by Michael Todd
“I’ve learned to always be ready for a fight. Demons appear at the most inopportune times. They have no idea what it takes to go in there and do battle.”
“Or they do and are smarter than us.” Max shook his head. “Surprise is a really good tactic.”
Damian drew his bible and gloves casually from his pockets. “Well, it worked. I’m very surprised. Now, let’s not dally. I would love another cup of warm coffee to stave this chill breeze off.”
He handed the items to Max, who took them suspiciously and glared at the old leather gloves etched with burn marks. Damian rolled his hands expressively. “Put them on. We don’t have time for your melodramatic thought process. We have a house to clear.”
The young priest donned the gloves and flexed his hands while Damian used a handkerchief to retrieve his cross and placed it on top of the bible. Max looked at it with surprise, then picked it up. “What is this? Are you giving up already? I didn’t come here to watch you commit suicide in a haunted house. How would I explain that to anyone? They’d think I murdered you.”
Damian chuckled. “I know. It would be my parting gift to you—a little snark to go along with the life of demon hunting. You’d appreciate it later. But alas, no, I am not here to kill myself. These things are on loan for this fight. I’m handing you the reins for this exorcism. I want you to take the lead.”
Max shook his head and took a hasty step back. “That’s not possible. I mean, two days ago I was locked in a closet, and now you want me to be in charge?”
“You’re ready. You’ve watched me several times, and this isn’t an incursion, merely a simple exorcism. You can do this, Max. And don’t worry. I’ll be right beside you—or behind you—just in case.”
“Just in case the demon cuts me to bits,” he retorted
His mentor chuckled. “No, just in case you need support, but you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have you do it if I didn’t think you were ready. But please don’t try your karate moves unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Max rolled his eyes and swallowed hard as the door rattled once more. He tapped the doorknob tentatively, making sure it wasn’t hot. Damian nodded approvingly. “Very good. You are learning.”
It was cool to the touch, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open. A few inches in, it was jerked from his hands and slammed against the wall. Max glanced at Damian but stepped forward, and they moved warily and remained alert. When they cleared the entrance, the door slammed shut behind them and the lights flickered in the large chandelier that swayed above their heads.
Damian noted that Max didn’t flinch when the door slammed. As the young priest grew into his responsibilities, his fear began to slowly melt, exactly as it should.
Max studied the large entryway with tall ceilings, shining hardwood floors, and beautiful paintings. A small table in the center held a vase. Directly ahead was a tall winding staircase, and to their right, a hall lined with doors. The house had obviously been remodeled recently.
The older man cleared his throat. “I’ve seen homes like this before. They started out as ramblers, the kitchen to your left, and living room ahead. The second floor was added more recently. I would say you should stick to the ground floor.”
Max held the cross tightly in his hand. “But how do I find the heart if I know nothing about the haunting or the house?”
Damian shifted his stance and glanced toward the hall. “The heart must be located. We usually know it beforehand because someone else has found it. You have to find it now.”
The trainee walked to the stairs and looked up. Despite the manifestation on the windows seen outside, the upper level was dark and quiet. He paused in the entrance to the living room, where nothing was disturbed and a grand piano stood by the bay windows. Shaking his head, he crept forward to listen at the swinging door to the kitchen. The house had gone completely silent since they had arrived. Tapping his fingers on the bible, he moved to the center of the living room again and closed his eyes, concentrating hard.
Damian kept watch, making sure nothing snuck up on them. Ravi yawned loudly. This is interesting. Junior looks unsure. Why don’t you push him?
He shook his head. This is his exorcism. I won’t always be here. Do you sense any demons in the house?
Ravi sniffed. Nah. There isn’t anything within ten miles of here except me—and that stuck-up asshole inside Max, of course.
You’re getting pretty good at this, my little hound dog. He smirked in amusement.
The demon gasped. I will give you the worst case of diarrhea ever. Don’t you dare disrespect my magnificence in that manner. Man, it’s good you’re a priest. The ladies would hate you.
