“Get it on her!” Pete shouted.
“I'm bloody trying!” Chris said.
Suddenly, the spew fountain ceased, and the brothers stopped for a brief moment to catch their breath. It was then they realised Father Rhodes had stopped chanting.
Rhodes was bent over and halfway through a coughing fit.
“Father Rhodes?” Chris asked.
The priest didn’t answer. Instead he finished his coughing fit and tried to catch his breath.
The room fell deathly silent. The brothers looked at each other, before slowly glancing down at the girl on the bed. Her mouth was a nightmarish rictus of needle like teeth and her eyes were orbs of red evil.
“That’s not good,” Chris and Pete declared in unison.
A moment later, the bed tilted itself up to a standing position so violently that it threw them both across the room. Ed and Daphne took a step back, stunned into horrific silence as the unreal drama unfolded in front of them.
As she looked down at the hunched priest in front of her, Tippi smiled viciously.
“Faaaaaaatheeeer,” she sneered. “Oh faaaaatheeerrrr. Look at me father.”
Father Rhodes gathered his breath and rose to a standing position, coming face to face with the monstrous visage of Tippi McBain.
“The girl is mine now, Father. You're too late. Look into the face of your latest defeat. Does it burn you to know that you will lose another sheep to the fire?” Spittle flew from her mouth as she spat the words into the face of priest.
“Kill yourself. You'll be doing everyone a favour. You're nothing but dead weight, spouting words you no longer believe in. You're an embarrassment. A pathetic pile of shit all dressed up in the robes of a dying faith.” Her head turned to the Idol brothers as they picked themselves up. “And what of these fuckstains? You think they like you? They despise you. They're sick of having to look after you. Clean up after you. Clean up your piss-stained trousers and vomit-encrusted clothes. They want you to put that shotgun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. That's what they want, and you know it.”
“Don't listen to her, Montague,” Pete said. “She's trying to get in your head!”
Tippi screeched, so high pitched that everyone in the room immediately put their hands to their ears.
Everyone, that was, except Father Rhodes.
He stared back at Tippi, no emotion showing on his craggy face. Tippi turned back to him, searching his eyes, her wicked smile growing even wider.
“You know I'm right, Father.” She licked her lips, her tongue black and serpentine, “I mean, how could they not hate the man who killed—”
Tippi did not get a chance to finish her sentence, because that was the moment Father Rhodes chose to use every ounce of his remaining strength to punch the eight-year-girl-demon in the face.
CHAPTER THREE
DING DING ROUND TWO
Several things happened in quick succession.
Tippi's parents cried out in horror, shocked at the brutality they were witnessing.
The bed flipped back into its former position, hitting the floor with a thunderous boom.
Father Rhodes bent over and threw up.
The Idol brothers immediately snapped back into action.
Pete launched himself onto the bed and grabbed the head of the girl once again, while she lay momentarily stunned at the haymaker she had just received, and Chris wrapped the band and disc around it. As his brother was finishing up, Pete noticed Ed had started to move towards Father Rhodes, an angry look upon his face. More punches were about to be thrown, and someone had to stop it.
“Stay where you are!” he shouted, but Ed was lost in a mist of fatherly fury, and continued forward, balling his own fists, ready to strike the retching priest.
“For fuck's sake!” Pete cried as he hopped onto the bed, and then launched himself at Ed. He caught him perfectly in a rugby tackle and took the man down to the ground.
“Get off me,” Ed growled as Pete held him in place. “He just hit my daughter”
“No, he didn’t,” Pete snarled back. “Right now, that thing is not your daughter, remember? He just did what he had to do. I know this is tough right now, but you have to stay with your wife. Your daughter's life depends on it!”
Ed's look changed from one of anger to helplessness. Pete felt a pang of sympathy for the man.
“It will be okay,” he said. “We'll fix this.”
