Barns, Blood and Rock and Roll

by Joe Zito

  The Possession of Abby Mcgullen

  Curious sepia toned colored clouds hung over Joseph Mcgullen’s farmhouse as if masterminding the terror that was going on inside, this 6th day of May, 1934 Helt, Indiana. The mind’s eye of a wicked wind gathered in the shape of a snake made of dust and crawled into the house and up the stairs; going smoothly, creeping up each step like the devil’s fingertips ascending up a death black piano in hell, starting at the low keys. The dust snake passed portraits hung on the wall of good days gone by: a father, a daughter and a mother who had passed on a year earlier leaving her daughter to cry. A thick heavy heartbeat pounded as the snake reached the top of the stairs. There at the end of the hallway was a white door that led to a frightening and scary place. And inside that room is a little girl of thirteen in the mighty hellish grip of Satan. Her body is just a dead theater unto which the devil performs its black possession on her soul the stage. But that strange horror inside her may not be what it seems.

  She was tied to the bed and from her legs she bled, coloring the white sheets in red horror. The priest had no fear of the beast as he wetted the child with holy water and said, “I command you back to hell’s corridor.”

  Joseph Mcgullen, Abby’s Father, was sitting downstairs at the kitchen table. His sister in law was by his side. The kitchen was darkened by an eerie, mid-morning witching green hue of an unstable weather system moving in from out west. Helt, Indiana would soon be saturated from a spring thunderstorm. A distant thunder echoed into the vicinity of Josephs land and over his cornfield.

  Mr.Mcgullens fists were balled up, covering his eyes. A half empty bottle of red wine sat in the middle of the table. He lowered his hand from his face revealing his red, wet eyes and the sad look of a broken man at a loss for words. He pounded the table with one fist in anger but more frustration. The red wine rippled inside the bottle.

  “My dear Abby. What is happening to my little girl?”

  “God will protect her Joseph.” His sister in law put her hands on his trying to calm and comfort him.

  Joseph spoke with a heavy Irish accent as he was an immigrant from thirteen years ago. He came to America with high hopes and his then one year old daughter Abby and wife Anne by his side. He settled on Indiana and its flourishing land of corn. He thought there were too many already out west taking up all the land that was rich with wheat. Being Irish catholic they attended the Helt Catholic Church once they settled down. They became friends with Father Devuall who eventually went on to baptize their two year old Abby. Now the priest was upstairs in the room fighting with the thing attached to her soul.

  The eye of the dust snake curved itself around the room, lifting itself up to the ceiling, watching from above.

  Father Devuall swung holy water like a knife onto Abby. A burning scream erupted from her mouth. He commanded the demon out and to be gone from her forever.

  “By the power of Christ I compel thee, this un-good spirit and black aura to leave this child once and for….”

  The priest stopped in mid speech halting the exorcism. His arms dropped to his sides. He let go of the crucifix and holy water. The heavenly objects fell to the floor. He held his head down but then looked up, staring at Abby with a grin on his face.

  “Let’s just stop this shall we.” His old man voice was deep and almost English sounding. He stepped closer to the bed in which Abby was confined. The floor creaked with each step. Upon reaching her bedside, he stood above her looking down on her and her face of possession.

  “Oh, my dear child, it’s been such a long time since I first layed eyes on you. You were so very young, two years old I believe. And now look at you, all grown up. And oh how I’ve dreamed of having you someday. Dreams do come true they say.”

  He sat down next to her on the bed. He pulled up her white gown revealing her blood soaked underwear.

  “Ahh” His eye brows raised in surprise but more with excitement.

  “Baby is bleeding. But you’re not a baby anymore. You are becoming a woman and it is so sad mother isn’t here to assist you and teach you the things of your new found womanhood. What was it? Ah yes, a car crash I believe it was. Such a good woman and beautiful to, just like you with your irish red hair. Up, up now.”

  He reached under her and pulled her underwear down. He made a slight sound of disgust at the sight and smell of her freshly menstruated undergarment.