Damian snickered. That is probably true, although I do have a suave side in there somewhere. I have kept it locked in a box for so long that it may be a tad rusty, though.
Oh, yeah, okay, Grandpa. Keep that shit locked up. No one wants to see that.
Max sighed, grabbing his mentor’s attention. He looked completely unsure of himself, and Damian squeezed his arm. “This is the moment when you have to rely on your skills. Go with your instinct here. You can ask your demon, but they generally lack knowledge when it comes to ghosts. If your instincts fail, go with logic. There aren’t many places in here the spirit could use as the heart. What does your gut tell you?”
The trainee centered himself, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Tingles shot through his body, and images of the different rooms flipped through his mind like a deck of cards. When they slowed, he realized he knew exactly where the heart was, as if it had called to him. He opened his eyes and pointed at the door leading to the kitchen. “It’s there, in the kitchen.”
Damian patted him on the back. “Good. Now, remember to assess the situation before rushing into the room. Never stick your head in first unless you absolutely have to. Your safety is imperative.”
Max gripped the bible and nodded as he walked quietly to the door. He breathed deeply and pushed it open barely enough to see inside. “I was right.”
His companion peeked around him. A ghostly figure stood between the island and the stove. It seemed to be chopping vegetables and cooking something. There was no food, but he used the cookware like there was. The apparition was draped in a chef’s coat and wore a tall chef’s hat. Half his face was burnt to a crisp. The priests backed back out before the entity noticed them.
“Do you think he was killed here?” Max asked.
Damian shrugged. “It’s hard to say. From the looks of him, he isn’t from when the house was first built. It’s possible the person or persons who live here had something to do with his death. It’s also possible this is his home. There have been cases where someone dies at an office, restaurant, or somewhere else and comes home to settle in. They haunt their own house and don’t understand why their loved ones fear them. This often creates rage, and that’s when things can get ugly. This fellow seems content to cut his imaginary carrots and cook with nothing in the pan. Hopefully, that means that you can expel him quickly.”
Max nodded. “Then maybe he won’t be as bad as the others.”
The older man shook his head in warning. “Don’t underestimate him. We are intruders prepared to send him from this world, something he doesn’t fully understand right now. It is the equivalent of someone breaking into our home and trying to kill us. He will fight back, but maybe we can do this quickly and painlessly.”
Max opened the bible to a prayer, read it through quickly, and gripped the cross. “All right, here goes nothing. Hopefully, this guy wants to make crepes in heaven because he can’t stay here.”
Damian laughed and followed as the young priest pushed the door open and walked cautiously inside. Hopefully, the ghost wouldn’t notice them for a while. Max stepped to the side, and his mentor let the door swing shut behind them. They pressed against the wall for a moment, watching as the apparition whistled happily, sprinkled non-existent spices into the empty pan, and shook it a little before placing it o
n the medium flame.
Max glanced at Damian, who shrugged and pointed to the bible. He licked his lips and stepped forward to begin the exorcism. The ghost froze and his gaze settled on the intruder. He snarled warningly.
“It’s okay,” the trainee said gently. “I’m here to help you move on to the next place.”
It was silent for a heartbeat, then the spirit screamed, his mouth now large and wide. Max stumbled back against the wall as the apparition went berserk. “I think he wants us to go.”
Damian laughed. “They always do.”
The young priest grabbed his mentor and yanked him down. “Watch out!”
An entire rack of pots and pans rocketed over their heads and crashed into the walls behind them. They shielded their heads instinctively, but Max’s feet began to slide on the floor as the wind picked up. He clutched the leg of the kitchen island to anchor himself. The ghost created another strong gust of wind, and the entire island hurtled to the right and smashed through the window. The men rolled across the floor with their backs toward the debris.
The spirit screeched again and slammed his fists to his sides. Simultaneously, the cooktop exploded behind him and flames shot into the air. Knives slammed into the wall beside them, and Max looked at Damian with wide eyes. The older priest raised his eyebrows. “Hopefully that is all the sharp objects in here.”