Chris now had the elasticat band around Tippi’s head, tightened and clipped in place; the silver disk settled perfectly on her forehead. Not a moment too soon, as she let forth another jet of hot bile towards the ceiling, which Chris barely avoided as he reeled back, tumbling to the floor again. The girl-demon snarled and shrieked, swearing and bucking and pulling at the bonds holding her spread-eagled to the bed. The wooden frame began to creak and rock as Tippi pulled harder and harder on her bonds.
“Cocksuckers!” she screeched in frustration.
Chris, Pete and Ed all climbed to their feet, and Ed returned to Daphne, who immediately embraced him.
The brothers looked at each other, and made sure they were out of earshot before talking.
“He punched an eight-year-old girl in the face, Chris,” Pete said
“Yep. That he did,” Chris replied.
“Did he have to do that?”
“I don’t know.” Chris looked at the girl on the bed. “It worked.”
“He's not going to be able to do this much longer,” Pete said sadly
“I know.”
“I'm just talking about today either.”
“I know. But we can worry about that later. Right now, we finish this.”
Pete walked across the room and picked up the cloth-covered birdcage. Stepping over to a nearby bedside table, he set the cage down and made sure it was steady before whipping the cover off.
A small yellow budgie sat on the swing hanging from the top of the cage. It chirped in surprise and ruffled its feathers as it was so abruptly revealed.
“Aww,” Tippi cooed from her bed. “You brought me lunch. How sweet of you.”
“Nope,” Pete said.
“You are all going to die in here,” she screamed. “I’m going to fuck your shitty arseholes like they’re cunts until you beg for death. I might even use that tweety bird over there. What do you think, Daddy? Do you want that chirping up your ass when I fuck you with it?!”
Daphne gasped and her hands went to her mouth once more.
“Tippi!” she cried. “Don’t you dare talk to your father like that!”
Chris placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder as he looked ready to break down. Ed met his eyes.
“Don't listen to it. We've got it trapped in a corner and it's doing whatever it can to put us off. It's scared.” Chris looked over at Pete.
“All set,” Pete responded, followed by a thumbs-up.
The budgie in the cage continued to chirp, as though nothing untoward were happening. It seemed completely oblivious to its surroundings.
“What are you doing?” Tippi growled
Pete smiled down at the demonic girl. “Wouldn't you like to know?” Then under his breath, “Ya skanky bitch.”
Chris headed towards their toolbox, flipped open the drawers once more. He knelt down beside it, routed around inside until he produced a small, black box. It was covered in buttons, and there was a small joystick sticking out of it and a small silver bowl protruding from the top. Chris turned back towards the bed and extended the antennae.
Tippi stared up at him, watching him, waiting to see what he was going to do. When the antennae was extended, pointing in her direction she began to scream defiantly.
“No! I won’t go back!” she screamed, tossing, pulling at the ropes that held her down. “Your religious mumbo jumbo won’t make me. Your old priest isn’t strong enough and you two don’t have an inch of belief in your useless bodies. Give up and you’ll die quickly. You can’t get rid of me! You won’t get rid of me!”
Pete rolled his eyes and turned his back on the creature.
It continued to scream, yelling at him not to ignore it, but he just headed towards the shotgun. In one fluid movement, he snatched it up and snapped it open. He began to load it, confidently sliding shells into the chamber and preparing it for use. He held it comfortably in his hands and walked back over to the bedside cabinet once more, standing next to the birdcage. He nodded at his brother.
Chris in turn faced the McBains. “Ready?” he said.
They said nothing, but nervously nodded in unison.
Chris turned back, keeping himself between the two worried parents and their possessed daughter.
“Father Rhodes!” the Idol brothers yelled together.
Father Rhodes, the old priest, stood back up fully, pausing for breath. He swayed briefly and his eyes opened and shut tiredly. The creature on the bed grinned, her teeth black and distorted, gums bleeding red.
“Looks like your Bible basher has run out of juice, boys!” she hissed.
“Put a cork in it, you scabby wanker,” Chris shouted back.
Tippi cackled maniacally, until a booming gruff voice silenced her.
