17 Sep Craig’s Demon

The air in the room was frigid and stank of rotting meat. The unearthly groans spewing from the small, spindly creature’s mouth chilled Maddie to her core. The vile words it used to remind her of her every mistake and shortcoming filled her with shame and sadness. Things worsened when it began pulling her dead mother’s precious name into its swirling vortex of profanity and cruelty; there were no sacred cows here.

The child-shaped monster jumped from the bed, horrifying and sickening Maddie, causing her to gasp as it fell three feet in front of her. She stifled her screams when its knees snapped in the opposite direction, its legs now resembling those of an animal. Its scalp was a hodgepodge of bloody patches where it had yanked out its hair. Raven eyes with scarlet irises glided forward with a muted squish.

Please don’t let ‘em pop out, Maddie thought. I’m sick enough as it is. Fear froze her, leaving

her unable to flee, unable to defend herself.

The disjointed ghoul crept toward her like a spider getting ready to feast on its struggling prey. With each step, the creature snapped its head toward a piece of furniture, willing it to fall over; the terrifying result made the whole room shake. The demon’s jaws creaked as it opened its mouth wide enough to fit a football. It unleashed long, ear-splitting wails that fell somewhere between the howls of hell’s tortured souls and a lunatic’s laugh. Then it fell silent and smiled. “Wanna see something scary?” it asked Maddie.

It clomped towards a bedroom wall, but instead of stopping, it walked up and across the ceiling, where it hung upside down like an oversized bat. “Maddie, Maddie, such a whore. Maddie, Maddie, bolt the dooor!”

Maddie broke free of her horror and scrambled to the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her. She secured the bolt she’d installed when the thing first turned feral. Her pounding nerves pulsed, making her whole being quake. “God, help me . . . pleeease!”

Maddie struggled to accept that a week prior, the malevolent demon haunting her bedroom had been her nine-year-old son, Silas.

* * * * * *

Craig hated going to the grocery store and was glad of it. If he enjoyed going there, he’d visit more often, which would be terrible, because he hated going to the grocery store. Today’s mission was a simple one: Strawberry Pop Tarts for him and a box of twat-stoppers for Lorna. He made sure he got the exact brand she’d demanded; otherwise, she’d never let him forget it. She was still angry with him for giving away the ending to the movie Titanic.

Craig was inches away from a clean getaway with his items when, just before entering the express lane, a short, stumpy woman cut him off. She was a loathsome, half-witted hobbit who’d

somehow shoe-horned her flabby body into a black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and a bulging pair of tiger-striped workout leotards.

“Scuse me, hon. I got young ‘uns bakin’ in the truck,” she said through neon pink lips that looked like the boys down at Gas Monkey Garage had painted on.

The woman showed no consideration for Craig. To make matters worse, she had no regard for the universal supermarket rule of ten items or less in the express lane. She’d filled her cart with such culinary curiosities as Cheetos, Fritos, Doritos, Hi-Ho’s, Lo-Ho’s, Yo-Ho’s, Fudgy Ding-a-lings, and a six-pack of diet soda.

Craig wondered at this point in the game if washing down a box of Little Debbie’s with a diet soda wasn’t like tossing a sponge into the Atlantic. Come on, gal, start livin’ la vida loca! Grab that 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and chug, baby, chug! he thought.

Adding insult to injury, Jabba the Nut was attempting to pay for her sugary treasure with a third party, post-dated, out-of-state, starter check drawn on the Bank of Tehran. The bride of Frankenberry finished her transaction and left, leaving Craig and others in line to ponder why lightning wasn’t more selective.

Craig was happy the worst was over—that is until he saw the cashier. With a groan, he thought, Everyone, please remain seated, cos now that the opening act has primed the annoyance pump, it’s time for tonight’s headliner to take the stage. Let’s give a big round-o-sound, kids, for Trudy the Surly Cashier!

Trudy represented the worst in cashier-dom. She’d been ringing up pork chops and dental floss for far too many years. The harrowing, soul-sucking journey was leaving her bitter, tired,

and broken. Every customer she encountered was like a yammering  half-wit to her, someone

who’d squabble over an expired three-cent coupon on a can of creamed corn.

Craig’s experience as a battle-worn shopper made him aware that this was the precise moment when Trudy would adopt the role of an army field interrogator. Captured Syrian insurgents don’t undergo the kind of grillin’ I’m about to endure, thought Craig.

