Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

  There was an odd scent in the air. I took a deep whiff of it, inhaling through my nostrils. Faint, but there. The smell of rotting eggs. The smell of sulfur. But it wasn’t that strong, which meant the thing sitting in the driver’s seat of Shelly’s body hadn’t really rooted itself in yet.

  I threw some of the water on her and it sizzled, smoke rising up. The girl thrashed and writhed, pulling at her restraints while hissing. I heard a growl and she glared at me, her green eyes showing more yellow in them than before.

  “That wasn’t very nice, Luther.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “Diane never told you my first name. How’d you know it?”

  Shelly started to chuckle, a disconcerting noise. “Oh, we know all about you, Luther Cross. Know about Alistair Carraway, the monks, your mother…and your father.” She gave a broad smile. “Would you like to know who your daddy is?”

  I wanted to empty the whole flask on her face. But it wouldn’t do any good. It would still be in there. No matter what it said, you had to keep your cool, Luther. Remember, these things were known for their lies. You couldn’t believe a word they said. That’s what Alistair told you.

  “You’ve got me at a disadvantage,” I said. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  She snickered. “Satan.”

  The name of a demon is extremely valuable information. You have a demon’s name, you have power over it. That’s why most demons tend to just call themselves Satan. Sure, there’s a devil out there—Lucifer is what he goes by. But “satan” is actually an old Hebrew word that means “adversary.”

  So when a demon tells you its name is Satan, what it’s really telling you is to go fuck yourself.

  “What do you want with Shelly?” I asked.

  “Nothing in particular, just came topside for the first time in a few centuries and thought I’d have some fun.”

  “Like the doctor?”

  Shelly moped. “I don’t think he understood my sense of humor.” She looked me up from top to bottom. “You’re cuter than I pictured. I can see why Mommy gets all tingly when she looks at you. Stuart and his dad-bod just aren’t doing it for her these days. Plus, he’s banging Maria.”

  “Maria?”

  “The housekeeper.”

  She was reading minds. Surface thoughts, it seemed. The demon was starting to get some power, but not much. It needed more time to root itself into Shelly’s body. But I had to know more. Talk with that doctor, see what the demon showed him.

  “Thanks for the chat.” I picked up my bag and walked towards the door.

  “Leaving so soon, Luther? I was hoping we could talk more about your mother.”

  When the demon spoke, I was just about to knock on the door to signal to Diane I was ready to go. The demon’s words made me stop and I held my hand against the door for a moment, looking down at the floor.

  “Oh yes. I know all about Grace Cross.”

  Keep it together, Luther. It’s just a demon.

  “The stories I could tell…”

  My hand drifted towards my jacket. I had the revolver holstered there and part of me wanted to take it out and put a bullet between her eyes. That would shut it up. Would kill the bastard dead.

  But it would also kill Shelly. And blowing off the head of the client’s daughter probably wasn’t a smart career move. I pulled my hand away from the jacket and knocked on the door.

  3

  Maria set a small cup of coffee on a saucer down in front of me at the kitchen table. I thanked her and took the small spoon from the side of the plate and scooped a good helping of sugar into the drink. I stirred then slowly sipped, with Stuart and Diane watching me intently.

  “Your daughter is possessed,” I said after setting the cup back down. “By a demon.”

  Stuart raised an eyebrow and then started to chuckle. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  I reached into my bag on the floor and took out the flask, standing it upright on the table between us. “That’s holy water. Spilled it on her and she went nuts.”

  Diane took the flask and unscrewed the top. She hesitated for a moment, then poured a little on her free hand. Not surprisingly, nothing happened.

  “Harmless to us, but not a demon.” I took the flask back, screwed the lid on, and dropped it into the bag. “She also knew things, things Shelly couldn’t possibly have known. And her eyes—”

  “You saw them, too?” asked Diane, leaning forward.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Stuart, looking between the two of us.

  I focused on Diane. “Yellow, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Yellow eyes? When was this? I never saw any yellow eyes,” said Stuart.

  “Maybe you did, but just convinced yourself you were seeing things, that it was a trick of the light or something,” I said. “But I saw them clear as day. The room was also cold. Far colder than anywhere else in the house—even colder than outside. And the place smelled faintly of sulfur.”

  “Sulfur? What does that have to do with anything?” asked Diane.

  “Back in the old days, sulfur was called brimstone. It was believed that Hell stank of the stuff. Could be that’s true, could be it’s not. Some demons can hide the stench depending on how powerful they are. Others can’t. This is one of the ones who can’t, because I could definitely smell it.”

  Stuart looked at Diane in confusion. “You’re not seriously listening to this crap, are you?”

  I kept quiet and enjoyed my coffee. Diane was clearly a believer, but Stuart was a skeptic. I expected that when I first met him, but it was an annoying setback nonetheless.

  “Something’s wrong with Shelly, you know it is,” said Diane. “You saw what happened to Dr. Weeks.”

  “Weeks freaked out, nothing more. It happens.”

  “And what about the room being so cold? Or the tantrums? Or the smell?”

  “You aren’t seriously suggesting that our daughter is stuck in a horror movie, are you?”

