Dawn was barely breaking when Cassian's cellphone buzzed on the motel nightstand in Haddonfield, pulling him out of a restless sleep. Helen, still wrapped in the sheets after the previous night's celebration, lifted her head with a groan as he answered. It was Daniel Hargrove, his contact at the Vatican, his deep and urgent voice cutting through the silence.
"Cassian, we have a new problem. Harrisville, Rhode Island. A family, the Perrons, just moved into a farmhouse, and the reports are bad: noises, shadows, energy we can't explain. The bishop says it smells like a demon, and they want you there now. Take Helen; you'll need her Vatican gadgets. Are you ready?"
Cassian rubbed his eyes, his mind still processing the defeat of Michael Myers, but his tone was firm.
"I'm always ready, Daniel. What do we know about the farm? Is it possession, infestation, what?"
Daniel took a deep breath, the sound of papers shuffling in the background.
"It's not clear. The local diocese says the family just arrived, and already there are signs: a dog that won't go inside, things breaking on their own. This isn't a normal case, Cassian, which is why I'm calling you. It could be big, and after Haddonfield, they trust you. Is Helen with you?"
Helen sat up, alerted by her name, and Cassian put the phone on speaker.
"I'm here, Daniel. What do I need to bring? Drones, sensors, what?"
"Everything you've got, Helen," Daniel replied. "The residual energy devices, microphones, whatever. If it's demonic, we want proof for the exorcism. Leave now; the Vatican jet is waiting for you in an hour. Keep me informed."
Cassian hung up, looking at Helen with a mix of exhaustion and resolve.
"Harrisville, then. Pack up, Helen. This sounds bad."
Hours later, the private jet dropped them off at a rural airstrip near Harrisville, and a rented Jeep took them to the Perron farmhouse, an old wooden structure creaking under a gray sky. Roger and Carolyn Perron, a tired but hopeful couple, had just moved in with their five daughters: Christine, an intense-looking teenager; Andrea, the eldest, serious and observant; Nancy, restless and talkative; Cindy, shy with big eyes; and April, the youngest, curious and quiet. While Roger unloaded boxes, Carolyn greeted them on the porch, her tense smile fading as she noticed Cassian's crucifix.
"Who are you?" Carolyn asked, her voice trembling. "We didn't ask for help from the church; we just got here."
Cassian stepped out of the Jeep, his imposing presence calming the air.
"I'm Cassian, this is Helen. We're from the Vatican, Mrs. Perron. We were called in because of strange reports here. We don't want to scare you, but if something threatens your family, we'll stop it. What's happened since you arrived?"
Roger approached, wiping his hands on his jeans, his brow furrowed.
"The Vatican? Is this a joke? We've only been here a day, and yeah, Sadie, our dog, is acting weird—she won't come inside and barks like crazy. But that's no reason to bring priests, is it?"
Helen opened her briefcase, pulling out a device with a blinking screen.
"We're not ordinary priests, Mr. Perron. This measures residual energy, and I'm already seeing spikes around the basement. Something's not right here. April found a music box under a tree, right? Can I see it?"
April, hiding behind Carolyn, nodded shyly, handing over an old wooden box with a fogged mirror. Cassian took it, feeling a sharp coldness in his fingers, and opened it, letting a twisted melody play that made his crucifix tremble.
"This isn't normal," he said, closing it quickly. "There's a presence here, Helen, but I can't identify it yet. What else have you noticed?"
Carolyn swallowed, glancing at Roger before speaking.
"Last night… Roger was in his study and heard noises. We thought it was the wind, but Cindy, our middle daughter, was sleepwalking. We found her in the hallway, staring at the ceiling like she was seeing something."
Cassian frowned, his hand tightening around the Latin prayer book in his bag.
"Sleepwalking can be a sign. Demons use the weak to move. I want to see her tonight, Roger, Carolyn. If something's lurking, I'll know."
That night, the farmhouse sank into an oppressive silence. Roger was working in his study, surrounded by boxes, when a dull thud echoed from the attic. He climbed the stairs, flashlight in hand, and found Cindy standing motionless, her blank eyes staring into a dark corner. Cassian, who had been patrolling the house with Helen, followed him, his crucifix glowing faintly. A shadow moved on the wall, tall and twisted, whispering in a deep tone that froze the blood.
"Veni… ludere… mecum…" hissed the shadow, its voice tearing through the air.
Cassian pushed Roger back, raising his book and reciting forcefully:
"Domine meus, protege nos ab omni malo!"
The shadow retreated but didn't dissolve, sliding toward the basement. Helen, with her device, ran after Cassian, shouting:
"Off-the-charts spikes, Cassian! It's downstairs, in the basement. What was that thing?"
"I don't know yet," he replied, his voice tense. "Stay here with Roger; I'll check it out."
At dawn, the horror erupted: Sadie lay dead in front of the house, her body mutilated with claw marks that looked like infernal burns. Carolyn ran outside, screaming when she saw her, and Cassian intercepted her, his tone urgent as he grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Listen to me, Carolyn. A demon is here; it killed your dog and is playing with your family. Those bruises on your arms aren't random—it's marking you. Tell me everything you've felt, every detail."
