Okay, well, here I am.
Right here and now.
I look down at the board when Brad starts asking H questions.
Fingers on the pointer, waiting for the reply, I think, “Don’t do anything, H. Don’t even bother. Sorry for this. But maybe you understand how I feel.” It makes some sense, you know? What does a demon get but a lot of fear and a lot of curiosity from people? So many people are driven to wanting to know. And, I mean, I’m one of them. I can’t help but want to know more.
But this isn’t the way.
Brad asks, “Are you here, in this room, with us right now?”
Brad says, “Give us a sign that you are here.”
Brad commands, “Move a chair, make a sound...”
Brad asks, “Can you make a noise? Can you turn this room cold?”
I’m repeating it over and over like I have some command over H: Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything.
I know that I don’t have a clue.
At the same time, though, I kind of want them all to freak out the way I did when the symptoms started showing. I’m thinking it’ll be good to give them a scare.
I’ll move the pointer if you make the room cold. It’s a sauna as it is, everyone stinking the place up with their BO. At least we’ll get a moment of cool air.
I take it back so that when Brad starts repeating the same questions like they do in the show, repeating them until they get a response, I move the pointer so that the answer to “Are you here, in this room, with us right now?” is a definite “Yes.”
There are gasps.
There are sounds of people gagging, freaking out.
Some people laugh.
One guy shouts out, “Holy shit!”
Like they didn’t see this in a movie, on TV, on the news, maybe even at another friend’s or family’s place. Then again, maybe you never get used to it. Priests always look nervous at the start of the exorcism.
When Brad says the next question—“Give us a sign that you are here”—the room goes cold right when I know that it’ll happen. It’s hard to explain but it’s a lot like the conversation at the table in my dream. I didn’t know until I knew, and it was because I knew, at that precise moment, that made all the difference. The room chilled like a meat locker; people are shivering for more than one reason. And I look at them, kind of amused by the whole thing.
They are the ones being used, for my amusement and maybe for H’s.
I know that H did it.
I know that he did. I know, but I cannot confirm because I only know that “H did.” There’s nothing else that comes to mind to support what just happened. If I ask why, there’s only the one answer for when you don’t have anything else to say: “Because.”
I spot Nikki to my left, shivering, more than a little freaked out.
She looks right at me, and I understand that look.
It’s straight-up guilt and regret.
It’s like this one event, a simple sign that H is around and maybe watching, is enough for her to lose her cool.
I can imagine Nikki wanting to apologize, wanting a second chance, but then again, I won’t let her. I won’t give her that second chance, even though I like thinking that she’ll ask.
She would, wouldn’t she?
I know she would.
Brad stutters, “W-will you move this chair?” He points to a chair. He’s losing the audience. He’s not talking in that voice anymore. Brad looks at me and says, “Bro, this is crazy...”
They all just wanted to be near, not directly involved.
Jon-Jon looks happy. Yeah, he’s happy. The fact that it’s cold in here means he probably made a ton of money.
How much of that will I see?
What kind of cut am I going to get?
Part of me cares, but the other part just wants to see the party fall apart.
Brad ends up asking, “So you’re not going to, like, move the chair?”
I watch people exhale all nervous, seeing their breath, which they also see, and because they can see it, some leave the room. Maybe leave the party.
I think, “That’s how it’s going to happen. This is how the party can end.”
I think, “Crash the party.”
Brad’s is the only voice in the room, barely a shout now: “Give us another sign, uh, that you’re here with us.”
Someone can be heard whispering, “Dude, you’re going to piss it off.”
It’s so quiet in here...
Crash the party.
Jon-Jon’s having a wonderful time.
Crash the party.
Becca is nowhere to be seen. Later I’ll find out via a text message that she wigged out and left the room around the time it got cold.
Crash the party.
It’s okay, I don’t want them to get what they want, but maybe this isn’t really what they want. They only want to think it’s cool. Most have no clue about the capability of a demon. I’m still figuring it out.
Crash the party.
“Are you still, uh, here with us? Bro?”
Real smooth.
In the quiet of the room, we see it. We all see it at once.
It’s so simple, I find it great. This is hilarious. Really funny.
“Nice choice,” I think. And then I immediately second-guess myself, finding it odd that I’m sort of, like, working with H on this.
But it still happens. And it happens beautifully.
It’s so quiet that the creaking of the door’s hinges gets their necks turning. All in that one direction, there it is, the closet door creaking open slowly. They get enough time to look and see and get what’s happening.
In the quiet and cold chill of the room, when I know what will happen, I can’t help but look on in fascination as the door completely opens and then...
. . . holding on for one, seemingly tense moment and then...
Slam! The door slams shut so hard that it rattles the wall.
