The Vanishing

Chris, Rebecca, and Louisa stood outside the hospital room. Erica lay pale and still, machines beeping gently beside her.

Louisa sniffled. “I didn’t mean to feed her chillies.”

Rebecca wrapped an arm around her. “It wasn’t your fault. Erica’s going to be okay.”

Dr. Shamal exited the room.

Chris stepped forward. “How is she?”

The doctor offered a small smile. “Stable. Vitals are strong. It could be a late-onset salicylate allergy. Sometimes these develop in teens.”

“Seventeen,” Rebecca said.

“Fits the profile. We’ll keep her overnight. She should be sitting up by morning.”

Chris shook his hand. “Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor paused. “There’s a serviced apartment across the road. Quiet. Comfortable.”

Rebecca smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

Chris rested his hand on the glass. Erica’s chest rose and fell. Safe. For now.

The clock ticked to 3:00 a.m.

Erica lay sleeping.

Frost crept across the room. Her breath turned to mist. The IV line froze. The observation window frosted over.

She stirred. “Nurse?”

The door creaked.

A woman entered—in nurse’s scrubs.

But it was Erica’s face.

Erica froze. “Who are you?”

The doppelganger smiled. “You don’t want to know.”

Then—

“Why don’t I show you?”

It lunged. Gripped Erica’s wrists. Erica thrashed. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

“Feeding,” it whispered.

Its face changed—skin split, eyes blackened, teeth too long.

Erica screamed.

The demon tore into her. Blood sprayed. Limbs hit the wall. An arm rolled across the floor.

The heart monitor shrieked—then flatlined.

Back at the nurse’s station, no one noticed.

The monitor read steady.

No alarms. No error.

Just a perfect, calm rhythm.

The next morning

Chris jolted awake to his phone ringing. “Yes?”

“Mr. Roberts? Dr. Shamal. I’m sorry to call so early, but—something’s happened.”

Chris sat up. “What is it?”

“Did Erica contact you?”

“No. She’s still at the hospital, right?”

A pause.

“She was. But now she’s gone.”

Chris froze. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

Shamal stood in her room. Pristine. Empty. No trace.

“No staff saw her leave. No discharge. It’s like she was never here.”

Chris’s blood went cold.

Rebecca stirred. “What’s wrong?”

Chris ended the call, threw on clothes, and grabbed the suitcase. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Why?”

He zipped the bag. “We need to get the boys. We need to leave this island.”

“Chris, what’s happened?”

“Erica’s gone. No trace. No blood. No body. Just gone.”

Rebecca paled.

“I’m scared, Beck,” Chris said. “For the boys. For us. Something is wrong with this place.”

Rebecca nodded slowly.

“I’ll wake up the boys."

***

The speedboat roared across the choppy water, slicing through the sea like a blade. Foam sprayed on either side as Larkam gripped the wheel, focused and grim. Trish, Scott, and Faith sat behind him, bracing themselves against the bouncing ride.

Scott glanced at the large duffel bag resting between Larkam’s feet. “What’s in the bag?”

“My bag of goodies,” Larkam said with a smirk. “Holy water, crucifix… and the whole shebang. Including a claymore.”

Scott blinked. “Holy shit—you brought a sword?”

Larkam nodded. “Not just a sword. Demonslayer.”

“Demonslayer? You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

As the boat sped toward the island, Scott’s gaze dropped to the weapon. The claymore’s ornate hilt glinted in the sunlight—gold and bronze, etched with ancient runes.

“What’s the story behind it?” he asked, eyes wide.

Trish leaned forward from her seat, wind in her hair. “That sword belonged to Gabriel during the Crusades. The Gabriel.”

“So it’s… supernatural?”

“Kind of,” she replied. “They say only someone with a pure soul—divine and uncorrupted—can wield it.”

Scott sighed. “Well that rules me out.”

Faith suddenly pointed ahead. “Look! The mansion—it’s… it’s moving!”

They all stared. The mansion shimmered like a mirage, its shape warping in broad daylight. It twisted gently, as if the house itself was breathing.

Trish’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Oh my God… it’s alive.”

Scott spotted the family’s four-wheel drive parked out front. “That’s my dad’s car. They’re still there.”

On the beach, grains of sand slithered like snakes under a chair and into the sea as the boat skidded onto shore. The group disembarked quickly, gathering their weapons and gear.

Larkam huddled with them as they stared at the haunted mansion. “Here’s the deal—I need to bless the entire perimeter.”

Scott pointed at the towering estate. “Are you kidding? The place is massive!”

Trish pulled out a weathered tome. “We’ll split into two-man teams. It’s the only way.”

Scott shook his head, furious. “This is suicide!”

A low rumble cut him off.

