Unclean Spirit

by Julieana Toth

  "Thank you, Wanda. By the way, has the final report come in on Charlie's nose?"

  "Yes, sir, it's completely negative.”

  Saul couldn't remember the last time Wanda had addressed him as "sir," maybe he should keep Mag around!

  Prior to adjourning to Saul's inner office, Mag bowed to Wanda as he said, "Has been unique pleasure to meet such charming lady."

  Mag and Saul could hear Wanda's childlike giggle as they left the reception area.

  "Jeez, Mag, think you could have poured it on any thicker?"

  Mag simply smiled.

  As the men drank their coffee, Saul reviewed some patient records. When he was done he asked, "Do you think Charlie is the one who's possessed? That abscess he had on his nose could certainly qualify as a 'flaw in appearance'."

  "Doubt it, Saul. Is true that a flaw in appearance is trademark of the demonic, but is usually something much more unnatural and lasting. Once heard of lady who was possessed by demons, lady's sclerae were color of blood and did not return to normal until after exorcism. Will be able to tell more when get to ranch."

  Saul had no morning appointments scheduled, so he let Wanda know where he could be reached in case of an emergency. Wanda nearly fell over her own feet in an effort to get to the front door prior to Saul and Mag. As she opened the door for the men, she looked only at Mag as she said, "Have a very nice day."

  Saul just shook his head.

  Mag was disappointed by the Forsythe "ranch." His conception of a ranch included horses running about, longhorn cattle grazing on grass, and weathered cowpokes hanging around the bunkhouse. There were some horses, but they looked as though they were destined for the glue factory. There weren't any cattle to be seen anywhere, just a cow who looked like she didn't know the meaning of the word "milk." True, there were some chickens, a few goats, and a battered old dog, but those creatures were hardly Mag's idea of ranch material. Furthermore, as far as Mag could tell, there was no bunkhouse. There was, however, a single cowpoke--Charlie Toobin.

  Charlie was rocking on the front-porch when Mag and Saul drove up. Mag saw him as a caricature of Pa Kettle. The old guy was frail and worn and Mag knew instantly that he was no more possessed by demons than was Mother Teresa. The dog who had been resting at Charlie's feet ran straight to Saul as the men went up to greet Charlie.

  "Hey, Cooter, how you doin'?" Saul took the big animal's head in his hands and rubbed it vigorously.

  After the introductions had been made, Charlie, Saul, and Mag went inside. Although there was nothing blatantly amiss in the house, Mag immediately sensed that something sinister lurked about.

  "Narancsiz," Mag muttered to himself.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Drs. Barker and Gomez, who had spoken earlier by phone and agreed to see Paul together at eleven a.m., greeted everyone assembled in Paul's room.

  Dr. Barker spoke first. "Mr. Forsythe, I've reviewed your echocardiogram and you'll be happy to know, I'm sure, that it's perfectly normal. As I explained to you before, the echo gives us a picture of the heart's size and the condition of its walls and valves. Although it does not directly tell us about coronary artery patency, it can detect heart wall damage post-myocardial infarction--I see no such damage on the echo.

  "Furthermore," Dr. Barker continued, "your most recent blood work is negative for myocardial damage. Dr. Gomez and I have discussed it and have concluded that there is no need for a cardiac catheterization at this time. I would, however, like to run a thallium stress test before you are discharged. Unlike a treadmill stress test, this procedure involves no exercise. A drug, persantine, is injected intravenously. The persantine dilates the coronary arteries, thereby increasing the blood flow to the heart. The thallium, a radioisotope which is also administered intravenously, allows us to then visualize the blood flow to the heart; reduced blood flow is an indicator of coronary artery disease."

  Tamara was concerned. "Dr. Barker, is this a dangerous procedure?"

  "Relatively speaking, no. The procedure is conducted in the nuclear medicine department and Mr. Forsythe's heart rate, blood pressure, and EKG will be monitored continuously; the test will be terminated immediately if your husband experiences any adverse effects."

  "When do you propose to do this test?" Paul inquired.