People trip and fall. They shout and scatter.
Brad’s repeating the words “No fucking way” over and over again, while grabbing on to my right shoulder.
Jon-Jon stands in place, putting on that cool performance, also loving every second of this.
I’m leaning forward, laughing.
I’m not laughing because I want them to be afraid.
I’m not laughing because I’m bitter.
Really, I’m laughing because it’s funny.
I find it really funny. I don’t think it’s wrong. Right? It’s actually funny. It’s maybe the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time. They played right into the joke, a joke that wasn’t even called a joke until I knew that it was supposed to be a joke. And then I’m whispering to myself, “Good one.”
And it’s then that I know:
H saying without speaking, “They wanted a party.”
I’m laughing, laughing really hard.
Brad’s like, “What the fuck, bro? This is insane,” and then nearly bashes his head against the corner of a wall on the way out.
I watch as everyone filters out of the house. The only one left, Jon-Jon, says to me, “How successful do you think this was, on a scale of one to ten, ten being free booze and weed and whatever you want for a whole year?”
Course, I know what he’s saying.
He won’t be giving me a cut. He’s just going to make me go to him when I need more beer or liquor or weed. I breathe out and say, “Three.”
Jon-Jon’s already made his decision though: “A success. A complete success.” He walks out of the house, casual stroll and all.
I watched everyone leave, and now I feel like I can really breathe.
I’m in bed when I get a call from Blaire. I don’t second-guess it. She’s a friend and maybe she’s not angry anymore. Then again, was she ever?
Yeah, I pick up.
She’s the first to say something: “How did it go?”
“It went...” I don’t really k
now how to explain it, so she starts speaking for me.
“I know. It’s happening so fast. It’s hard to describe.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to hold back a shiver.
“Can I come in?”
“Huh?”
“I’m outside,” she says, really more like a whisper.
“Everyone left. There’s nothing left to see.”
“That’s okay. Good, really.”
I sigh. “Yeah, whatever. Door’s open.”
She knows the drill. She knocks on my bedroom door and I’m reminded of the fact that she might not be allowed in the room, but then she’s already turning the doorknob and she’s inside.
“Hey.” She gives a little shy half-grin.
She knows not to annoy me, sitting across the room instead of next to me. For a while she doesn’t say anything. She isn’t shivering, cold like I am.
“You cold?” I ask.
“I’m not supposed to be cold.”
More time passes like this, nothing really said, just both of us in this room, dealing with whatever there is to be dealt. She asks me about my dreams.
“What do you mean?”
“The dreams, they’re probably really vivid, right?”
I don’t say anything.
“Yeah, it’ll just be like you can’t tell what’s a dream or actually real, but then you won’t care either.” Blaire isn’t looking at me as she talks, her head down, hands folded in her lap. “It feels so much like you’re dying while at the same time everything you’ve ever dreamed of coming true is actually happening. It’s becoming reality.”
“I don’t think so,” I tell her, probably just because I don’t want to admit that she’s right. It feels that way, doesn’t it?
She looks up at me, finally. “You’re not going through with it, are you?”
“Huh?”
She shakes her head. “If you don’t, then you don’t. It’s just that most people don’t go through all of it. They get up to, like, what you’re experiencing now and then they freak out, get confused, get the exorcism. Everyone wants it gone before they really understand what the kingdom is.”
The kingdom?
“They don’t really see any more than a small glimpse, and the first time you see anything from the other side, it’s scary as hell. You’re going to react like it’s all bad. People react and get it done. They throw a party, get high, get drunk. They never get what it is they passed up.”
It looks like she’s starting to cry, but before I can ask her, she’s wiping away the tears.
She keeps talking, and it’s clear that she just wants me to listen.
“The kingdom is as big as our world. It’s basically the same, except they avoid us, and we avoid them. I guess what I’m trying to say is... I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I just want you to know that if you don’t go through with it, I won’t look down on you. Okay?”
I clear my throat. “Um, okay.”
“I won’t think you’re stupid or insane or whatever.”
“Thanks.” I sound insincere.
“Things will get really, really bad before it gets any good.” She pauses and then adds, “And even then, it’s not like they’ll stick around either.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything, and we sit in silence for a while. I’m surprised that I almost start to nod off. She brings me back when she gets up and starts to leave.
I ask her, “Why?”
She raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“The things you said, how do you know?”
“Oh.” She opens the door, looks back at me, and says, “I used to have one.” And then she leaves.
7
“THAT’S THE THING ABOUT CONVERSATIONS, THEY ARE almost always two-way, especially when there’s more than one person talking. I mean, look at how a person makes eye contact with a person they’re talking to. It’s straight on, you know? If they can, that is. A lot of people just kind of look around and then occasionally look at the person they’re talking to. But, anyway, you could have, like, ten people in a circle, talking, and even though it’s like everyone’s a part of the conversation, there’s only one or two people talking. If any more talk, it gets all crazy, like any other party, you know?
