THIRTY-TWO
The production assistant next to Father Ross cocked his head to one side as he listened to the incoming instructions through his headset. He nodded. “Understood.”
The assistant then turned to the priest and his surrounding zombie entourage. “It’s show time Father,” he said and gestured with his IPad towards the back of the main grandstand were Ross could see a camera crew was waiting no doubt to accompany him out into the arena.
The Canadian girl slipped her arm through Ross’ once more. “Just stick with me, Father,” she said with genuine warmth.
‘Showtime,’ Ross thought to himself as he was led over to the edge of the arena. Up ahead he could see the rest of the demonettes going through a complicated dance number to the accompaniment of a vaguely familiar heavy metal song which was blasting out of the massive PA as a steady cam operator weaved deftly amongst them.
He glanced to his right as they walked to see an ambulance parked out of the way amongst half a dozen production trucks and vans. Two Paramedics (God he hoped they were real and not just two more performers) were lent against the vehicle sharing a cigarette.
One of them looked up and smiled somewhat embarrassed seeing the priest staring back. He half-heartedly waved and then made great play of studying the stethoscope hung loosely around his neck.
‘See you soon,’ Ross thought gravely.
It was strange, but as they finally got to their mark where the camera crew were waiting and Ross could see the show playing out in front of him in greater, theatrical detail. It actually made him feel better.
Despite everything he had learnt over the past weeks. Seeing all the behind the scenes artifice of the show and the all too real sweat on the performers faces of demon time up close. He allowed himself to entertain the thought that it might all still be okay.
Minx was real, of that there was no doubt. But would they really let the creature, which he had to admit had been emasculated to the point of parody by Hauser’s tricks and charms. Hurt, even kill him?
Ross thought back as they stood there waiting for whatever cue would signal his arrival into this circus. Wasn’t it true that in all the shows he had seen, the priests involved had never actually been hurt by Minx? Not physically at least. Had they?
He racked his brains and ran through each show in his head. There had been injuries, that was for sure. But these were only truly self-inflicted as they tore and beat themselves trying to rid themselves of the nightmares Minx induced. That and of course the rapid, blind panic driven exits they endured at the end.
One he recalled had even dived out of a top floor window. Which had taken no little effort as they were obviously reinforced to help keep the demon in.
The young priest glanced down at the bible grasped tightly in his hand and decided then and there that he wasn’t going to play this game by Michael Davis’ twisted rules. He had far too much respect for the book and more so for what it represented.
And with that, a great sense of calm came over him. He could finally see how he could take control of the events unfolding in front of him. He was mentally strong, and even more advantageous than that was the fact he had knowledge of Minx being all too real. And the name of the one man who had been the author of his current incarceration and humiliation. Karl Hauser.
The creature couldn’t possibly know the German hadn’t been able to impart some all-conquering wisdom to him during their brief time together in Mexico. For all Minx knew he could kill the thing with a simple phrase. If that was how things worked in this strange new world he now found himself in of course.
Besides, it was clear from the brief glimpse one got of the creature from show to show that it was getting frailer by the episode. Cooped up and humiliated as it was, unable to fulfil its one and only raison d’etre. To make Michael Davis suffer. And not how it had turned out, the other way around.
And of course, if push came to shove, Ross was more than prepared to beat the crap out of the abomination with his bare hands, live on the internet, if that’s what it took to put an end to this whole travesty.
Ross had been so lost in his new found hope that he hadn’t notice the music and stage show had come to an end. He was literally pulled back into reality by a tug on his arm from the Canadian girl who along with her three deathly made up colleagues had begun to lead him out from behind the packed grand stand and into the arena itself.
They were greeted by a massive ‘whoop’ from the crowd as he was hit with a bright spotlight, blinding him for a moment as they walked slowly across the grass and towards the low stage, where Dex Dexter was waiting flanked at either side by five demonettes waving black pom-poms in time with the new music blaring from the P.A.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dexter announced. “I give you, Father Shane Ross!”
This was greeted by a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd as they finally reached the stage.
“Off you go, Father,” the Canadian cheerleader said as she ushered him up on the stage. “Bon chance,” and with that she and the other three made their exit whilst waving enthusiastically to the crowd. A moment later they were joined by the rest of the undead troupe leaving the two men alone on stage.
Dex Dexter was at Ross’ side in an instant and moved him effortlessly to a taped cross in the middle of the stage, where he was once more hit by a bright follow spot coming from high up on a lighting gantry situated behind the main stand.
Dexter put an arm around the priest and the two of them stood there soaking up the crowd’s reaction. And after what seemed like a full five minutes to the priest the crowd finally began to quieten down.
