He’d made it to the cash register. National Enquirer Boy materialized. Stuttered a greeting at the man. Now, the manager might have needed a Bahamavention, but National Enquirer Boy looked like he needed to be raised from the dead. He’d turned white as a ghost.
The familiar burst of adrenaline flooded my body, energizing me for battle with the enemy. I could feel my heart slamming against my chest. Mama didn’t give me much, but she gave me Jesus’ name, and the Psalms. The Twenty-third came to my aid.
“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake.”
I had to get ready. Somebody was gonna get a butt-kickin’, and I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be me or my new friend.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
I picked up the money cutie had given me and slipped it into my front pocket, too preoccupied to say thanks. I laid the copy of The Demon Hunter on top of the dispenser where the money had been. I didn’t see squat in that book I could use anyway.
“Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointeth my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
I crouched to make sure my Timbs were tied tight, took a deep breath, and got up so I could get busy.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
I rolled my shoulders back. A’ight. Let’s roll.
“Lord,” I silently prayed, “Can you help me stay feminine-looking? A cute brotha is standing right here, and a sistah still needs to look good, even if she is battling the power of Satan.”
Amen.
Now it was time to kick butt.
Cutie’s expression had changed to one of dread. His brows furrowed, and his mouth flattened to a frown. For a second I wondered, my heart pounding wildly at the thought of it, if he could see demons, too.
The prospect excited me a little too much. I wouldn’t wish that ability on anybody, but the thought of being able to talk to somebody about this … if other people could see what I see …
I could tell Cutie was experiencing something, so I got right down to business. I looked right in those pretty, gold-flecked eyes of his. “Can you see it, too?”
From the expression on his face I figured my question surprised him. He shot a look in the general direction of the demonic. “Can I see—? What are you talking about?”
I shook my head. “Nothin’. My bad.”
My heart crashed down to my empty stomach. Now he was gon’ think I was crazy and dip without buying me breakfast.
Dang! That would be the second meal a demon cost me in less than twelve hours. But at least I had the bread the brotha gave me.
Cutie surprised me and took me by the wrist, pulling me behind him. Whatever was going on he thought he needed to protect me. I could totally dig a man willing to put himself between me and a demon.
“You can see it, can’t you?” I almost jumped for joy.
He turned around to face me. His gold-dusted eyes bore into mine. He hesitated. Pursed his lips and shook his head. “I can’t see anything,”
My smile faded.
He scanned the area, as if he were trying to see, but couldn’t. “I can’t see it, but I can feel it.”
Just to be sure … “What can you feel?”
“The presence of evil.”
I guess he thought about it. He looked even more astounded than when he first saw me. “Can you see it?”
“Will I still get breakfast if I say yes?”
“You can get anything you want if you say yes.”
I could work with that.
“Oh yeah. I can see it and smell it. It’s funky, and not in a good way.”
By the look on his face I must’ve shocked him again, but he didn’t spend too much time trippin’ on it. I guess he’d gotten preoccupied with feeling evil multiply. Smoky-the-demon shape-shifted again, and took on another physical form less pretty than his previous incarnation.
“Can you still see it?” Cutie asked. “What’s it doing?”
“Changing. When it came in here it looked like a gray cloud. Then it turned into a smoke man. Now, it’s starting to look like a big, black worm, and I do mean big, with rolls that make me wonder if you cut them, would the thing—you know—grow a new head or tail or something like worms do?”
He crossed himself. Must’ve visualized it pretty good if the disgusted look on his face was any indicator.
“What else is going on?”
“It’s starting to show its face. It’s got a bizarre human-looking head, only the face is too long. Like, I don’t know, a human-worm-demon-thing would look. And it needs some serious dental work. Makes me wish I had a pair of kick-butt Prada boots with sharp, stiletto heels. I’d use them to kick a hole in its nasty-looking head.”
“You can’t hurt a demon with high heels.”
“Yeah, but a girl can dream.”
Poor National Enquirer Boy cowered at the cash register. The man must have asked him for help. Kid looked as nervous as the first person to die in a scary movie.
Then the demon let out some kind of weird scream.
I hid behind Cutie a little more. “Awww, shoot! Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The man it came in with started screaming, too. I’d never seen anybody in synchronized screaming with a demon, and yo, it was most unpleasant. But demons do crazy stuff like that, and it can seriously throw you off your game if you’re not careful.
Mama said you aren’t doing warfare if you’re listening to a shrieking between a demon and his evil friend, but she would have if she coulda heard this noise.
I said out loud, “Jesus!” Sometimes, just saying the Name would do.
The man turned. Slowly. All crazy-looking.
Cutie took the rosary off his neck and kissed the crucifix. Looked like he was about to do his own brand of warfare. Since I wanted to know exactly what his brand was, I let him take the lead. But me and Jesus had his back.
Poor National Enquirer Boy didn’t know what to do with all that demonic energy. He started to shake and cry.
