by Mac Flynn
Father Malone stalked towards the formerly-maimed man-thing and rolled up his sleeves. They reached the bag at the same time.
"Back, demon spawn!" Malone yelled.
He swung a fast right that connected with the other mans' chin. The black man lost his balance and fell face-first into the rough carpet of the aisle. There was a sizzling sound and a wisp of smoke rose from his cheek. I could see a nice, burned imprint of Malone's hand on the thing's cheek. He twitched, but didn't get up.
Father Malone turned to us and positioned himself in a boxing stance. "I must ask that you release her at once and surrender," he demanded.
My captor did as he was told and tossed me to the side. He wasn't up for the whole surrendering bit, though, as he charged the father. Father Malone sidestepped a fast swing from his enemy and tried to give as good as he almost got. The man in black dodged and swung. The punch slammed into Father Malone's cheek and the father stumbled back. The priest ducked low and swung out one of his hidden legs from beneath the frock. He knocked the man in black off his feet and he slammed his back onto the floor.
The man sat up and glared at Father Malone. His cheek, too, sizzled and burned with the priest's holy hand. Malone towered over the thing with his fists at the ready and a nice shiner on his cheek.
"I must apologize for not warning you sooner, but I was a former light-weight champion," Malone informed the stranger.
The shadow-thing stood up and wiped the sizzle from his cheek. The flesh repaired itself. Malone frowned and dropped his fighting stance. He crossed himself and placed his hands together in prayer. His voice echoed in the small chapel and rang like church bells on a holy Sunday.
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom-"
The thing grimaced and stumbled back as though he'd been struck by an anvil. He turned away from us, and rushed to his fallen friend and the box. The thing tried to grab the box, but the blue mist spewed out at him. He recoiled, and instead grabbed the unconscious man-thing. The man in black slung his companion over one shoulder and made a quick escape through one of the paned windows to the right.
Father Malone straightened his frock and turned to me. He held out his hand to me and smiled.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, but you seem to be in different company," he commented
I grabbed his hand and he helped me up.
"They were tag-alongs," I told him. I strode over to the box and knelt beside it. The mist had melted part of the aisle carpet, but the wooden floor was untouched. I gingerly picked up the box, carefully set it in the bag, and turned to the father. "You've got some tough floors," I commented.
"They are held up by faith and the Lord," he pointed out. His eyes looked over the box in my hands. "But it seems you haven't come here to discuss the architecture. Your strange box appears to be possessed, and the men who follow you are not men at all."
"I don't know what those guys were," I told him.
The father turned to the broken window and pursed his lips. "They were as men only in flesh, but prayer revealed their true selves."
"And a good right-hook," I quipped as I hefted the bag over one shoulder. "And I'm sorry about the window."
He chuckled. "A window can be replaced, but am I right in believing your problems may not be so easily solved?"
I nodded at the bag on my back. "Would you believe the box has a soul trapped in it and I want to get it out?"
He smiled and gently grasped my shoulder to guide me to the side door. "A soul prison of sorts?" he guessed.
"Roland and I prefer the name soul box, but that works, too," I replied.
Father Malone led me through the rear hall and out the back of the church. His cottage stood in front of us. "Might I inquire who's soul is trapped?"
"It's a friend's soul," I told him.
He opened the cottage door for me and chuckled. "This friend doesn't happen to have a strong affection for you, does he?"
"Maybe," I answered as I took a seat on his old couch.
I set the box on the coffee table in front of me and the father seated himself in his chair. He leaned forward and inspected the container. His eyes narrowed and he furrowed his brow.
"These cloven markings are very strange. They seem to-" He reached out to touch them, but a spark of darkness whipped out and clawed at him. The father pulled his hand away and frowned. "The devil's work is on this box."
"Yeah, but I think you might have lifted some of it," I told him. I pointed at the ajar lid. "That popped up last night, and the only thing I can think of is that maybe you touching it or maybe it being in the church broke some of the lock on the box."
He raised an eyebrow. "An interesting suggestion, but why would it work after so long?"
I shrugged. "You're the expert on these God-vs-Devil things. You tell me."
Father Malone rubbed his chin. "Perhaps like all good things goodness takes time to overcome such a spell as what lays on this box."
I grabbed the box and held it out to him. "Time is something we don't have much of, so I was really hoping you could speed up the process by hugging this thing for an hour or so."
He furrowed his brow. "I'm not so sure that will-"
"It's worth trying," I interrupted as I shoved the box in his hands.
The box didn't like that, and it made its anger known when a blast of mist spewed from under the lid. Father Malone dropped the box and we both jumped back. The mist hit the floor, and made a moat of bubbling rug and flooring beneath it.
"Damn it. . ." I muttered.
I winced when Father Malone stepped around the box and set a hand on my shoulder. His voice was soft, but firm. Aunt ma would have approved.
"What makes you in such a hurry to set this soul free?" he asked me.
I let out a shuddered sigh. "It's. . .it's Roland, that guy I was with on Halloween. This is his soul."
Father Malone smiled. "I thought as much. Is he in great need of his soul?"
