Archive for April, 2015

One of my favorite people on twitter recently challenged folks to go ‘outside their comfort zone’. I proposed a redneck, ex-gay-porn star exorcist. Here’s my opening. What do you think? Finish or no?

Exorcism, like tech support, often ends up with somebody asking to escalate to a higher level. That’s how I got involved.

The B team had got themselves in a world of shit, literally. Demons have a weird sense of humor, and a good notion of what upsets your garden variety human. Nobody likes shit. So he (or it, to be technical) gave it to them. Literally.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” I sighed as I entered the room. Father Joshua (the guy who had thrown in the towel and called me, mind you) did a double take, eyes bugged out in righteous shock, and I flipped him the bird. The ‘patient’ cackled like a loon, ripped a prodigious fart, and did a three-sixty with his head.

“Yeah, I saw that movie,” I sighed, and gestured for Joshua to take his crew and hit the showers. As they slipped outside and slammed the door, I drew back my duster and let the ‘patient’ have a good look at the Python on my hip. He was having a little trouble maintaining the “I am so wicked and I am about to eat your soul” pose. It was the wide-eyed, “Oh, shit!” look that gave him away. Definitely a B-teamer.

I flashed him a wicked grin. “New Sheriff in town, Poindexter. This can go easy or it can go hard, but one way or another, it’s eviction day.”

The demon swoll up like a tick and played badass. “Cocksucker! Motherfucker!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, as it happens, I have seen a few up close, now that you mention it. Fucked a mother or two, too, but none kin to me.” I fingered the Python, just long enough to make my point.

“Fuck you!” the demon bawled. “Shoot! I got nothing to lose!”

You know, they do this wicked laugh that chills your average exorcist to the bone. I’m pretty sure they feel the same way when I give them mine. “You sure you don’t want to escalate now? This ain’t gonna be pretty. Run along, boy, and put your daddy on the phone.”

“Rotting bag of meat! I’ll feast on your soul!”

I expected no less. There was never a demon that saw discretion as the better part of valor. “Fair warning given. Last chance. You sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck you!” Not a good sign for him. He was already repeating himself.

“It’s your funeral,” I told him, knowing that was a lie. Mortals find peace from their mistakes at some point. Demons, they have to live with it forever.

Not that I felt sorry enough for him to explain that little wrinkle.