Cutie made the sign of the cross again, with the silver Jesus crucified between his fingers like I hold it. He pointed it in the direction of the demon invoking the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then brought another one of his heavenly friends to the party.
“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of Heavenly Host, by the Divine Power of God, cast into hell, Satan, and all the evil spirits who roam throughout the world, seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”
I wasn’t sure if I should say amen to that, or what. I mean, where I come from you just rebuked a demon in Jesus’ name. Maybe you’d ask God to send his ministering angels. But I wasn’t used to folks calling on archangels.
He must have done something right. The demon went crazy. It slammed into a display of cheap CD players and telephones. Stuff fell off the shelves. National Enquirer Boy screamed like a girl. To him it must have looked like small electronic products were flying around for no good reason. Shoot. I was about to scream like a girl, especially when a pair of headphones flew in my direction like they had Emme radar.
“If stuff is flying that ain’t good,” Cutie yelled over the commotion. “What can you see?”
“I guess your prayer made him mad—that or the Archangel came and is kickin’ his butt. I can’t see anything but the demon. Maybe it’s throwing some kind of tantrum.”
Cutie’s unsettled expression let me know this was bad news.
“Why are you pressed? Looks to me like your heavenly friend is doing what you asked him, too.”
&nbs
p; “Looks to me like we may be dealing with a devil, not a demon. And devils are worse than demons.”
“That ain’t good.”
The man with the whatever-it-was—devil or demon—followed its fiendish companion’s lead and started slamming himself into stuff, yelling, “I said I want Duracell. The copper-top batteries!” He picked up all kinds of fans, barbecue pits—whatever he could get his hands on—and tossed them around while he shouted obscenities. And then, yo, the big worm thing changed into the smoke man again and jumped right into the man’s mouth.
Bro’ froze like his Duracell batteries gave out.
It’s not like I didn’t know people could be possessed. I’d seen demons inside of folks, making them look like wolves or snakes or crazy-looking primates, but as often as I saw crazy stuff like that, I never saw one go inside a person. That thing disappeared into him with the ease of the Walgreens manager going behind those double doors.
Almost as quickly, the demon reanimated the man. His body started twisting, and his face grimaced in all kinds of strange expressions. I thought the demon would make him explode, make his organs go flying. And that was gon’ make a mess. It seemed I could hear his joints snapping and popping. My knees knocked into each other.
When I could find my voice, I commanded, “In the name of Jesus, come out!”
A low growl came from his throat. His face contorted into another demon’s right in front of me—like it was made of rubber or something. This one had a narrow, vulture-like face.
“Jesus!” I said, and I wasn’t using the Lord’s name in vain.
Cutie shouted, “The Lord rebuke you!”
The man’s eyes rolled back to the whites, the growl growing louder.
Man! I couldn’t stop staring this time, no matter what my mama once said. Another face of evil emerged, then morphed into a fourth.
I used the best weapon I had again. “In the name of Jesus,” flew out of my mouth.
The man seemed to choke on hearing Jesus’ name this time. Sound escaped his throat, but since I’d already heard him cussin’ and fussin’, I knew the spooky guttural voice coming out of him was not his own.
“Shut up,” it spat at me, then it called me the “n” word and the “b” word!
Okay, that was just rude.
He lunged even with those unseeing eyes at me. I wasn’t expecting that. All of a sudden we were in a monster flick. And since my new partner was kinda Latino, by default I became the token black person who was gon’ die.
But Cutie threw prayers like poison darts at the man, grabbing him before he could get me.
“Soul of Christ, sanctify me; Body of Christ, save me; Blood of Christ, inebriate me; water from the side of Christ, wash me; Passion of Christ, strengthen me; O good Jesus, hear me; within Your wounds hide me; let me never be separated from You.”
I wanted Jesus to hide me, too. Fast. ’Cause Cutie wasn’t holding it down too well. But he kept praying.
“Let me never be separated from You; from the evil one protect me.”
That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout! Protect me, Lord!
The man slowed. He clenched his jaw and growled under his breath. He seemed to lose strength at that part of the prayer. At the same time multiple voices tore out of his throat, uttering the most wretched blasphemies imaginable. It was as if the demons were cussing in surround sound inside of him.
Cutie prayed louder, “At the end of my death, call me, and bid me come to You.”
Hold up, now. I didn’t care for the direction the prayer was taking. I wasn’t tryna die up in this piece.
Cutie continued, “That with all Your saints, I may praise You forever and ever. Amen.”
Okay, I could deal with that.
“Sho’ could use some of those saints right now. Like Samson on one of his good days but yo, no rush to get to heaven, a’ight!”
He didn’t have time to commiserate with me about it. The demoniac jerked free and grabbed Cutie by his T-shirt. Threw the brotha in the air and sent him hurtling toward the entrance, but his archangel friend must’ve been lookin’ out. Although he slammed into those big glass doors, they didn’t shatter and impale him.
Now the demoniac had me in his grip, calling me out of my name. His racism, misogyny, and hate for all of humanity belted out of his mouth loud and proud. Over and over.
