Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  “Hard times, wherever we go,” said Donnie.

  “Y’all consider moving?” said Jerry.

  “Move?” Cindy blushed. “The market’s not quite right for that right now. We’re a bit under water with our mortgage. Maybe if things improved, but … maybe I’d like to stay. I mean, it’s pretty up here, don’t you think? Not to mention, I’ve got exclusive rights to negotiate all these properties. You know all the commissions that would mean?” She exhaled slowly and folded her arms. “Yeah, I still have a vision. If this place got built … it would be a really nice place to raise kids. That is … if it weren’t for the neighbors.” She gazed through the trees at the hell house.

  “That the place up there?” said Donnie.

  Cindy nodded.

  “Thought so.”

  “Goll, would you look at that thing?” said Jerry. “I mean that one half is a regular house but that other side … that’s some warped architecture. What kind of mind comes up with a shape like that?”

  “Not human, that’s for sure,” said Donnie. “It’s not often, that with one glance, one can tell that a structure has issues with the occult. Normally, the Dark One is not so blatant. But lo and behold.”

  Jerry waddled out to the trailer, unlatched and lifted open the bay, steel hinges creaking. The pungent aroma of applewood and hickory-smoked pork wafted out.

  “Yeeha! Who wants dinner?”

  ***

  Tammie unpacked case after case of sensors and cameras from the pickup truck, while Rand unrolled reels of cable to every corner of the yard. John had no idea that deliverance could be so high tech, but then again, what wasn’t these days?

  He brought out some lemonade and a quick cucumber and tomato salad that he had thrown together while Jerry shredded the pork loins with a pair of forks on a turkey platter, mixing in liberal gobs of barbecue sauce.

  “Will you look at that!” he said. “Thirteen hours slow cooked on the road. Tender. Moist. Meat falling off bone. Perfect. Another hour in traffic and it would have been overdone.”

  “I brought some extra barbecue sauce, in case we need it,” said John, setting down a jar.

  Jerry picked up the jar. “I’m not familiar with this one. Dinosaur? Wango Tango?”

  “It’s a local chain. We go to the one up in Syracuse.”

  “New York barbecue? Spare me.” Jerry’s lips pursed behind his beard as he tore away at the meat.

  “It’s not bad, Jer,” said Mac. “You should try some.”

  Jerry gave a mock shudder.

  “We ready to eat?” said John. “Should I call the interns?”

  “Ah, let ‘em finish up,” said Jerry. “It’s easier to set everything up while there’s still light.”

  The Reverend sat across from Cindy at the picnic table on the back patio, along with a middle-aged couple from the church whom John didn’t know very well. Jason hopped in the baby bouncer like Neil Armstrong on the moon, while Nigel alternately stacked Legos into a crude tower and smashed it to pieces with a crash of his little fist.

  John sat down next to Cindy, resting one arm on her back. She was going on and on about her family, how she had grown up in Virginia, relocating up north in her early teens when her dad took a position at IBM in Elmira.

  Jerry set down the platter of meat, triggering a cascade of oohs and aahs. They went after it like jackals to a wildebeest. Tammie and Rand came running over, appetites not to be denied.

  “Let us join hands,” said Mac, proceeding to sing a blessing to the tune of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’ “Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you God for everything.”

  Tammie clapped and cheered. Donnie squinted. “Interesting way to say grace.”

  “For the kiddies,” said Mac, tossing his head towards Nigel and Jason.

  John added some sliced cucumber to the smidgeon of pulled pork on his roll.

  Jerry shook his head. “Sacrilege! Puttin’ vegables in your bun.”

  “Gives it some crunch,” said John, through a mouthful.

  “Hey, this is really good,” said Donnie, biting into a soft roll loaded with meat. “I thought it’d taste like carbon monoxide or 10W-40.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I told you it would be fine,” said Jerry.

  “Mac was telling me that you two are old friends,” said Cindy.

  Donnie coughed. “We … we certainly go back a ways.”

  “Donnie here, showed me the ropes,” said Mac.

  “You all are so lucky to have Mac as your pastor,” said Donnie. “He’s not one of those twerps who graduates from seminary and thinks they can guide a flock. Mac’s experienced life in all its gradations. You got yourself a man here who knows hardship as well as glory, great and small.”