  “Now whatever is inside of you tearing away at your little soul, well we’re just going to let it keep on tearing away at it for just bit longer, ok.” He kissed her sweaty forehead and mounted himself on top of her. He spoke softly just above her face.

  “I’ve use to watch you sitting on your mommy’s lap during mass. Afterwards in the confessional booth I….well….” He grinned as if he was the luckiest man on earth. And then the spirit of St. Michael exited from her mouth leaving her in a lifeless, nonmoving stupor with her head cocked to the side.

  ‘What is this?” Father said with sudden confused surprise in his voice. Immediately after St. Michael’s exit, the dust snake spirit of Abby’s Mother Anne flew hastily into her daughter entering through her mouth.

  …..Something is wrong, terribly wrong St. Michael. I can feel it. My daughter is in danger. I must go to her.

  It is common for a new soul to still feel things in the life they once lived upon entering the gates of heaven. I assure you Anne it will pass…..

  Months after being inducted into the place where the good souls go after death, Anne began having feeling of unrest and horror concerning her daughter back on earth. Against the advisement of St. Michael, Anne flew her spirit back to earth in hopes of rendering these awful feelings as just plain sadness of missing her daughter and husband. But Anne knew something was wrong. Upon re-entering her spirit with the living, she blew into the church in the form of a cold winter wind where she and her husband attended. As she watched the pews of praying members of the congregation from high above, she saw Abby and her husband kneeling and praying as well. She wanted to reach out and touch them and tell them how much she missed them and loves them, but then those dreadful feeling started in again. They attacked her viciously and they were not coming from little Abby down below at her pew but rather from father Devuall at the altar. Just as quickly as the feeling came on, they dissipated leaving Anne’s spirit confused and wondering why the aura of terror was coming from father Devuall. She needed to know why. Later that night she flew in the darkness over the cornfields of Helt and into the old town and then finally into the church where father Devuall lay sleeping soundly in his bed. He was unaware of Anne’s spirit hovering just inches above him as he slept, taking in all the wretched and vile atrocities he dreamed of doing to her daughter Abby.

  …..Dear St. Michael, I saw everything; all the horrible things he dreams of doing to my Abby. You must help me.

  Do you know that by you disobeying my orders of re-entering the living is just cause for banishment from heaven?

  I know I have done wrong. But please St. Michael. I cannot let my dear Abby unknowingly live in danger. He has to be stopped. I….we have to stop him.

  St. Michael’s wings flapped high in frustration.

  Anne, god simply cannot allow us to act as vigilantes, taking revenge on those that hurt us when we were living. You simply cannot go back to earth and start slaughtering people. It’s not allowed.

  He could feel every drop of anxiety, fear, hate and disgust that Anne had to offer. His wings sloped in a downwardly fashion with sadness.

  Anne, it cannot be done. I’m sorry.

  They were silent for a moment but then St. Michael raised his eyes to Anne, giving her a serious eyes.

  There might be one thing we could do. But it can only be done once.

  Please, what is it?

  Have you ever heard of mock possession?......

  Abby’s mother flew into her daughter’s mouth just as she and St. Michael had planned. His work was done. He flew away, off in a ghost white trail back to heave
n. Anne momentarily lay dormant inside her daughter.

  “What is this?” Father Devuall said with bright, shocked surprise. One moment little Abby was a hissing, moaning and drooling puppet of St.Michael under his mock possession, now it looked as if she had suddenly died with her head slanted down on her pillow. Her eyes were closed and her lungs barely pushed air inside her.

  “Abby,” the priest said cautiously.

  She was still hadn’t moved and the priest was still on top of her. He tapped her on the cheeks with the palm of his hand, trying to wake her. Still no movement. What fiendish surprises lie inside.

