The House the Devil Built

by Benjamin Hively

  With hushed sounds of shock, the congregation hung on his every word, and Terry pushed forth, “Like any Christian mother, the thought of her son being that way terrified her. She had listened to what the good book had said, and she came to me for advice. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I would never want you to be in that position, but I am here to tell you there is programs out there to help save our youth from a destructive path. Now Marsh Batton is in a group camp, Re-Course, where he will get the help he needs for his affliction and be repositioned on the right path. Can I get an amen?” As the congregation filled with noise, Terry searched the crowd for Denise but she had not joined them. “Unfortunately, it seems Denise couldn’t make it tonight, although I know she appreciates your support in this matter. God is here with us tonight, and he, too, loves to see you here, doing what is right and just for him. I had contacted many of you throughout the week, so we could expel the evil that has taken hold of us, and I appreciate the many that contributed to the call arounds to get everyone on board for this monumental moment. We were ready for a war, and with the help of my wife, we had created so many signs to protest the men’s presence in hopes to drive them away from our beautiful town, but God provided us with a different option. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest this evening. You all having been asking about the strange man seated in the front row, and I am happy to announce that this man, afflicted with the homosexual demon, the very man I’ve spoken about, has come forth to ask forgiveness to the man upstairs. [10] And tonight, we are going to offer him Deliverance from these demons that he is wanting to cast out. Our war has already been won, and I would like to introduce to you, Ashton Freely, everyone!”

  Ashton rose from the pew and walked to Terry on the stage. The crowd erupted in applause, and Terry smiled, “You know, as I stand here, I am happy to hear your applause to what I just said. Ashton, would you like to say a few words?” Ashton shook his head in disapproval, “Please forgive him, he’s a man of few words. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to save this man from the Devil.” The crowd cheered again. Terry waited for the din to subside, “Are you ready to accept Jesus, Ashton?”

  “Yes,” Ashton whispered, the reluctance in his voice apparent. Terry asked the question again, and Ashton replied with a louder, more confident, “Yes!”

  “If we could all quiet down now, so we can proceed. Heavenly Father, I have before you a man wrenched in sin. I have a man that has spent years down a darkened path and he needs your guidance, Father. You’ve been witness, God, to the deplorable acts committed against you. You’ve seen this man’s ambivalence towards you, and the grip that Satan has on this tormented man. Please, Father, force light into this man’s soul. Release him from the demon of homosexuality. Release him!” Terry could see fear in Ashton’s eyes and he pushed the man, toppling him over the edge of the raised platform.

  The man laid there a moment with his eyes closed, and Terry was afraid he had knocked the man unconscious. The church burst into panicked whispers as they all arched their necks to see where the man had landed but another noise began to be heard over the babel, and a guttural laugh emanated from the man’s mouth. Terry looked curiously at the man. Ashton’s eyes shot open, and as he sat up the level of the laughter grew into a loud symphony silencing the church. Ashton gazed upon the masses and craned his neck to face Terry.

  “You vile abominable man, Reverend Shlepp!” the man screamed. Ashton’s voice had transformed from a meek whisper to a thunderous deep roar, and the church exploded into terrified screams.

  “Calm down, everyone. This is part of the spiritual warfare,” Terry explained, unsure of the situation himself.

  “Yes, calm down you willfully blind minions! The almighty Shlepp has spoken!” the voice screeched. Ashton stood and faced Terry, staring up at him from his position, “You’re ignorance moves me, Pastor.”

  “Who are you?” Terry’s voice quivered.

  “I’m the devil within that you speak of. I’m the evil lurking in everyone’s soul. I’m everyone in this fucking church.”

  “Demon, I rebuke you!” Terry screamed, forcing himself forward to approach the man.

  “You live in a house of lies Reverend. You reek of hypocritical bullshit. You pander to your congregation of uncultured maggots as you sit with the blood of the innocent on your hands!”

  “Heavenly Father, free this man with your spirit!” Terry screamed, attempting to grab the man’s arm but Ashton broke free and knocked the man off his feet.

