Flash Fiction: Bart Luther, Freelance Exorcist (Act Four)

Three weeks ago, the Challenge was to write 1,000 or so words that were to be Act One of a four part story. Two weeks ago the Challenge was to write Act Two to extend someone else’s Act One, while someone else might take your Act One and add their Act Two. Last week, the Challenge was to craft an Act Three to advance the story of two someone elses’ Act One and Act Two.

Come on, guess what this week’s Challenge is!

Three weeks ago I wrote “Beach Road (Act One)” and it was picked up by both Angela Cavenaugh and Peter MacDonald for the second act. You can find Angela’s work here and Peter’s addition here. The Peter MacDonald version was picked up for the third act by wombatony (here) and by wildbilbo (here). So far, no one has picked either story up for a fourth act.

Two weeks ago I wrote “The Dare (Act Two)“, adding to Mozette’s Act One. That story was picked up by ElctrcRngr (here). So far no one has picked up this story for a fourth act.

Finally, this week I’m adding the finale to the first 981 words written by Josh Loomis, the next 1,008 words written by Pavowski, and the third 998 words written by Henry. All of their pieces are reproduced below with links to their websites in the section headers:

BART LUTHER, FREELANCE EXORCIST (Act Four)

Act One (by Josh)

I can’t imagine to understand everything that occurs in my life. I can’t account for everything I’ve seen. At least in terms of science. But those aren’t the circles I’ve traveled in, even after I left the church.

Not that me leaving keeps the church out of my life.

The balding priest sitting across my desk from me kept looking down at his hat, his fingers on the brim, perhaps because instructions were embroidered on it in really tiny letters. I rested my elbows on the desk’s blotter and interlaced my fingers in front of my chin. The clock on my wall ticked away seconds quietly. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

“Forgive me, Mister Luther. This is not the sort of thing I am used to discussing.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, Father O’Donnell. This isn’t the normal thing your parishioners deal with.”

“Ah… yes.” His brow furrowed. “I would appreciate it if you did not mention I brought this to you.”

“Right. Because the church would not want to admit that things like this actually exist.”

O’Donnell shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I kept myself from shaking my head or making a retching noise. Instead, I took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you tell me about the problem?”

“The problem is Samantha. She’s the daughter of one of our parishioners. She’s sixteen years old.”

I lowered my hands to reach for my notebook and a pen. “Possessed?”

“I’m not sure.”

I stopped writing. “You’re… not sure? Is it possible she just has a fever or something?”

O’Donnell shook his head. “She is speaking in tongues. Being… abrasive with her parents, when she never has before. She refers to things she could not possibly know. We cannot think of another way to explain it.”

“And how are you keeping the family from telling everybody in the neighborhood their daughter is possessed by a demon?”

“Her father told me of the trouble in confession. I reminded him that what he told me there remained between us, and that his wife and household were also bound by that stricture.”

I chuckled. “No wonder the girl was open to possession. It’s clear her old man isn’t very bright.”

O’Donnell glared at me. “I don’t think I appreciate your tone, Mister Luther.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

I looked up from my notes. “If you don’t like how I do things, Father, the door is behind you. Best of luck finding another freelance exorcist in the phone book.”

“But you are not listed in the phone book, Mister Luther. The church office has your card on file.”

Some priests, like most nuns, have no sense of humor. “My point is, I am your only option, unless you want to dust off your older texts, launder a fresh collar, and do this yourself.”

“I have no experience with such things. You have a great deal. Which is why you charge such exorbitant amounts of money for your… freelance exorcism services.”

“I also ghost-write inspirational books for churches like yours to sell in their gift shops!” I gave Father O’Donnell my best, cheesiest smile. He glared at me.

“Please. Mister Luther.” He paused. “Bartholomew. She needs your help.”

I sighed. “You don’t have to use the girl to get me to help you, Mike. I’m going to do it.”

“You had your reasons for leaving the church, I know, and…”

“Mike, come on, it’s okay. I’m sorry I was so hard on you. You can relax.”

The priest clutched his hat and let out a long breath. “It has been a hard time for me. I christened Samantha. Her confirmation is in two weeks. Or, at least, it should be.”

That got a smile. “Do you know I still have my confirmation bible?”