  “Abb…”

  He was cut off when a gruesome, pale white hand with boney sharp nails emerged from Abby’s mouth. They wiggled about making father Devuall jump up in wild fright. He fell off the bed and landed on the floor. Stunned, he stood up slowly. The fingers that popped out of her mouth turned into an arm and then slowly the rest of Abby’s mother pushed its way out of her mouth. As she pulled herself out, father Devuall’s eye’s grew wide as if confronting an ancient demon from a bloody black sea. Anne’s demonic body slid with ease out of her daughter. A glistening layer of slime coated her muscular, pale white girth of a body. Her face was that of her once living self except for two rows of sharp teeth in her mouth. She crouched over her unharmed yet comatose daughter. She will not be harmed. She will live, St. Michael had told Anne. The priest stood like a straight board driven into the ground with his mouth wide open in disbelief. Not a sound could he make with his strangled vocal chords. What father Devuall saw in front of him indeed was a demon. Not necessarily a demon of an evil nature but the outer appearance of a demon nonetheless. Spirits cannot take the lives of the living. But there is another way Anne. I can transform you into a living thing, but only once.

  In a chocked and struggling tone father Devuall began to pray. “Hail mary full of grace the lord is with…”

  Anne stood up revealing her slimy, hulking female demon body to the scrawny priest. Upon viewing her towering atrocity, he realized this female demon with her statuesque, sculptured looking breasts, arms and legs and her blazing, fire red hair was without a doubt Abby’s Mother. He shrieked at the sight, sounding old and pathetic. She spread her wings. Thick long lines of clear slime dripped to the floor. She jumped off the bed and stomped on the floor. It jolted Joseph out of his seat downstairs in the kitchen. He flew out of his chair and to the staircase. His sister in law demanded that they adhere to father Devuall’s request. “Just stay put until it’s over. I’ll be upstairs fucking your thirteen year old possessed and menstruating daughter. Don’t worry she’ll be in good hands. Christ have mercy.” Joseph dismissed Anne’s sister’s plea and rushed to the stairs.

  In the room, Anne kneeled down to her daughter’s bedside. Abby had broken out into a cold sweat, but was still breathing and still unharmed. Anne brushed her hand over Abby’s red hair. She looked at her with loving, motherly eyes. “Oh, my sweet Abby, mommy is going to protect you. This horrid man will never hurt you. I will make sure of that. I dream of you every day my little one.”

  She then shifted her attention to the cowardly priest. Hate and rage burned in her red, female demon eyes.

  “How dare you even begin to think of touching my only daughter!” She hissed at him.

  She stood and lurched towards him, one angry demon footstep after another. Her wings lifted with might, full of strong, vengeful power. Anne hissed again and roared at the ceiling. Her fire red hair flew over her left shoulder looking like a bloody waterfall. She reached for the priest with deadly intent, her large bony hands opened wide ready to claw at his soul. Then the door to Abby’s room busted open. She turned around swiftly and saw Joseph. His eyes exploded with distraught terror. She squealed a high and shrill pitched scream upon his entry. She put her hand out to touch him.

  “Father, can you hear me? What’s happened to Abby, is she all right.” He said shaking with horror.

  Father Devuall didn’t respond. He had fallen to the floor, dead of a heart attack. As if she had forgotten the reason why she was here, Anne began walking towards Joseph. He put his arms up in front of him as if to protect himself. He looked away when she towered in front of him. He was sure he would die today. But then he heard Anne’s soft voice. It was the voice of Ireland. A voice he knew all too well.

  “Joseph please, it’s me Anne. Don’t be frightened.”

  With great effort he lowered his arms and gazed at her in horror. Gone was the hulking, demonic pale body. She stood before him naked, drenched in glistening clear slime and her face as beautiful as the day they met. An afterlife glow surrounded her entire body.

  “My dear Joseph.” She reached out to touch him but could not feel him. He released an anguished cry. “Anne, it is you.”

  She spoke in the dark room. “Abby needed me Joseph. So I’m here to protect her.”

  She turned away from her living husband and walked back to the dead priest. In the blink of an eye, Anne morphed back into the gargantuan demon she had become in order to save her daughter’s life. The sight of father Devuall lying dead on the floor angered her. She howled at the ceiling and her wings flew upward. Then there was a pounding at Abby’s door. It was Anne’s sister. Joseph had locked it before she could get in to witness this dreadful situation: her niece lying almost dead on her bed, a dead priest on the floor and her sister, the vengeful white demon from heaven.