  "I've tentatively scheduled it for tomorrow morning," Dr. Barker answered.

  "Okay, let's do it." Paul knew Tamara would bug the hell out of him if he didn't agree to have the test done.

  "Good. Now, let me just listen to your heart, Mr. Forsythe, and I'll be out of here so you can talk with Dr. Gomez."

  "So, Mr. Forsythe, how are you doing?" Javier couldn't resist glancing over at Starr. Despite her rather unconventional beliefs, she was quite a looker.

  "Aside from my leg throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch, I feel pretty good."

  "Yes, I'm going to look at your leg, First, though, I want to check the incision on your head."

  The turban dressing Paul had sported early on had been removed yesterday. Paul had not been pleased by the shaved patch on his skull but he figured it was a small price to pay for being alive. At least the actual incision was relatively small.

  "Looks fine," Javier pronounced after examining the incision. "I'll take the staples out in a few days."

  "Doctor, just how much longer do you plan to keep me here?" Paul wanted to go home in the worse way.

  "Well, I still want an EEG done. I can go ahead and order that for this afternoon. And I really want an MRI of your brain before you leave, but I can't do that until your staples are out. Also, I want that leg cleared up before you leave.

  "All-in-all, I suppose we're looking at three more days or so." Javier could see the disappointment on Paul's face. "Mr. Forsythe, I realize you're anxious to go home, but, especially given the rather odd circumstances surrounding your case, there's really no point in pushing it. Please hang in there a while longer. Okay?"

  Paul managed a little smile. "Okay."

  "Now, let's take a look at that leg.

  "Ladies," Javier addressed Tamara, Starr, Marybeth, and Patsy, "will you please excuse us for a bit?"

  They didn't want to leave and Paul could see that. "Dr. Gomez, if you're worried about my privacy, don't be. This is my family and I'd like them to stay if it's all right with you."

  "No problem."

  The gouges on Paul's leg were still angry-looking, but there were no signs of infection. Because of the very jagged wound edges, Javier had elected not to suture the wounds.

  "You know, Mr. Forsythe, your leg is going to be rather scarred once these lacerations heal."

  "Yeah, well, that's the least of my problems!"

  "Yes," Javier agreed, "I suppose you're right.

  "By the way, the final culture report came back on those blisters you had on your hand. I sure can't explain it but the only microorganisms that showed up were those normally found on the skin."

  Paul responded with, "Well, it's a relief to know that I'm not the only one who can't explain things!"

  Saul and Mag had given Charlie a fundamental overview of what they suspected was going on in Van Horn. Not surprisingly, Charlie's response had been, "Well, fuck!"

  Although not particularly anxious to visit the cellar, Mag felt drawn to it; his gut, more than his psychic gifts, told him that it was the hub of the recent bizarre occurrences. As Charlie opened the basement door, the three men were greeted by a shower of marbles falling from the ceiling. Cooter's mournful howl could be heard throughout the entire house.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  "Gawddamn sumabitch!" Charlie exclaimed as he slammed the cellar door shut. "What the fuck was that?"

  "Apports," Mag answered.

  "Airports?" Charlie misunderstood.

  "Apports. A-P-P-O-R-T-S," Mag spelled out, "materializations conjured by the demonic."

  "Holy fuckin' shit!" Charlie uttered.

  Saul was so stunned by what he had just seen that he couldn't even speak so he simply
watched as Mag reopened the cellar door and flipped on the basement lights. What the men now saw was a marble-free environment.

  "Where the fuck is they? I know that weren't my 'magination!"

  Mag answered Charlie's spoken, and Saul's unspoken, question. "Gone, dematerialized. Happens. Sometimes apports stay, sometimes not. Point is, we have big problem here."

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  It was late afternoon by the time Starr, Tamara, Patsy, and Marybeth went to pick up Lukas. Starr had turned in her rental car and retrieved Penelope from the motel. She didn't want to part with her friend but she knew the cat would be better off at the ranch than cooped up in a motel room all day long. Lukas was feeling much better and was a bit reluctant to leave El Paso without really doing anything productive for Paul, but he realized that it was best to go home.

