Word was spreading fast about me.
Still, I didn't want to do it. I wasn't THAT experienced. I didn't want to let anyone down, especially well-meaning folks. Better I direct them to someone better. A better exorcist that knew what the Hell they were doing. Maybe they should talk to their local priest?
And then I thought of something: My zombie business was just picking up, but the demon thing was already in high demand. For now, I could use this exorcism money to move out – move out into my own place. I liked that idea. I'd make enough money to leave these hippies behind. I'd just have to play this exorcist game for a little while, and I'd have Lynn move in with me, of course.
Before I left, I put the money in an envelope and gave it to the landlord. I didn't trust those hippies in paying the rent. I had an image of them running off with the money and buying marijuana or hashish or opium or potatoes or whatever it was hippies got off on.
As we got into Tish's white van and made our way to her apartment somewhere in Makaha, somewhere near the beach, I thought about Lynn. She was working. I didn't tell her about the job I was heading to. Didn't call her cell. Didn't want her to worry.
Tish lived on the 50th floor of an apartment building called The Queen Ka. A storm cloud was above the ocean. The waves were violent. In the elevator, I wondered if I could come up with something to say to Tish. She didn't say anything through the whole ride over. She made me feel weird, like I was doing something wrong. To help ease my nerves, I just kept thinking about being paid. I just wanted to get this whole thing over with. As we walked to her apartment – down that dirty, red carpet – I could hear strange things all around me – odd sounds coming out from those other apartments. We walked past an open door. In those two seconds, I saw a skinny Chinese man in an bloody apron, cutting the head off a chicken with a loud THWACK! The head bounced on the floor, still alive and bouncing, those eyes rolling around like cartoon eyes, mouth gasping, tongue shooting in and out. Then, out of another apartment (this one a closed door), a baby was crying – wailing! Like it was being murdered, like it was being shook to high heaven. For a second, I thought THAT was Tish's apartment, but no, I was wrong.
Tish stopped and looked in her purse for her keys.
“I wanna move out of this dopey place,” she said, already crying. “My big day will come. See?” She showed me a napkin. Someone scribbled a few lines on it. It looked like a smiling snake. “See?” she said again. “I'm an artist!” Only she said it like, Ar-tee-sT! She searched through her bag again and found her keys. “When I'm rich and famous, I'm moving out of here. I'm moving to Arizona. Land of the free. Land of heroes. Land of ar-tee-sts!”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn't dare to say anything offensive – OR encouraging. Let's just get this over with, I thought over and over again.
Standing outside of her apartment door, watching as she fumbled and dropped her keys, I could already hear her possessed son, Coons. He must have sniffed me out. He began pounding on the door, saying the most disgusting things.
“I can sniff your holes!” He sounded like he was begging. “I can feel your mouth against mine....” His voice was demonic, like a hyaena’s mating call gone terribly wrong, mixed in with too much hard liquor and cigarettes and screaming and the gargling of exotic baby oils.
He threatened his mother – promising to rip her tongue out and replace it with his little prick. The image was startling. There was no logic to it. Nonetheless, Tish began crying.
“I blame this place,” she said. “This is no place to have your son suck the milk from your breast.”
I understood completely.
Coons kicked at the door and continued his F-bombs and sexy talk. People were opening their doors and looking at us. I was embarrassed. Did these people think I was saying those terrible things???
“Nothing to see here, folks,” I assured them. “Please, go back to your homes and fine dining. Everything is under control.”
The Chinese man holding the chicken head nodded and went back into his home. I could hear him chopping off more chicken heads. A baby in the nude ran through my legs and kept going. The damn thing was laughing. A cat was chasing after it – a cat with a saddle on its back. This place was, indeed, disturbing and dirty. Coons pissed on the door. I know this because a stink, yellow liquid pooled around my sneakers. The urine was steaming. I put my hands to my mouth and coughed. Tish growled. “Oh, please, God,” she begged. “Not again.” Her face exploded. “Son! You promised!”