  “You don’t know God! While you’re busy convincing those around you that you are doing God’s work, the devil smiles at your unwitting alliance with him. Your sermons are nothing more than creating an army for the fallen angel!” the man spoke, towering over Shlepp. Terry began to panic as Ashton swiveled towards his frightened wife who sat in a shocked frozen stance. “And your doting pig of a wife. Your son can see right through your thin veil, he knows your secret. You have the blood of the unborn at your feet. Miscarriage, what a wonderful lie. Spending your husband’s hard earned money for an abortion for a baby you didn’t want.”

  “Lies!” she screamed becoming unhinged and jumped at Ashton. They both fell to the ground and Terry tried to pull the man off her, but Ashton’s strength overcame his own.

  “Help!” the preacher screamed. A few of the church patrons ran to his aid and pulled Ashton off of his wife, holding him down on his back. “The demon is strong, we will deliver this man from evil.”

  It took five of the strongest men in the congregation to gain control of Ashton and Terry rushed to grab his Bible from the podium. Ashton continued to writhe around on the ground even as the men held firm and hissed as the Pastor placed the Bible on his head. “God, we need your help! He needs your light, your love.”

  “Get off of me you degenerates!” the man howled, breaking free from one of the men’s grasp. Ashton went wild, grabbing the Bible from Terry; throwing it behind them. The man that had lost his grip, wheeled back and landed a punch on Ashton’s face and he calmed down, the force strong enough that Ashton’s nose began to bleed.

  “Let him go!” a familiar voice screamed from the back of the room. Everyone looked behind them to see who had yelled, and Terry stepped backwards as Luke approached the squabble. “I said let him go!”

  “Son, you need to get out of here. We are trying to help this man.” Terry remarked, trying to pull his son away from the group, but Luke persisted.

  “Help? You’re hurting him!” Luke yelled, attempting to remove the men holding Ashton. Terry couldn’t put his son in a harmful situation so he ordered the men to release Ashton. Luke went towards Ashton, grabbing the man’s hand and pulling him up. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?” Luke asked, pulling the man down the aisle. The church was in utter silence as Terry chased after his son and Ashton and Terry stood in front of the doors to prevent them from leaving.

  “This man is sick, Luke. I can’t let you leave,” Terry pressured.

  “The only person I see in this entire room that is sick is you, Dad.” Luke said, nudging his father away and exiting the room. Terry was at a loss as all of the eyes in the church fell on him. He fixed his tie before heading back up the aisle picked his wife off the ground, where she sat sobbing uncontrollably, and he faced the stunned crowd.

  “The war rages on, folks.”

  ELEVEN

  Mark was two hours into his travel time, of four hours, when his phone began to explode with phone calls and text messages. He ignored them, his focus solely on getting his son out of the godforsaken prison called Re-Course. Originally in denial about the whole situation, his greatest fears had been confirmed with Marsh’s telephone call. An urgent call for help, and in a matter of minutes, he left his hotel to drive the four long hours to the camp. He was afraid of what he would do to the counselors at this so-called rehabilitation program, rehashing all the lurid details that Marsh had divulged on the telephone, a secretive call that would certainly lead to a harsh punish
ment if Marsh had been caught. Driving above the speed limit, Mark careened between traffic, thankful that his fellow brothers and sisters of the force were nowhere in sight.

  His GPS lead the way for him onto the darkened side roads of rural Louisiana. It was uncharted territory for him, never having the opportunity to go very far from his roots, except for the few trips he had made to New Orleans for a boys weekend throughout the years. On each of those trips he made note on how cookie cutter Acadian Springs really was; how almost everyone was an exact replica of one another. In New Orleans, things were a world apart from his hometown. They seemed to celebrate the exact opposite of what Acadian Springs stood for: the imperfection of things, the unique nature of people, and the preservation of traditions. At the time of his visits, the differences frightened him, a pure culture shock that lead him to believe that New Orleans didn’t embody any of his values, but the current situation he found himself surrounded with made him long for the dirty uneven streets of the Crescent City.