  "Mind the gas peddle, Tamara, it sticks," Lukas cautioned as he turned the truck keys over to Tamara.

  After the farewells were made, Lukas, Patsy, Marybeth, and Penelope struck out for Van Horn in the Forsythe van.

  "Mag," Saul finally spoke up as his friend started to descend the cellar steps, "do you think it's such a great idea to go down there?"

  "No, not great idea at all. But have to. You and Charlie wait up here."

  "Hell's bells," said Charlie," I ain't gonna let ya go down there alone. Ya might need hep."

  "Charlie's right, Mag. If you go, we all go." Saul sounded much more convinced of that course of action than he felt.

  "No, Saul. You stay up here. If something happens down there, need you to be able to get help for us."

  "Christ on a crutch! Is demons gonna git us down there?" Charlie wasn't so sure he was ready for this journey into the unknown.

  "Hope not," Mag responded.

  The smell of sulfur was thick in the air as Charlie and Mag entered the cellar proper.

  "PEE-YOU! Smells like rotten eggs down here."

  "Not eggs, Charlie, sulfur...that's two."

  "Two?" Charlie inquired.

  "The demonic often causes things to happen in three's--is way of mocking the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Have had marbles, now have sulfur. Be very careful, Charlie, something more will soon occur."

  "Something more like what? She-it! I'm gonna go back up and git my rifle."

  But Charlie stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the familiar sound of rattlers. "Mr. Mag, be very still, we got ourselves some company here and it ain't nothing supernatchural."

  "Is snakes?" Mag had seen enough TV westerns to recognize the distinctive sound of rattlesnakes.

  "Yep, and sounds like a whole mess of 'em. Don't see nothin’, though. Do you?"

  "No, don't see anything."

  Even though the basement lights were on, there were plenty of places that remained unilluminated.

  "Okay, Mr. Mag, back towards the stairs real slow-like. Ya hear any noise at all, ya stop immediately. Once ya git to the steps, take 'em one at a time. Whatever ya do, don't rush."

  Even though Mag and Charlie had been speaking very softly, Saul, from his perch at the top of the steps, could hear and see what was going on. He called down to Charlie as quietly as he could, "Charlie, where's your gun?"

  "There's one right there in the broom closet." Guns were a necessary part of life in far West Texas and Charlie was more grateful than ever that he kept several of them loaded and at the ready. As Saul retrieved the weapon, Mag inched his way toward the steps. The cacophony of sound created by the snakes was driving him crazy and he was terrified that fangs would find his flesh before he could make it upstairs. He had just reached the bottom step when the first snake appeared.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  When Mag saw the reptile slither out from behind something that looked like a lectern, he decided that he was going to get his ass up the steps in record time. He was halfway up when he heard Saul.

  "Here, Mag. Take this rifle and see if you can get it to Charlie."

  Mag had absolutely no desire to go back down the steps, but he reached back and grabbed hold of the gun.

  "Charlie," Mag called out as unobtrusively as possible, "have gun. Tell me what do."

  Charlie, drenched with sweat and wishing like hell he had the gun and a bottle of Cuervo Gold in his hands, watched the snake as it coiled up not five feet from him. She-it! Charlie thought to himself, that sucker's gittin ready to strike!

  "Can ya shoot that rifle, Mr. Mag?" Charlie asked with tremendous hope.

  "Can shoot, but can't aim worth shit!" Mag admitted.

  "Well then, yer gonna have to bring it to me."

  "Was afraid of that, Charlie."

  Mag chose his steps very carefully as he made his way down the stairs and toward Charlie. He, too, was saturated with sweat but, unlike Charlie, he wished not for a bottle of tequila; Mag wished he had never left Hungary.

  "Mr. Mag, I don't dare move much so yer gonna need to git right up behind me."

  Narancsíz! thought Mag. This just gets better and better!

  Saul had gone out to his Bronco to retrieve his medical bag, in which he kept a small supply of antivenom. God forbid he would have to use it. He was hurrying back into the house when he heard the sound of a rifle shot.