The ground beneath them began to quake. Sand shuddered like something alive.

Larkam’s face tightened. “Run!”

He drew the claymore from its sheath. Its edge gleamed.

Faith tripped, and Scott yanked her to her feet. “Come on!”

A massive form burst from the beach—a sand demon, its eyes glowing like molten coals, wings unfurling with a terrifying snap.

Larkam stood his ground. “Partheos.”

The demon sneered. “You are not of angelic blood, preacher.”

“Go back to Hell, foul beast!” Larkam shouted.

Partheos sniffed the air, then paused—confused. He sensed something… angelic.

“It’s too late,” the demon hissed. “The covenant is nearly complete. You cannot close the portal.”

“We’ll see about that,” Larkam growled.

He charged. The claymore flashed once, missing. Then he spun with a reverse swing—this time, the blade sliced through Partheos’s midsection.

The demon snarled. “Enough games.”

Partheos surged forward in a storm of sand. Blades of grit and wind flayed Larkam alive. He screamed as his flesh was stripped in ribbons. In a final act of defiance, Larkam hurled Demonslayer to Scott’s feet before collapsing into the dunes.

“Larkam!” Trish screamed.

Scott picked up the sword.

Flame erupted from the blade.

He stared at it in shock. “What the hell is happening!?”

Trish’s eyes widened. “Oh my God… you have the gift.”

Faith looked on in disbelief. “What gift?!”

Trish swallowed. “The prophecy. Written in Sanskrit—there would come one born of love, when no light remains.”

A burst of black light exploded from the mansion. Clouds gathered above like a plague.

Faith pointed. “What the fuck is that?!”

Partheos emerged from the sand once more, roaring with demonic fury.

“The dawn of a new age has begun!”

He lunged at Scott with a massive claw made of swirling sand.

“Scott, watch out!” Faith cried.

Scott dove, rolling under the strike. “Oh shit!”

As he stood, Demonslayer ignited in his hands again. He slashed upward, cutting through the demon’s claw. Partheos howled as the limb exploded.

“So you’re the one…” Partheos snarled. “The Smiter… a boy?”

Scott gritted his teeth. “Yeah—and I’m the one who’s sending your ugly ass back to Hell!”

Partheos launched again in a tidal wave of sand. Scott raised the sword, forming a shield of holy flame. The demon’s blast hit it—and turned to glass on impact.

A beam of white light surged outward, consuming Partheos. He froze mid-roar, transformed into a glass statue.

Everyone stared in stunned silence.

“Is it… dead?” Faith asked.

Trish whispered, “I’ve never seen a demon die like that. Or at all…”

Scott stepped forward, swinging the claymore. “Let’s find out.”

He struck the statue. It shattered into a million shards.

“I guess not.”

Trish looked at him, awe and sorrow in her eyes. “Larkam saw it. I didn’t believe it at first—but he knew. To be in your presence is an honour, Scott.”

“Come on,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I’m just a kid from Sydney.”

“No,” she said. “You’re the one humanity’s been waiting for.”

“I don’t want this.”

Trish stepped closer. “But you were chosen. Your love for your family… your faith… that’s the source of your power. Would you do anything to save them?”

Faith took Scott’s hand, her eyes full of compassion. “Scott… I don’t fully understand this either. But I believe in you.”

Scott looked away, overwhelmed. The weight of everything pressed down like a mountain. But then he saw Larkam’s body, the shattered glass, the haunted mansion still pulsing with darkness.

He clenched his jaw. Then raised his eyes.

“What do you want me to do?”

Trish stepped forward with Larkam’s bag of relics. “I can’t do this alone. I need your help. We need your help.”

Scott took a breath. A fire lit behind his eyes. “Okay. What do we have to do?”33

The Smiter

The speedboat roared across the choppy water, slicing through the sea like a blade. Foam sprayed on either side as Larkam gripped the wheel, focused and grim. Trish, Scott, and Faith sat behind him, bracing themselves against the bouncing ride.

Scott glanced at the large duffel bag resting between Larkam’s feet. “What’s in the bag?”

“My bag of goodies,” Larkam said with a smirk. “Holy water, crucifix… and the whole shebang. Including a claymore.”

Scott blinked. “Holy shit—you brought a sword?”

Larkam nodded. “Not just a sword. Demonslayer.”

“Demonslayer? You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

As the boat sped toward the island, Scott’s gaze dropped to the weapon. The claymore’s ornate hilt glinted in the sunlight—gold and bronze, etched with ancient runes.

“What’s the story behind it?” he asked, eyes wide.

Trish leaned forward from her seat, wind in her hair. “That sword belonged to Gabriel during the Crusades. The Gabriel.”

“So it’s… supernatural?”