“You know what I mean?
“Right? You saw it tonight, how it’ll be someone talking to me and then Brad, or someone else will walk up and try to be a part of the conversation. Almost one hundred percent of the time, they’ll end up listening. Only way to really be a part of it is to butt in, and I mean really... just flat-out start talking over the other person.
“It happens more often than it doesn’t; people are talking, two people talking about whatever, and a third person walks in, says something that gets the attention of one of the other two, maybe both of them, and then it changes the dynamic of the whole conversation.
“I see it all the time. It’s like there’s a pattern to how people talk. And if you look at the pattern, it makes all the information that fits into that pattern kind of, well, lame. I think it kind of makes almost everything that happens between when a person says hello and good-bye kind of predictable.
“You know what I mean?
“It’s just that I think it’s all filler.
“It’s like a song you buy on a whim because it’s recommended to you and you listen to the whole thing expecting it to be better but it’s not as good as you thought.
“That’s what most conversations end up being, I think.
“I’ve listened to so much music I don’t like, just because it’s there, and it’s too hard to get up and find the right music.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. What do you think?
“It’s a wreck, huh? I know. No one cares about the place where the party is; they trash it with beer bottles and cups and food everywhere. I don’t remember anyone buying pizza but there’s a slice of pizza facedown on the kitchen tile. I take one look at all of this and I get tired.
“This is rude, right?
“I mean, you aren’t human but you have to think this is rude. The word ‘rude’ makes sense to you, right?
“Yeah.
“It is rude.”
Ugh.
I don’t know where to start.
“I think I’ll just sit here in this corner for a while. Parents won’t be back until the end of the weekend. Or whatever. They could be back already, it wouldn’t matter much. I’m still sitting in the corner of a room, cleaning up after other people.
“No, they aren’t back.
“What time is it?
“I’m not tired. Not anymore.
“Think I should just leave everything this way?
“Yeah... I should.
“What is Dad really going to do? Mom’s just going to think that I’m sick or something. I’m not sick. You know that. I know that.
“I’ll be fine. No problem.
“And even if it ended up becoming a problem, I could definitely get by. I know how my parents think. Even if I didn’t, I’m good at playing the right part of a conversation. It’s like you can talk your way out of anything. Just say something that doesn’t let the other person say anything in response.
“You can be, I don’t know, talking about a test.
“Yeah, let’s say we’re talking about a test. It’s you and me, we’re talking about what answers we got. Comparing notes, basically. I wouldn’t really be as confident about my answers, so I probably wouldn’t have remembered them. So you would be the one asking and directing the conversation. I’ve noticed that most conversations have one person really aggressive, talking more, and another who’s reacting more than talking. Words are said but both people usually don’t stay at the same level. Really good conversation is different. I think it’s when two people get along and they just can’t stop talking so it keeps going, and the conversation goes back and forth but both are aggressive. Both are talking just as much. I can’
t remember the last time that happened. Most of the time it’s one person and everyone else reacting.
“Same thing, just different size.
“You’d be talking about the answers.
“I’d be like, ‘Yeah, I think I got that one right.’ But see, I wouldn’t be sure. I’d be either confused or just not that interested in the discussion. Maybe worried, because if I failed, I’d be pretty certain that the answers you got weren’t the ones I got.
“That’s how most of the conversation would go. You talking more and leading the direction—what is talked about and when—and I just kind of fill in the gaps with reactions, with replies. That’s how the conversation would go. It’s the typical kind of conversation. It’s why I can just say something and people either will notice or not—it’s up to what I say, how much of it is just agreement and how much of it is actually statement. If you disagree, it’s just fuel for the aggressive one to keep going and going and going...
“Thinking about this”—oh, man—“it’s getting me worked up.”
Maybe I’ll—I don’t know.
What do I do?
Am I really going to clean?
Hmm.
Do I go upstairs?
Do I grab my laptop and go online?
Do I go to sleep?
Do I at least try to sleep?
“What do you think? Think I should go online? Yeah?”
Hmm.
“What time is it? Yeah, I think I’ll check online. See what’s up.”
I go upstairs, find the laptop where I left it, plugged in and charged, resting on my unmade bed. I don’t bother making the bed, not when I’m under the covers 100 percent of the time I’m in my room. Jesus, it’s cold. I hold back that shiver like it might be an insult to H, run back downstairs with the laptop, because why not?
It’s warmer downstairs.
“Let’s get rid of this fast-food garbage. They just left it on the couch, beautiful.”
And... let’s...
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