Demonologist

by Laimo, Michael

  “In order for the demon to enter a vehicle’s body, a sacrificial ritual must be performed, whether it be an animal or human. Up until Jake’s death, there had been twelve sacrifices made by way of Allieb’s influence on the person used for harboring the demon. Through the power of dreams, Allieb set each ritual into motion. The person involved would commit the crime unbeknownst of their actions—it would be done while they were asleep.”

  Bev rubbed his eyes, shuddered. Looked at his hands again. His skin crawled. “My god…I killed Jake, didn’t I?”

  Danto nodded. Rebecca began to cry. Stood. Pressed herself against the wall, wobbling, sobbing uncontrollably. “What’s going on? What’s going on?”

  “Additional sacrifices will be made before, during, and after the drawing of the demons. This concerns me…we don’t know where Kristin is.”

  “Kristin?”

  The priest stood abruptly. Looked out the window again. A sudden wash of light ignited the raindrops on the glass. “The car…it is here. We all must go now.”

  “What car?” Bev stood again, despite the persistent dizziness trying to take him down. He shoved the priest aside. Looked out the window. In the rectory lot outside, headlights cut into the rain-filled darkness.

  Rebecca, hands over her mouth, eyes suddenly swollen with tears, looked back and forth between Bev and Danto. “What is it, Bev?”

  Bev shot Danto an enraged glance, his head and body feeling hot, as though he’d been caught in a blast of steam. “You’re in on it! You and that damned Thornton guy. Jesus, you’re a priest for Christ’s sake! Whatever happened to appealing to God for a duel with the Devil?”

  “Bev, please understand…Thornton and I are working together to help you. If you do not work with us, you will be killed, that much is certain. And so will everyone you love, including Kristin.”

  Downstairs, the front door to the rectory opened. A man’s voice called in: “Hello?”

  Bev paced back and forth in the small room. Shaking. Frightened. Running his hands through his hair. His senses felt suddenly heightened, as though he had antennae clutching at the environment, telling him that he was wholly exposed to the approaching menace, like vulnerable prey. “Jesus, I just don’t know what to believe.”

  “Believe me Bev,” Danto implored. “You have the knowledge inside of you now. Use it to fight evil!”

  Scratch…scratch…scratch…

  Bevant…come play with me.

  Bev grabbed his head. “It’s Allieb…he’s back!” he yelled. “God, it hurts!”

  Rebecca: “Bev! What is it?”

  “It’s him! It’s him!” Bev’s legs wobbled. He staggered forward.

  Danto grabbed Bev by the arm. “We must go now. Come on.”

  Something inside Bev tried to push his body away from the grasping Danto. His world spun around him, the drab colors of the room swirling into pallid gray tones. He felt hands clutching his shoulders, leading him out of the room into the musty hallway, body hitting against the wall, his waning balance nearly sending him to the floor. He did his best to stay still, feeling his mind being probed by the ghostly fingers, the voice within laughing, calling, Bevant, come to me. Bring your demon with you. Bev shook his head hard, a flood of awareness assaulting him, shoving the invading entity away.

  A sharp, sudden vision leaped across his mind, that of parting flames and a dark monster rising up from a sea of boiling lava, black-skinned, eyes aglow with emerald flames, serrated horns curling out from a misshapen, bulbous head. It reached its sharp-clawed hands out toward Bev, snorted a gush of visible smoke from its widening nostrils, green and sulfuric; a harsh burning odor infiltrated Bev’s nose, and then the grunting demon sank back down into the boiling sea.

  Hands groping for support, Bev stood in the hallway, breathing heavily, his eyesight returning to the real world. He looked at Father Danto. Standing beside him: Rebecca.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked, eyebrows arched with distress. “Something’s burning.”

  “It’s me,” Bev answered, almost automatically.

  “You fought him off again, Bev. Allieb.”

  Bev stiffened. He placed a supporting hand against Danto’s shoulder. His heartbeat quickened, skin riddled with gooseflesh as a chill of horrible fear invaded his body. He stood immobile, staring at the floor, stunned with disbelief.