The priest started smiling, too. “Still sentimental after all these years, my son? That’s a promising sign.”

“You know I’m not coming back to the church, right?”

“I’m not sure why you left the priesthood in the first place…”

“I didn’t like the view from the inside.” I picked up my valise, opening it to check the inventory. “I still pray every day, Mike, and I do what I can to do right by Christ and my neighbors. But between bilking innocent, gullible people for cash and all of the shady crap the Vatican’s been responsible for over the years…”

Father O’Donnell held up his hands in surrender. “I do not agree with your reasoning, Bartholomew. But I’m heartened to know you’re still serving the Lord.”

I shook my head. “However you see it. Now, what else can you tell me about Samantha?”

Father O’Donnell told me where Samantha and her family lived, the sort of things she’d been saying, and I wrote all of it down. I made a fresh batch of coffee, poured some into a paper cup for Mike with a lid, and handed it to the priest before he left. I returned to my desk and sat.

An actual exorcism. From everything Mike had told me, Samantha was now renting out her head to one of the more nasty denizens of Dis. I dug out one of my source journals and looked through my notes. I had it narrowed down to a few possibilities, but I would need more information before I knew for sure. I closed up my journals and notebook, dropping them in the valise on top of the vials of holy water and my blessed crucifix.

I needed to get myself to Samantha’s family’s house to try and save her. But I also needed to make sure I had all the help I could manage. If I was right, I wasn’t the only one in danger.

So, taking a deep breath, I reached for my phone and started to dial her number.

Act Two (by Pavowski)

When I pulled up to the house, Nora was already there; arms crossed, leaning back on her beat-up old Volkswagen in a sweater two sizes too big for her. Her mom’s. She watched, unmoving, as I parked my dented Chevy and got out.

It’s an old and practiced way between us, the way we stand apart, waiting. I won’t hug her unless she invites it, but she won’t. Not after our last parting. With an inward chuckle, I counted my blessings that she even came. Truth be told, I didn’t expect her even to take my call.

“Dad.” Her eyes dropped to the gravel drive. She ground a few stones under her heel.

I almost choked up. Years had passed since she called me that. “Sweetie.”

She jerked her head toward the house, the last rays of the setting sun glinting off her hipster sunglasses. “You speak to the family yet?”

I’d gotten my valise out of the backseat to check its contents again. Not that I needed to, but old habits die hard. “Thought I’d let myself be surprised. You?”

“Just poked around out here a little bit.”

“Getting anything?”

“Fear. Confusion. Flashes of anger and hurt.” She cast a resentful eye at me. “The usual family stuff.”

I let her barb pass; she could say a lot worse, and I’d deserve it. I popped my bible into my pocket, snapped the valise shut, and moved toward the front door, stretching my arm out to her. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked in front of me.

The steps to the front door creaked soothingly underfoot, like an old rocking chair Nora’s granddad used to sit and spin tales in. I thought of him and then I think of how he died, all hooked up to tubes and howling in pain. It’s not a memory any of us cherish, and I hadn’t thought of him in years. The memory just jumped to the surface like a fish in a calm pond. I glanced at Nora, but she was laser-focused on the door.

“Ready?” I asked.

Wordlessly, she rang the bell.

A heavy clatter of rushed footsteps, and the door opened just a crack. Darkness inside, and one wild eye peering out at us in the knife of dusky light. “Are you the priest?”

No. “Yes.”

A thunder of stampeding feet came from the second floor, and the man winced away from the noise like a frightened dog. “I wish you hadn’t rung the bell.” His voice was hushed, the whisper of a hunted child afraid for its life.

“Samantha?”

The stomping stopped, and the man’s face grew pale. “Don’t say her name.”

“Mister Gallod?” Nora’s voice was level and warm, and entirely unlike the voice she uses with me. “May we come in?”

