by J. Thorn
“Exorcism, from Latin exorcismus—to adjure. Evicting demons or evil, spiritual entities. Ancient practice but still part of many religions. Exorcist is often a priest thought to have special powers. The possessed are not regarded as evil themselves, and are not entirely responsible for their actions. In recent times, exorcisms have diminished as the study of mental illness has become more common.”
He rubbed his eyes and put his hands behind his back. The cursor at the end of the sentence blinked. Ravna skimmed down the page until the heading of “Buddhism” caught his eye.
“Buddhism absorbed and reinforced shamanism. Many Buddhist exorcists work in Japan. They use a sutra and incense to scare evil spirits away.”
Ravna scribbled a few notes onto a fraying, stained legal pad before slapping his laptop shut and packing up his bag. He thumbed through the contacts on his phone until he found the one he was looking for. It had been a long time.
***
“Ravna!”
Father William wrapped his arms around Ravna, who lost his breath, smelling the powerful incense on the priest’s clothes.
“Must be Lent, Father.”
“Of course! Are you coming to mass this Sunday? I have a sermon that will really make you think.”
Ravna shook his head and smiled. He would have to play the game. “I’ve been really busy, Father.”
“The Lord will welcome you back whenever you decide to return to Him. Please, sit down.”
Father William motioned to the plastic-cushioned armchair in the lobby of the rectory. The television mounted in the corner cast its electric haze on the room. It had projected Kennedy’s assassination, Vietnam, 9/11, and Katrina. The cramped desk sat against the back wall, complete with a black, corded phone purchased in 1982. A squat woman with purple-tinged hair shuffled through the lobby toward the coffee machine on the counter. Ravna looked at the priest. The man’s hair had whitened considerably, and Ravna thought he detected a growing paunch underneath his black coat and jacket. Liver spots darkened on William’s face and his eyes were creased with uneven wrinkles like an old paper that had been folded too many times. His glasses hung precipitously on the end of a bulging, red nose.
Sully had deserved it. The husky Irish boy called Ravna “an asshole,” which, in second grade, is quite obscene. In return, he picked up a handful of rocks and launched them at Sully. Most fell amongst the trees of the woods behind their houses, but one landed square on his forehead. He remembered seeing that thin line of blood racing down his nose and he could still hear him yell. Ravna ran back to his house and hid in the basement until the phone rang. His father lumbered down the steps like a gorilla and Ravna’s ass hurt even before his father took a belt to it.
Father William called Ravna into his office the next day and he was terrified. His father had made him pay for the rock-throwing incident the previous evening, and Sully was in school with a bandage on his head. He remembered the noises the plastic chair made as he squirmed on it, waiting for Father William. His sore rump could not take another paddling. He would own up to whatever his accusers threw at him.
Much to Ravna’s surprise, the conversation was about Sully, not him. He was in trouble and Ravna could not believe it. Father William asked Ravna the usual questions about homework, first-communion studies and, of course, sports. After commencing the second-grade icebreaker, William asked Ravna difficult questions about Sully and Mr. Rankin.
“Has Sully ever mentioned Mr. Rankin, or another adult, touching him? Have other kids said anything strange about Mr. Rankin?”
Without understanding the nature of the questioning, Ravna answered honestly. He never saw Mr. Rankin near Sully, and none of the kids said anything strange about the teacher, even though they knew what was happening. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about the times Mr. Rankin kept Sully in the classroom during recess, alone. Eventually, the accusations and whispers died away and Ravna steered clear of Sully.
However, Ravna and Father remained close over the years. Father made many attempts to bring Ravna back to his congregation, most notably after Ravna graduated from first high school, and then college. Once he began to write for the horror movie mags, William gave up the fight, happy to be his friend instead of his priest. At times he lamented the fact that Ravna was going to Hell, but many of his friends and acquaintances would. Ravna always politely spurned Father William, careful not to hurt his feelings. Even during his exploration of atheism in graduate school, he visited Father on a regular basis. William settled for a compromise when Ravna declared himself to be an agnostic, which in William’s opinion was far better than converting to Judaism or Islam. Ravna knew he was never coming back to the Church, and so did William, but it didn’t stop him from socializing with the priest. William would have to wait until the First Cleansing of the Holy Covenant to become reacquainted with Sully.