  “Bev?”

  He looked at Rebecca, her face taut with fear, revulsion, horror. Shook his head. The black beast he’d witnessed rising from the lava of his dreams—it wasn’t imaginary. It was real, appearing as though he were actually there with it.

  In Hell.

  “It wasn’t me,” he whispered, taking a single step forward. “I didn’t ward off Allieb. It was Him.”

  Bev fell forward, his strength suddenly giving out, Rebecca and Danto each supporting him as he collapsed. Despite his immediate loss of motor skills, he could feel his eyes rolling into his head, bringing blackness in his sights, exposing the vein-swelled whites. He could feel his body being dragged across the carpeted hall, thumping down the steps, one at a time, until they reached the bottom.

  A strange man’s voice: “What’s wrong with him?”

  Bev’s eyes rolled forward, the man before him coming into focus: standing in the foyer, staring at them, eyes filled with suspicion.

  A cop.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The limo coursed the deserted streets of Torrance, pacing slowly through the torrential downpour. The wipers slashed at the driving rain, the man seated in the back using their incessant beat as a semi-hypnotic cadence for prayer.

  Will God really fight alongside Satan? he’d recently asked the Priest.

  We can only pray so, had been his answer.

  He shivered, shifting his position, the black leather upholstery of the limo’s seats squeaking hollowly beneath his weight. He peered up at the blue digital readout of the limo’s clock, set in the ceiling’s dash. 7:34.

  He swallowed a dry, uncomfortable lump in his throat. Tried to rub away the pain in his temples. There seemed no hope for solace. The feelings assaulting him were nearly unendurable, and he wondered how he’d made it this long after breaking his hypnotic bond with Allieb. Drive. Passion. The will to live. He felt overwhelmed with guilt and shame, compounded with anger and resentment, even pain. Yet, at the same time, he’d never felt so purposeful, despite the discomforts plaguing him. He had a mission to accomplish: the B-movie hero about to take on a seemingly undefeatable monster threatening the world with its evil. Christ…the whole scenario, it seemed so made up, like the imaginative writings of a horror novelist; but…this was no creative release—this was real life, and he, Reverend James Thornton, was playing the part of the meek little turtle reaching its head out of its shell in attempt to attack the ever-menacing giant.

  Despite his limitations, he possessed a great deal of knowledge about his enemy, every tidbit of vital information gathered from the very mouth and actions of the entity he sought to crush. He collected every last detail and shared them with the only man capable of understanding the sheer magnitude of the circumstances. The only other man who would stand beside him in his very own turtle shell, unafraid to expose himself and take his best shot.

  Father Thomas Danto.

  He peered out the rain-soaked window, wondering how it had all come down to this. He’d wanted to father a child. But, it had not been God’s will; some things were never meant to be, and his sterility had guaranteed his childless future to be one of them. Still, with much regret, he’d challenged God’s preference, seeking his progeny beyond man’s natural intentions. The punishment of doing so had been severe: at once his life was glutted with evil—an evil that had thrived in his home like maggots on a corpse.

  A deafening clap of thunder shook the car. Lightning ignited the gloomy night. Above, the streetlamps flickered, and went dark. The golden lights within the surrounding homes vanished. A gentle trickle of electricity danced across his skin, the hair on the ba
ck of his neck standing on end.

  In his mind: faraway laughter. Deep. Caustic. Eager.

  God help me, he thought. God help us.

  Then, knowing that righteousness alone would not be enough to defeat the ultimate in evil, he prayed to a different God. It’s okay that I’m doing this, he attempted to convince himself. It’s just like fighting fire with fire. It’s the only way to win.

  He folded his hands in prayer.

  And looked down.

  Satan, help us.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Thunder clapped. Lightning flashed. The lights inside the rectory blinked. Somewhere upstairs, a clock alarm started tolling.

  The cop, a middle-aged man wearing a moustache and full uniform, kept his eyes pinned on the suspicious trio—they narrowed as his hand caressed the gun at his hip.

  “He isn’t feeling well,” Danto exclaimed, eyes nervously probing the room’s walls.

