The Exorcist's Apprentice

by Mark Lukens

  “Paul …”

  Paul looked up at Danny who stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

  “Please, Paul. Help me.”

  “I’m going to help you. God is going to drive this unclean spirit festering inside of your body and send it back to Hell.”

  “But … wait. I’m not possessed. I feel fine. I’m okay. Just untie me and take me home.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Please, Paul,” Danny said and began to cry. Tears slipped down his cheeks which were suddenly shiny in the flickering candlelight. “Don’t you love me? Why are you trying to hurt me?”

  Paul stood up and stared at Danny. He held the half-empty canister of iron fillings in his hand. “I’m going to help you.”

  “Please … you don’t understand. I’m sick. I’ve got some kind of mental problems. Mom never told you about them. There aren’t any demons inside of me. I just need some medicine. I haven’t been taking my medicine … that’s why I’ve been seeing things.”

  Paul didn’t say anything for a long moment as he stared at Danny.

  “Call me Dad,” Paul finally told Danny.

  “What?” Danny spat out, suddenly angry. He struggled in his chair, pulling at his wrist cuffs. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? Let me out of here!!”

  “Call me Dad,” Paul said again with patience. “Or father. Or Pops. I don’t care. Tell me that you love me.”

  “Why should I do that?” Danny asked. “You’ve got me strapped down to a fucking chair in the basement!”

  “Because if you were really Danny, you would be able to call me Dad. You would be able to say the word.”

  “Of course I’m Danny! You’re the one who’s sick! All of you! Child abusers! Torturers!!”

  “Who am I speaking to?” Paul asked, his voice still steady and calm. “Name yourself, demon.”

  “Untie me right now, you sick fuck!” Danny struggled even harder against his bonds. The leather creaked, the wood of the chair popped in the silent basement.

  “Name yourself, demon!” Paul yelled and took a step closer.

  Father Hopkins hurried up beside Paul, his crucifix still gripped in his hand, a purple stole draped over his shoulders.

  “Behold the cross of the Lord!” Father Hopkins yelled at Danny, thrusting his crucifix forward. “Depart, enemies! God, the father of Lord Jesus Christ, I invoke your Holy Name and suppliantly request you to give me strength against this and every other unclean spirit which is tormenting this creature of yours.”

  Danny stopped struggling in the chair. He became perfectly still, his face emotionless except for the twisted half-smile frozen on his face. His head was cocked at a crooked angle, and his eyes had turned completely black. His skin was pale and small plumes of frost drifted out of his nostrils with each breath.

  “I think I’ve heard that one before,” Danny growled at Father Hopkins through his twisted smile.

  “Drive this demon out, Oh Lord!” Father Hopkins yelled.

  Robert, Helen, and Father Severino crowded around the table with the two burning candles on it; all three of them were praying as they gripped their crucifixes and rosary beads. They trembled and shook as they watched Danny change.

  †

  Father Hopkins rushed inside the circle of salt and iron. He draped the end of his purple stole on Danny’s neck and he touched the end of his two fingers of his other hand (blessed with holy water) on Danny’s forehead.

  Steam hissed up from Danny’s skin as the priest touched him.

  “I exorcise you, unclean spirit, in the name of Jesus Christ! I expel you from this boy in the name of ALMIGHTY GOD!!!”

  Danny’s perfectly black eyeballs shifted to Father Hopkins, but he hadn’t moved his head or any muscle in his body yet.

  “Careful, priest,” Danny whispered in a guttural voice.

  Father Hopkins kept his fingers on Danny’s forehead as long as he could, but his fingers were beginning to burn.

  “Leave this boy, foul demon!!”

  Father Hopkins couldn’t stand it anymore; he pulled his burning fingers away from Danny’s forehead and he backed up two steps away from the side of the chair.

  Danny still watched Father Hopkins with his coal-black eyes, the half-smile still frozen on his face. “Who is Molly?” he asked.

  Father Hopkins froze.

  CHAP†ER †HIR†Y-EIGH†

  “Yessss,” Danny said. “Molly.”

  Father Hopkins backed away another step from Danny’s chair, closer to the circle of salt and iron.