A cleaver spiraled onto the floor between Max’s legs. He yelped and thrust the cross and bible in front of him. “I need to act fast, or this guy will flambé us and serve us to his ghostly little friends. Being a spitted roast is not my idea of a pleasant end.”
Damian snorted. “Nor mine. I know where they stick that rod, and it’s not pretty, my friend. Not pretty at all. But you have to face him head-on. Get to your feet and project the exorcism at him with power.”
Max groaned and eyed the cleaver one last time. The spirit grew increasingly volatile, intensifying the wind and throwing anything he could. The dishes on the shelves rocked crazily against the glass-fronted cabinets. The doors swung open, and Max instinctively grabbed the top of the island, which had broken off, and raised it like a shield. They ducked and the crockery shattered against it. Glass exploded around them, and shards landed as far back as the wrecked window.
The young priest peered over the edge of the countertop and ducked again as a turkey carver embedded itself in the wood. Damian grabbed the makeshift shield and fixed Max with a firm look. “You can do this. I’ll anchor you the whole time. When he runs out of things to throw, you can really focus on him. You’re doing great, Max.”
“Right. I’m merely trying to stay alive.”
Chapter Eighteen
Damian knelt and held fast to Max’s leg as the young man stood. The firm grip anchored him against the ever-increasing wind, and the young priest cleared his throat and held the cross with one hand and the open bible in the other. The pages flipped wildly, and he closed his eyes to focus inward. Come on, you know this prayer. You don’t need the bible.
He opened his eyes again. The ghost now wailed loudly and swirled the wind around them. “Deus est creator. Deus est enim qui delevit. Benedicat sibi in orbem terrarum et hoc homine. Huc non pertinent. Fratremque vestrum in sanctificationem illius animae imaginem creantis eum renovatur...”
The spirit lashed out, and bursts of energy scudded across the room in waves. Max stumbled but regained his footing. Damian nodded urgently. “Continue. He is not strong enough to hurt you at this point. He will try, but keep going.”
The trainee nodded and repeated the prayer over and over. He gave Damian the bible and held the cross with both hands, calling on the power of God to exorcise the spirit. “Domine Omnipotens accipere eum in domum tuam. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu Sancti.”
The entity rose from the floor, its near-translucent body vibrating. He hovered below the ceiling and gasped as rays of light burst from his chest. Max scrambled for cover. “Fucking shit, he’s gonna blow!”
The two men lay flat behind the counter and covered their heads. This ghost, unlike the one in the cemetery, offered no words of wisdom or screams of anger. Instead, he growled loudly before exploding into a clear oozing mess that splattered from one side of the kitchen to the other.
The wind died immediately, and the burners’ flames returned to normal. Max and Damian stood slowly, ooze dripping from their hats. The older priest looked at his suit and sighed in obvious relief. “He managed to miss my entire suit. Good job, dude.”
Damian slapped the trainee’s back, and his hand froze for a moment. When he raised it, strings of goo followed, and he grimaced. Max simply stood there with ooze dripping down his cheeks. Wordlessly, the young priest slid the cross into the leather pocket of Damian’s coat. He removed the gloves and handed them over, slightly dazed from the whole occurrence.
Concerned, Damian asked, “You okay?”
Max swallowed and stared at the burn marks on the kitchen walls. “We really need to wear coveralls and goggles when we do these.”
The pub was loud and boisterous. Music from the jukebox competed with the chatter around them. The only person who seemed to notice was Max, who slumped unhappily in his chair with his shoulders raised to his ears. Maps bobbed her head happily in time to the music, and Damian sipped his whiskey calmly. “It feels good to be here; like coming home.”
“That’s disturbing for a priest to say,” Max remarked snidely
Maps glanced at him and laughed. “Oh, lighten up, you old stooge. Have a shot and relax. You aren’t fighting demons right now.”