Ed Gallod thought for a moment and then shuffles aside. We’d barely cleared the door when he eased it closed behind us, muffling its clicks as best he could. The only light came from dim, smoky candles. Piles of open books were strewn around the couch, the floor. Unwashed dishes crowded the sink. The disarray made it feel like a squatter’d been living there. Ed trudged a well-worn path through the mess and sat amidst a pile of books. He cleared a space for Nora to sit, and offered to do the same for me, but I declined. I was too nervous to sit still. My eyes watered at the candle smoke, but something else burned behind it. Sulphur. That awful eggy stink burrowed right up into my nose and nested there. Funny, I hadn’t smelled it at all outside. Nora either didn’t smell it or didn’t show it.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ed whispered. He looked like he might crawl right out of his skin. “I’d turn on the lights, but … they just go off. TV’s nothing but static or … voices.” He licked his lips and passed a grimy hand over his face. “Or screaming.” Tears welled in his eyes.

“Father O’Donnell told us. You don’t have to go through it again.” The stairway at the dark end of the hallway gaped like a maw and disappeared halfway up its length. I wished there was light. Light helps.

Nora reached across and lay her delicate fingers across the back of his hand, and a veil lifted. His eyes went clear and he looked at her, and at me, as if seeing us for the first time. His voice, still hushed, came out stronger, resolute. “What do you need?”

“Do you have something of hers? Something personal.”

With a trembling finger, he pointed to the armchair next to Nora. A ratty little stuffed elephant perched there, missing an eye, but cheerful and pink in the half-light. “Her mother was holding onto it… I don’t know, to remind herself of what S–” he stopped and cast his eyes at the ceiling. “Of what she was like. Before she left.”

O’Donnell had told me. Samantha’s mother couldn’t take it. Left town. Went to stay with her sister, and left poor Ed to deal with their possessed daughter all by his lonesome. Poor sap.

Nora took the little elephant and crossed to me, turning it over and over in her hands, her eyes closed. She shuddered a little and then looked at me. I raised my eyebrows at her. She nodded. I turned to Ed.

“Let’s go meet your daughter.”

With heavy steps, candle in hand, he led us up the stairs. The air on the second floor stifled, like a sauna on a summer day. The sulphur smell grew stronger as Ed stopped at the door that could only be Samantha’s. My gut turned to ice. At the floor, under my feet, I saw fingernail scratches in the wood, like somebody had been dragged into the room. I tried to control my breathing, but I couldn’t: it wasn’t me breathing. The sound of angry, quick, snorted breaths filled the hall. The door loomed. My fingers found my bible in my pocket.

Act Three (by Henry)

I tugged the Bible out of my pocket.  I had just enough time to see its cover before the candle Ed carried flickered out in a sudden and cold breeze.  The wind died as quickly as it had started, leaving us in a pitch black hallway, the air stifling hot and sulfurous.  Nora grabbed my left elbow, and for just one instant I almost felt glad that she’d taken the risk and come along, that she’d still reach out to me for comfort when things were dark and scary. Then the door in front of us swung open silently, and she let go.

Candlelight poured from the room before us, like some grim parody of a romance novel’s climax.  The rotten egg stink suffused the room and rolled out to greet us; every candle flame bent in towards Samantha, like commoners showing obeisance before their queen.  Ed Gallod, standing next to me, fell to his knees as he stared at the thing that his daughter had become.  If you didn’t pay any attention, everything about Samantha still seemed perfectly alright.  She sat at the edge of her bed as she slowly brushed her long dark hair, and the posters on her walls proclaimed her love for boy bands & unicorns, vampires & Sauron.  But the way that she looked up at us left no doubt as to whether it was still Samantha behind those eyes.  She eyed us like we were dirt, or very questionable food.

“Hello Bartholomew,” she looked at me directly, ignoring her father.  “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”  The smile never touched her eyes.  I could hear Ed retching beside me, overwhelmed by the smell.

“Again?”  I scrabbled for my thoughts.  I’d only banished two residents of Dis before, so which one of them was operating Samantha like a meat-puppet?  Time for a quick gamble. Usually, an angry demon was a stupid demon.

“You know,” I took a step into the room, fingers tightening around my Bible, “when you exorcise as many demons as I have, they all kind of blend together.”

Samantha hissed, long and low like a snake, and her brush froze in her hair.  I’d obviously hit a nerve.  Like most of its kind, this demon was prideful, or at least thought that I should recognize and respect it.  The snake-hiss did it, and a name clicked in my mind.  “Ah, yes, Salassirriza, of course you’d choose to prey on teenaged girls.”

There was a sudden sound of things scuttling through the walls, like thousands of rats had decided to make a pilgrimage to worship the thing that ate their demonic cousins. Samantha’s face shifted into a rictus grin.