  “Get out of the circle,” Paul told Father Hopkins.

  “Molly, your little dolly …” Danny sang out in his guttural voice, and it sounded like four voices all speaking at the same time.

  Father Hopkins whispered prayers in Latin, his lips moving rapidly, his eyes nearly closed.

  Danny repeated Father Hopkins’ phrases in Latin, making a mockery of the words, creating an abomination of the prayers Father Hopkins recited. More whispers joined in with Danny’s voice until it seemed like there were dozens of voices in the basement surrounding all of them.

  “Father Hopkins …” Paul said as he took a step closer to him.

  “Molly was a little dolly,” Danny sang out in a suddenly high-pitched and screechy voice as the whispers continued from all around them like they were coming out of the shadows at the edges of the basement. “She was a girl you wanted so baaaddd …”

  Father Hopkins kept his eyes squeezed shut, whispering his prayers faster and faster.

  “Did you hurt your little dolly?” Danny asked as he contorted his head, his smile widening, his eyes impossibly dark, his face twisted and older now.

  “LIES!!” Father Hopkins screamed as he finally opened his eyes and broke his string of prayers. He lashed out at Danny. “ALL FILTHY LIES!!”

  Paul was prepared, already anticipating that this would happen. He was across the floor in a flash and inside the circle of salt and iron. He grabbed Father Hopkins and pulled the older priest out of the circle easily, guiding him away from Danny.

  Father Hopkins seemed to come to his senses suddenly, his eyes clearing. He stared in horror at Paul. “What did I almost do?”

  “You can’t let them bait you,” Paul said in a whisper. “They want you to hurt Danny and you can’t do that. Danny’s still inside there somewhere.”

  Paul walked Father Hopkins back to the table, joining the others.

  “This is too dangerous,” Robert stammered out. The other two looked at Paul as if they had made this decision to speak out together with Robert.

  “This is an exorcism,” Paul told them.

  Robert shook his head and glanced at Helen. “No, this isn’t a normal exorcism. We’ve been assistants at many exorcisms, but this … this is … we need help here.”

  “We only need God.”

  “Let us out of this basement,” Robert begged. “I’ll go and get us some help. More priests.”

  “Remember your oath,” Paul growled. “We stay in this basement until these demons are gone from my son.”

  Paul pointed at some of the stacks of supplies in the gloomy reaches of the basement. “We have stores of food down here. Gallons and gallons of water. A bathroom area and cots to sleep on. We can survive down here for days. Weeks, even. We stay until my son is free from these creatures!”

  Robert glanced again at Helen and Father Severino who barely nodded at him. He turned back to Paul; obviously he was the spokesman for their group. He was about to object, but then his words froze on his lips.

  They all heard the creaking of the leather cuffs and straps that held Danny to the wooden chair. They looked at Danny who seemed to be stretching his arms and legs as much as the restraints would allow. His torso rose up off of the seat of the chair. His muscles stretched, his joints popped. The leather straps and cuffs pulled tight. The wood of the chair crackled and groaned.

  “Oh, Lord God,” Helen said. “He’s going to get out of that chair.
”

  Danny’s body fell back down to the chair with a thump. His body suddenly went limp, his face frozen, the half-smile still on his face, his eyes seemingly depthless black holes. Clouds of frosty mist blew out of his nostrils, and he looked like a bull ready to charge.

  Paul crouched down beside his black canvas bag. He pulled out the wooden black box with the names of God carved into it. And then he pulled out the roll of iron wire to wrap it in once the demon was trapped inside. He stood up with the box and wire in his hands. He marched towards Danny and entered the circle of salt and iron. He set the box down on the concrete floor just inside the circle and then he looked at his son.

  “Danny!” Paul yelled. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and walked towards the chair. He opened his wallet to a photo of Danny he always carried with him. Danny was fifteen years old in the photo, and he was smiling. He needed Danny, who was trapped inside his body somewhere, to see this photo. He needed Danny to see himself and know who he still was.

  “I know you’re in there somewhere,” Paul told Danny. “If you can hear me, come to the surface. Come out of the darkness. Fight your way out! Please, Danny!!”