“Thanks, Father,” Ravna said, waiting for William to take a seat behind the desk. “I’m here on serious business.”
The priest took his old glasses off, pulled a tissue from the box, and began to clean them. He nodded at Ravna to continue.
“Father, what do you know about exorcism?”
William stopped and set the glasses down on the desk. His mouth shriveled as if biting into a lemon.
“The church does not publish a—”
“Not the church,” interrupted Ravna. “You. What do you know about exorcism?”
Father William sat back and let out a deep breath. He looked down the hall of the rectory and saw no sign of Shuffling Purple Hair.
“I know enough about it not to talk about it.”
“It’s not a question of faith. I know the Church acknowledges Satan and that he is a force of evil on this planet, right?”
“True. But many lost souls have claimed to be possessed, letting them off the hook for heinous and violent acts. If it’s not recognized as legitimate except for proven cases, evildoers cannot dispute their crimes and blame them on Satan. What’s this about, Ravna?”
Ravna slid forward on the ancient plastic, putting his elbows on the table. He had to go all in.
“How about Pretas? Gakis?”
Again, William shook his head. “I may recall texts from my earlier days, but nothing I can cite specifically.”
“But you’ve heard those terms. You know what they are?”
“Ravna, you are asking me to speak of demons of other faiths, faiths which I believe to be sacrilegious.”
Ravna reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of papers. The printouts from his research contained margin notes and long lines of yellow highlighter.
“Can you at least look these over and let me know what you think?”
William thumbed through the first two pages and shook his head.
“I’m not a demon hunter. I run a small parish and a Catholic school. You should be taking this to your sensei.”
Ravna laughed and shook his head.
“I can have more than one friend, dear William. And he is not my sensei any more than you are. We haven’t even started the Samurai-sword training yet.”
Father William rumbled, his laughter lighting up the room. “What has he to say about your Gaki?” he asked, the laughter having dissipated into thin air.
“We hunt it.”
William shook his head and made the sign of the cross at Ravna. “The blessing is more for me than it is for you, Ravna. If you’re not going to look out for your immortal soul, I guess I have to.”
Ravna stood and shook the man’s hand. It felt damp, cold, frightened. “Thanks for your help, William.”
“This is going to earn you three hours at the milk-bottle toss, or possibly an hour at the dunk tank.”
“The parish festival isn’t for four more months.”
“Great! The dunk tank it is!”
Ravna slung his bag over one shoulder and winked at Father William on his way out of the rectory.
***
“Charlatan.”
“You’re jeal
ous!”
Mashoka shook his head and stroked his beard with one hand. “Of him? That crackpot zealot?”
Are we going to get to work or not?”
Mashoka groaned and leaned back on the couch. He grimaced at the B-grade-horror-movie posters on the walls. “Why must you pollute your mind with this garbage?”
Ravna smiled. “At least you two have that in common.”
The teapot whistled and Ravna went to fetch the tray. The early spring sun fell to the edge of the horizon. Orange bursts lit dust motes dancing in the dry air of Ravna’s apartment. The rays brought warmth to the skin while gusts of frigid air seeped through the old windows.
“Tell your landlord to replace these with vinyl windows. The drafts are deadly to old men.”
“I’ll be sure not to get old. What’ve you got?”
Mashoka ignored the snide remark. He prepared his tea and closed his eyes. “Christians call it exorcism. I’m sure your Father William is familiar with the phenomenon.”
Ravna shook his head and waited for Mashoka to continue.