In a monotone, rapid-fire manner, Trudy’s questions started flying around like hamsters caught in a Kenmore’s spin cycle. “Do-you-have-your-store-card-do-you-want-paper-or-plastic-did-you-find-everything-okay-do-you-have-any-coupons-are-you-eligible-for-a-student-or-senior-citizen-discount-will-this-be-cash-check-credit-or-debit-would-you-like-help-loading-your-groceries, sir?

Unable to hear that fast, Craig felt under-prepared, and a little intimidated, so he had to give the questions some thought. If he were being honest, most of them were reasonable, except for two: “Did you find everything okay?” and “Would you like help loading your groceries?”

Craig responded to the first one. “Well, let’s see. I only have two items here. First, I found this one, and then I found that one. So yes, I’m quite comfortable stating for the official record I did indeed find everything okay. As for needin’ help loadin’ my purchases, let’s give ‘em a looksy-loo, shall we? Hmmm, I have two items that I can fit easily into my glove box. In the words of Toby Keith, ‘I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.’ So, in reply to your affront to my manliness, I’ll have to say, yeah; I think I can manage the load.”

Craig smiled triumphantly, taking pride in his surgical dismantling of Trudy. But as Lorna often said regarding family gatherings, “It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt, then it’s hilarious!”

Trudy rang up the two items, and Craig handed her his credit card. She processed the transaction and handed Craig the receipt, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

What’s so humorous, ya ole witch? he wondered. Then he realized this was when he’d pay for 

his insolence. Because this was when, after charging the items, he’d have to sign the charge slip. Trudy had set a trap for him, and his arrogance and foolishness had led him right into it. Now he faced the consequences of a powerful and shrewd opponent. To his great horror, Craig realized that the only pen available was the one Trudy had been using to scratch her nasty head. The devil with a blue smock on was going so hard at the back of her greasy orb that he couldn’t tell whether she was mining coal or dislodging a stubborn tick. Auuugh! he inwardly screeched.

The corners of Trudy’s lips stretched upward, displaying a wicked, toothless grin.

Her contorted face reminded Craig of The Grinch, only uglier and with far less charm.

“Need a pen, hon?” she mewed.

“NOOO!” Craig wailed. Not that he didn’t need a pen; he didn’t want that pen. He summoned his daring and looked Trudy straight in the eye that wasn’t wandering. “Okay, sister. We can settle this minor dilemma in one of two ways. You can sanitize that pen—perhaps with some of that industrial strength solvent you’re using as perfume—or I can chew off my hand and sign my name with the bloody stump.”

Trudy’s legend as a grizzled veteran of checkout counter showdowns was well known among the townsfolk. She was radiant as she took notice of the sweat beads leaking through the pores on Craig’s twitching face. The apprehension in his uncertain eyes was the cherry on top. She’d seen that look countless times, and it never ceased to delight her.

The checkout line fell silent as the other customers stared on in suspense at the clash of the two titans. In that desperate moment, Craig could’ve sworn he heard a lone wolf howling in the

distance, its haunting song drifting along on a cold prairie wind from the dairy section. His confidence wavered like a girl scout who just lipped off at Conor McGregor.

Trudy drew first, calling Craig’s bluff. “Shall I void your purchase, or are you gonna stand

there scratchin’ yer balls while the rest of us wait?”

A small boy who looked to be about seven called out to Craig. “Don’t do it, mister! Don’t let her win!”

“Steady, son,” his mother said, putting her arm around his thin shoulders, and pulling him closer. “Sometimes a man has got to come to terms with his limitations.”

“But, Ma,” the boy replied, “who’ll stand up for us now?”

An elderly man near the back of the ever-growing line encouraged Craig. “He’s right, young fella. Why don’t cha hop up on the counter? We, the common folk, will see you there, and it will give us hope.”

Craig shivered under Trudy’s glacial glare. The woman was an oak: stoic, strong, and immovable. He hated letting the other shoppers down after he’d given them a small taste of victory over the dark domain that was Trudy’s express line. But he knew they’d picked the wrong savior. Trudy was another female conqueror in his miserable life over which he held no power.

“I’m sorry folks,” Craig said mournfully. “I know y’all and Bonnie Tyler have been holdin’ out for a hero, but I just ain’t him.”

He looked at the young boy who’d cheered him on. “Don’t fret, lil fella. A hero will come one day, and that hero might just be you.”

“Shove it, daffodil!” the child shouted, flipping Craig the bird.

