“Sure... Bob.”
“Great. I’ve heard you’re quite the piece.”
She was already touching herself, sliding fingers into her sore vagina.
“Oh,” she breathed into the phone. “I am. You have no idea.”
Bob laughed lecherously. “I’ll see you at the services then.”
“Mmmm.” Amanda clicked the phone off and brought herself to a climax.
Nineteen
Doug’s bed rocked back against the wall. His stomach lurched. He opened his eyes and the ceiling spun in the distance.
His bed rocked again.
His room smelled like vomit and alcohol. He was damp with sweat. The alcohol fumes seemed to be coming from his pores.
“Wake up!”
His bed rocked again.
Jeez. What had he done last night? He still felt drunk. He had drunk mouth. His stomach heaved again. He started to get out of bed so he could dash for the bathroom until he saw the soiled trash can sitting next to the bed. Someone had taken care of him. He vomited into the trash can.
The bed-kicker moved in front of him.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said.
It was Deacon Pork, the Sunday school teacher. Why was Deacon Pork here in his bedroom?
Doug looked at his clock. There were two sets of numbers but they seemed to agree that it was 10:20.
He’d missed church. Missed church because he was hung over.
Deacon Pork was hunched over in front of him, only a few inches from his face. He wore a navy blue wrestling singlet. Pork was shaped like a triangle. His head was like an enormous potato. A potato on top of a triangle. His mouth was an intense line under a well-clipped black mustache.
“You had your mother in tears, boy.”
Doug swung his legs off the bed and sat with his sweaty head clasped between his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You better believe it. You’re the sorriest Christian I’ve ever seen. Your poor mother. Don’t you know alcohol is just Satan’s lubrication?”
“I’m sorry.”
Pork slapped him.
“I’m really thirsty.”
“A small price to pay. Imagine how I felt when I entered the Sunday school room and I was the only one there.”
“Where was Lankmeyer?” Jim Lankmeyer was always there. Jim never missed a day. He went to seminary school in Cincinnati. Doug figured it was only a matter of time before Jim was the pastor of his own church.
“Jim Lankmeyer is no longer with us. Another one of the Devil’s victims.”
This could have meant any number of things.
“He’s...”
“Jim Lankmeyer’s dead, boy.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Doug thought about the death Whitney had mentioned. The one that wasn’t in the paper yesterday morning.
Until Pork slapped him again.
“He was running around with that Coleman girl. They found him in the woods. His genitals were out. Apparently it was some kind of sex game. The Tabernacle is disciplining her. I’m here to discipline you.”
“I’m really thirsty. Thirsty and sorry.”
“Mouth’s burned up with the fires of hell.”
Doug vomited again. His life was over. If he ever wanted to leave the house again he would have to move out.
“Your poor mother sent me over here to discipline you and I wondered how I should go about it. There’s nothing I can say to you when you have that poison rattling around in your soul. That poison’s saying, ‘Satan is good.’ That poison’s saying, ‘Satan is fun.’” Now he moved around the room like he was preaching a sermon. Sometimes he filled in for Pastor Larsta and usually preached one evening of their week long revivals. “So I remembered when I was in college and I used to wrestle the Devil every weekend. You know I never lost? Some folks say you can’t beat the Devil, but I beat him every time and that victory was glorious. That victory was power and glory. Glory glory. That victory has lasted every day of my life. When my peers and sometimes even my loved ones would try to feed me to the fires of sin, I was able to resist. I was able to get them to submit. When the jezebels and the harlots of the world would try to get me to lay in sin with them, I was able to administer a stranglehold. When the demons would try to grapple my soul away, I was able to put them in a full-nelson and squeeze my arms around their shoulders. Glory glory. Understand what I’m trying to tell you, boy?”
Doug really didn’t.
Pork slapped him again.
“I’ve come to defeat your demons.”
He ripped Doug off the bed, took him to the floor, and slapped a half-nelson on him.
“You gotta fight back! You gotta fight the demons!”
Doug was hot and woozy. He didn’t know how long he spent fighting the demons. Both he and Pork worked up a great sweat. They struggled around the room, Pork panting in his ear and yelling Bible scriptures at him, peppered with the occasional, “Glory glory”. Finally, when he was unable to move any more, Pork said, “Now go get in the shower and wash that sin off a ya. And just think, the next time you feel like submitting, you could spiral into addiction. You could give up your virginity. You could become a gay. And if you lose that innocence, our church will have no use for you. And then you’ll have nothing. Nothing but demons.”
Doug waited until he was gone and then took a shower. He didn’t have to work today so he lay in bed and waited for his mother. He wanted to play Redemption but he was too tired. He decided that, the next time he played, he was going to fuck anything he could get his virtual hands on.
But he’d never play Redemption again.
Twenty
Amanda had never been to the Church for anything other than a funeral. She didn’t really know what to expect. For a few years as a child her parents had dragged her to a Baptist church. She remembered the services as loud, volatile things full of fire and brimstone and damnation. She guessed it put her off religion for good. Well, maybe not for good. Not if she was here now. She couldn’t dismiss it as mere convenience. It would have been far more convenient to stay home and welcome any out-of-town guests who happened to show up early or ready the house for the post-funeral reminiscences and feast. But, well, she had felt compelled. Maybe that’s what people meant when they described themselves as being filled with the Holy Spirit.