  I looked at my watch. This could go on for hours and I really didn’t want to sit around waiting for them to stop beating around the bush. I cleared my throat quite loudly to get their attention and they both turned and looked at me.

  “I know this is hard to believe, but it’s true. Your daughter is possessed and I can save her.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” said Stuart, rising from his seat. “You’re just some conman putting crazy ideas into my wife’s head. So how about you get the hell out of my house before I call the police?”

  I sighed. Looked like subtle wasn’t going to cut it. I stared at Stuart and my eyes started glowing bright red. Stuart stumbled back in shock, tripping over his chair and landing hard on his ass.

  “Stuart!” Diane gasped and went to his side. She helped him back up and they both looked at me with fear in their eyes.

  “Wh-what the hell was that?” asked Stuart, standing upright now and taking a step back. “What are you?”

  “That’s a long story and it’s not that interesting to begin with.” Not really the whole truth, but telling them I was a cambion probably wouldn’t put them at ease. “Suffice to say, I’m unique. I’ve got knowledge, skills, and certain abilities. I use them to help people like you. Now you can choose to believe me, in which case we can get started on getting that demon out of your daughter. Or you can ignore me, and if that’s your choice, then…”

  “Then Shelly dies?” asked Diane, returning to her seat.

  “The longer that demon stays in her body, the more powerful it gets. Left unchecked, the demon will eventually push Shelly’s soul out completely,” I said. “And at that point, she’ll die. But the demon—and Shelly’s body—will remain.”

  “Oh my god…” Diane covered her mouth.

  “It doesn’t have to come to that. If you hire me, I can get the demon out of her body.”

  “Hire you?” asked Stuart. “You expect money for this?”

  I tried not to, but couldn’t help
rolling my eyes at his apparent disgust. Movies and TV shows always make it look like we do this kind of stuff out of the goodness of our hearts. But I’ve got bills same as anyone else and I’ve gotta pay them somehow.

  “Mr. Harwood, if your daughter needed surgery, would you get angry when the hospital handed you a bill?”

  “No, but that’s diff—”

  “How? How is it different?” I asked. “There’s something in your daughter that needs to come out and you need a specialist to do it.”

  Stuart looked down in defeat. He had no answer.

  “Shouldn’t we go to the church? Get a priest?” asked Diane.

  I scoffed. “A priest won’t do you much good. Since we’ve learned about mental illness, the church has gotten a lot of bad PR on the subject of exorcisms. Not many priests will perform one and the ones that do require an investigation and church approval before they’re allowed to proceed. And demons are good at manipulating people.”

  “But you’ve done this before?” asked Diane.

  “Yes,” I said with a straight face. “I know what has to be done.”

  “Say we agree to this,” said Stuart, now finally taking his seat back at the table. “How much are we talking?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “Dollars? Five thousand dollars?” asked Stuart.

  “This is a very delicate ritual and we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll be putting myself at risk by even attempting the procedure,” I said. “That’s the price. If that’s too much, then—”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Diane. “Money’s not a problem.”

  “So what happens now? You go up there and start the ritual?” asked Stuart.

  “Not yet. First, I need more information. I need to have an idea of what kind of demon we’re dealing with.”

  “There are different kinds of demons?” asked Diane.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “More than you realize. With every bit of knowledge I learn about this demon, I increase the chances of getting your daughter out of this alive.”

  I rose from the chair and they did as well.

  “I’m going to see the psychiatrist you called. Seems he had a pretty intense experience with the demon and it could teach me something valuable.”

  “I’ll get his card.” Stuart excused himself and left the kitchen.

  Diane looked at me with a smile on her face and her eyes made it seem like she was on the verge of bursting into tears. I gave her a smile to try and reassure her.

  “We’ll get Shelly out of this,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said and then hugged me, which took me by surprise. I gave her a gentle hug back, remembering what the demon had said. Sure, the demon may have been lying, but didn’t want to give Diane the wrong idea just in case.

  She broke the embrace and took a step back. “What should we do in the meantime?”

  “Keep her in the room.” I picked up my bag from the floor and set it on the table. I looked through it and found a notebook and pen. Quickly, I sketched out a sigil—pentagram contained inside a circle with Hebrew characters between the points of the star. I tore the page out of the notebook and handed it to Diane. “Draw this symbol on the door. Exactly like this.”

  Diane scrunched her brow. “What is this?”

  “It’s a containment sigil, will keep the demon from leaving the room.”

  Diane nodded.

  “I found the card,” said Stuart, coming back into the kitchen. He held out a business card for Harold Weeks and I took it.

  “Thanks. I should get going.” I nodded to both of them and started to walk towards the exit. Before leaving the kitchen, I realized something and stopped, turning back to face them. “Oh, one more thing. The demon will try to manipulate you. Try and trick you. It will call out to you with Shelly’s voice. Whatever you do, don’t listen to it. Draw that symbol on the door and keep it shut.”

  4

  The first step in any supernatural investigation was to figure out what you’re up against. I knew it was a demon, but what kind of demon was the question. The more powerful the demon, the more potent the exorcism ritual has to be. Could also determine what ingredients needed to enhance the ritual. And what demon you’re talking about could determine what route you take with the ritual.