Everyone in the checkout line lowered their heads in dejection, their gleeful grins fading into gloomy frowns of surrender.
Craig sighed, wallowing in the humiliation of his failure. He accepted he had no choice but to give in and use Trudy’s pen/skull probe to sign his name. His thoughts were somber. Resistance is futile; her will is too strong. I’m Ned Culpepper and she’s Rooster Cogburn chargin’ across a smoky field, reins in her teeth, a revolver in one hand, and a Winchester in the other.

And so it was, with solemn acquiescence coated with a putrid oil of revulsion, that Craig grimly . . . achingly . . . signed his name.

* * * * * *

Craig chucked the small bag of items through the open window of his truck, nearly hitting his dog, El Superbo, in his big, empty noggin. As he walked around to the driver’s side door, his cellphone chirped. He pulled it from his wrinkled cargo shorts and glanced at the caller ID. It was his cousin, Maddie, calling. Although the two were close—more like siblings than cousins—their busy lives kept them from keeping in touch. Craig figured it must be something important for her to call him out of the blue. He swiped the call button. “Hey there, Maddie. It’s been a while. Is everything—”

“Craig, I need your help,” Maddie blubbered. “It’s Silas!”

Craig had never heard his cousin so distraught. She was one of the most upbeat people he knew. She stayed strong for herself and Silas, even when her loser husband, Danny, left to start a band combining country and rap music, a genre Lorna nicknamed, “Crap.” For her to cry out for help, it must’ve been something awful. “Slow ride, take it easy,” said Craig. “Tell me what’s goin’ on with my little buddy, Silas.”

Maddie choked back her emotions long enough to make herself understood. “Craig . . . he’s changed. I think he might be possessed.”

Craig’s first thought was that Silas was acting out—Lord knew he had a right to. But after the bizarre and haunting experiences he and Lorna had gone through over the last several months, he took Maddie’s concern seriously. “Okay, Maddie, I wanna help ya. But first, ya gotta get somewhere quiet. There’s too many people yellin’ in the background.”

“That ain’t a group of people, Craig—that’s Silas.”

* * * * * *

Craig parked his truck in front of Maddie’s puke green, two-story house. From the outside, everything was peaceful: birds were singing, bees were buzzing, and a fuzzy kitten was crapping in the yard.

“It’s best you stay here,” Craig said to El Superbo, who was gnawing on his favorite chew toy, a large stuffed giraffe. “I ain’t exactly sure what’s goin’ on inside of there, but I got a feelin’ it might be somethin’ scary. And we don’t do scary too good, do we, boy?”

Craig remembered the cowardly way he and El Superbo had conducted themselves during the fiasco in the woods around his daddy’s place. Even now, he wondered if he should fire up the truck and peel out before the going got tough. He felt a sharp twinge of shame about how easily the idea had occurred to him. But then, he hailed from a long line of cowards.

Craig’s great grandfather on his daddy’s side, Cooder Wankemoff, had survived the sinking of the Lusitania by fashioning a life raft made entirely out of women and children. Mary “Poots” McFadden, his maternal grandmother, had had a disabling dread of heights—her husband,

Jeremiah, had feared widths. Craig accepted early on that spinelessness flowed through his veins

like sissified sap after wearing floaties to his baptism—when he was fifteen years old.

“Come on now,” Craig grumbled to himself. “This is Maddie we’re talkin’ about. She’s in there with God knows what, and you’re out here marinatin’ in chicken poop soup.”

Craig looked at the rundown house ahead of him and frowned at its sorry state since Danny had left. Unkempt hedges surrounded the front like a spiky, green moat. Knee-high grass, a couple of scraggly dogwoods, and a cracked birdbath covered in white splotches made the property look like a magazine cover for Better Homes and Landfills. The only thing missing from the neglected yard was a For Sale by Neighbors sign.

Craig turned to El Superbo. “I gotta go in there, don’t I? I gotta do this for Maddie and Silas. Don’t s’pose you wanna go in with me, do ya?”

El Superbo belched and began dry humping the giraffe.

“That’s what I figured,” Craig sighed. He got out of the truck, slammed the door shut, and walked toward the house.

With his knuckles raised, ready to knock on the porch door, it flew open and a hand shot out, grabbing his t-shirt, and hauling him inside.

* * * * * *

“Thank God, you’re here,” Maddie bawled. “I think Silas is gettin’ worse. He rails against me and God non-stop. I ain’t slept more than an hour or two in the last few days. And even then, I have terrible dreams.

“When did it all start?” Craig asked.