Carolyn trembled, tears filling her eyes.
"I don't know… I wake up with bruises, feel cold all the time. Last night, while Roger was with Cindy, I heard footsteps in the hallway, but there was no one there. What's happening to us?"
Cassian let her go, turning toward the basement entrance they'd discovered behind a broken plank uncovered by Christine.
"It's testing you, looking for a host. Helen, check the music box again—it might be a focal point. I'm going down."
The next night, the terror escalated. At 3:07 a.m., all the clocks in the farmhouse stopped with a dry click. Cassian, in the living room with Helen, felt the air grow heavy, his crucifix vibrating against his chest. Then, from the basement, a chorus of demonic children's voices erupted, chanting in corrupted Latin that froze the blood and twisted the soul:
"Veni, veni, dominus tenebris… sanguis noster tibi offertur… ludus mortis incipit nunc…"
The words were a challenge, a mockery of the sacred Latin Cassian knew, and the floor shook as the voices rose in a crescendo. Helen dropped her device, covering her ears, her voice breaking.
"Cassian, what is that?! It sounds like children, but… they're not, are they? It's giving me chills—I can't take it."
Cassian raised his book, his face pale but his voice firm.
"They're not children; they're echoes of something ancient. Exaudi me, Domine, et disperde has tenebras!" he recited, but the voices laughed louder, and a blast of black wind shot out of the basement, extinguishing the lights.
Roger and Carolyn ran downstairs, the girls screaming from their rooms. Cassian stopped them on the stairs, his gaze fierce.
"Don't go down, any of you. That chant is a trap—it wants me there. Helen, stay with them; use the psalm recorded in your equipment if it gets worse. I'm going to the basement."
Carolyn grabbed his arm, her voice desperate.
"You can't go alone! Those voices… they're evil, Cassian. What if they catch you?"
Cassian pulled away, his tone icy but determined.
"If they catch me, Helen will get you out of here. But I won't let this grow. Stay upstairs, Carolyn—protect your daughters."
He descended into the basement, the air thick like molasses, and the voices enveloped him, whispering:
"Veni, exorcista… ludamus…"
But as he stepped onto the last stair, the basement vanished. The floor beneath his boots turned to burning stone, the walls rising into a vast, dark space illuminated by rivers of fire that snaked like veins. Before him stood a pale-faced woman with sunken eyes, watching him. Beside her loomed a demonic figure, blurry in the dim light, its features indistinct except for twisted horns and a red glow where its face should be. Around them, children with demonic faces—cracked skin, black eyes like pits, sharp teeth—sang in a circle, their voices echoing in profane Latin:
"Veni, veni, dominus tenebris… sanguis noster tibi offertur… ludus mortis incipit nunc…"
Cassian raised his book, reciting forcefully:
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, expelle te ab hoc loco!"
The children laughed, their shrill cackles cutting through the air like shattered glass, while the woman watched him with a twisted smile. The demon beside her growled, a sound that vibrated in Cassian's bones, but it didn't attack, as if evaluating him. Cassian took a step back, his heart racing as he realized the disadvantage: this wasn't the basement—it was an infernal plane, and his power here was limited.
"I can't fight them here," he muttered, pulling out a small crucifix blessed by the Pope that he kept in his jacket. He raised it, his voice resonating with authority:
"Per sanctam crucem tuam, Domine, libera me ab istis tenebris!"
The crucifix glowed with blinding white light, and the floor opened beneath him, returning him to the real basement in an instant. He staggered up the stairs, the echo of laughter still ringing in his head, and found Helen, Roger, and Carolyn waiting with pale faces.
"We need help," Cassian said, panting as he pulled out his phone. "This is bigger than I thought. There was a woman, a demon, demonic children… I'm not ready for this alone."
He dialed Elise Rainier's number, an ally from past cases, and waited as it rang. Her weary but warm voice finally answered.
"Cassian, what's wrong? You sound like you've seen hell."
"I have, Elise," he replied, his tone urgent. "I'm in Harrisville, at an infested farmhouse. There's a powerful demon, a woman, and children chanting in corrupted Latin. I'm at a disadvantage—I need your insight. Can you come?"
Elise sighed, the sound of wind in the background.
"I'm in New Mexico, Cassian, finishing a nasty case. I can't come right now, but listen: contact Ed and Lorraine Warren. They're parapsychologists, the best I know, and they live near you. They'll help you with this."
Cassian nodded, though she couldn't see him.
"Thanks, Elise. I'll reach out to them. If this ends soon, I'll come to New Mexico for you. Take care."
He hung up, looking at Helen with dark eyes.
"Ed and Lorraine Warren. We call them now. I'm not facing this alone—not yet."
The terror of the basement still pulsed in the air, the laughter of the demonic children echoing in his mind as the farmhouse subtly trembled, as if something below was waiting for his return.