  “Everything is ok. Abby is fine Elizabeth. It’s almost over,” he told his sister in law without taking his eyes off of Anne. And with that Anne picked up father Devuall. She placed her thick hand over his un-beating heart. An orange glow of light formed over his chest. He came alive.

  “Dying would be to easy father,” she snarled at him.

  He frowned and let out a defeated gasp of despair. She swung him over her wide shoulder, preparing to take him to hell where he would suffer a never ending heart attack in the depths of his fiery prison.

  She turned and faced Joseph and Abby for the last time. Abby began moving in her bed. She moaned and started to cry. It was Abby; she was back and unharmed as St. Michael promised. She sat up in her bed. She said hysterically, “Daddy, daddy, what happened?” Her father went to her and picked her up. He laid her head down on his shoulder and turned the other way so she couldn’t see her mother.

  “It’s ok Abby. It’s over.”

  “What’s over Daddy?”

  She hadn’t remembered a thing.

  A hot bolt of lightning struck the ground outside close to the farmhouse. It lit up Abby’s room and everyone looked like ghosts. The witching green hue of the sky could be seen through the window behind Anne. It looked deadly gothic and made the room even darker, leaving one to wonder if it was dusk or dawn. Joseph cradled his daughter’s head as he watched Anne from across the room. She turned and crashed through the window, showering the room with sharp glass. She flew out and high above the farmhouse and over the cornfield as lightning struck near and far. A mass of angry brown clouds silently drifted in her course swallowing her and the evildoer priest in one giant gulp.

  Sid

  Sid was thinking of the fresh catch he made at the club tonight as he carefully applied black eye liner around his eyes, being careful not to smudge it too badly. There were so many to choose from, but he reveled in the thought of having finally found the one that will make history with him.

  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead from the hot, round, bright bulbs around the bathroom mirror. They buzzed an electrical tune as he applied his mother’s makeup and hummed along to the song playing on the record player in the other room. The soft cries of a weeping female beyond the bathroom door clashed with the audio. The ball gag in her mouth dripped with spit and tears and was becoming saturated. He turned his head and saw a flash of her snotty, mascara streaked face through the crack in the bathroom door. Their eyes met and she screamed through her wet ball gag as if saying ‘please’. He kicked the door closed.

  As thrilled
as Sid was with his catch, he couldn’t get over the strained thought that’s been running through his mind all night. A distressed and confused face of a young man reflected back at him in the mirror. It wasn’t the acid he and his friends had taken at the club just now catching up with him. And it wasn’t that new freaked out band called Skinny Puppy the dj was playing. No, he thought. It wasn’t any of these things that were troubling him. Not even the thought of his drunk mother being totally unaware of his makeup fetish, or his millionaire CEO father spending more time on his private island to notice his only son is a serial killer prodigy and wants to fuck his kid sister.

  It was upsetting for the eighteen year old knowing his gift had gone unnoticed far too long. He felt his work wasn’t getting the attention it deserved. It’s hard to get caught when you’re as good as Sid. Since the age of fifteen his gift has taken the lives of 72 people; mostly young girls but a few men. All were meticulously planned, thought out and executed with precise precision. He was just too damn good. He even wrote a letter to the police trying to play some kind of cat and mouse game but they never took it seriously. Fuck all of them, he thought. Fuck the rapists, arsonists, thieves, meth heads and the other sick fucks that get all the attention. I’m great at what I do and I’ll show the world.

  As he held the black eyeliner pen to his left eye, his right eye was planted on the wallet size picture of his little sister smiling back at him in the corner of the mirror. His left hand emerged from his pants, sticky and smelling of bleach. I love you, he whispered wearily to the picture in a quivering voice.

  In the other room the bound female choked and cried as It’s my life by Wendy O Williams began fading out, nearing the end, as was Sid’s three year killing hobby.