the floor. A blinding light filled the room, taking the form of a mighty angel.

Moldoff stood up, eying the archangel with a scowl.

"She's mine now, Michael."

"You have no right to her."

"This is my domain. That pervert priest couldn't remove me."

"You were called forth by a pagan ritual. Sheila had nothing to do with it. She's covered by the Blood of Christ and is innocent in the eyes of God."

Moldoff edged closer to Michael, a flame spurting from his hand. Michael pulled out a sword of lightning. In a voice of thunder,

"Begone, by the power of Jesus Christ, the Way, the Truth and the Life!"

A white cloud enveloped them. When it cleared, Sheila was alone with the archangel. If she'd had her body, she would have been trembling like a flower in the wind. He held out a hand with a smile.

"It's not your time yet, Sheila."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank God. I am merely His servant."

She took his hand as he guided her back to her body.

Next she knew, EMTs were performing first aid measures on herself and Father Dana. A cool draft from the AC wafted her cheek. Sheila smiled faintly, a prayer of thanksgiving on her breath. God was watching over her.

Words: 1918.
Written for "Horror Writing Contest" 
Prompt: the 1983 Rockwell song Somebody's Watching Me.
Banned items: government entities!