Sunday 8th November, 1992

Becca pushed her bowl away, its contents untouched. Her uncle said nothing and seconds later did the same with his bowl. While Becca gazed blankly out of the kitchen window at the morbidly grey sky, her uncle continued to pretend to be interested in the front page of his Sunday newspaper. The cap remained firmly on his red pen.

The front door opened, and Maggie bustled into the kitchen, holding two shopping bags. Clearly expecting the silent kitchen to be empty, she jumped back in fright, dropping the bags when she realised it was not. Second-hand clothing, collected for the local homeless shelter, spilled out over the floor.

"Goodness me," she panted, "I nearly died of fright." Her right hand came up and quickly covered her mouth after she realised what she'd said. Becca's uncle smiled weakly and gestured to her, to talk in the hallway. She nodded, picked up her handbag, and scurried out.

"I'll be back in a minute, Rebecca." He stood up, briefly placing a hand on her shoulder before he too headed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Becca didn't need to hear their murmured conversation to know what the topic was--her.

The sun peeked out from behind a particularly large, dark cloud, its light cutting a brilliant swathe across the field till it reached the window, filling her with a warmth she felt she didn't deserve.

She heard the front door open and then close. She also heard her uncle heave a deep sigh before he returned to the room and his seat at the table.

"Maggie has just gone to the church to make sure Reverend Carter has everything he needs for this morning's service."

Becca moved her eyes from the window to the clock on the wall. It was nearly ten o'clock. She had been awake for five hours and been in that very seat for nearly three of them.

"I thought it best that I stay here with you this morning. Reverend Carter was very understanding and willing to step in to help. I felt it wouldn't be right to cancel the service considering recent events. The community needs to come together at a time like this. However, you and I will go to the church later. What I have to say will be easier said there."

Becca nodded; her eyes still trained on the minute hand as time ticked away torturously slowly, not really paying any attention.

As the day wore on, her uncle fended off numerous nosy visitors and answered several phone calls, always closing the door behind him, so she couldn't hear what he was talking about. Occasionally he came in to give her messages of concern and support from her friends. Ben had apparently called three times, but not even that knowledge improved her dark mood. She turned the page in the book that was lying in her lap, although she hadn't read a word, and resumed staring into oblivion.

"Put your shoes and coat on, and we'll be off."

Rebecca did not respond.

"Rebecca, I said put your shoes and coat on." His voice was slightly louder yet strained.

"I heard you the first time," Becca snapped. She turned to her uncle, poised for his sharp retort, but he didn't give one. Instead, he held out her coat. Resigned, she put on her boots, tugging fiercely at the laces, and slipped into the coat.

"Let's go." He opened the front door.

Becca took a step forward and then blanched, retreating down the hall.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. We are just going to walk to the church and back again."

"No, no, I can't go out there."

"Rebecca, no one blames you for what happened. It wasn't your fault and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

She shook her head.

"I implore you, Rebecca, we must go to the church. I promise, you have nothing to fear."

Rebecca looked to the outside. It had begun to rain heavily in the last hour and she couldn't imagine anyone being out and about. Anyone human that was. Her uncle clearly needed to go to the church and she definitely did not want to remain in the house alone, so she knew she had little option.

"Okay, but I really don't want to talk to anyone."

"Absolutely."

Reluctantly she followed him outside and, avoiding deep puddles, they arrived at the church without seeing another soul. In the dim light, the flint stoned walls and dark windows of the old church looked drab and unwelcoming. Her uncle used an old key to unlock the heavy wooden door, which creaked loudly as it opened inwards.

"It will be a little cold inside, as the heating only comes on in the morning."

She followed him into the dark entrance and waited while he found the light switch. On top of the usual slightly damp, musty smell, the artificial scent of lavender hung in the air, indicating Maggie had stayed behind after the morning's service to clean and polish. A buzz came from the overhead fixtures as the strip lighting above, came to life.

"I'll just lock the door behind us, so we aren't bothered by anyone. Right, follow me."