  No reaction from Danny—just the smile. “He’s not here anymore,” Danny told Paul.

  “Danny, Listen to me,” Paul said as he took a step closer, ignoring the voice of the demon. “Pull yourself out. Keep pulling. Keep coming towards my voice. You have to fight this!”

  “You let them get murdered!” Danny said in his own voice which dripped with accusation. Danny’s eyes were clear again, with tears threatening. His half-smile was gone and his lips trembled.

  “Danny,” Paul said.

  “You let my mother and my sister get killed. You let me get possessed. What kind of exorcist are you? You don’t have any power. You’re not even a priest.”

  It wasn’t Danny, Paul had to keep telling himself. No matter how much this voice sounded like Danny, it wasn’t him talking. It wasn’t his son—the demons were using his son like a puppet, manipulating his facial expressions, mimicking his voice.

  “You’re right,” Paul told Danny, knowing he might be treading dangerous ground for a moment by opening up his guilt to these demons, giving them more ammo for their weapons. But if Danny was down there and he could still hear Paul’s words, then he wanted him to know how sorry he was.

  “I should’ve seen it,” Paul said. “I should’ve been there. As soon as I realized these foul creatures might be after my family, I should’ve gotten on a plane at that moment and came to protect you and Lisa and Rachael.”

  “You failed,” Danny said. “You failed me. You failed your daughter. You failed everybody. You don’t deserve to preach to anyone. You should just kill yourself before you let anyone else get killed.”

  “Danny … I know you can hear me.” Paul felt the tears streaming out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. I did fail, I know that. But I’m not going to let it happen again. I won’t let these things take another child away from me … my only child now.”

  Danny began crying, his face twisted in misery. “I just want this to be over with.”

  Paul took another step closer to Danny as the tears flowed down his cheeks. He reached out, almost touching Danny. “I’m going to save you, Danny.”

  Danny nodded. “Yes. Please take these cuffs off.”

  Tears flowed from Paul’s eyes and he shook his head slowly. “I can’t release you yet,” he whispered. “Not yet. Not until these demons are gone from your body.”

  Danny’s face changed again. His skin grew pale and his eyes turned pure black again. The half-smile was back. A vein throbbed in his neck as he cocked his head violently to the side, cracking vertebrae in his neck like he was popping his knuckles.

  “We’ll take him from you, Paul,” a dark symphony of voices sang out through Danny’s mouth. “We’ll take everyone in here from you. We’ll take everyone else away that you touch. Your bloodline ends here!”

  “I know you’re afraid of my bloodline,” Paul said. “And I know you’re afraid of me. But now I know that you’re afraid of Danny. You’re afraid of the Gift he has, a Gift you haven’t seen in a long, long time.”

  Danny chuckled.

  “And you should be afraid,” Paul said as he lifted the silver crucifix from his necklace and yanked the chain free. He laid the cross and necklace on Danny’s chest and Danny thrashed, screaming the cries of a hundred voices.

  Paul pulled the cross away from Danny and backed up to the edge of the circle of salt and iron where he had laid his black box down. He picked up the wooden box from the floor. He unwound the iron wire binding the box and opened it. The scent of filth drifted out from inside the box. Paul pulled out a piece of parchment and a piece of charcoal sharpened to a point from inside the box.

  “I summon you, demon,” Paul called out, holding the piece of charcoal and parchment in his hands, ready to write down the demon’s name. “I conjure thee, you Terror By Night, and I am strengthened by the power of Almighty God. Appear and show thyself without delay. I summon thee by your real name given to thee by God to whom you owe obedience, and by the name of the Prince who rules over thee. I command thee in the name of Adonai, King of kings and Master and Lord. I command thee in the name of Yahweh, of El, of Elohim, of Eloah, of Elohai, of El Shaddai, of Tzevenot, and all the names of God.”

  Danny began convulsing, his black eyes rolling back up into his head, showing only the whites. He trembled in the chair, convulsing, thrashing against his bonds. He dry-heaved, his throat bulging as he vomited up hordes of black beetles and roaches caught in a thick slimy dark liquid.