  The road wound around a bend and he slowed to ensure he stayed in his lane as the car hugged the curve. His vehicle had been the only one he had seen in the last fifteen minutes, his high beams shedding light on the road ahead. He only had a few more miles to go before he reached the camp that Marsh had been forced into and the closer Mark got to the destination, the more his hands began to sweat. He didn’t know the conflict that lay ahead, nor was he sure if he could keep his temper from manifesting itself under the given circumstances. The road curved again, and as he took the bend he could see his son staggering down the road a few hundred feet ahead of him. He clicked his high beams off, so not blind the boy, and slowed to a stop, putting on his emergency lights.

  Mark rushed out of the car and ran to Marsh, the boy shivering from the night’s temperature. He looked dazed, his eyes red from tears, and as Mark approached him, the boy ran to meet his father, latching onto him tightly. Marsh broke into tears and Mark held him in the middle of the road, swaying to calm his son. The anger Mark felt turned into concern for his teenage son who turned back into the young boy at the sight of his father.

  “It’ll be alright. I’m here now,” Mark said, consoling him. His son didn’t want to let him go but Mark began to pull him in the direction of the car, wanting to remove him from this horrible place. Once inside the car, Marsh calmed himself, wiping away the tears and snot with his sleeve. Mark turned the car around to head in the opposite direction. Marsh seemed at ease that they weren’t heading back to Re-Course where Mark surely would end up in jail, and they drove in silence for the first part of their trip as Mark watched the gears turning in his son’s head.

  Several miles away, Mark veered into a gas station, his car begging to be refilled, and, as the bright lights infiltrated the car’s interior, he wished he had went back to the camp to exact his revenge. Bruises covered Marsh’s neck, starting at his left ear and disappearing underneath his shirt at his shoulder, and a small cut lead from his ear to the middle of his cheek. Placing the car in park, he undid his seatbelt and turned to Marsh, pulling at the neck of his shirt to reveal more bruising that continued down his shoulder and onto his back.

  “Stop, please,” Marsh uttered, pulling away. Mark retracted and got out of the car, walking over to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and ushered Marsh to get out of the vehicle and they both went inside, Mark pulling his son into the bathroom.

  “Take off your shirt,” Mark demanded and Marsh started to cry again but did what his father told him. With shaky hands, Marsh removed his shirt and Mark’s eyes filled with tears of rage. His son’s body was covered in purple and blue splotches. Mark made him spin to show his back; large red gashes stacked themselves upon each other as if his son had been lashed, some still fresh and oozing with hemoglobin. Mark reached out to touch them to make sure this nightmare was indeed real. Marsh groaned as Mark’s fingers touched the cuts, some so deep he was sure the boy would have scars for the rest of his life. Mark was infuriated, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to Re-Course to find the people responsible for this atrocity and bring his own sense of justice.

  “I just want to go home!” Marsh wailed as he put his shirt back on.

  “We are, we are baby,” Mark responded. After paying for gas, he lead his son back outside to the car. Mark pumped the gas, his hands shaking from the anger pulsing through his veins and watched his son as he sat quietly in the seat, staring straight ahead. Mark couldn’t imagine the horrors that Marsh had gone through, and he wished that he had taken action before it had come to such a point. He began to blame himself, as it was him who had looked up the pornography on the computer, but even still, no one deserved this harsh treatment. There was multiple guilty parties at this atrocity, including Denise who now became the ultimate villain in his mind along with her mentor, Terry Shlepp, who he promised silently to get his hands on to inflict the same amount of pain that Marsh had been subjected to.