“Dad,” Nora whispered at my side, “stop aggravating it and actually do something, you dumb piece of shit.”  Even the insult couldn’t make me feel bad.  She’d called me ‘Dad’ again. And given me some good advice.

“Yes Bartholomew, you’d do well to listen to your daughter.”  Samantha’s voice changed, becoming huskier and more sibilant.  She stood up from her seat on the edge of the bed and the candle flames flickered down towards her, prostrated.  “Somehow I feel like I could go for middle aged men these days.”  She licked her lips hungrily, and then glanced at my daughter.  “Or strong young women.”  This time the smile made it all the way to her eyes, but I didn’t like the result.

Cold fear dripped down my spine.  She should be scared, not like this.  I flipped through my specially prepared Bible, repeating to myself that it was ok, that Nora could take care of herself.  Samantha, no, Salassirriza, took two steps towards us.  The tips of the candle flames followed her as she moved.

“Father dearest,” the demon spoke with Samantha’s voice once more.  “Won’t you come give me a hug?”

As I fumbled for the passages that I needed, Ed Gallod stood up and stepped towards the demon that rode his daughter.  He looked dazed, mesmerized by her voice and drawn towards her beckoning hand.  I cursed under my breath as he drew close to her, and then watched in horror as she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him.  Tiny flickering flames seeped out from under her fingers, running like the coils of a serpent around Samantha’s father.  I finally had the words I needed, but I was terrified that I was too late to save the man.

As I opened my mouth and began to speak, calling out the powers and names of the Lord against this unclean being, I saw Samantha smile again, and I knew I was in trouble.  I was using the same banishment that I’d used on Salassirriza before, but from her expression it didn’t look like it was having any effect.  Leaving her father wrapped head to toe in a long coil of serpentine flames, Samantha took another step towards me, shaking her finger.

“Now Bartholomew, you don’t think that I’d have come back completely unprepared, do you?”  A flick of her left hand lifted Ed Gallod into the air, slowly drawing him over the candle flames.  The fires leapt up eagerly, and though Ed didn’t scream I could see his skin reddening, beginning to burn.

“So,” she took her time stepping closer to me while I racked my brains for another banishment that might effect her.  “How about this?  You desperately try to find something that will work on me, while I laugh in your face.  Then, while you cry, I,” her very human jaw dislocated itself, and the deeper huskier voice continued without moving her lips, “will slowly swallow you whole, letting you scream the entire time while I strip the flesh from your bones.”  Her hands came up and I was frozen, feeling those same flaming tendrils move on my skin.

Nora stepped forward, tired pink toy elephant in hand.  When she spoke, her voice struck Salassirriza like a blow to the gut.  “No, you won’t.”

Act Four (by Paul Willett aka MomDude)

Salassirriza recovered quickly, but the flames backed away from my skin by a finger’s width. I stole a glance at Ed Gallod and saw he was getting some relief as well. It wasn’t much, but when you’re about to become Demon Chow, every little but helps.

“You’re a cocky little one,” Salassirriza said, her head turning slightly to take in Nora. “You no doubt got that soon-to-be-fatal attitude from Bartholomew. It’s special when a father can give his daughter something to kill herself with. Most fathers leave a loaded gun or a drug habit, but Bartholomew gave you to me instead.”

“Sally, do you think I brought her along because it was ‘Bring Your Daughter To Hell” day?” I asked. Salassirriza looked back at me, her eyes narrowing. Good, divide her attention, keep her off balance. “You would be gobsmacked if you could understand just how enormous your ignorance is, but you’re too stupid to know how stupid you are.”

In a flash, the flames wrapped me up and squeezed me like an anaconda of molten steel. I really didn’t want to give her the pleasure of hearing me scream, but the noises coming from my throat weren’t voluntary.

“Is there some other rude, smart ass remark you would like to make, Bartholomew?” She took another step closer, clenching her hand into a fist as the coils tightened. Gasping for breath with every nerve on fire, I felt my Bible drop from my hand, leaving me defenseless.

In a quick but unhurried movement, Nora bent down to pick up the Bible while simultaneously shoving the stuffed pink elephant into my hand. “Hold this for a minute, Dad,” she said, standing to smack Salassirriza squarely across the face with my Bible.

