I recognise Chay's thought: "Rob, help me!"
Dead words assail me from behind that door: "Come to us, Mother Of Death. Feed upon virgin flesh!"
My fingers are numbed; my soul, numbed. No feeling; no fear.
Farmer's voice within my head, echoed by some lady's voice a split second later; an endless reverberation of words:
"Like the Christ, you have blood in your palm. Like the Christ... rise again!"
Without thinking, I burst into the room, slamming open the door. Blinded by candlelight I throw myself at the biggest shape I make out and my fists pummel hard and fast.