“Gaki, or demons, tend to find their way to our plane through portals. The portals can be tools of the conjurer, or simply board games children play to frighten each other. Once the Gaki comes through the portal, it is very difficult to banish it.”
“Can Father William bless the house?”
Mashoka took a sip of his tea before answering. “He can.”
“And?” Ravna asked, rolling his eyes.
“And it may not work. First of all, Gaki is not human. It is not bound to the degeneration of the physical container we inhabit. The creature may have come through a portal on the other side of the Earth, or may have appeared decades ago.”
“I’m sure William would try.”
“Then we have to first identify the soul Gaki has attached itself to. This person’s home would be the logical first step, although I doubt it is where Gaki came through.”
“You have known Hunters. What do they do?” Ravna asked the old man.
“They battle the demon and banish it.”
“How?”
“It requires a sacrifice.”
Ravna sat forward on his chair and squinted before replying. “Human?”
“You see what these films do to your mind? I am not speaking of a ritualistic sacrifice. What I mean is that the Gaki will not willingly release the soul it has polluted unless another is offered in its place.”
Ravna shook his head in disgust. “Who in their right mind would offer their own soul to Gaki?”
Mashoka sipped his tea again and smiled at Ravna. “The Catholics know nothing about the afterlife.”
“What do you know that Father William doesn’t, Mashoka?”
“The East believes in the Grand Cycle, the Wheel of Incarnation. Once the soul is released from the body, it enters a place where Gaki can be tossed aside like an old rag. It is quite simple, really.”
Ravna shook his head at the old man. “You’re crazy. Even if you could get Gaki to come with a soul to the afterlife, it would require the forfeit of a human life. Someone has to give up their body.”
“Hence, the sacrifice.”
Ravna sat back and exhaled. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and shook his head at Mashoka. “Who would do that?”
“It would have to be an Easterner, one who did not believe in St. Peter’s Gate and the nonsense of the Holy Trinity. It would have to be a soul whose body was nearing the end of its span, a frame that did not have much life left in it.” Mashoka’s eyes sparkled over the lip of the cup.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“I wasn’t asking you for permission.”
“But you’re not dying.”
“How do you know what is taking place inside of me?”
Ravna shook his head. He stood up and paced the crowded living room before entering the kitchen and refilling the tea pot.
“You would do that for a complete stranger? You’d give up your life to take a Gaki off this plane and release it from another’s soul?”
“I have done so many times. It is what Hunters do.”
***
The rain came in waves, slamming the windows and rattling them in their wooden frames. The light blanketed the room like gray gauze. A Led Zeppelin poster hung above the bed and a velvet Elvis clung to the adjacent wall. The aquarium’s fluorescent bulb generated the only light from inside. Molly brushed away the curling smoke of incense that danced in front of her nose. She listened to the toilet flush and closed her eyes. She thought back to the first time and bit her bottom lip until it bled.
Seven years of marriage left her yearning for the chase, the magical time when the sex was new. They called it the seven-year itch, and Molly knew why. After splitting the duties of running the household, the time spent on intimacy was tainted. Some women claimed headaches. Molly was simply tired. She could not find the passion anymore.
“Hey,” Brian said as he slid into his bed next to Molly.
She felt the warmth of his naked body and the edge of his manliness. He sidled up to her and put his hand on her hip. Brian took her earlobe into his mouth, caressing the earring and flesh with his tongue.
Molly raised a shoulder and shivered. The move felt too much like one Drew used to use. Brian breathed on her neck and moved his lips toward hers.
“We don’t kiss,” she said, turning her face from his. Molly rolled onto her stomach and spread her legs. Brian slid over them. He nudged her legs apart with his knees and eased down on her. Molly felt the heat from him near her. She gasped, anticipating the moment of penetration that would drive her instantly to the edge of orgasm.
She placed a hand between her legs and guided Brian inside. Molly was wet and arched her back, pushing back on him. The sex with Brian always turned rough. She loved the contrast. Drew caressed and massaged her while Brian punished her. As if on cue, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Brian thrust, reaching around to grab her breasts. He pinched her nipples.