I snorted. "It turns out it's kind of a requirement to have your soul in you and not in a box."
"Then he is dying?" the father asked me. I closed my eyes and nodded. "I see. And you hope you can save him by melting me?"
I opened my eyes and frowned. "I didn't mean to-" He held up his hand and chuckled.
"I know you didn't, but in matters of the soul nothing can be rushed or all is lost. Especially the soul," he warned me.
"But we don't have time. Roland only has a few more weeks," I told him.
The father's face fell. "I see. And the change in the box didn't occur until last night?"
"Yeah."
"Then this is serious, but we can't rush matters. We must be gentle with the box, or more of my floor will suffer," he teased.
I smiled. "It has a thing against rugs."
"Then let us try a more gentle approach, and see what comes of it," he suggested.
CHAPTER 5
The father pushed me back onto the couch, and stooped beside the box. Only a little bit of mist spewed from the lid. There wasn't enough for the red clawed hand to bother with. Father Malone gently picked up the box and sat down in his old chair. He set the box on his lap and smiled.
"See? A gentle hand and patience are rewarded," he told me.
I slid down the back of the couch and frowned. "I just wish we knew if this would work."
The father tilted his head to one side and studied me. "How did you happen to come to know Roland?" he wondered.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
He shrugged. "We have time to kill."
I snorted. "I thought priests were supposed to refrain from murder."
Malone smiled. "Generally speaking, but I am curious. How did you meet him?"
"He just sort of floated into my life," I admitted.
"Might I take that literally?" he asked me.
"Only if you promise not to stake him," I returned.
He raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the box. "I see. Roland is quite an unusu
al person, isn't he?"
"You have no-" I jumped when my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw it was from Candy. "Do you mind-?"
"By all means," he invited me.
"Hello?" I answered.
Candy's voice was an octave higher than usual. "Misty,whatthehell'sgoingonatthediner?" she asked me. "TheplaceisclosedupandIcan'tgetaholdofRalphandthereareabunchofflyingfishinthere."
"Breathe, Candy, and slow down," I pleaded. "I can't understand a word you're saying."
She took a deep breath and breathed out. "I wanted to know what happened to the diner. It's closed up and I can't get a hold of Ralph and there's a bunch of floating things in there that look like fish and should I call the policeoristhisnormalwhatamI-"
"Candy, another deep breath," I instructed her.
She breathed in enough oxygen to support a third-world country for a year and breathed out. "What in the world is going on?"
"Ralph's not feeling well, so the place is closed up. If anybody's going to be poisoning people at the diner, he wants to be a part of it," I told her.
"What about those fish?" she asked me.
"It's a prank somebody pulled on Ralph, and he didn't get the joke," I explained.
"Those don't look like a prank," she argued. "They look really real."
I forced myself to laugh. "Oh, come on. It's not like the diner is haunted and needs. . .an. . .exorcist." My eyes slowly swiveled over to Father Malone who sat innocently cradling the Devil's box.
"Hello? Misty, are you still there? What was that about the diner?" Candy asked me.
I continued to stare at Father Malone as a crazy idea formed in my mind. "Never mind, it's not important. How about you go back home? Ralph'll call you when the place opens back up."
"All right, but if you see him first you tell him I'm taking my vacation time starting now," she told me.
"Sure, sure. Talk to you later," I replied. I hung up and leaned forward towards the priest. "You don't happen to have any other hidden skills besides boxing, do you?"
"I know how to knit," he admitted.
"I'm talking more of the paranormal kind," I replied.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
I held up the phone. "That was my coworker telling me the diner that I work at is still possessed by dead devil fish."
He blinked at me. "You have shown me a great many things that have stretched my knowledge and belief in the supernatural world, but I must admit my belief can't stretch that far."
"Then get ready for another stretch because these fish things are real, and they're going to ruin my boss' life if we don't do something about them," I told him.
"Is your employer a godly man?" he wondered.
"No, but he signs my paychecks, and in my book that makes him just a step below God," I quipped. "Anyway, it'll ruin my day if I have to start looking for another job. That's why I need your help."
"But how can I help?" he asked me.
"I want you to exorcise the fish, and I'm not talking about taking them for a walk," I revealed.
"I'm afraid my skills don't extend to that area," he admitted.
I nodded at the box that sat in his lap. "If you can tame that savage beast you can try to save some possessed soles."
A smile slipped onto his face. "I suppose there's no harm in trying." He paused and furrowed his brow. "Is there?"
I shrugged. "You do have to dodge the pots and pans, and the place smells really bad, but the fish aren't really dangerous."
Father Malone stood and carefully slipped the soul box into my bag. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Father Malone was still without a car, so I drove him to the diner. The parking lot was deserted, a depressing view at the noon hour, and the blinds in the windows were shut. I parked in the back and led the father up the stairs to the rear door. I'd forgotten to return Roland's skeleton key, so we had easy access to the kitchen.
"Hang on to your collar," I warned him as I swung open the door.