Caught off guard, the demon staggered back and fell onto the bed. Chaos spread everywhere.

Ed Gallod fell roughly, landing on the ring of candles he had been hovering above. The impact extinguished them, leaving the room even darker than before. In the smoky, reeking murk I could see him thrashing weakly, trying to stand or roll away.

The pressure on me vanished. I crumpled to the ground while clutching the toy elephant, gasping for air like a beached fish. I knew there was no time to waste, I had to help Nora, but it was tough to focus on that while blacking out.

Salassirriza sprang back up from the bed, her eyes now glowing red with fury. There was little resemblance to Samantha, a teenage girl, or anything human as she raised her arms, screamed, and lunged at Nora’s throat.

Which, of course, is exactly what Nora had expected. An angry demon is a stupid demon. Nora had learned well.

Charging ahead herself, slipping inside Salassirriza’s grasp, Nora brought the Bible up with her right hand and pressed it against the demon’s forehead, while her left forearm slammed across Samantha’s chest like a linebacker opening a hole on the goal line. With all of her weight, Nora shoved and drove Salassirriza against the wall, pinning her there.

“I reject Satan and all his works and all his empty promises!” Nora shouted. Salassirriza squirmed and fought. “I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth!”

What was she doing? The words were familiar, but different somehow. I knew it was important to get the ringing out of my ears and have my head stop spinning.

“I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,” Nora chanted as I tried to get to my feet. As I staggered up, leaning heavily on a dresser for assistance, the one-eyed pink elephant came up into my view, still clutched in my left hand. Something there glinted in the remaining dim candle light. As Nora continued her prayer, I peered closely at the toy, the thin gold chain around its neck, and the tiny First Communion cross dangling there.

The pieces fell into place. I knew why the elephant had been so precious to Samantha and to her mother when Samantha had been possessed by Salassirriza.

“God our Father has marked you with his sign!” Sally was thrashing around violently, fighting to hold onto Samantha’s body with everything she had. As a demon in her lair she had been enormously strong and powerful. As a panicked beast on the run, her grip on the sixteen-year-old’s frail body slipping, she was no match for Nora.

Moving slowly to avoid breaking Nora’s concentration, I moved up next to the two of them. While Nora held Samantha and continued her punishing banishment, I held the soft, fuzzy face of the elephant up to Samantha and allowed it to softly brush her neck and face.

“Bye, bye, Salassirriza,” I said softly, just loud enough to be heard over Nora’s incantation. “Time to let her go and get cast down again into that pit of yours. Say hello to Lucifer for me.”

“Christ the Lord has confirmed you,” Nora continued, “and has placed his pledge, the Spirit, in your heart!”

With those words, Samantha’s body became as rigid as a board, every muscle straining, her back arched. Her face was a portrait of pain, her eyes wide and full of terror, her mouth trying to give vent to a scream that couldn’t be released. Where the cover of my Bible was pressed into her forehead by Nora, thin filaments of smoke started to curl up.

“Now, Samantha,” I called. “Give Salassirriza a swift kick in the balls and take your body back!”

“Do you believe in the Holy Spirit,” Nora screamed, “the Lord, the giver of life, who came upon the apostles at Pentecost and today is given to you, Samantha, in the sacrament of Confirmation?”

The room started to fill with a black wind which built to a gale, roaring around us like the heart of a tornado. The remaining candles blew out, leaving us in total darkness. Still Nora and I held on, pinning Samantha to the wall.

“Do you believe in the Holy Spirit,” Nora offered again, “the Lord, the giver of life, who came upon the apostles at Pentecost and today is given to you, Samantha, in the sacrament of Confirmation?”

The wind surrounding us smashed through the window shutters, escaping past the long drapes as it exited. The last sunlight of the day fell through onto the remains of Samantha’s bedroom, the brightest beam shining directly onto Samantha’s face.

“I do,” Samantha whispered, her eyes starting to fill with tears.

2 Comments

Filed under Science Fiction, Writing

2 responses to “Flash Fiction: Bart Luther, Freelance Exorcist (Act Four)

  1. john freeter

    Great ending, really exciting and emotional.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Some Stories You Should Read, 2nd Ed. | Pavorisms

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