  By the time Charlie had the rifle in hand, the lead-snake had been joined by a herd of its compatriots. Charlie knew that he would be unable to kill them all but, as it turned out, that really didn't matter.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The crack of the rifle blast was deafening in the confines of the cellar. Charlie's shot popped the head clean off the foremost serpent. He was preparing to shoot another viper when he realized that he didn't need to--they all lay dead on the floor.

  "What the fuck?" Charlie couldn't believe his eyes.

  "That's three," Mag pronounced.

  Mag had his fill of snakes, so he waited in the kitchen while Charlie and Saul, wearing nearly impenetrable cowboy boots and armed with guns, work-gloves and flashlights, searched for any remaining viable reptiles and placed the dead ones in heavy-duty garbage bags. Saul was more than glad that no living snakes were to be found anywhere; he was repulsed by the act of picking up the dead ones. When he thought about it later, he realized that all of the dead snakes were in the immediate vicinity of the pulpit that sat in the center of the basement floor.

  While Charlie and Saul were cleaning up, Marybeth and her group were on the road to Van Horn.

  "Jeez," Marybeth said to her fellow travelers, "did you guys see that huge, dead snake on the side of the road?" Penelope apparently had because she let loose a wail that sent a shutter through everyone in the car.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The three men sat around the kitchen table downing tequila shooters. It had taken three apiece to finally settle the shaking hands and legs.

  "That pulpit in the cellar, could there be any relationship between it and what's happening?" Saul directed his question to Mag. "After all, that's where all the snakes were."

  "Is possible," Mag answered. "Are such things as diabolically charged objects. As you know, are those individuals who believe in blessed objects. Such items--oils, clothing, holy water--are purported to have been blessed, directly or indirectly, by God and, as result, have certain curative and/or protective powers. Diabolically charged objects are opposite extreme: Have been tainted by the demonic and carry the residue of its presence and malevolence.

  "What you know about pulpit?"

  "Nothing, really," Saul replied, "only that Lukas Duncan, a minister here in town, brought it to Paul to refurbish.

  "Do you know anything else about it, Charlie?"

  "Only thing I know 'bout it is I ain't goin' nowheres near it again!"

  "Mag," Saul inquired, "where do we go from here?"

  "Back to basement."

  "Aw, she-it!" Charlie was not a happy cowpoke. "No fuckin' way am I goin' back down there!"

  And so Charlie stayed up top this time while Mag and Saul revisited the cellar. Aside from a peculiar dankness, the m
en did not perceive anything unusual about their environs. Mag wanted to get a good look at the pulpit so he headed straight for it. Despite the fact that Saul was wary of going near the structure again, he joined his friend.

  "Interesting," Mag commented as he studied the pulpit, "appears to be genuine antique. Am no expert, but rarely see this type workmanship anymore. Had beautifully detailed things like this in old country. Perhaps is European in origin."

  Saul could see what Mag meant. Although worn and badly in need of attention, the old pulpit displayed intricately carved scrollwork. In addition, Saul could tell that it was constructed of tiger oak, a wood that could be exquisite in appearance if properly cared for. It was obvious to Saul that Paul had begun his work on the podium, he could see a small area at its base that Paul had sanded. Saul didn't know anything about furniture restoration, but it seemed odd to him that Paul would have used a sander on tiger oak.

  "Hey, Mag, take a look at these letters. Looks like X-P-I-S...that's all I can see. Maybe it's how the craftsman signed his work. What do you think?"

  Mag examined the base of the pulpit. When he stood back up, his face was visibly drained of blood.

  "Mother of God," Mag mumbled.

  "What is it, Mag? What's wrong? Are there more snakes?"

  "No, no snakes. Worse. Must sit down." Mag walked shakily to the stairs and sat down on the bottom step.

  "Goddamnit, Mag! What the fuck is it?" Saul was more frightened than impatient.

  "I can't be sure," Mag had once again lapsed into grammatically correct English, "not until all the letters have been revealed, but I fear that what is written there is 'XPISTOS'."

  Saul wasn't so sure he wanted to know, but he asked just the same, "And that means...?"