“Kind of,” she replied. “They say only someone with a pure soul—divine and uncorrupted—can wield it.”

Scott sighed. “Well that rules me out.”

Faith suddenly pointed ahead. “Look! The mansion—it’s… it’s moving!”

They all stared. The mansion shimmered like a mirage, its shape warping in broad daylight. It twisted gently, as if the house itself was breathing.

Trish’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Oh my God… it’s alive.”

Scott spotted the family’s four-wheel drive parked out front. “That’s my dad’s car. They’re still there.”

On the beach, grains of sand slithered like snakes under a chair and into the sea as the boat skidded onto shore. The group disembarked quickly, gathering their weapons and gear.

Larkam huddled with them as they stared at the haunted mansion. “Here’s the deal—I need to bless the entire perimeter.”

Scott pointed at the towering estate. “Are you kidding? The place is massive!”

Trish pulled out a weathered tome. “We’ll split into two-man teams. It’s the only way.”

Scott shook his head, furious. “This is suicide!”

A low rumble cut him off.

The ground beneath them began to quake. Sand shuddered like something alive.

Larkam’s face tightened. “Run!”

He drew the claymore from its sheath. Its edge gleamed.

Faith tripped, and Scott yanked her to her feet. “Come on!”

A massive form burst from the beach—a sand demon, its eyes glowing like molten coals, wings unfurling with a terrifying snap.

Larkam stood his ground. “Partheos.”

The demon sneered. “You are not of angelic blood, preacher.”

“Go back to Hell, foul beast!” Larkam shouted.

Partheos sniffed the air, then paused—confused. He sensed something… angelic.

“It’s too late,” the demon hissed. “The covenant is nearly complete. You cannot close the portal.”

“We’ll see about that,” Larkam growled.

He charged. The claymore flashed once, missing. Then he spun with a reverse swing—this time, the blade sliced through Partheos’s midsection.

The demon snarled. “Enough games.”

Partheos surged forward in a storm of sand. Blades of grit and wind flayed Larkam alive. He screamed as his flesh was stripped in ribbons. In a final act of defiance, Larkam hurled Demonslayer to Scott’s feet before collapsing into the dunes.

“Larkam!” Trish screamed.

Scott picked up the sword.

Flame erupted from the blade.

He stared at it in shock. “What the hell is happening!?”

Trish’s eyes widened. “Oh my God… you have the gift.”

Faith looked on in disbelief. “What gift?!”

Trish swallowed. “The prophecy. Written in Sanskrit—there would come one born of love, when no light remains.”

A burst of black light exploded from the mansion. Clouds gathered above like a plague.

Faith pointed. “What the fuck is that?!”

Partheos emerged from the sand once more, roaring with demonic fury.

“The dawn of a new age has begun!”

He lunged at Scott with a massive claw made of swirling sand.

“Scott, watch out!” Faith cried.

Scott dove, rolling under the strike. “Oh shit!”

As he stood, Demonslayer ignited in his hands again. He slashed upward, cutting through the demon’s claw. Partheos howled as the limb exploded.

“So you’re the one…” Partheos snarled. “The Smiter… a boy?”

Scott gritted his teeth. “Yeah—and I’m the one who’s sending your ugly ass back to Hell!”

Partheos launched again in a tidal wave of sand. Scott raised the sword, forming a shield of holy flame. The demon’s blast hit it—and turned to glass on impact.

A beam of white light surged outward, consuming Partheos. He froze mid-roar, transformed into a glass statue.

Everyone stared in stunned silence.

“Is it… dead?” Faith asked.

Trish whispered, “I’ve never seen a demon die like that. Or at all…”

Scott stepped forward, swinging the claymore. “Let’s find out.”

He struck the statue. It shattered into a million shards.

“I guess not.”

Trish looked at him, awe and sorrow in her eyes. “Larkam saw it. I didn’t believe it at first—but he knew. To be in your presence is an honour, Scott.”

“Come on,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I’m just a kid from Sydney.”

“No,” she said. “You’re the one humanity’s been waiting for.”

“I don’t want this.”

Trish stepped closer. “But you were chosen. Your love for your family… your faith… that’s the source of your power. Would you do anything to save them?”

Faith took Scott’s hand, her eyes full of compassion. “Scott… I don’t fully understand this either. But I believe in you.”

Scott looked away, overwhelmed. The weight of everything pressed down like a mountain. But then he saw Larkam’s body, the shattered glass, the haunted mansion still pulsing with darkness.

He clenched his jaw. Then raised his eyes.

“What do you want me to do?”

Trish stepped forward with Larkam’s bag of relics. “I can’t do this alone. I need your help. We need your help.”

Scott took a breath. A fire lit behind his eyes. “Okay. What do we have to do?”