Once in the Church, she was greeted warmly. Hands were shaken. Hugs were received. She sat near the back, an out of place smile plastered across her face. She felt welcome here. She didn’t know many members of the congregation. The congregation was mostly made of women. The only men she saw were the ushers and, of course, Pastor Larsta.
People slowly took their seats. The Church filled with politely hushed coughs, muffled conversation, and the flipping of onionskin Bible pages. Several times she caught people looking at her. They would smile or flip a quick consoling wave in her direction.
Pastor Larsta moved behind the podium and began speaking. His “sermon” was brief and bizarre. Amanda didn’t know what to think. Maybe this was how he kept his congregation from getting bored.
He raised both arms out from his body and began speaking, keeping his arms outstretched. His smile was giant and maniacal, his cheeks rosy and, even from where she sat, Amanda could see how his eyes sparkled. Here, she knew, was a man truly filled with the same spirit she was. Here was a man in love with the Lord.
“Happy Sunday, boys and girls, mostly girls!” He sounded like a public access clown. Amanda almost giggled. It felt good. He lowered his arms and started flapping his hands around his head. “We’ve had some tragedies this week.” Still in that big clown voice. “Some people died! Were maybe even killed! But the police will sort that out! We’re here on God’s business!”
He pumped his right fist furiously into the perfumed air.
“God’s business!” he yelled.
He pumped his fist again and the congregation chanted along with him: “God’s business!”
Then they too were pumping their fists. Amanda felt the spirit surge through her, even more powerfully now. She pumped her fist in the air and chanted, “God’s business!” along with the rest of them. She felt flush. She felt a familiar tingling in her lower stomach and wondered if it would be wrong to have an orgasm in church.
Larsta ended the chant with a coughing fit. It turned his face even redder.
“But, oh sisters and brothers, mostly sisters, the month marches on! The days march on. The days have hours and minutes!”
He hopped up and down, grabbed a cup of water, took a gulp and thew it off to the side like a marathon runner. He ran to the back pew and then back up to the pulpit where he stumbled and nearly fell.
“But we’ll stop time in the eyes of the Lord! We’ll have our own paradise right here because that’s what God wants. God wants us all to be happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!”
Again he pumped his fist. Again the congregation joined him.
“Because we all know that Satan stalks these mountains and he comes in the form of the pious. So we must lure him to us. We must cast a web, a Jesus web, and ensnare him.” He held his hands splayed before him.
“But enough of my blather... Let’s have some communion and then some fellowship. That’s really what Jesus is all about: communing and fellowshipping. Woo! Glory glory!”
The ushers began going down the rows and handing out bottles of wine and wafers of the host. The women would pop the host and take slugs of the wine. People had begun talking animatedly.
“And I’d like to welcome our latest member to the congregation: Ms. Amanda Winthrop. After suffering the tragic losses of her husband and mother, Amanda now joins you in your freedom!”
Now Amanda couldn’t help but smile even more broadly. A laugh even escaped her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed at anything other than the television or her own misfortune.
“Come on up here!” Larsta shouted. Or did he say, “Get that ass up here!”? Amanda couldn’t quite hear him. She still had that tingly feeling in her lower gut and the pastor had called her a member. Their latest member. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this good.
She walked, nearly ran, to the front of the Church. Larsta had come down from behind the pulpit. He held his arms out. She fell into them. He wrapped his arms around her, his scent filling her nostrils. It reminded her of Lawrence Kansas and her blissful night came back to her. The pastor handed her a bottle of wine and placed the host on her tongue. She swallowed the host and washed it down with a slug of wine. Larsta turned her around to face the congregation and then pressed on her shoulders until she sat on the wooden altar. Written on the front of the altar, in blood red letters, was: FOR HE SO LOVED THE WORLD.
Larsta kneeled down in front of her. She took another slug from the bottle. Her head swam. She noticed all the blinds had been drawn and the lights dimmed. Larsta slid his hands up the outside of her legs, under her dress until his fingers were in the waistband of her panties. Some members of the congregation looked on but many of them appeared to be making out. Larsta slowly pulled her underwear down her legs. Then he lifted up her legs, placing them over his shoulders, and plunged his tongue into her. She gasped and came immediately. Many of the women were in the center aisle on their hands and knees, forming a line of mutual cunnilingus. The ushers were pounding into several of the women in the front row. The pastor stopped lapping at her, patted her vagina, and moved away. Then the first member of the congregation kneeled down in front of her. The woman unbuttoned the top of Amanda’s dress and began playing with her nipples as she sucked on Amanda’s clit. Amanda was lost in a realm of bliss. She didn’t know how many people came to ply her vagina and anus with their tongues but, just when she thought that she wanted it to last forever, Larsta came back, turned her over until she was on her knees, elbows resting on the altar. He slid into her. He was very large. Larger even than Lawrence Kansas. It was painful at first. He fed her another host and continued to slide in and out of her. Eventually she was crying out in ecstasy. Then he stepped away and moved to her side, stroking himself. The next man took his place.