Damian chuckled and raised his glass, taking a sip before anyone could respond to the silent toast. “How about you, Maps? How is business?”
She nodded around a huge bite of pizza. “Mmm, good. I actually have a lot of return clients and one new one. He’s slightly odd, and I haven’t figured him out yet. On the one hand, he might simply be weird, but on the other, he might be infected.”
Damian tensed, a little curious now. “Does he have red eyes?”
Maps shrugged. “I don’t know. He never removes his glasses, and it would be rude if I asked him to. He seems really nervous around me.”
“Smart guy.” Max chuckled drily.
She stuck her tongue out at him and dipped her pizza in ranch dressing. “He’s not flirty and nervous like Max was when we first met.”
The trainee straightened angrily. “That’s not true. I simply wasn’t used to derelicts like you, and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t shank me or anything.”
Maps pointed her plastic knife at him. “You can never be sure, can you? Anyway, I really don’t think he’s up to no good.”
“How can you be sure?” Damian asked. “You should let me check him out.”
“I appreciate that, Pops, but it’s not necessary. I say that because everything he orders has to do with either food or the preparation of it. He asked for these ancient tart recipes, things Queen Victoria was fed, and all kinds of weird desserts. Unless he plans to attack someone with a crème brûlée, I think the world is safe.”
Max rolled his eyes and glanced at Damian. “I’m pretty sure I could go the rest of my life without talking to another chef after today. In fact, if I had the choice, I would avoid all kitchens and food for eternity. I knew chefs could be testy assholes, but that guy had a serious issue.”
Maps reached over and ruffled his hair, much to his dismay. “Aww, what’s wrong, Maxie-poo? You get a bad chicken salad?”
He slapped her hand away and folded his arms.
Damian laughed and shook his head. “No, something way more awesome. Our man Max here did his first exorcism without my assistance—minus me making sure he didn’t blow away in the wind. The ghost happened to be a chef. When we arrived, he was whistling to himself like a Muppet and chopping invisible vegetables.”
She frowned. “What made him join the land of the dead?”
Damian tilted his head in thought as he sipped his whiskey. “At first we had no idea, since
we actually stumbled on the house while we were out for a walk. When we got home, we did a little research, and it turns out he was a Michelin three-star chef from London. He liked to experiment in his multimillion-dollar kitchen—which is now a pile of rubble—before he took recipes into the restaurant. Apparently, his creativity got a little out of hand one day, thanks to a bottle of Scotch he left near the stove, and everything blew up in his face…literally.”
Maps grimaced. “Yikes, that sucks. Did anyone else live there?”
Damian shook his head. “No, he was divorced, as so many in his profession are. I made a call to the real estate agent, who said they couldn’t show the house because of the ghost. I told her that aside from some necessary repairs to the kitchen, they were good to go.”
She wiped her hands and chin with a napkin. “Every time I tire of my chosen career, I remind myself how lucky I am to work with the living instead of the dead. I don’t think I could handle the whole dramatic ghost thing. Seriously, they’re dead! What do they have to whine about? Move on, please. I mean, what was his unfinished business—an unbaked souffle? People have real problems in this world.”
Damian smirked. “That’s true, although most of these spirits have no idea that they’ve died. There is the unfinished business part, but then there is the missed-the-bus kind. From what I’ve been taught, when a person dies, there is a limited window to move to the next place. Some of them are so confused that they end up missing that and are stuck in an in-between existence. They don’t compute that no one talks to them. They don’t compute that they aren’t actually frying anything in that pan. They feel anger, rage, sadness, and mostly, fear. When we show up, they fear us. I don’t know what they think we’re there for, but they do everything they can to take us down.”
Maps gulped her beer. “Yeah, well, the living can be that way too. Sometimes they let all their rage out on the people who try to help them. It’s sad, really.”
“It is,” Max agreed. “Life is sad, and death is sad. Can’t get away from it.”
