The gound floor, briefly before dawn
Father MacManus had slept in the broom closet near the men's lavatory, downstairs, by the ballroom, and crept out in the morning.
On the theory that the scaries were less likely to be out in daylight. Daylight -- all he could rely on now.
He had lost the big crucifix, he had lost his small pectoral cross, his dog collar had come off when the big demon had thrown him across the pool house, he was limping, and his soggy bible had disintegrated.
He had nothing left but the words in his head, and he was murmuring those when he stumbled out, right against the big mirror opposite the door.
"Shut up, people are sleeping here!" the mirror said.
Father MacManus made the sign of the cross.
"Oh no you don't!" said the mirror, alarmed.
But he did -- the words in the priests head were coming out, all jumbled, and he prayed and prayed, and smoke was coming from the mirror, and the mirror screamed to STOP STOP STOP
And then there was the first ray of dawn from the garden, and the sound of breaking glass, and somebody was calling "It is open!!" from far away, and Father MacManus let go of the mirror, which sighed in deep relief, and he limped through the lobby, amid a few drunkenly stumbling imps that were scrambling to get away, and there was the door and he pushed it open and he hurried out and fell right onto the pavement.
He was free! Free! Free!
Father MacManus vowed never to return, to leave the City, and end his days in the silence of a mountain monastery.