“Watch your language, Christopher,” Father Rhodes said, his voice full of confidence once more. He wiped the sick from his chin and flicked it to the floor before turning his attention on the demon once more.
“There are children present.”
Chris and Pete looked at each other, trying to figure out what on earth was going on with the priest. Chris, still clutching the remote control in his hands, was about to ask him if he was okay when Father Rhodes cut him off.
“Time to say goodbye, demon!” He began to chant again, but this time there was anger in his voice and in his eyes. He spat out the words, religious words of a long dead language. The meaning was clear, although the words were indecipherable. There was power in his voice, a commanding presence that had not been there before. The old priest was standing taller and straighter, all traces of weariness gone from his body. He flicked the holy water at the creature, splashing it across every inch of her skin that he could. She writhed and screamed, her words slurring together with anger, their meaning lost in her wrath.
Pete turned to Chris, and Chris gave him the nod..
Pete cocked the shotgun, raised it to his shoulder, and levelled it at his target.
***
The budgie chirped away on its perch, oblivious to the chaotic scene it was in the middle of, and completely unaware of the double-barrelled shotgun pointed directly at it.
Father Rhodes, so weak a moment ago, seemed to be getting larger and larger the more he chanted. His entire presence began to fill the room. His voice grew louder, stronger, and as it did, Chris flipped switches on his remote control.
A light came on, blinked red at the top of the box. He flipped a few more switches and a mechanical whirring filled the air, louder even than Tippi’s inhuman screeching. The poles that Pete had so carefully positioned began to extend upwards, wobbling slightly as their weight changed. They ground to a halt and suddenly two bars flipped down, one on either side of the central vertical bar. Crosses were formed, one at each end of the bed and one either side. At the centre of each cross was a small infrared light, blinking slightly.
Ed and Daphne watched with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Chris flipped more switches, and suddenly light burst forth from the centre of each cross. Pete remained focused on the budgie, shotgun, aware that just beyond his vision, the beams of light all met at the centre of the bed, directly over Tippi’s head and the disk held there.
Tippi continued to scream and protest, but it was to no avail.
The remote control in Chris' hand shook slightly. The atmosphere was so tense, everything seemed to be vibrating, resonating with some strange energy that was slowly building up. Everyone’s hair stood on end; Chris’ teeth tingled.
Father Rhodes continued to chant, his voice continuing to strengthen, his hand flicking holy water at Tippi faster and faster. There was a great crescendo of sound, screaming, chanting, the cheeping of the budgie, the buzzing hum of the crossfires.
And then Chris pushed a button at the top of the control.
Tippi screamed as the disk on her head began to crackle with electricity. She twisted and writhed, her entire body shaking as if in the throes of some sort of seizure. The room around began to shake and things began to fall from their places. Pictures and photos flew from the walls, crashing against each other. The bed shook in place, rocking harder than Tippi’s body ever could have made it.
Ed and Daphne looked on in terror. They edged backwards, towards the door. Ed reached for the door handle.
“You cannot leave!” Chris screamed, for he had noticed the McBains and knew their intentions. “If you leave now, you ruin everything and your daughter is gone!”
“What’s happening?” Ed shouted. “Is this normal?”
“Yes!” Chris shouted back. “It’s normal, and it could get worse before it gets better, but everything will be fine, I promise.”
Tippi suddenly sat bolt upright. Her head clattered the meeting point of the crossfire. She screamed for a moment, and then her cries turned to groans. She sat there, convulsing. It was horrible, as though she were a puppet being thrown around on invisible strings. She groaned and moaned and cried out in pain.
“TIPPI!” Daphne cried, dashing towards the bed, heading for her daughter. Suddenly something slammed into her side, dragging her down to the ground and holding her there.
“I'm sorry,” Chris told her. “You mustn’t touch her!”
Pete watched, all at once aware that each of them had assaulted one of the McBains since arriving. The odds of a bonus were slim to none.
He focused on the budgie.
