Erasmo was surprised to find that a total of thirteen responses had come in while he’d slept. He’d been expecting maybe one or two desperate, naive fools at most to answer. His stomach churned as he read through them, realizing that the majority of the responses weren’t serious, and instead took great glee in brutally mocking his proposed services. But as he skimmed through the last of the messages, he did take note of several that seemed sincere. One of these, to his great surprise, sent a chill crawling up his spine:

I have tried everything, but the little girl in the walls is still here. She won’t stop singing to me. Please help. I’ll do anything.

Now, in theory, this was exactly what he’d been hoping for: a complaint of strange noises that he could easily explain away or pretend to “fix.” But…there was something about this message that scraped his bones the wrong way. Still, if he couldn’t call on these easy ones, then he may as well give up on this stupid plan right now. Erasmo dialed the number at the bottom of the message, and when he heard a recording saying that it was out of service, released a breath he didn’t know that he was holding.

The next message that caught his interest was not quite as alarming as the first:

Do you have the ability to summon spirits from their place of rest? I desperately need to communicate with a deceased friend. I miss her so very much. Please help me if you can.

Erasmo considered this one for a moment, but just didn’t have it in him to put on a big show and pretend as if some dead person was speaking through him. That was far too theatrical for his taste. He saved the message, though, just in case the others didn’t pan out.

After studying all of the responses, he settled on three to follow up on. These three all described problems that he could reasonably pretend to help with. They also had the added bonus of being written by people who did not seem completely batshit insane. The first of the three he chose to call was the one that Erasmo felt held the least danger:

Hello. I don’t know if you can do what you claim. I don’t know if you are someone who is attempting to scam people. I don’t even know if you are someone dangerous. But I am willing to risk all those things on even the slightest chance you can help me. I am not crazy and I am not delusional. I am just a person that needs help. Please contact me at the attached number if you are genuine. If you are not, please ignore this and don’t prey on the hopes of a desperate mother. Thank you. Nora Montalvo

A female, so that was good…less chance of physical violence if things didn’t go well. And she was desperate, it said so right there in the message. Before he could talk himself out if it, Erasmo picked up the phone and dialed, his eyes squeezed shut as the ringtone sang in his ear.

“This is Nora,” a soft voice answered after a few rings.

Erasmo was immediately discombobulated, as for some reason he had been certain that he’d get her voice mail.

“Hi, my name is Erasmo. I’m calling about…uh…the ad…”

“Hey,” the voice said, now sounding both shocked and nervous. “Thank you so much for calling. I’m sorry, what was your name?”

He involuntarily clenched his teeth, eventually forcing himself to loosen his jaw and answer.

“Erasmo. E-R-A-S-M-O.”

“Oh, just like it sounds. Erasmo. I…I hope you don’t take offense to this but…you sound a little young. Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

“Uh, of course not…I’m twenty-three.”

“Oh.”

He was overcome with a deep certainty that she was about to expel a bray of laughter and hang up on him.

“I’d really like to help you. I know I’m young, but…I know a great deal about these types of things.” He bit his lip hard enough to taste just a hint of copper. “Can you tell me what kind of help it is that you’re looking for?”

Silence. He hadn’t anticipated how embarrassing this would be. Even though she was a stranger he’d probably never meet, his face burned brightly in shame. Right when he’d decided to hang up and move on to the next message, she finally spoke.

“Okay, Erasmo. This is something I need to explain to you in person, though. So let’s meet, and then we’ll see if you can really help me after all. Any public places you can suggest?”

#

Erasmo had always enjoyed Woodlawn Lake and the park that surrounded it. When he was a child, his grandparents would often take him there and allowed him to feed the ravenous ducks and kick his tattered soccer ball around. He hadn’t been there in years, but still thought of it fondly, which was why he chose the lake as their meeting place.

It was a warm, late October day. After a week of cool weather, the heat had reemerged, as if to remind the city that its feverish presence was never far away. Fat droplets of sweat formed on his back as Erasmo walked down the park’s jogging path. Thankfully, an occasional stiff breeze blew through the park, providing small pockets of temporary relief.