  “It’s nothin’ special,” said Mac. “There’s no shortage of folks who’ve had difficult lives. We’re a dime a dozen.”

  “But not everyone has a talent for ministry,” said Donnie. “I hear your little white church is growing by leaps and bounds.”

  Mac resisted Donnie’s flattery, his face hard—a shell, a trace of bitterness in his demeanor. There was something off about the chemistry between these two.

  A beeping sound started up, like a truck backing up. It was unobtrusive at first, but persisted until it was joined by other beeps and clangs, speeding up slowing down, rhythms chopping and splicing in and out.

  “That them?” said Donnie.

  “Uh-huh,” said Cindy, her eyes looking worried.

  “That don’t sound too bad,” said Jerry, through a mouthful of food. “We heard worse on your tape.”

  “Oh, believe me, they’re just starting up,” said Cindy. “You ain’t heard nothing yet.”

  “Ma’am, you might consider taking the little one’s inside,” said Donnie. “Little ears and brains are especially sensitive to demonic influences. We wouldn’t want to take a chance.”

  Cindy looked over. “John, would you mind?”

  “Just a sec,” said John. “Let me finish what I’m eating.”

  “For Heaven’s Sake,” she said, rising abruptly. “I’ll do it.” She hadn’t touched her food. She unstrapped Jason from his baby bouncer and yanked Nigel away from his Legos.

  “Mac says you and Cindy are newlyweds?” said Donnie.

  “Not exactly,” said John. “We got married a little more than a year ago.”

  “How’d you all meet?”

  “Church,” said John. “I, uh … had a friend invite me out to Covenant Love for a Sunday dinner. Cindy was pregnant with Jason. She was feeling a little self-conscious and out of sorts and I was being kind of shy. We were the misfits of the group and just sort of gravitated. We got to talking. Hit it off. The rest is … history.”

  “Mac tells me you’re unemployed?”

  “Yeah. Since Christmas last year. It was a total shock when it happened. I was in line for a really good position up in Utica. But the company expansion got turned into a contraction. Guess I’m … not alone.”

  “You got that right,” said Donnie. “Everywhere we go, people are hurting. It’s that Obama economy.”

  “I call the Obanomy,” said Jerry.

  “Part of all the overall Obomination,” said Donnie, winking.

  John bit his tongue. He didn’t particularly care for the way the current President was handling things, but he knew better than to blame it on Obama. He also knew better than to get into a squabble with any Tea Party types, if that’s what they were. He was an Independent himself, who had voted on both sides of the aisle.

  An inhuman screech wound up like a siren and shimmied through the trees, causing Donnie to dump a slew of lemonade onto his chinos. “What the hell was that?”

  “That’s … their singer,” said John, who had heard it plenty of times before. Cindy’s mom said it sounded like a banshee in labor. John supposed she knew that from experience. This particular performance was notable in its volume and
tremolo.

  As the ungodly wail hung in the air, Jerry bolted to his feet. “Singin’? That’s not singin.’ That’s pain. I know pain. They’re torturing the poor girl!”

  “Nah. I’m pretty sure that’s how she sings,” said John.

  Donnie’s eyes looked agitated. “Everyone, join hands.” He bowed his head and chanted as rapidly as an auctioneer:

  “In Jesus’ name I cut and burn all ungodly cords and lay lines. All you war clubs and ungodly weapons I break down, undam, and blow up all walls of protection around all witches, warlocks, wizards, Satanists, sorcerers, demons and the like, and I break the power of all curses, hexes, vexes, spells, charms, fetishes, psychic prayers, psychic thoughts, all witchcraft, sorcery, magic, voodoo, all mind-control, jinxes, potions, bewitchments, death, destruction, sickness, pain, torment, psychic power, psychic warfare, prayer chains, incense, incantations, ungodly blessings, hoodoo, crystals, rootworks and everything else sent our way, and I return it and the its demons to the sender, one hundredfold and I bind it to them by the Blood of Jesus, Amen.”