They made their way down the centre aisle of the nave and turned off before they reached the altar, entering the vestry through a small side door.

Becca had never been invited into this room before and was surprised by what she saw. At home her uncle kept everything tidy and furnished to the bare minimum. Spartan would be more apt description. This room, however, was utterly different. The rough rendered walls were painted a warm ochre, and the dark oak furniture and thick pile rug on the floor made for a very homely feel. More homely than his home, that was for sure. In the corner of the room she couldn't help but notice a worn guitar resting on a wooden chest.

"Take a seat," he said, gesturing to a green velour padded chair to one side of the sturdy desk. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Becca shook her head, hoping he would hurry up doing whatever it was he was intending to do, so they could return to the house.

Having removed his coat and hung it on a hook on the wall positioned next to a freshly laundered white surplice and black cassock, he took a seat behind the desk, picking up a small pile of papers, shuffling them and then placing them back down on the surface. A single pen, laid at forty-five-degrees to the edge of the desk, was also straightened. It was at that point that Becca realised he seemed hesitant, the fiddling his way of avoiding doing something. She heard him take a deep breath as he leaned forward.

"How long has he been... bothering you?"

She thought back to the house not twenty minutes earlier when Ben had rung again for the fourth time, much to the annoyance of her uncle. He hadn't said he was annoyed, but the tone of his voice had given him away.

"He isn't bothering me, Uncle, he's just concerned about me. I'll ring him when we get back."

So far, considering everything, her uncle had been kind to her, far kinder than she would have ever thought him capable of. She had been a misery all day and her response, while understandable, wasn't right. After all, she hadn't lost a loved one this time. When she got back, she would....

His next words sliced through her inner monologue, rendering her speechless. "No, I didn't mean Ben. How long has he been bothering you?"

Her eyes widened and she swallowed nervously.

"What name is he using this time, Rebecca? Delmaean, Halidon...Ashmadalak."

Dumbfounded, she couldn't reply.

He held her gaze, his expression stern as her eyes began to fill up.

"I know you know who I am talking about."

Trembling from head to toe, she struggled for the words. "Ash...Ashmadalak."

Her uncle winced as she said the name.

"But, how...?"

He sighed heavily. His stern expression had changed into something sad and very tired.

"Show me your necklace."

Confused by the change in topic, she couldn't comprehend what he was asking of her.

"Your pendant. I need to see your pendant."

With shaking hands, she pulled the pendant up from beneath her high neck sweater and over her head.

"But what has this got to do with..."

He waved her into silence as she offered him the pendant. "No, don't hand it to me, just place it on this." He moved the stack of papers forward and once the pendant was situated, he pulled the pile towards himself, turning on a desk lamp to illuminate the surface.

She watched as he used a black pen to move the stone. An array of emotions seemed to flood across his face and she saw both anger and fear. For several minutes, he said nothing, and the silence of the church felt even heavier and confining.

Finally, he looked up. "Rebecca, I have prayed long and hard so that I would never have to say what I am about to, but sadly that time has arrived. Once I have told you everything, you will have every right to feel scared and angry, but I beseech you to please hear me out, let me try to help you. This isn't something you should have to deal with alone."

Despite the urge to run from the room, Becca nodded to him to continue.

"Do you know what he is?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"When did he tell you?"

"Just over a week ago."

"And did he say what he wanted from you?"

"Yes." She squirmed in her seat.

"Interesting. Seems he is taking a different approach this time."

This time. His words made her chest feel even tighter.

"You're not the first person to have had to deal with this situation."

If he was hoping that admission would provide her a modicum of comfort, he'd supposed wrong.

"Your mother was given a necklace just like that one on her fourteenth birthday."

My mother. The room seemed to move and stretch, her uncle now appearing as if he was at the far end of a long, dark tunnel.

"And your great grandmother before her. Your... condition doesn't always pass straight down, sometimes it skips a generation or two, in fact in the eighteen-hundreds it skipped four generations and it was hoped that this... for want of a better word... curse... had left your lineage forever. I truly hoped it had skipped in your case, but we are where we are."