Coons laughed like a banshee: Loud and crazy-like.
He then continued his rant by calling my mother a whore and my dad an asshole.
“Your mother's a whore and your dad's an asshole!” the demon spat.
I had enough of his foul mouth. I pushed Tish aside and kicked the door in. The whole thing gave way and fell on Coons. I jumped on the door, demanding that the demon leave the boy. Tish then pushed ME aside. She flipped the door off her boy and cradled him in her arms. Jesus, she breastfed him right in front of me. I put my hands to my mouth and coughed. She accused me of being too harsh on him.
“Tender love and care was part of the deal!” she said.
Before I could come up with something witty, Coons clamped his big mouth onto Tish's hair. He gave a big yank and took her whole scalp off, leaving behind a red, bald mess. Tish touched her head. She was looking at me, looking so surprised, looking like she wanted to cry – lips trembling. I kicked her away, right when Coons was going to stab her in the back with a knife!
I punched the kid on the ear. He went down, cursing, wiggling around, throwing a tantrum. The demon said terrible things about my father again. It knew my history. It went through my whole life in a super sped-up voice. That demon was familiar.
Shoehorn!
It was the same one that possessed Shells, Jichard's girl. The demon remembered me, too. It said that it had big plans for Shells, that it was going to possess her again and turn her into a real whore. I slapped Shoehorn, and the boy inside cried. Shoehorn told itself to shut up or else it would hurt its body by jumping out the window.
“Quiet, you!” the demon said. It began punching itself in the face. “I'm gonna kill you, boy, if you don't behave and stop that weeping! It's a turn off!”
The boy wouldn't stop crying, so Shoehorn said that was it. He was gonna end it all and jump out the window.
Hearing this, Tish screamed, “Noooo!” and jumped on her son/demon. Shoehorn tried like all hell to get her off his back. It was a weird sight: This large woman being tossed around by a little boy.
Shoehorn growled and flung the woman against a table, onto the briefcase. It flew through the air and opened and rained money. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife and ran toward the monster.
“You toad!” Shoehorn whined. “You've interrupted my business for the last time!”
I made to throw the knife and say something intelligent. The demon shrugged...and jumped through the window.
Tish screeched and jumped after him. She went screaming; the demon laughing.
They both landed on the rocks below, bodies swallowed by the waves.
The storm was in full swing then, whistling through the broken window. I had to work fast and get the money before it was all blown away. The police wouldn't like this. It was only when I was in the lobby that the reality of the situation grasped me one hundred percent. I felt like fleeing the scene, but at the same time, I didn't know where to go. Miles from home. I didn't have a car. Should I wait at the bus stop? Would that be wise??? I was stiff all over. I wanted to swim away. Problem: I didn't know how to swim. Well...it was time to learn...or die trying. I began running toward the beach.
A black van with a golden cross stopped in front of me.
Large priests got out and grabbed at me and threw me in.
The door slid shut.
Next thing I knew, we were zooming away.
The priests wore shades. I could see guns underneath their jacke
ts. A man, dressed like the Pope, leaned forward from out the darkness, smoking a cigar.
“My boy, how old are you?”
“I...”
“Silence! You look young – TOO young to be doing this kind of work. We've been keeping an eye on you. Our holy psychic has told us much about you, yesss, ha ha ha. That you're strong, yes. That you can do great things. That you can learn new skills rather quickly. But they also tell me that you give up easy when things don't go your way. Take my advice, kid: Stay with the exorcism business. You can make us all happy!” He laughed, and then all the priests laughed. One giggled. The Pope sliced through the air with his hand.
“Shut up!” he said. “NO laughing in my van unless I say so.”
“Duhhh, sorry, boss,” the thugs went.
The Pope fed them animal cookies. And then I noticed something: A woman was sitting in the dark with wires connected to her head. Her eyes were wide, staring at me. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. A doctor was near her with his ear close to her mouth, taking down notes and nodding.