He observed a toddler tossing pieces of bread from his pudgy hands to a small mob of ducks. Apparently, the speed with which the toddler dispersed the bread was not to the ducks’ liking, as they raised their wings and began chasing him, pecking the bread right out of his plump hands. The toddler churned his portly legs, attempting to escape, but the ducks were not to be deterred. His mother, a lanky woman in a gray tracksuit, finally intervened and shooed the impatient ducks away.

As he walked, Erasmo tried to imagine what Nora might look like, but couldn’t even begin to formulate an image in his head. She had sounded older than him, of that he was sure. Her voice had been a little high, but not enough to be annoying. If it were possible for someone to “sound” pretty, he was confident that she did.

Continuing to trudge down the jogging path, he tried to laugh at his rapidly building anxiety, but found himself unable to. He reminded himself that he should actually be nervous because this woman was going to ask him for help with what was sure to be a ridiculous situation…one that he was completely unfit to assist her with. But instead, his irrational nerves were frazzled because it was possible she could be moderately attractive.

The only thing that had ever come naturally to Erasmo in regard to women was being terrifically nervous around them. High school had been a complete and embarrassing bust as far as females went. Surely, he had comforted himself when he graduated, the women in college would better appreciate his subtle qualities. Except, of course, they hadn’t. The best he had been able to manage was sleeping with one of his lab partners in chemistry, a stout white girl who perpetually smelled of raisins. But this seemed less special when he discovered that everyone else in the study group had partaken of her, too.

As he approached the basketball court where they’d agreed to meet, he immediately noticed a small, regal figure, her perfectly straight back turned to him. She was wearing a snug baby-blue T-shirt, and faded jeans that clung to toned, shapely thighs. Lustrous hair fell just past her shoulders in a cascade of amber waves. Soon, he was standing directly behind this figure, staring at the back of her head, unsure how to get her to turn around. What if it wasn’t even her? She could be just some girl watching her boyfriend on the basketball court. He stood there, paralyzed, at a loss as to how to proceed. The woman must have sensed his discomfort, because finally, she turned and looked him over, her head cocked to the side.

“Erasmo?”

He somehow managed to nod his head up and down to verify that yes, this was indeed his name.

“I’m Nora. Thank you for being on time.”

He remained silent, struggling to process what he was seeing. Her porcelain skin, her gray eyes, her voluptuous figure…he was staggered, and had to finally force himself to give a response.

“No problem,” he croaked. Every drop of moisture in his mouth had evaporated, replaced with sand and sawdust. He desperately needed a drink of milk.

She stood there gazing at him while his brain churned and convulsed, frantically searching for anything remotely interesting to say to her.

“Well, this is a strange way to spend an afternoon,” he finally managed to say.

She smiled, but Erasmo noticed that it didn’t reach her eyes, which were flat and dull. His heart pounded, yearning to ignite them.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” she said. Her sad gray eyes looked into his for a few heart-bursting seconds before glancing away. He took in a deep breath and tried to will his skin to stop trembling. It didn’t.

“Let’s walk while we talk,” she said, heading back toward the jogging path. “‘Tell your story walking.’ Isn’t that a saying? I think I heard that somewhere.”

They trudged along the path in silence, Erasmo desperately wishing that she would hurry up and say something. Her physical appearance had completely unnerved him, and he was unable to summon even one adequate sentence to present to her for inspection.

“You know, now that I’m actually here with you,” Nora finally said, “it’s hard for me to say the words out loud. Part of me just wants to leave without telling you. But I know if I do that, tonight I’ll be sorry.”

“Well,” Erasmo said, doing his best to project an air of knowledgeable confidence, “you’ll feel better if you just get the words out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Nora gave a half smile that again didn’t reach her eyes.

“You might think I’m crazy, for one. Which…would be a shame because you seem like a really decent guy, and I’m short on friends about now.”

Tears filled her eyes, magnifying the left one so that her gray iris appeared fluctuant and unstable. Nora stopped walking, and her head and shoulders slumped toward the ground, as if she were a robot that had run out of power.

“It’s going to sound so stupid,” she whispered. Tears fell from her eyes and slipped down her milky skin, dropping onto the rust-colored leaves that lay scattered on the ground beneath her. “I want to tell you. I do. But…how do I know you can really help me? I don’t know anything about you, and I don’t want to go through all this if you’re not even able to…”

He knew that it would come to this…that whoever answered his ad would ask this very question. But now it was actually here, and the prospect of answering it sickened him even more than he had imagined it would. Erasmo filled his lungs with the humid air around him, and forced the sticky words out of his mouth.