  He looked up when he was done, breathless and panting, as the music continued to build. “Sun’s going down. We all better get inside. Rand, Tam, if you’re done eating, let’s get that equipment hooked up. We’ve got some monitoring to do.”

  ***

  The music persisted long after dusk. Everyone had retreated indoors to the family room. A couple more folks from the parish had come by to lend their support. Cindy stood in the kitchen, sipping non-alcoholic margaritas with the ladies.

  Jerry had set up a folding card table with a big old Dell desktop with two 24” LCD screens, some kind of junction box with a tangle spaghetti of cable wires heading out to the various devices and cameras they had posted around the yard: EMF detectors, low-light video capture, infrared sources and cameras. John just knew they would get one whopping electric bill next month.

  Nigel stood by Jerry’s ample hip, chin resting on the table, sucking on a Lego as he stared at the greenish images shimmering across the array of split screens. John noticed the assault rifle and shotgun propped up on the other side of the table. He put his hands on Nigel’s shoulders. “Step back a ways, buddy, okay?”

  “That shiny,” Nigel touched a greasy finger to one of the monitors. “Whassat?”

  “This?” said Jerry. He enlarged the window for the infrared camera to reveal a brilliant patch of light perched on the limb of a white pine. “Great eyes! That, my little buddy, is an owl. Hoot! Hoo!”

  “Those guns of yours,” said John. “They aren’t loaded are they?”

  “Course they’re loaded,” said Jerry. “But don’t worry. Safety’s are on both and the rifle’s not cocked. I’m licensed to carry in 48 states.”

  “Why do you need … two guns?”

  “The M4 is for people problems. The shotgun’s got number nine birdshot. One hundred percent silver.”

  “Silver, huh? What are you worried about? Vampires? Werewolves?”

  “Silver’s good for more than that,” said Jerry. “It’s a general protective. That’s why I got Tam and Rand settin’ misters in the bedrooms.”

  “Come again?”

  “Lunar caustic solution,” said Donnie, as he passed through the room.

  “Also called silver nitrate,” said Jerry. “They’re pumping it into the air. We’ll be literally breathing silver.”

  Donnie and Mac were going around to all the outside doors, muttering prayers and tacking up laminated cards with bold red printing.

  John picked up Nigel and went over to see what was written on the cards.

  “Whoever or whatever enters this room is covered in the Blood of Jesus.”

  “Whassit say, daddy?” said Nigel.

  “Oh, it just tells the bad things to stay outside.”

  “What bad things?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Whichever. All of them.” He set Nigel down.

  Rand came down the stairs wearing a white robe, and carrying a stack of others. “Hey, Mr. Swain, we’re about to go out and do an intervention. Care to join us?”

  “A deliverance?”

  “Not quite yet,” said Donnie, taking a couple robes from Rand and handing one to Mac. “Got to know what we’re up against first.”

  “I’d like to, and all,” said John. “Got the kids to watch.”

  Cindy came up behind. “It’s okay John. I’ll watch the boys. You go ahead.” Her eyes were wide and earnest.

  “Alright, then,” said John. “What the hay?”

  “Large or medium?” said Rand.

  “Large, please.” He pulled one of the shapeless garments over his head like a rain poncho. His head emerged to the sight of Nigel back at Jerry’s side, flicking the safety lever on the assault rifle off and on.

  “Nigel! Get away from that!” He lunged across the room and whisked him up.

  Jerry looked down, startled, and snatched up the rifle.

  “Jeez, Cindy! You’re supposed to be watching.”

  Cindy was flustered. “Well … I … just walked in the room.”

  “Mr. Winston. If you don’t mind. I’d appreciate it if you could you keep your weapons locked up, when you’re not using them. How about that coat closet in the foyer?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jerry. “Sorry about that.”

  “Da octopus guy! I taw him,” said Nigel pointing at the monitor.

  “What’s that, Nigey?” said John.

  “I taw him! Da octopus guy. On da TV.”

  “What’s he talking about?” said Jerry, maximizing his camera views one at a time.

  “I have no idea,” said John.

  Something dark, much darker than the background, flickered into view on the infrared screen. It drifted through the rhododendrons at the edge of the property, hard and distinct against the soft glow of sun-warmed cedar mulch.

  “What is that thing?” said Jerry.