  Against his deepest desire they turned the opposite way of Re-Course, and began their long journey back to Acadian Springs. His phone continued to incessantly ring and beep and without checking who was calling, he shut it off to allow his son some silent relief. He wanted the stage to be open if Marsh wanted to talk, if he needed to cry, or if he needed to release anger or frustration, but, in the twilight he could see his son’s eyes heavy from exhaustion. The highway hypnotized his son into sleep, and soon Mark was alone in his thoughts, the highway providing the perfect backdrop for introspection. No one could plan for such a thing as this, an unbalance so unpredictable that anything past this point was par for the course, and he vowed that he and his two children would be pulled from this wreckage, stronger and better than before. No court would ever grant custody to a woman that sent her child to a place where he was physically abused and mentally maimed, and as sad as Amelia would be that her mother was no longer a fixture in her life, he needed to protect her and her brother at all costs.

  Midnight on the highway seemed a desolate time to drive through the bowels of Louisiana, but Mark was happy to not be stuck in a traffic jam that somehow seemed to crop up in the most random interjections. They were making good time as the car careened over the pavement, and they would be back on their own turf right past one. He was uncertain how the rest of the late night would play out, knowing that he needed to get his son to the motel before he went to grab some of Marsh’s belongings from the home he used to share with his wife. He would attempt to grab Amelia as well, he thought, and hoped that at that hour no altercation would occur where his deputies would need to be involved. The last thing he needed was his subordinates being a part of the travesty that was sure to commence.

  The accommodations at the Shady Rest were not the best for children, that he knew for certain, but it was only a temporary fix to a more permanent situation. Luckily for them the room provided all the necessities, including the extra bed for Amelia and Marsh to sleep in, a microwave, and small fridge where they could eat. He would pound the pavement in the next coming days to find a more suitable place for them to call home but until then, he just wanted them to be secure. Marsh awoke as soon as the car pulled into the parking lot of the Shady Rest and his eyes began to focus on the motel.

  “Where are we?” Marsh questioned, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

  “Our home for now, let’s get you upstairs,” Mark countered, pulling into a spot and turning off the ignition. Marsh seemed apprehensive but followed his father out of the car and up the wooden steps to the room. Opening the door to the room Mark entered, his son staying back to examine the room from the door. “It’s not much but it will do for the moment,” Mark admitted, waiting for his son to come inside. The boy looked disheartened but made his way into the room, glancing around at the decrepit furnishings, and sat down on the bed, unsure of himself.

  “I just want to sleep,” Marsh said quietly.

  “That’s fine, go take a shower and get into bed. I’m going to run to the house and get some of your clot
hes,” Mark replied.

  “What about Amelia?”

  “She’s coming too, don’t worry,” Mark commented, “I’ll be right back, just get some rest.” He waited until his son disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him before he went back outside. Mark was drowsy but the task at hand was more important than sleep; he reentered his car and pulled out of the parking lot. Just as expected, Acadian Springs was dormant and he passed through the downtown in a matter of seconds, turning down the road towards his home. There was a police car outside of his house, a deputy situated on the porch nearly falling asleep, as well, and Mark parked in his driveway, pulling the deputy out of a comatose state.

  “What’s going on? Why are you here, Dalton?” Mark pressed as the deputy approached him. The deputy’s face was stern, and he grabbed Mark’s arm.

  “I need you to come with me, please Sheriff,” the deputy said, pushing Mark away from the house.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Mark asked, feeling panic run through his veins.

  “Just come with me, Mark.”

  “Not until you tell me why!” Mark hollered.

  “I…” the deputy stuttered.

  “Spit it out, deputy or let me go inside!”

  “Mark, we’ve been trying to call you all night. Denise…”

  “Denise what?” Mark screamed as he released himself from the deputy’s grasp, and walked towards the front door of his house. The deputy chased after him, rushing to block Mark from the door.

  “Mark, sit down.”

  “Now goddamn it, get out of my way!” Mark’s frustration was beginning to explode, but the deputy didn’t step down. “What happened?”

  “Denise killed herself, Mark,” the deputy finally said and Mark stepped back uncertain if he had heard the man correctly, but the man continued, “I’m truly sorry, Mark. We tried to call you since she was found this afternoon.” Mark begin to hyperventilate on the porch and fell to his knees in mass of labored breathing and tears, his stomach twisting in a knot.