“Ahh, yesss,” he said. “Yes, that makes sense.” (Writes in his notebook.)
The Pope leaned in and put his hand on mine. He was wet. He was gentle. He explained that he was going to help me – that they protected their own kind. With this man's help, no police officer – at least on the island of Oahu – could lay a finger on me. I would be protected by God. The big man himself.
All it took was 90% of the money I made doing exorcisms.
I couldn't argue. For one thing, I was involved in their Godly affairs; and the other thing was...well...they had guns. Holy guns, I imagined. So I agreed. I just nodded my head. I didn't say anything through the whole ride home (and how they knew where I lived, I didn't ask that, either).
The Pope stuck out one of those little rattan plates you see in church for “donations”. I put a stack of bills on it. The Pope smiled. He counted the money, flipping through it, eyes focused. He demanded that we all hold hands and pray, and then I was dropped off. I stood there in the rain – not sure if I was paralyzed from shock or super anger.
How was I going to explain this to Lynn? Should she even know about it?
Yes.
If I wanted her to be my girl, she deserved to know.
When I told her about what happened, she hugged me and kissed me and told me everything was going to be okay.
We made love that night.
My first time.
How was it?
How to put it....We've all seen our share of “mature, sexual education” films. They're pretty arousing and satisfying. But believe you-me...nothing beats the real thing. Long story short, it was the best night of my life. I could tell that she was experienced. She asked if it bothered me that she had been with 87 guys. I told her I didn't care. I told her that I loved her. She could do no wrong. She couldn't believe I said that, but it was true. I was hooked on her. I was hooked on the present.
The hippies weren't anywhere to be seen. I asked about them, and Lynn told me that they were on the roof, singing and dancing and worshiping their moon god, Lipportoy. She showed me a picture one of the hippies drew of the god. It was a goat with the body of a giraffe. It was playing the banjo and was all smiles. The picture looked like a kindergartener drew it with crayons. I told her I was concerned about that Pope and his van of God. Lynn told me to worry.
She heard of him before – these gangster priests. The first time she saw them was when she was a little girl. A long time ago, while attending mass and everyone was singing with their hands waving in the air, some kid ran in front of the priest. People thought she was dancing, doing the Robot. They even started clapping. But they were wrong. The little girl wasn't expressing her love of Jesus through street dance....She was possessed by a demon. The priest ran up and drove the demon out – some fat demon in the shape of an elephant with horns. The parents of the little girl were very grateful and immediately threw money at the priest. His alter boys jumped around, catching the money in fishing nets. All were merry; all clapped and sang, praising Jesus and Mary and Paul and Moses. At the end of the religious ritual, while everyone hugged and gossiped about how awful so-and-so's dress was, Lynn went to the back of the church and saw the priest hand a bunch of money to someone sticking a small rattan plate out of a van.
This happened all through her kid years.
However....
One Sunday, the priest expelled a demon out of an old woman. When people began throwing money at him, he snatched it all up, kicked away the alter boys and stole their fishing nets and ran off.
“I remember he was crying,” Lynn told me. “Everyone ran after him – ran outside. He was running down the hill. The van was after him. It honked at him. The passenger-side window rolled down, and that same hand stuck out, holding that donation plate. But the priest didn't stop running. He was shoving money into his mouth. He just kept running, heading for the woods, heading for freedom! So the van ran over him. It was the first time I ever saw someone fly up into a tree...dead. Dear Jesus...it was horrifying. His long tongue dangled out of his mouth.”
Lynn cried in my arms.