  He leaned his head forward, choking and gurgling as the liquid of squirming bugs flowed out of his mouth, down the front of his shirt and down into his lap. The mass of living bugs dripped down from the sides of the wood chair, pooling on the concrete floor underneath Danny.

  And then the liquid moved out from under the chair, crawling away towards the darkness beyond Danny’s chair.

  Paul stared in horror at the mass of insects that moved as one. Then he looked up at Danny’s face.

  The twisted half-smile was back, his lips rimmed in the dark liquid he had just vomited up. “You want to know my name?”

  Paul didn’t answer; he waited inside the circle of salt and iron near Danny’s chair with the piece of sharpened charcoal gripped in his fingers, the tip of the charcoal poised above the ancient piece of parchment. He was ready to write the name down.

  “I am Astaroth!!” Danny screamed. “But there’s nothing you can do now!!”

  Before Paul could write the name down on the parchment, before he could even react, Danny pulled his arms up in a quick and violent motion, snapping the leather straps that his cuffs were attached to like they were strips of paper. He kicked his legs forward and snapped the leather straps attached to his ankle cuffs just as easily, breaking one of the chair legs apart in the process.

  Danny was free.

  That’s when the light bulbs in the ceiling exploded and went out. That’s when the candles blew out. That’s when the basement was plunged into darkness.

  CHAP†ER †HIR†Y-NINE

  Paul felt something strike his chest—Danny’s fist—and he was thrown back in the darkness. He landed with a thud on the concrete floor, and he knew he was lying on the line of salt and iron, half inside the circle and half outside the circle. And he knew he had lost the parchment and the piece of charcoal. He groped around his body in the darkness and felt his fingers disrupting the lines of salt and iron.

  Danny was free from his bonds, free from the chair.

  Paul heard Danny moving around in the darkness. Getting closer.

  The paper and charcoal. If he could just get the name written down and trap it inside the box … but he couldn’t find the parchment; he couldn’t even find the box.

  And then he realized he didn’t even have his silver crucifix anymore—he had lost it!

  Paul groped in the dar
kness, his fingers frantically searching the concrete floor for the silver cross he had torn from the chain around his neck. It had been his father’s crucifix, and his father’s before him.

  From somewhere behind him in the pitch-black darkness, Paul heard the commotion of Robert, Helen, and the two priests. Helen was still screaming and it sounded like one of them, Robert most likely, was running to the set of wooden steps that led up to the locked basement door, trying to get out. But the door was too strong; no one was going to get out of here.

  The light bulbs had exploded. Paul knew they had extras among their store of supplies—the basement had been well-stocked before they got there—and light bulbs, candles, lighters, flashlights and batteries were as necessary as the food and water. It might take too long to find the light bulbs in the darkness, but they could at least get the candles re-lit.

  The others were panicking, but Paul hoped that at least he could still count on Father Hopkins to stay strong.

  “Father Hopkins!” Paul yelled. “Get the candles lit again!”

  Father Hopkins didn’t answer Paul.

  A sound of sneakers scuffing on concrete sounded in front of Paul. Someone was near him and moving closer and closer by the second.

  From behind him, Paul heard the flicking of a lighter. Father Hopkins had probably not answered Paul either because he didn’t want to waste the energy and pour all of his efforts into getting light back into the basement, or he didn’t want to reveal his position to Danny.

  There was another sound very close to Paul in the darkness—it was the sound of metal scraping across the concrete floor, like Danny might be pushing the crucifix across the floor with the bottom of his sneaker.

  “Looking for something?” a voice growled in the darkness.

  Even though it had come from Danny’s throat, it wasn’t Danny. Paul had to keep reminding himself of that.

  “In the name of Father God—” Paul began, but he never finished the words because he felt a kick to his chin that knocked him backwards flat on his back. For a moment he saw bright motes of light dancing in front of his eyes in the darkness. He felt consciousness wanting to slip away from him, but he held on to the pain in his jaw and the back of his head which had collided with the concrete floor after the kick from Danny. He was lucky he hadn’t bitten his tongue off in mid-sentence, but a few of his bottom teeth felt loose and blood was dribbling out of his mouth.