  Demons possess humans for a variety of different reasons. A powerful demon can physically manifest itself on Earth, but lesser ones have to possess a human to ride around topside. So some do it just to get out of Hell. Others will possess a human to feed off the negative energy.

  And then there are those who do it just to get their rocks off.

  The demon inside Shelly didn’t really exhibit any signifying abilities. Surface mind-reading, glowing eyes, all pretty standard. So I had to go deeper and that meant speaking with Dr. Harold Weeks. The Harwoods said he left screaming, so maybe Shelly showed or told him something the parents weren’t aware of.

  But getting in touch with Weeks was easier said than done. I tried calling his office and got a voicemail saying it was closed until further notice. So I tracked down his address and tried speaking to his wife. She wrote down where I could find him.

  And that’s how I ended up here—standing at the front entrance of the Northview Center for Mental Health Services. I took the cigarette from my mouth and crushed it beneath my heel before I walked up the steps and through the automatic doors.

  The front desk was operated by a young orderly in his twenties with a goatee and his head shaved. He looked at me and offered a smile. “How can I help you, sir?”

  I took off my sunglasses and looked him in the eyes. My irises flashed just a little and I held open my wallet. “My name is Detective Luther Cross, I’m here to see a patient named Harold Weeks.” Through the glamour, the orderly saw my wallet as a police badge.

  “What’s the purpose of your visit?” he asked.

  I sucked air through my teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to divulge any details of the investigation.”

  “I see…just a moment…”

  The orderly picked up the phone and pushed a few buttons, no doubt calling an extension in the building. I looked away and pretended to not pay attention, but in reality, I focused my hearing to try and pick up the conversation. The orderly intentionally spoke in a quiet voice, but I heard him tell whoever it was that I was here for Weeks. Couldn’t pick up the voice on the other end of the line, unfortunately.

  “Detective? Could you have a seat over in the waiting area? Dr. Hickman would like to speak with you.”

  I nodded my thanks to the orderly and went over to the waiting area, taking a seat. Shouldn’t have expected them to let me go walking around by myself. Hickman must be the doctor in charge of Weeks’ case, so made sense he was the one I’d have to speak with. I waited patiently and after about five minutes, I saw a man in slacks and a black sweater over a collared shirt and tie enter the room. He wore thick glasses and his silver hair ended at his temples with the overhead light shining off his bald scalp.

  “Detective Cross?” he asked as he came over to me, offering his hand. I stood and shook it. “My name is Dr. Hickman, Chief of Psychiatry here at Northview.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”

  “Would you mind following me so we can speak in private?” he asked, gesturing back the way he came.

  I smiled and nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Hickman led me down the corridor and into his office. He gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his desk and I sat in one as he settled into the seat behind the desk. I looked at the framed degrees and commendations on the wall behind him. Hickman folded his hands and rested them on the desk’s surface, leaning forward.

  “I understand you want to see Harold Weeks.”

  I nodded.

  “And it’s in regards to an investigation?”

  “It is, but I’m afraid—”

  Hickman held up his hand. “It’s confidential in nature. Yes, I heard. But you see, we have a little
problem, Detective Cross.”

  “What sort of problem?”

  “Dr. Weeks is…” Hickman paused and sighed. “I’m afraid he’s not well. He suffered a psychotic break recently.”

  “What kind of break?”

  “He’s been experiencing paranoid delusions. Right now, he’s heavily medicated and he won’t speak. I’m not even sure he could give you the answers you seek.”

  “Please, Doctor. I have to try,” I said. “A little girl’s life could depend on it.”

  Hickman studied me with curiosity. I stared right back into his eyes, my irises glowing red. It was one thing to cast a glamour on someone and make them see a wallet as a police badge. But influencing someone, getting them to do something they didn’t want to do, that was harder. I already felt myself getting a little tired as I tried to push Hickman to do what I wanted.

  “I suppose a few minutes alone wouldn’t hurt,” said Hickman. “Although I have to warn you, I doubt he’ll be very responsive.”

  “That’s fine, I at least have to try.”

  We both rose and Hickman led me from his office to the ward. As we walked through the halls of Northview, Hickman told me a little about the place, the kinds of illnesses they treated here, and what the facilities were like. I mostly ignored him, nodding politely the whole time. I had no interest in Northview or Hickman’s work, I just wanted to know what Harold Weeks knew.

  We stopped at a patient’s room and Hickman opened the door for me. I stepped inside and turned to address the chief of psychiatry. “Thanks.”

  “Five minutes, that’s it,” he said. “I doubt Dr. Weeks could handle much more.”

  I nodded and Hickman closed the door. I turned away from it and looked around the small, white room. There was a single bed in the corner and not really much else except a rocking chair facing a window. A man in his fifties sat in the chair, his eyes wide open as he stared out the window, his mouth agape beneath his mustache.

  “Dr. Weeks?” I stepped closer to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. The rocking stopped but Weeks didn’t even acknowledge my presence. “My name’s Luther Cross. I’d like to talk to you about Shelly Harwood.”