The door opened to reveal the chaotic scene from the night before, but with a fresh dose of nasty-smelling air. The stench was a mix of dead skunk, a sewer treatment plant, and the guy's locker room after a particularly muddy football game. The smell wafted over us like an unwanted ex at a frat party. I clapped my hand over my nose and even the good father cringed.
"Lord give me strength. . ." I heard him mutter.
"And a lot of dumb luck," I added as I boldly stepped inside first.
Father Malone followed and we stood shoulder to shoulder beside each other. We both tilted our heads back and looked at the ceiling. The school of fish floated in a lazy circle near the stained tiles. Their crates sat on the floor beneath them covered in rotten food and broken pots and pans.
"So what do you think?" I asked him without moving my head.
"I believe I will refrain from fish this Lent," he commented.
"I meant about the problem," I rephrased.
"There is certainly otherworldly forces at work here," he told me.
"Think you can use that prayer of yours and see if you can exorcise it?" I asked him.
"I can certainly attempt it," he offered.
Father Malone handed me the bag with the soul box and moved to the middle of the room. The fish took notice of his presence by floating lower so they spiraled just above his head. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.
"Our Father who-" He'd hardly hit the 'who' part when one of the fish sailed down and used its tail to smack him on the cheek.
Father Malone stumbled back only to be attacked by another fish. His turned cheek was slapped. The other hundred floated down and readied their tails. The process would have been repeated ad infinitum if he hadn't ducked the next block and hurried back to my side near the door.
"You think they might prefer the Latin version?" I suggested.
He rubbed his cheek and frowned. "I will try."
The father stepped forward and clasped his hands again. That was as far as he got before the fish, evidently atheistic, flew at him. He ducked and dodged, but they got in a couple of good slaps that rang through the kitchen. Father Malone picked up a large frying pan and used it as a guard. He tried to get back to me, but they barred his path.
"Maybe another prayer?" I suggested. I winced when one came up behind him and knocked him on the back of his head.
He spun around and knocked the fish away. It tumbled for a few feet before it righted itself and flew back at him. At the same time another half dozen got in a few more whacks. In a few seconds he was covered in splattered dead fish goo and moldy food from the refrigerator.
One of the fish slammed into his face and knocked him back towards the swinging doors. Father Malone straightened and glared at the offending fish.
"Lord forgive me, but to hell with these foul creatures," he snapped.
Father Malone tossed down the frying pan and threw a punch. It landed square against the flat side of a nearby sole fish. The fish stiffened and fell to the floor where it lay there like a frozen tuna. The other soles scattered, but the good father had good aim and he knocked them down one at a time until there were known standing. Er, floating. They lay in stiff piles with their backs twisted, and their mouths and eyes wide open in surprise.
Father Malone stood in triumph over the lost soles. He gasped for breath and slime dripped from his red knuckles.
"I guess they needed the prayer beaten into them," I quipped.
Father Malone stood straight and coughed. "Perhaps, but what are we to do now?"
I nodded at the crates. "They came in those, so let's hope for a miracle and see if they fit back in their packaging. Then we can get them in my car."
"And then?" he wondered.
"Then we wait for Roland to wake up and tell us what to do next," I replied.
A few minutes and a lot of dead fish tossing later the crates were full and their lids were nailed down. We stepped back and admired our work of the twelve crates pil
ed in the trunk and back seat of my car. The car was backed up to the rear door.
"Are your days generally this exciting?" Father Malone asked me.
I shook my head. "No, the days are my break. The nights are when things get fun, like that one phantom lady."
"How did that end?" he wondered as he looked me over with a teasing smile on his face. "I hope you weren't turned into a phantom."
I grinned and patted my stomach. "I could use the weight loss, but Roland and I kind of made her explode."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's possible?"
"Yeah. She got so mad at seeing her husband married to their servant that she blew up," I explained.
He chuckled. "A pity the church doesn't know of such a trick."
"Yeah, well, I wish I knew a trick to get rid of these fish," I commented as I sat down on the rear door steps.
Father Malone joined me. "You haven't any idea who sent the fish?"
"Well, there's some sort of a connection between the fish and a guy we both know," I told him.
"Do we?" he wondered.
"Yeah. Let's just say it's not the guy you work for," I explained.
Both his eyebrows shot up. "You mean-?"
"Yeah. Red tail and all," I confirmed.
He pursed his lips. "You certainly have a formidable foe."
I snorted. "You're telling me. I just wish I had his address so I could drop these fish back on him."
"Surely he has some location or representative that is used as his base of operations, as it were," Father Malone mused.
My eyes widened and I snapped my fingers. "That's it!" I leaned over and gave the father a hug. "You're a life saver!"
Father Malone chuckled as I released him. "A priest can receive no higher praise."
I had a plan. Now all I needed was an undead partner to put it into action.
CHAPTER 6
I returned Father Malone to his church. He stepped out and leaned down to look at me through the open door.
"Are you sure you won't have me keep the soul box for a while longer?" he offered.
I shook my head. "I'm hoping we can kill two demons with one stone on this one, but thanks for the exorcism."
