ONE
The battered and blooded priest hung suspended in the air some three feet from the bare floor boards, gasping for breath. One of his eyes was stuck shut from the dried blood that covered half his face from a wound that he had sustained only seconds after entering the building. The other, half closed and blackened itself was staring longingly down at the tattered bible that lay on the floor, just out of reach.
He stretched out his right arm, the least damaged of the two. His broken fingers at full stretch but the force holding him there moved him back ever so slightly so he just couldn’t quite reach. So close, yet so far.
He let out a sob of anguish. If only he could reach the book, he knew that somewhere within its well-thumbed pages was the answer to his present torment. The priest offered up a whispered prayer, but the book moved no closer.
“More prayers?” The thing in the corner of the sparse, foul smelling room said with mild amusement. “Is that really all you have left, Father?”
Even now, the creature’s voice turned the priest’s bowls to water. That sickening mixture of falsetto, baritone and bass, all in one, over lapping, making each word a torment to the ear.
“Demon,” he spat in weak defiance through broken teeth. The bloody spittle splattered the floor boards and hissed like water on a hot plate. He glanced at the bible, half expecting it to burst into flames.
“Demon?” The thing replied. “Yes,” it lamented. “But a reluctant one, if that helps?”
It didn’t.
The demon snapped its bony fingers theatrically and the priest dropped to the floor, knocking the wind right out of him. He screamed, expecting the floor boards to be white hot, but they were just cold and damp smelling against his feverish cheek.
Just another of the creature’s sick jokes, of which there had been legion tonight. He had endured so many in his time in the house. How long had it been now? Minutes? Hours? Since this nightmare had begun? Whichever, it felt like a lifetime.
The priest cursed himself for taking on this fool’s exorcism. He had thought himself ready to banish this abomination back to the pit, to put an end to this whole travesty. His pride before this mighty fall made him want to weep now, but he wouldn’t give the thing the satisfaction. It may have broken his body, but it would never break his spirit.
He took a moment to catch his breath, to muster up what little courage he had left. Then slowly, painfully he began to crawl over towards the bible.
It burst into flames and was ash in an instant. He let out a howl of despair despite himself. “God!” He screamed.
“Oh, not in here,” the demon taunted wearily, clearly growing bored of priest baiting. “But who knows? If you scream loud enough, your God may hear you.”
The priest began to sob now, all thought of composure in front of the creature gone the way of hope.
“I will kill you now, Father.” The thing said with a dispassionate finality. Its voice was so close to his ear that the priest turned his head in horror, expecting it to be knelt over him. But it hadn’t moved from the corner of the room, where it had squatted this whole time. The smell of urine stung his sinus. He had wet himself in his terror, one final humiliation.
“Oh, God,” he sobbed, not in prayer this time but in utter despair.
The door to the room slowly opened, screaming on its hinges as if it hadn’t been opened in a thousand years.
“I offered you the door when you first arrived, priest.” The demon reminded him. “You refused me then. How about now?”
The priest could see through the open door way, down the long entrance corridor and to the front door. It opened now, revealing the night beyond.
He got to his knees with every sinew in his body screaming in protest, and turned to the demon. That was a mistake that would haunt him to his dying day. He locked eyes with the thing for the briefest of moments, but that was more than enough for the desolation he saw there to scar him for life.
It wasn’t the lack of life in them, far from it. Those dusky twin pools of darkness told of centuries of unfathomable wretchedness. Of a dozen lives lived in misery and torment both given and most definitely received.
It shrugged as innocently as such a creature could and when it spoke again, it was with pure malice. “I can’t swear I will offer it a third time.”
The priest scrambled to his feet and ran screaming from the room and out into the corridor, which seemed to stretch out of sight as he stumbled his way towards the open front door. With every step he expected a killer blow to the back of his head or some new horror dreamt up by the beast to come into view. But there was nothing, feet from the open front doorway he felt the cool night air on his face, and it felt like an angel’s kiss. He stumbled on out of the hell house and into the welcoming arms of the night.
And the crowd went wild.
The priest was instantly blinded by half a dozen spotlights, he fell to his knees and did his best to shield his eyes from the harsh light. The sound of a crowd cheering was all around him. In all the confusion of the house and his battle with the creature, the priest had forgotten where he actually was. Then it came back to him. Of course, the TV show.
Demon time.
Shadows running towards him now, some with cameras another with a microphone which was unceremoniously thrust into his face.
“Father, Father,” the microphone’s owner shouted to be heard above the crowd, which were seated on bleachers high up all around him. The host crouched down next to him, grinning like a loon. “Oh, Father Winthorpe. So close, you nearly lasted ten minutes in there. Looks like you took one hell of a beating. Do you have any words for the fans?”
Only ten minutes? Winthorpe thought through the fog of pain and disorientation, surely it must have been ten hours.
“Paramedics...” Winthorpe just managed to get out before pitching face first into the grass and oblivion, and was thankful for it.