Lineage...curse... His words came fast, knocking the wind from her lungs.

"I am here for you, Rebecca. We are here for you. We will not allow him to do to you what he did to your mother."

"Wha... what did he do to my mother?" Her breathing was now fast and shallow. Her head was spinning. "Tell me."

He stood up and walked over to a tall grey filing cabinet, unlocked it, and then pulled out a box from the top drawer. He came back to the desk and placed the box before him, gently removing the lid.

"Your mother was such a happy child, Rebecca. She was the sweetest little thing."

He passed Rebecca a picture of her mother that she had never seen before. Smiling at the camera and eating an ice-cream, her eyes full of joy, a grin on her face to match. Her mother appeared to be around ten years old. Her uncle then passed her another picture, but this time her mother was a little older and wearing a starchy, new school uniform.

"She was twelve years old in that picture, her first day at big school."

He then handed a third picture to Becca. This one seemed different, but she couldn't quite work out why. Her mother was older, but it wasn't to do with her age. It was her eyes. While her face was smiling, her eyes were not and as they stared at the camera, Becca felt herself grow colder. The eyes were of someone suffering on the inside, someone tormented. Becca wondered if that was what her eyes looked like now.

"When Nadine was fourteen, her younger brother, your uncle, died. It was a tragic accident. Sam had somehow gotten into your grandfather's gun case and decided to show one of the shotguns to his friends. Your grandfather always maintained that the guns were never stored loaded, but sadly the one Sam was playing with was, and it went off accidentally. Your mother took it very badly. She had been babysitting that day but had gone to see her friend next door. When she heard the gunshot, she ran back to the house, but it was too late to do anything, Sam had been killed outright."

Becca was now presented with another picture. It was of a young boy, who looked just like her mother, only he had the same hair colour as Becca. Why had she never heard that she once had another uncle?

"When Sam died, it changed Nadine. Until that point, her soul had been no more or less delicate than anyone else's, but grief took hold and twisted everything. Her soul became vulnerable, more vulnerable than most and consequently, it made her a target for demons. Just like the death of your father has done to you."

All at once, Becca could feel what he was talking about. When her father died, she had been utterly bereft, but it had always felt more than that inside. It was like something in her had broken, something she hadn't realised was there until it had been damaged.

"Her parents, your grandparents, knew of your family history and chose to tell Nadine of the risks that she now faced. Just as I am doing for you now. They sort out help and she was given the necklace."

Becca looked down at the pendant.

"It isn't some magical amulet if you're wondering? It is merely a visual representation of your soul. As the soul is corrupted, the stone changes and becomes ..."

"Darker."

He nodded. Neither of them mentioned the large black smear within the pendant on the table before them and he redirected the conversation.

"As their only remaining child, your grandparents were so desperate to keep Nadine safe, they became very strict and overprotective. Unlike everyone else her age, the sixties for Nadine were most definitely not swinging, and she began to resent the rules her father had imposed. She didn't believe the risks she was under, thinking they were just stories made up to control her."

Becca knew exactly how her mother had felt. Nothing seemed real anymore. All that was good in her world had soured like spoilt milk.

"When Nadine met your father, just after she turned seventeen, they quickly fell in love and very soon began speaking of moving in together. But your grandfather forbade it and told her she wasn't allowed to see him again. I'd imagine you are wondering why your father was resented so, and to answer that, you must put things into the context of the day. Your poor father, who I grew to be very fond of, was the product of an unwed mother and spent his entire life moving from one children's home to the next. He had struggled all his life without parental guidance and had spent some time in borstal too. Your grandfather learned of this from the village gossips and felt he was not the right material to be his son-in-law. Your mother disagreed entirely. The day after her eighteenth birthday, she packed her bags and in the middle of the night ran off with your father."

Becca's jaw dropped. When would the revelations stop?