This continued until, finally, they laid her down on the altar. A few men emptied themselves into her mouth and she drank it down with glee. The rest of them showered her in their come, wetting her in droplets and ropes of heat. She wiped some semen out of her eyes and looked around. The congregation was all gathered around her, smiling and sweaty, empty and exhausted, but so happy and full of life.
Twenty-one
Doug woke up and looked at the ceiling. The room was very bright. It had to be some time in the afternoon. He didn’t want to move his head to look at his clock. He still felt like garbage. Maybe Crank had put something in his beers. He remembered feeling really good while he was drinking. Maybe wrestling with Deacon Pork had made him feel bad. Strained his muscles or something. He turned his head to the right.
Whitney Smith stared down at him.
For a second, he thought maybe he was dreaming.
Once he realized it was actually her, his heart sped up. He didn’t know if it was from excitement or fear.
“Whitney Smith.”
“Doug Backus.”
He waited for her to say something else. When she didn’t he said, “What are you doing in my room?”
“Just looking around. I got bored. Sundays are always boring as fuck. Remember when things used to be closed on Sundays? Like they were enforcing boredom or something.”
She sat down at the foot of his bed and crossed her legs, right over left. The right foot bounced a lot. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her toe nails weren’t painted. She pulled a cigarette from behind her left ear and lit it with a lighter she had been holding.
“You can’t smoke in here,” Doug said.
“Relax.”
“If my mom finds out...”
“She’s not here. There were like three funerals today. She’ll probably be gone for a while. One of them’s for that guy I was telling you about. The dumb ass who ran his car off the road? I bet they’re all closed casket.”
She took a drag off her cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke. Doug coughed.
“Don’t be one of those people.”
“I don’t like smoke. It’s a gross, expensive habit.”
“Then don’t do it.”
She flicked her ash on the floor and ground it in with her foot.
“You know another disgusting habit?” she said. “Drinking until you puke.”
He took a breath and noticed, even with the cloud of cigarette smoke, that the puke smell was gone from his room. He looked beside his bed.
“I took care of it,” Whitney said.
“Thanks.” He didn’t like the thought of her being around his vomit-filled trash can.
“I mean I took care of all of it.”
“Did you bring me home last night?”
She shrugged.
“Why?”
“It was something to do. I drove over to Crank’s because I figured someone would be there. You were, but neither of you was conscious. Luckily, you were able to walk to the car. I had to threaten you with your mom.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
“It happens. I’m starting to realize being embarrassed is what it means to be an adult.”
Doug closed his eyes. “What is my mom going to say?”
“If you’re lucky, she’ll just think you were sick. Or pretend to just think you’re sick. You probably smelled like a keg so she’d have to be an idiot not to know you were hungover. But, since you’ve been such a good little boy, she might let you get away with it this one time. Besides, how can she really punish you? You’re eighteen. All you do is go to work and what, play video games or something? And you like to go to church, which is punishment for most people. Even the people who go all the time feel like they have to atone for something. So maybe you’ll get a stern talking to or yelling at or something.”
&n
bsp; “I hope. I’m pretty sure she knows I was hungover. But maybe I’ve already been disciplined.
“Have you ever had sex?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“You just... when I asked for the condoms the other day, you turned so red. And you’re so religious and everything...” She took a final drag from her cigarette. “So, are you... a virgin, I mean?”
“Yes. Of course I am. Premarital sex is a sin.”
She laughed.
“Have you?” he asked.
“Not with a boy.”
“Then you’re technically a virgin, too.”
“I don’t know about that. End result’s the same thing.”
She held the smoldering butt in her fingertips. She stood up and looked down at him. “You should come by my house tomorrow.”
“I could probably come tonight.”
“Tonight I’ve got things. Tomorrow would be better.”
“I’ve gotta go to work in the morning. Then I have a driving lesson.” Driving lesson. Mindy. Mindy had asked him to a party.
“Well, I’m up late. Come after all that, if you can.”
“I’ll see.”
“Do that.”
She left the room in a swirling cloud of smoke, not bothering to shut the door behind her.
Twenty-two
The rest of Amanda’s day passed in a blissful haze. There was the church service followed by a period of murkiness and then she found herself standing at the front of the Church next to Jim Lankmeyer’s mother, Marcy, and staring at tearful faces and giving out hugs and receiving hugs. A lot of friends and relatives following their scripts.
“So sorry for your loss...”
“If you need anything...”
“Can’t imagine what you must be going through...”
Amanda concentrated to affix a dour, sorrowful look on her face when what she wanted to do was smile and laugh, shake her friends’ and family members’ hands, clap them on the back and say, “It’s all right. I’m already over it. I feel great. My mother had been dying for years, was actually dead on the day my father died, and Perry, well, Perry was a cheating, lying, greedy son of a whore.”
Satanic Summer Page 7