As they stood there, Michael Davis studied the priest from his elevated vantage point. There was something about the young man’s demeanour he didn’t like. Although he couldn’t quite put his finger on just what it was.
“Another cocky one,” Tiff said and moved to his side.
Was that it? Davis wondered. The priest didn’t seem at all fazed by the upcoming clash with Minx or by the crowd and assorted cameras around him. Not that that was anything new, most of the others had gone in with an air of self-righteousness about them. All eager to crash head long towards the vindication they so desperately craved.
“Yeah,” he said but it was something more.
“Minx will soon put a stop to that,” one of the others said with smug edge to their voice.
Let’s hope so, Davis thought but kept it to himself.
“Well Father,” Dexter said and squeezed Ross’ shoulder. “That was quite the reaction.” He took a look at the priest. “I must say, you do look confident.” He tapped the bible in Ross’ hand with his microphone. “So what tricks do you have up your sleeve? Does it have anything in the good book for what you are about to receive? Must admit I’ve never read the thing myself. Not enough pictures for me.”
This won him a few muted titters from the crowd.
“C’mon, Father. What have you got planned?”
“Can you keep a secret?” Ross asked him, his voice calm.
Dexter pulled him closer. “Sure, after all it’s just you and me,” he said conspiratorially and gave an exaggerated wink to the crowd.
“Well Dex,” Ross said but addressed the grandstand. “To be quite honest, I’m here to shut this shit down.”
This won a condescending ‘oooohh!’ from the audience.
Dexter laughed. “Well I have to admit I admire your confidence, Father. But I do seem to remember your four predecessors felt the same way. Before going into the house that is,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder.
Ross shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. He could feel the house and it’s occupant behind him like a physical presence. He had to concentrate on keeping the dark thoughts of what he might find inside to the back of his mind.
“That may very well be true,” Ross said. “But I know what scares that thing.”
Again the crowd let out an “ooohhh.”
“Well, well, Father,” Dexter said. He tapped the bible yet again. “All in there I guess? You must have rock solid faith in your God is all I can say.”
Ross shook his head and gently pushed the bible into Dexter’s stomach. A little taken aback the host inadvertently took a hold of it.
“Keep it,” Ross told him. “As a wise man once told me. Sometimes faith isn’t enough.”
Dexter grasped the book awkwardly nearly dropping it. He seemed a little flustered by this turn of events, but no sooner had he realised that he turned on the charm once more.
“A brave man indeed,” the host said. “Ladies and gentlemen. What do you say we get this show on the road?”
The crowd roared its approval.
Dexter was about to manoeuvre Ross towards the house then the priest pulled away. He turned to look directly into the nearest camera, and was rewarded by seeing a red light above the lens go on. He gave a smile as he stared down the barrel of the camera.
Up in the production office, Michael Davis turned to look at the live feed. The priest seemed to be staring directly at him.
This was confirmed then Ross said. “Oh, and by the way. I have a message for Michael Davis.”
There was an audible gasp from the others around Davis.
The priest smiled ever so slightly. It was a knowing smile and it scared Davis almost as much as the creature did.
“Karl Hauser says hi.”
Fuck. Davis mind began to whirl, shock clouded his thoughts. He half tried to tell Miller to cut the feed, to stop the show as something was terribly wrong here. But all he could do was mumble something even he didn’t catch.
“Oookay,” Dexter said uncomprehending. And was about to speak again when an unholy shriek came from inside the house.
“HAUSER!!!!” Minx screeched.
The whole arena gasped in shock as the word tore through them. Excitement replaced by total terror. Several people got to their feet, ready to flee, at the first sign of anything unholy bursting out of the house.
Ross bit back a cry of his own. Fear twisted his guts at the word which seemed to come from a deep dark place of utter loathing. He had gambled on the German’s name putting fear and doubt into the monster and Davis alike. He didn’t know how the producer had reacted to the name. But he was now in no doubt what the creature felt. He had hoped for fear but had gotten hate instead, a dangerous miscalculation?
Dexter was babbling something in slack jawed shock at his side, but the priest tuned him out. Tuned everything out but the task at hand. The gargantuan effort of just putting one foot in front of the other as he turned and walked stiffly off the low stage and over to the porch. He had to fight every fibre of his being which was screaming. Run!!
But somehow he managed to urge himself on. Up onto the porch and step by laboured step over to the front door.
He held out a shaking hand towards the handle but the door opened by itself, screaming on seemingly ancient hinges and he was met with a blast of cold rancid air.
And so with the world watching, Father Shane Ross walked into the darkness of the house and disappeared from sight as the door shut behind him.