“You ever been down to the Ghost Tracks?” he asked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Nora looked up at him, her head cocked to one side as if she didn’t understand the question. She wiped at her eyes and sniffed.

“The Ghost Tracks? On the south side of town? Um…sure, when I was a teenager I guess.”

Erasmo felt a dull, throbbing ache begin to emanate from the base of his head. Wasn’t there a way out of this? He didn’t care about the money anymore. He could tell her that he’d made a mistake, that he wouldn’t be able to help her, but that maybe they could hang out together sometime. He almost laughed out loud at this thought. She would never agree to that. He knew this in his heart as sure as he knew anything.

“Do you remember, around four years ago, there was an accident that happened down there? There was this—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “I do remember. There was that old man on the news right? With the kid? And they were saying that…wait…” She looked him over, studying his face in a way she hadn’t before. “Was that you? Were you the one that the old man was screaming about, that he said…”

Erasmo took in a deep breath and slowly nodded, his headache rapidly intensifying. As Nora waited for him to speak, he grit his teeth, fervently wishing they would snap and crumble in his mouth. Finally, right when his nerve was about to abandon him, he haltingly began to tell her the fictionalized version of what had happened to him that night at the tracks. His gut churned at having to repeat this garbage, but he wanted to keep their conversation alive, to walk next to her for even a little longer, and this seemed a small price to pay for that privilege. Nora seemed confused at first, but then listened to the unfolding story with fierce concentration. Struggling to expel each and every silly word from his mouth, Erasmo was relieved when he finally reached the end, his headache beginning to ebb away.

“And then I felt tiny hands pulling me off the tracks,” Erasmo said, attempting to look as solemn as possible. “I could feel their hands all over my body. And there were so many of them, too. Every day, I thank God for the mercy of those children, or I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Nora stared at him, her attention deep and complete. Erasmo took a long breath, dug his fingernails into his palms, and forced himself to continue.

“The truth is…that wasn’t the first time I’ve seen or felt something beyond this plane of existence. Some folks just have a connection to the world that lies underneath…and I’m one of them.”

He braced himself for the howls of laughter those words deserved, but none came. Nora stood for a few moments with her face down, deep in thought. Without warning her head snapped up, her gray eyes locking on his before she spoke.

“There is something inside my son,” she blurted out.

Something inside her son? Shit. What the hell did that mean? This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Although, Erasmo now realized that he hadn’t been sure exactly what it was that he’d been prepared for her to say. A vague instinct tickling the back of his skull told him to tread lightly.

“Inside him? I’m…not sure I understand,” Erasmo said. “Do you mean that he has special abilities, or—”

“No, I mean there is some thing inside my son. He’s been saying and doing things that…Jesus…he’s only ten years old.”

Nora stared at him, eyes wide, as if she was anxiously expecting him to comment.

“Can you tell me anything more specific? I’m still not sure I totally understand.”

Her pale skin flushed a deep red.

“I hesitate to use this word, but I don’t know which other one applies,” Nora said. Her lower lip quivered as she ran both hands through her thick waves of hair and gripped the back of her head.

“I think my son is possessed,” she said.

Erasmo’s body sagged as a shroud of disappointment settled over him. Great. A fucking whack job. Of course she was. Because nothing could ever go right for him. Not one goddamn thing.

“I’m not even sure where to start,” Nora continued. “The first time I noticed anything wrong was a few months ago. One day, Sonny just drifted off in the middle of a conversation. It was like he completely shut down, until there was only a vacant stare left on his face. I tried to snap him out of it, but it was ten minutes before he started moving again. And then when he did, he insisted that no time at all had passed.”

“Well, that could just be—”

“Please,” Nora said, “there is so much more.” She gave Erasmo a long glare before continuing. “He began to talk to himself, saying strange things. A few weeks ago, I caught him staring into the bathroom mirror and saying…”

Nora paused, her lips pressed tight.

“He was saying, ‘Pig and blood and pyre. Summon the beast that wears fire.’ He kept saying this over and over again, like a chant. I still don’t know what the hell it means. Sonny even looked different as he recited the words. He was hunched over, like an old man with a crooked back. And it’s been getting worse. He’s been screaming all kinds of sick and disgusting things lately. Even about me. My little boy would never say those things on his own. Never. He…”

She trailed off and stared at the ground, her inanimate body casting a cool shadow over Erasmo.