"First they went down to London and lived in a squat with some hippies. A few months later, they moved to Leeds, before finally settling it seems in Manchester. She would call me occasionally so I could pass on her news to her parents so they wouldn't worry too much."

Her parents? Only remaining child? The look on her face must have alerted him to her inner questions.

"I am not your uncle, Rebecca."

"But... but Dad said you were. He made me promise to come and live with you." Even though her father had been in and out of consciousness, and at times delirious, there had been no mistaking his words.

Her uncle, or whoever he was, sighed. "I know he did, Rebecca. But, you see, he knew how special you were, and he knew that the only place you would be safe was with me.

Until now she had been stunned into an uncomprehending numbness, but now the vagueness of everything seemed to be clearing and she felt anger begin to rise.

"So, if you're not my uncle, who the hell are you? Are you even a real vicar?"

His eyes went to the door for a moment, like he was checking to see if it was locked. When he looked back at her, he smiled gently.

"Yes, Rebecca, my real name is John Stokes and I've been reverend of this parish for nearly fifteen years. But... I am also a member of an organisation that is as old as the hills and one which was formed to protect people such as yourself."

"What organisation?" she asked quietly.

"The Custos."

Becca mouthed the word.

"The Custos is an ancient order, set up to protect the most vulnerable souls on this earth. You see, every soul is rare and precious, but some are more valuable to the underworld than others. The power contained in your soul is so vast that in the wrong hands, it could cause great damage."

She could barely believe what he was saying and wanted him to stop, but at the same time she had too many unanswered questions and the more he spoke, the more questions she had.

"So, my mother had a weak soul like mine, and this demon, this Ashmadalak did the same to her as he is trying to do to me?"

"Your mother's soul, like yours was not weak, Rebecca. Quite the opposite in fact. But I am afraid so, yes."

"So why didn't your ancient order protect her?"

He sighed. "She wouldn't let us. We tried everything we could, but she refused all help. We tried many times to find her, but she and your father made sure they had covered their tracks. It was only at the end, did we learn of her location, but by that stage it was too late.

His voice cracked on those last words.

Many times, in those early years, she asked her father what had happened to her mother, but he always clammed up and changed the subject. In the end she'd just stopped asking. Would she now get those much-needed answers?

"Why, what do you mean?"

"He found her, he manipulated her, and he broke her. He broke her until her soul splintered into a million tiny pieces and turned black."

Becca looked down to the pendant again.

"But how? How did he do that?"

She felt him tense up.

"I think it's best that we leave the questions there today. We have to discuss what we..."

"Oh no, you're not stopping there. I am so sick of all the secrets and lies. How did he break her?" She was close to shouting.

John removed his glasses and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me..., John."

"Very well then." He took a deep breath. "In spite of everything, including your dear father, your mother fell in love with the demon. She was so under his thrall, she forgot she was a wife, she forgot she was a mother and she self-destructed. When your father finally realised what was happening, he contacted us, but it was too late."

Becca could feel the last thread of her sanity unwinding.

"Too late for what," she whispered.

"Rebecca, this has all been too much too soon, let's...."

"Too late for what?" she repeated, tears streaming down her face.

"She couldn't take anymore, so she threw herself of a cliff and ended her life as she didn't want to live it without the demon anymore."

"No, no, no." Becca shook her head repeatedly. She stood up, but immediately staggered back. "No, it's not true, she would never. Say it's not true. Say it!"

John, her former uncle, lowered his head and shook it slowly.

Becca kicked out at the chair she had been sitting on. It toppled over. "No, it's not true." She backed towards the door.

"Rebecca, calm yourself."

Her hand found the key. She turned it and flung the door open and ran out into the nave of the church. To the rear, at the right she saw a fire exit door, its grey colour and garish green livery looking utterly out of place in such an old building. Gasping for air, she staggered over to the door, pushed at the metal bar and it opened out into the night with a bang. As she ran through puddles, through mud, on and on, the Reverend's cries faded to nothing behind her.