  Bev, eyesight flitting in and out of focus, did his best to maintain his composure, a task not so easily secured. His legs were painstakingly numb, bordering on powerless, as though nearly devoid of blood; his weight continued to challenge him, and he felt no choice but to crumple into the supporting arms of Rebecca and Danto. Closing his eyes, he drew in long deep breaths, begging his strength to revisit. A third set of hands seized him beneath the armpits, pulled him over toward a loveseat in the foyer. He settled down into the soft cushions, eyes gradually opening, taking in the swirling blur of colors that had become his world. He thought, I-I’ve never lost my vision like this. Never…

  Danto had said: It gets much worse than this.

  He could hear the cop speaking into his radio: “I’ve got three people here, all of them suspects in the Ritchie murder. The Haviland girl, the priest, and the rock star, Mathers. Yep, will do. Out.”

  “What is it?” Rebecca asked the cop.

  “I need you all to take a seat on the couch.”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  “Not yet.”

  Bev’s focus began to return, the swirling colors coalescing into clear-cut images. He tilted his head upwards, toward the cop, despite the sudden pain. An intense numbing sensation rained down on his body: pins and needles picking at the tips of his nerves, unearthing them like roots, causing his body to jerk in crazy spasms.

  “Shit…is he having a seizure?” the cop asked loudly, taking a step forward.

  Danto stood up. Faced the cop defiantly, searching his tired mind for an excuse. Arms spread, he said, “I…I need to bring him to a friend. He mentioned something about…about medication that he needs.”

  Rebecca was gently rubbing Bev’s face, her touch cool upon his hot wet skin. “Bev,” she whispered. “Please, take control of your body, please.”

  My mind…the scratching is gone. Yet, there’s something else in here. No fingers, no voice. It’s an…an embodiment. An entire entity. I…I can’t take control because I am no longer in command of my body. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back…

  Another claw, reaching out from the hole in my skull…

  Bev closed his eyes. Felt his conscious mind sinking down into the bowels of his stomach. His body was instantly overcome with vertigo, waxing and waning as though he were on some crazy free-falling ride. He fell, fell, fell, until his consciousness hit bottom, splashing up in a pool of stinging acids. He lay there breathing heavily, sweating in the intemperate heat, helplessly lost in a strange world that was dark, flat, wet, and vacant. In a few moments, when the dizziness passed, he sat up. His hands sunk wrist-deep in churning acids. He looked around, saw himself bounded by deep darkness and squealing echoes, as though he were in some monstrous cavern.

  This is my stomach. I’m inside my body. Oh God, this is worse. Much, much worse…

  He waited, hearing only the distant echoes of voices leaching in from beyond the walls of the cavern—from outside the constricting confines of his body: Rebecca, calling his name, gently tapping his face; Danto, arguing with the cop, pleading for their release; the cop, a doomed stranger, calling for an ambulance.

  Bev felt a sudden sense of dread piercing his recoiling mind. He attempted a few deep breaths, felt them come, and soon thereafter, perceived an impression of budding strength, and the power to carry on.

  He struggled to his ethereal feet, looking out into the infinite darkness of his inner body. From far away, he heard a thunderous sound, like an approaching army of horse-driven soldiers. A storm rolled in the distance, menacing black clouds stirring evilly, hauling in with them the flaming lava, flowing rapidly towards him like a crashing tide, covering everything in their hostile wake. The boiling surge hit him hard, crashed over his head. Filled his lungs as he fell helplessly back. He felt himself drowning in the sudden depths, arms and legs flailing, barely able to wade through the wide-ranging tide.

  Then, as quickly as the tide came, it thinned, and he pulled himself up above its searing surface. The storm seemed to have vanished, the lava now calm and unflowing. Bev stood waist-deep in the char-blackened muck, coughing up smatterings of the hot flow.

  He remained motionless, gasping for air, looking out over the endless panorama of waste and scorching filth. A coagulation of bubbles fired up, and from amidst the turmoil emerged the black-scaled horned creature he visioned earlier. Nine feet tall, muscular arms raised high, reaching for the charcoal sky before a massive span of tenebrous wings. The Devil roared in a pitch previously unheard by human ears, a wail of a thousand burning souls firmed into a single, agonizing wail.