Molly moaned, each one becoming louder and more uncontrolled. Brian felt the surge in him. He pulled back and she rolled over onto her back at the same time. Brian placed the tip of his penis on her chin and closed his eyes. The spasms ended and he collapsed next to her. Molly grabbed the back of his head and thrust it into her crotch until she came again. The orgasm passed and Molly threw the blankets to one side. She walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. The shower cleaned him from her and helped to wash the tears down the drain.
***
He opened his eyes and shivered. The door to the house stood open and the woman’s body was gone. Drew had stepped toward the hallway leading into the kitchen when his foot stuck to the concrete. He lifted his leg and turned his foot sideways to reveal a dark patch on his heel.
Her blood. He thought. A woman is dead because that fucking creature killed her.
Drew walked into the house and felt the warmth strike his naked body. He turned into a powder room and ripped the towel off the bar. He wrapped it around his waist more out of habit than modesty. To the right he noticed a laundry nook. A clothesline ran over the washer with jeans and T-shirts strung out. Drew grabbed the first pair of jeans. He discarded the towel in the corner and slid them on. They felt damp but almost dry. The waist matched his, but he had to cuff the bottoms of the pant legs. A white T-shirt hung next to a pair of bras. He tore it from the hanger and slid it over his head. A laundry basket sat on the floor with a shoe rack next to it. Drew rummaged through the dirty laundry until he found two socks and then slid his feet into a pair of men’s athletic shoes. He stood, feeling better that he could face the demon fully clothed, could leave the house on foot if he had to.
The blood smear led down the hallway and into another room. Drew followed it, dark patches congealing on the ivory, ceramic tile. The trail turned into a room with a laundry tub. The woman’s arms and legs hug over the sides. The trunk of her body and her head sat beneath the top of the tub, o
bscuring them from view.
“There.”
Drew knew before he turned that it was Gaki that had spoken. The long, bluish-gray finger pointed at a gallon of bleach on the floor.
“Clean the blood trail first,” the creature said.
Drew spotted a mop and bucket in the hallway. He dumped half of the bleach into the bucket and shoved the mop inside. The vapors burnt his lungs. He pushed the mop bucket on its wheels into the hallway, where he began swishing it back and forth. At first it made more of a mess on the tile, spreading the blood into a pink film. After several rinses in the bucket, the mop captured the blood. Drew dumped the water into the drain, trying hard not to look at the body of the woman. He refilled the mop bucket. Each time Gaki seemed to find another jug of bleach. Within thirty minutes, Drew had mopped the hallway and the garage floor. The bleach stung and made it difficult to breathe, but once it cleared there would be no evidence of the violence that took place in the house. Except for the body.
Gaki handed Drew a hatchet. The wooden handle, stained by decades of use, held a rusty blade. The tip shone in the light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling of the laundry room.
“You must. If you want to keep killing, you must.”
“I don’t. I fucking don’t!” Drew screamed at Gaki.
The creature stepped from the shadows. It reached into the sink basin and scooped a handful of intestines. It shoved them into the slit of its mouth, managing to chew on a few. Drew gagged and staggered back against the cinder-block wall. He saw a clear, plastic bag with the woman’s bloody shirt and boxers.
“You do. The rage consumes you. The rape and the murder keeps you alive.”
Drew ran a hand through his hair and wiped snot from his nose. “I’ll kill you,” he said.
Drew swung the hatchet at Gaki’s thin, spindly arm. The blade sliced through the shoulder, dropping it to the ground. Gaki laughed. He tossed his head back and the room reverberated with the sick, grisly sound of his cackle. A popping sound came from the severed shoulder, where a thin stream of gray ooze came forth. It coalesced into a long cylinder, fingers forming on the end. In a matter of seconds, the new arm replaced the severed one.