  A shiver cascaded down John’s back. “Uh … a raccoon?”

  “No way that’s a coon,” said Jerry. “It’s got no heat signature on IR, at all. Might be a shadow. Or somethin’ real cold.”

  Nigel scurried over to the corner of the room and fished through his toy box.

  “Quick, isn’t it,” said John. “And smooth, like it’s gliding.”

  Donnie came over. “What’re you all looking at?”

  In a blink, the shadow was gone, slipping out of camera range.

  Jerry looked up and rubbed his beard. “Not a clue, Donnie.”

  Nigel trotted over to the table and slapped a pair of linked Legos onto the table: a black octopus figure with swirling tentacles and deep set eyes snapped onto the base of a transparent blue piece shaped like a cone. “Da octopus guy.”

  ***

  The white-robed volunteers lined up behind the open smoker, Rand shining an LED flashlight on the remnants of the pig carcass. It looked like carrion, torn apart by vultures, or the grisly remains of a torture victim, bones wired to the rack. Donnie blew on the embers to make them glow and lit a taper.

  “This is Holy Fire,” he said. “This particular strain descends from a lightning strike on the First Baptist Church of Doraville, just outside of Atlanta, April 20th, 1995. It’s one of our purer extracts, our weapon of first choice. We have more potent options in our arsenal, but those all carry a taint of human darkness in them, and the results can be … less predictable. This one comes straight from the Lord, unsullied by the passions of men.”

  When his taper flared to life, the others—John, Mac, Tammie, Rand and two young men from the parish—held out their candles to be lighted.

  “I’ll take the lead,” said Donnie. “As we go, I’ll call out the prayers by number. You’ll find them in order on those cards I gave you all. Keep in mind, this is not a deliverance per se, though we’ll use some of the same protections. This first expedition is just probative, to find out exactly who we’re dealing with, how vulnerable they might be. Understand?”

  “What if … that t
hing—?” said Tammie.

  “Jerry’s in there watching over us,” said Donnie. “If he sees something, he’s got us on walkie-talkie. He’ll let us know. Remember. We got the Holy Fire. It’s a powerful protection. Any candles go out, relight them off your neighbor.”

  Seven candles flared and guttered.

  “Everyone ready?”

  Nods all around.

  “Alright. Follow me, with prayer number three. I’ll lead, and everyone repeat: Most precious Lord Jesus, gentle and wonderful God, truly awesome and ever-present Holy Spirit.”

  Donnie paused to let the others echo his words, before continuing on.

  “Bring your holy angels down and surround me with your love to protect me against the evil seeking to attack my body, my heart and mind, my friends and family. Bring your holy angels down and surround me with your love to protect me against my doubts, questions, and misgivings. All these things I humbly pray in the name of my most blessed Lord Jesus Christ, my mighty God, and my ever-present Holy Spirit upon whom I can rely. Amen.”

  They marched down the road, rounded the corner, and headed up hill towards the hell house. The music had stopped, revealing the patter and scurry of falling leaves.

  John breathed rapidly. His fingers felt frigid.

  “The door,” said Tammie. “It’s opening.”

  “Good,” said Donnie. “Let’s see what we’re up against. Keep on going, right up to the house. Join me now. Number … seven.”

  “We use the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ and cover us with the Blood of the Lamb! We agree with The Covenant of the Blood. We use the Psalms as imprecations and pronouncements against the enemies of God, and call down the wrath of God upon spiritual foes. We sing about the Blood of Jesus. We command that every knee to bow and tongue to confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”

  “We break evil curses, vexes, hexes, jinxes, psychic powers, bewitchments, potions, charms, incantations, spells, witchcraft and sorcery. We break all cords, snares, controls and bondages. We ask that the power of God be manifested. We command the demons to go to Tartarus with the fallen angels, or wherever Jesus sends them.”

  “We come against unholy spirits, fallen angels, demons, devils, empire of evil, and the entire Kingdom of Satan in humans and animals. We come against councils, principalities, powers, world rulers, and wicked spirits in Heavenly places. We come against chiefs and kings, princes, kingdoms, dominions, generals, rulers, captains, centurions, strongmen, and imps.”