“Are you going to say anything?” she whispered.

Erasmo had no desire to speak. In fact, the only activity he wished to engage in at that exact moment was to stand there with his hands shoved into his pockets and desperately wish that he were someone else.

For what wouldn’t be the last time, Erasmo considered just how terrible an idea the ad had been. He had hoped for a superstitious dullard that believed his house had a spirit in it, but instead got a woman who thought her ill-behaved son was possessed by a demon. This somehow made the enterprise seem even sillier than he already knew it was. How could Nora, who hadn’t initially seemed like a kook, genuinely believe any of this shit? Still, he had dragged her out here, so she was owed some kind of a response.

“Do you think it’s possible that that he’s going through some kind of a behavioral phase?” he asked. “Kids like to repeat inappropriate phrases they hear in movies, or from friends at school maybe. Sometimes, they just get a kick out of worrying their parents—”

A flash of anger pulsed through Nora’s face. “Why would he want to do something like that? He is a good child and he loves me! Do you think I would be this desperate if it were something that simple?”

Nora stopped speaking but proceeded to give him a hard look. She was even nuttier than he thought. Was he supposed to be completely on board with the whole possession thing just because she said so?

Nora’s face softened, and she sauntered up to Erasmo until the firm swells of her breasts brushed against his body. This unexpected gift made him feel both light-headed and feverish.

“I know that there is something inside of Sonny,” she said. “I don’t think it or suspect it. I know it.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked. Nora turned from him, pausing before she answered.

“There is something I haven’t told you yet,” she said.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, I could tell you, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

“The same as what?”

“Showing you,” Nora said. “You have to see it for yourself. So that you’ll know.” She turned back to him, her face still. “Come to my house tonight. Then you’ll see.” A weak breeze blew around them, bringing the sunset colored leaves on the ground to life. Erasmo watched as they danced around his feet, each one gyrating to its own peculiar rhythm.

Nora took his hand and pressed a folded piece of paper into his sweaty palm. He took it, momentarily thrilled by the feel of her slender fingers brushing against his own. Erasmo followed her every sublime motion as she turned and walked away, the sound of her steps carried away by the late October breeze.

#

That evening, Erasmo stood on Nora’s front porch, the violet light of the dusk sky casting faint shadows over his body. His heart thrashed in his chest, and he found himself unable to work up enough nerve to knock on her door. He finally took a breath and forced himself to raise his fist, rapping it lightly on the wood. To his horror, the door immediately swung open, as if she’d been lying in wait for his arrival.

Nora was wearing the same clothes from earlier in the day, but her hair no longer fell in perfect, tranquil waves as it had at the park, and the light she’d previously emanated had somehow dimmed. Despite that, he reflexively averted his eyes, as if even this reduced image of Nora would somehow burn his pupils.

“Hi,” he said, immediately embarrassed at the faint, wavering quality of his voice.

“Hey, thank you for coming,” she said, her eyes locked on his. He was unable to meet her gaze, and instead looked over her shoulder, focusing on the unkempt living room behind her.

“Please…come in,” Nora said, stepping aside and allowing him into her modest home. “Sorry, this kid just doesn’t know how to pick up.” Despite her attempt to attribute blame, almost all of the mess seemed to be hers, as the floor was covered with gossip magazines and women’s attire, with only small patches of dingy carpet sporadically showing through. Nora led him through the complex maze of clutter, steering him toward a cramped hallway that had a single pink door on one side of it and a single purple door on the other. She stood outside the pink door and squeezed her hands together.

“I’m so glad you came. I really didn’t think you were going to. I came home from the park and realized how delusional I must have sounded. It’s such a relief that you’re actually here. Oh, wait! I haven’t even offered you anything. Would you like some water, or tea, or coffee, or…Sorry, I’m just kind of nervous about all this.”

“I’m good,” he said, although her obvious anxiety was now making his own worse. A fine layer of sweat now seeped from his pores, leaving his skin feeling sick and clammy. “We can just get right to it if that’s better for you.”

She looked at him, her wide eyes unblinking, and finally nodded in agreement.