  With green reptilian eyes, the Devil—Satan—stared at Bev.

  It grinned, acid pooling on its broad lips. A thick forked tongue flickered out from between them.

  And then, it leapt at him.

  FORTY

  Again the lights flickered. This time they went out.

  Darkness filled the room like a tangible force, Bev’s body jerking uncontrollably in response, waist arching, limbs thrashing, the hot stench of burning sulfur seeping from his pores. His teeth clenched, lips whitening from the pressure, dampened screams attempting to sift their way out from behind his compressed mouth.

  Deep in his bowels, Satan hurtled toward him, pouncing in a seeming attempt to crush his weakened soul. Bev recoiled, fell back into the lava, the monstrous thing upon him like a lizard’s tongue. Scales flaring. Reptilian claws grasping. Muscles swelling. Lungs blowing out its malevolence in hot stinking currents. The Devil grinned down at him, jowls rife with straight-razors jutting bloodily from shredded jaws, green-glowing eyes fixed intently on Bev. Despite its colossal form, its hideous scowl, the Devil exhibited a visage of child-like amusement, an outward response to its encounter with the soul of the body it now inhabited. But soon, the wicked smile disappeared from its repulsive face, and it roared deafeningly, an awesome span of bat-like wings expanding from its back, quivering as its body prepared for flight. The wings beat against the sweltering air, producing a fierce gale of wind that knocked Bev back down into the lava. Bev gazed up at the creature as it soared up and away like a rocket toward the upper reaches of his vacated mind.

  Bev writhed in immediate agony, Satan thrusting his might upon his physical body. He could feel every painful sensation inflicted upon him as the Devil commenced with the possession: fingers and hands cramping; burning coals peppering his face and chest; reptilian claws cleaving into his brain, wrenching into his organs, twisting, shredding, threatening to disembowel him as his soul wallowed powerlessly along.

  Despite the disconnection with his body, Bev could feel his eyelids opening, yet, was unable to look out from behind them. He could feel his muscles expanding, the blood rushing through them. He could feel the burning agony of his skin stretching. Still, he had no control of his body. The Devil had assumed full command, his body no longer weak and feeble, but now, outrageously untamed and strapping. He doubled over as his stomach swelled, the skin splitting across his abdomen, blood trickling out in rivulets. Bev could feel the Devil filling every vessel in his
body, assuming every muscle and tendon.

  He could feel the beast heave his body to a standing position. Reach his arms forward. Grab the stunned cop by the throat. He could feel his right arm swinging, a powerful fist connecting with the cop’s face, removing his jaw in a horrifying shower of teeth and blood. He could hear Rebecca and Danto screaming in the darkness, Rebecca trying to flee the scene as the cop lay dying before her, Danto unsure of his actions, following Rebecca, yet, wanting to stay…wanting to communicate with the Devil occupying Bev’s body.

  All of a sudden, Satan reappeared before Bev, breathing heavily, ribbons of fire and slime dousing his scale-covered body. It grinned, then raised its awesome arms and sank back down into the lava, providing Bev with an opening to rise back up into his mind, to retrieve the body that was once his.

  In an instant, Bev found himself looking back out through his unfocused eyes. He could see only darkness and the slight form of the cop who lay jawless and bleeding on the carpet. He fell to his knees, crying from the physical and mental pain that had besieged his mind and body like a swarm of rats finding their sudden release from behind a rotting wall. His body felt illogically heavy and stagnant, as if he’d just been birthed into a treacherous world, one incongruent to the place he’d spent his entire physical life.

  In the not-too-far distance, he heard Rebecca sobbing.

  Close by, Danto’s voice: “Bev?”

  Having no strength to speak, Bev nodded, seeing only shifting shadows in the gloom.

  “It was Him. Wasn’t it? Satan.”

  Bev nodded again.

  “We must go,” the priest said, grabbing Bev gently by the arm.

  This time, Bev didn’t have the strength to nod.