She said that the whole thing traumatized her for a month. She became paranoid – too afraid to leave her house – her bedroom. Whenever her parents tried to drag her outside to get some sun, she'd cry out and threaten to call the cops – threatened to defecate on the lawn and stink the place up – threatened to jump into the pool and drown herself – threatened to run down the neighborhood in the nude and rant about Bigfoot. Her parents didn't want that kind of attention, so, after much thought, they gave up. Lynn said that later on, she learned that the priest the church gangsters ran over had money troubles. He couldn't afford to pay for his mother's medical bills. The priest tried working as a science teacher at Fern Elementary School, but he got into a fist fight with the principal over the theory of evolution and was fired. After that, he applied to be a bus driver. Things were going good for a while; but again, he got into a fight – this time with another bus driver. Apparently, people don't take too kindly to someone running off at the mouth about how dinosaurs are in the Bible.
He then got drunk one night and sneaked into the hospital and killed his mother – put a pillow over her face and did her in quietly. The next morning was the Sunday he took the chance of a lifetime and ran out with all that money and was run over.
Lynn rolled over and put her palms on my face. She was sweating...nervous...shaking.
I had to stop being an exorcist, she said. It was too dangerous. I had to forget about the money. There were many zombie hunting jobs out there. I just had to look. I just had to promote myself, put myself out there. She'd help. She'd be my publicist. That was fine by me. Good to have heard it, really. I never had much of an ego. I was a shy kid. A private kid.
A little later, and Lynn was asleep against my boney chest, drooling.
I began to wonder.
Was she messed up in the head? Was she stable?
Did the sex come too soon?
Did I make a mistake?
I had a dream that I was living in Old Hawaii...seemed like the 1800's. I lived in a hut, a single dad with a little girl. She seemed familiar. It was Shells. The scene changed, and I was fishing with a huge, green mountain behind me. I was squinting from the sun. My face was tanned and looked like leather. The water glittered – reflection dancing across my face.
Then I was sucked through a black hole – I was flying through time....
Bedroom.
Shells was being attacked by Shoehorn. Shells was screaming my name, begging for help.
“I'm sorry,” I said in my sleep.
The demon chased the little girl around her room, throwing shoes on fire at her. Shells ran into my arms and looked into my eyes.
“My dad is too afraid to stop that demon,” she said. “Help me, Boss, please!”
Shoehorn ran up and stole the little girl from my arms. It laughed at me.
“She's mine
now!” it giggled. “Your daughter is mine!”
I just stood there. I couldn't move. “My daughter?”
Shells screamed.
“Help me...DADDY!”
It was 10 at night, and I woke up with a sock in my mouth.
Lynn was still asleep, kicking me as she dreamed about evil clergymen trying to do nasty things to her. I know this, because she yelled in her sleep. She was giving a whole speech. I eased out of bed, put my clothes on, and went outside.
On the cab ride over to Shells's home, I thought back to what that Shoehorn said. I had to warn Shells. Make sure she was okay. As the cab zipped between lanes, I stared out at the passing skyscrapers. I examined the many knives I brought along. I could feel the driver staring at me through his rear view mirror, frowning, displeased. I had small knives, nothing too heavy. Just things easy enough to throw or ram into a demon's eyes. I also had a small thing of holy water and a small cross.
The cab dropped me off, I paid for my ride, and I stood outside Shells's house. Crazy lights came out from the windows. It was like a mad disco inside. I took out a knife and ran to the front door. It was locked, so I kicked it down. I yelled for Jichard, but, of course, got no response. I ran to the living room. The hole that he made when he fell was covered with cement and topped with a large house made of playing cards. I heard a scream upstairs. It was Jichard.
“Hellllllllp!” he went. “Somebodyyyyy!”
I looked behind me, hearing chatter. People were outside, staring up at the windows, many of them in their nightgowns and robes. Expecting the cops soon, I rushed upstairs. I had to hurry. If Jichard was dead, the cops would take Shells, and I'd lose track of her for good...never see her again. Shells's bedroom door was closed. I pounded and kicked at it. Again, Jichard screamed and hollered. Something hit the door, and it fell on me. I kicked it aside and got to my feet. Someone moaned. I turned around and saw Jichard on the ground – nothing but a torso. He brought his head up and looked at me...smiled...then looked down at himself. He vomited and cried.
Ghost City Page 5