Nora grabbed the knob and twisted it, opening the door to reveal what could only be her bedroom. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but even more of her clothes and magazines were strewn around in here. Jumbles of clutter blanketed the only two pieces of furniture in the room, a twin bed and a small dresser, along with almost every inch of the floor. Only pictures of Nora adorned the walls, many of the frames hung crookedly. Her poses in each were different, but the same stilted smile radiated from every photo.

She motioned for him to sit down on her bed, which he did, taking care to move several issues of US Weekly out of the way in order to carve out a space. Across from the bed, directly on the floor, sat a large Panasonic television. Erasmo saw that a camcorder, which lay perched on top of Nora’s dresser, was connected to it. Once he lowered himself onto the bed, Nora positioned herself in front of the television and began what sounded to his ears like a rehearsed speech.

“I know that, in your line of work, you must often get a lot of unbalanced people making claims that aren’t true. I’m not one of those people. I wanted you to come over so you could see for yourself. I’ve tried to get help for Sonny before, but no one believed me. So a week ago, I recorded proof that there is something inside of my boy. You’ll be the first person to see it. I think this will explain everything.”

She then picked up the camcorder and fumbled with it, pressing buttons until an image of her living room, the very one they had just walked through, appeared on the television screen. Nora must have been behind the camera, as her voice came through the weak speakers of the television, sounding small and tinny. “Please God, give me the strength,” she said as the camera moved through the living room and down the hallway, unsteadily quivering as it focused on the purple door across from her bedroom.

“For whoever sees this,” the tinny voice said, “I…I woke up and heard noises again, coming from his room. It sounds really bad this time. I’m going to try to get him…it…on camera. So that everyone will know the truth. So that we can get help to force this thing out of him.”

Her voice was breathless, almost hyperventilating as she aimed the camera directly at the doorknob. He saw her trembling hand appear in the frame and grab the knob, turning it slowly. Even though the audio coming out of the television’s speakers was somewhat muffled, Erasmo could hear noises coming from the other side of the purple door.

Wet noises.

“Please God…be here for me,” Nora’s voice begged as she finished turning the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

The shrieking started immediately.

Erasmo watched as the camera fell to floor with a loud rustle, now only recording the side of Nora’s bare foot. Her piercing screams wailed in the background.

“Why?” her voice blubbered on the video. “Why did you do this? Leave us alone! Leave my son alone!”

Erasmo found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the video, but felt within him a curious mix of validation and disappointment. This wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. There was no doubt that the video was interesting, but it was clearly much ado about nothing. The “proof” was merely a recording of the side of her foot with a healthy dose of screaming in the background. Why would she have thought that this would convince anyone of anything?

The Nora in the video continued to howl in the background, and Erasmo wondered how much longer he was going to have to stare at the side of her pink foot before the video ended. And what on earth was she going to claim happened in that room? Then, to his great surprise, the image of her foot disappeared as Nora picked up the camera, aimed it into the room, and showed him exactly what had made her scream so very much.

#

A few minutes later, Erasmo stumbled out of Nora’s house, long strands of vomit clinging to his lower lip.

“Wait! Come back!” Nora yelled from behind him, running out onto the front porch. “You can help us!”

For the second time, Erasmo’s stomach erupted, this time on Nora’s weed-infested yard. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued stumbling toward the street.

“Erasmo! Please!”

He reached his old Civic, fumbled the door open, and toppled in before speeding away, not once turning around to look. Erasmo never wanted to see that delusional woman, or her sick, psychotic son, ever again.

As he swerved through the dimly lit streets of Nora’s neighborhood, unsure of what direction he was even headed in, a vicious headache emerged that felt as if it were crushing his skull. Suddenly, an image burst into his head, one of white, swirling powder floating in the night air. He tried to push it away, but found himself unable to do so, helpless to prevent his memory from unspooling the familiar, dreaded scene.

Erasmo gave in, allowing his thoughts to drift to the real and true happenings of that strange night, not the silly tale he’d spun for Nora. Erasmo clenched the steering wheel, his fingers white and trembling, wishing as he drove that the black night surrounding him would somehow open into a gaping maw and swallow him whole, leaving behind not even the slightest trace of his existence. As he drove, and shivered, and wished for oblivion, a cloud of swirling white powder once again appeared to him, drifting through his vision, until he was slowly transported back to that terrible, life-altering night.