I tried to pull away from the thing, but I hadn’t had enough to eat. The effort made me faint and dizzy. “Jesus, help me!” I cried.
Worked when I was little.
Cutie got up and ran toward us praying the Lord’s Prayer, while Demon Boy shook me like a Polaroid picture. If Cutie didn’t get me out of that man’s grip soon, I was gon’ black out.
Cutie jumped on the man’s back, shouting, “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
I needed to be forgiven, all right, since it looked like Satan Boy and his foul friend were gon’ kill me. I shouldn’t have spent most of the day thinking evil thoughts about Ray.
And yo, that demon kept calling me names like it was a gang-sta rapper! I didn’t appreciate insults! Not even from demons. And I so wasn’t feelin’ tryna to help his host anymore, which meant I had even more uncharitable thoughts to deal with.
My partner in warfare got to, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
“Please, Lord,” I begged. “Forgive me for all my sins!” Just in case.
I hate demons.
Always making folks act a fool. Including me! Keeping me from eating. Had my thoughts all jacked up. Now one was tryna kill me!
But Cutie bested the man, and he let go of me. I dropped to the floor. He shouted, “Run!” with the possessed man in a headlock.
Run? Not Emme Vaughn. Cutie fought for me. Prayer meeting just got started!
“God, give me strength,” I prayed.
Cutie must have been on “auto.” He prayed the Lord’s Prayer again, the same way, right in the guy’s ear.
The demon inside the man appeared to grow weaker. Must have been because Cutie prayed Jesus’ words. Anything Jesus said drives them crazy.
The man started writhing and screeching like Cutie was pouring acid on him.
When Cutie got to “deliver us from evil” again, the man let out another blood-chilling scream, and started spinning around in a circle. Fast!
He didn’t get dizzy. But Cutie, who was on that crazy ride, did.
I may have been weak and woozy, but I pulled myself up from the floor. “Loose him in the name of Jesus,” I said to the demon, even though I must have looked as threatening as a kitten.
He stopped spinning long enough to take note that I’d joined the mayhem again. The demon in him laughed at me!
Emme Vaughn don’t like nobody laughing at her.
And another thing. I didn’t hear it calling Cutie names, but it called me everything but a child of God.
That ain’t right.
Cutie must have gotten a little vertigo. He bolted away from the whirling devil and rested, crouched down, his hands on his knees.
I repeated my command to the demon. “I said loose him in the name of Jesus!”
It cracked up like I was trying out a routine for BET’s Comic View.
“I did loose him,” the demonic voice emanating from the man said. It laughed again.
He meant he loosed Cutie.
I had to try that again. Demons have plenty of sense, and obviously I didn’t say the magic words. Or I didn’t say them the right way. I spoke to it again, careful to tell it to do exactly what I wanted it to do. “Leave the store right now, in Jesus’ name.”
The demon didn’t seem to find me compelling enough. He went for my boy again. Since he was still a little dizzy, the demon got him good. Slung him around like a chew toy in a rabid dog’s mouth. I needed to do something about that. Something physical like Cutie did for me. I jumped on the possessed guy’s back shouting the same old commands
at him.
National Enquirer Boy appeared with the manager, who looked less than pleased at us, probably because he had to come out from behind those double doors. He had an ancient security guard with him, The Defender of the Peanuts no doubt, who’d stood watch over the Lion’s Club dispenser in another century. Guard Methuselah took out a pair of handcuffs that looked like they had been used to capture slaves and got right in the tangle between us. He had the nerve to clink the cuffs on my boy!
I jumped off demon possessed guy’s back and yelled at the security guard.
“You cuffed the wrong person! The one growling, throwing people, and looking like he’s gon’ star in The Exorcist: Part Five is the perp.”
My observation seemed to confuse Guard Methuselah, but his hesitation gave me a chance to slam the demoniac guy in the chest, commanding what crawled up in him, “Out! In Jesus’ name!”
That sent the security guard off. He meandered like a drunk toward the manager’s double doors.
Shoot. If he called the police and they found out who I was, I’d go right back into foster care. I wasn’t even tryna to hurt the guy. I wanted to get the demon’s attention. And I still had work to do.
I yelled, “Come out, right now, in Jesus’ name!”
The guy with the demon growled, “I’ll be back.”
Great. A demon that does Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonations.
Whatever! As long as it came out, ’cause I was the Terminator now.
“In the name of Jesus—”
Before I could finish my prayer the man pushed at my shoulders—with superhuman strength, might I add. He knocked me three feet back, and flat on my behind, then burned rubber gettin’ up out of the store.
Guard Methuselah shuffled over to me. “Young lady, I’m going to have to restrain you.”
“You can’t handle me!” I pointed to my boy. “The only reason you got him is because he was busy keeping the demoniac from hurting me.”
National Enquirer Boy spoke up in his squirrelly little voice. “Uh … sir … uh … You did handcuff the wrong guy … uh … sir.”
The Exorsistah Page 3