Suddenly there was a bright flash of light and a huge booming bang. Everyone cried out, tried to cover their eyes. Tippi screamed.
Then all was quiet.
The room was redolent of sulphur, that smell of cooked eggs and rotten meat. But it seemed lighter than it before, the shadows not as deep.
Daphne shook Chris off, and climbed to her feet. She staggered towards her daughter and stared down at her. The sores were all gone, the red eyes, the pale skin, the black teeth. She looked normal once more, an ordinary little girl. Daphne reached out to touch her daughter’s face but Chris grabbed her hand.
“Wait,” he said. “We have to be sure.”
***
“She’s fine,” Ed said from across the room. “Look at her! She’s back to normal.”
He waved a hand towards his daughter. She did indeed look completely normal. She was blinking, her bright blue eyes full of tears. Her skin was no longer pale and clammy; instead it was pink and fresh-looking, although a layer of sweat still coated her brow. Her mouth was no longer stained black—nor was it covered in vomit—and her teeth were no longer jagged and yellow.
Tippi looked at her mother, terrified.
“M-mum?” she croaked.
“It’s okay, baby,” Daphne sobbed. “Mummy’s here.” She turned to Chris, who was still focused on the young girl.
“We have to make sure,” Chris said firmly. “We have to wait until we know for sure before we release her,”
He straightened up and pulled a small doctor’s torch from his utility belt. With it, he reached over and began to check Tippi's eyes for signs the demon remained.
Pete didn’t say a word while all this was going on. The entire time he remained focused on the budgie in the cage, shotgun trained upon bird. His grip on the barrel of the shotgun tightened for a moment, and a bead of sweat slowly trickled down his brow.
Tippi continued to sob quietly in her bed.
The budgie silently ruffled its feathers. The tiny creature seemed totally unfazed by it all. Pete’s finger stroked the trigger.
“Come on, you little prick,” he whispered. “Show me that ugly smile of yours.”
“Chirp,” went the budgie.
/> BOOM!
Gunsmoke and cordite filled the room. Everyone, apart from Chris and Pete, cried out in surprise as the shotgun blasted. The budgie was completely gone; blood, guts, and feathers peppered the wall behind the cage.
“Jesus christ!” Ed exclaimed.
“Not this time,” Pete replied, snapping open the shotgun and removing its spent shells. He looked at the damage the gun had done to the wall. “I’m afraid you’re going to need to redecorate. Then again, you were going to need to redecorate anyway. There’s no way that vomit is coming out of the carpet. And you might want to keep your windows open for a few days once we're gone.”
Chris knelt down beside the bed and looked closely at Tippi. He smiled and gently reached out to brush the hair from her face before beginning to undo the straps.
Daphne and Ed rushed across to help, wrapping their arms around Tippi once she was free. They were all crying tears of happiness and relief. Chris took a step away, watched as the family held each other, emotion filling the room.
“Aw crap,” Pete groaned. “Father Rhodes passed out again.” He moved over to the unconscious priest and placed the shotgun gently on the floor. He gently tapped the priest’s wizened face.
Rhodes made no sound, though, and no movement came from beneath his closed eyelids. Pete hesitated before slapping the man a little harder. Still there was no movement. Pete glanced up at his brother, saw the worry that was in his eyes, too.
Pete put his head to the Rhodes’s chest. He could hear a heartbeat, pounding steadily beneath the layers of cloth and flesh. Rhodes was still breathing. Shallow, but still breathing. Pete was about to tell his brother as much when something beneath the bed caught his attention.
There, in the darkness beneath the bed, were two glimmering dots of red light. There was no mistaking what they were; he’d been in the business long enough.
A wave of panic ran through him and his heart began to pound.
***
“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Chris said to the family gathered on the bed. He was completely unaware of his brother who still knelt on the floor, just out of sight behind the bed. “I think we've all spent more than enough time in this room for one day, and I'm sure Tippi is thirsty, so why don't we all head downstairs and have a cup of tea and we can sort out the paperwork.”
Devil Kickers Page 4