“About two weeks ago,” Maddie said, rubbing her red eyes with the balls of her palms. “The first time he showed signs that somethin’ was wrong, he woke up with a fever. He wasn’t

coughin’ or sick on his stomach; his skin was hot—boiling. Then the night terrors started. He’d wake up screamin’ and flailin’ a couple of times each night.”

“What kind of bad dreams was they?”

“It was always the same one. He’d find himself in a pitch-black space. He said it was cold and smelled like rotten eggs and dead things. He couldn’t see through the darkness, but he could hear people shufflin’ around him, moanin’ and weepin’. Sometimes, they’d brush up against him. He said they felt so cold it took his breath away, like when ya jump in a freezin’ pond. Somebody with a scary voice was callin’ his name from far off. He said that as they drew closer, he felt a terror growin’ inside him. He wanted to run, but in the blackness, he didn’t know which direction to go. He cried out for help, but nobody answered him except for that voice in the shadows; it kept callin’ his name. He said that after a while, he felt a breath on his neck and heard a voice whisper, ‘Mama can’t hear you in hell.’”

Fear sprinkled small, cold dots on Craig’s skin. He wondered again if he’d made the right choice in coming. The pleading look on Maddie’s haggard face reminded him he had. “What came next?”

“His entire personality changed. He got angry over little things. Then it got worse—so much worse. His body started twistin’ into horrible shapes; his eyes turned black as onyx. Then he turned violent and mean. Oh, Craig, you wouldn’t believe some of the terrible things he said about me, things he couldn’t possibly know.”

“When’s the last time you checked on him?”

“About an hour ago. His room got quiet, so I went up there, hopin’ that he’d finally gone to sleep. But he wasn’t sleepin’— he was . . . levitatin’. His body was spread out like Jesus on the

cross. I heard these quick, loud rips, then holes appeared in his palms and feet. They was oozin’ black slime—Lord, how it stank! I wanted to scream until my throat seized up, but by then, I’d plum run outta screams. Speakin’ of which, you might wanna prepare for what you’re gonna see up there. Try hard not to panic. Fear only makes it laugh.”

“Will he hurt us?” asked Craig, his jaw tight with tension.

“If it wants to.”

“Why are you callin’ Silas, ‘it’? He’s still your child, Maddie.”

Maddie’s chest hitched; fresh tears trailed down her pale cheeks. “Because I don’t rightly know where my baby is now. But I know that demon-thing upstairs ain’t him.”

Craig’s nose whistled as he exhaled. “All right, let’s go check it out.”

Craig took his time ascending the steep staircase. He felt as if he were sneaking into a lion’s cage to steal its meat. He heard Maddie following him. The creaking of their footsteps on the stairs sounded like thunder in the eerie silence. As they walked, he noticed short, nervous breaths filling the air, only to realize they were coming from him. When he reached the top, he hesitated, almost causing Maddie to rear-end him.

“You got this, Craig?”

Craig swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah, Maddie, I got this. Do you wanna go first, or does it matter?”

“It might be best if it sees a new face. Maybe it’ll feel outnumbered.”

“Works for me.” Craig crept to the bedroom door and readied himself. He eased open the door.

He was relieved and surprised to see Silas sitting up in bed, smiling as if he’d finished

watching a funny cartoon. The boy looked normal: no holes, no screaming, and no floating in midair. Normal.

“Silas?” Craig asked. “That chu, boy?”

“Well, who else was you expectin’?” Silas asked cheerfully.

He looked at Maddie. “Mama, are you okay? You look tired and sad.” Silas looked surprised by the toppled furniture littering his room. “Mama, what happened to my stuff? Was there an earthquake while I was sleeping?”

Maddie took cautious steps toward Silas’ bed, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of

danger. “Baby, are ya okay? Are ya better now?” she asked tentatively.

Maddie’s concern deepened the boy’s confusion. “Of course, Mama. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Seeing no signs of spiritual shenanigans, annoyance began overtaking Craig’s initial relief. “Maddie,” he said in a gruff tone. “A word with you outside, please.” He turned and stormed from the room.

Maddie sensed his anger; she had an idea why he was upset.

She pulled Silas to her chest, hugging him. “Praise God, darlin’—he brung you back to me.”

Reflexively, Maddie jerked her head away from Silas, a foul odor of sweat and unwashedbody parts attacking her nostrils. “Shoo-wee,” she said, crinkling her nose. “Let me talk to Craig real quick, then we’ll get you bathed and fed. You lay here, and I’ll be right back.”

She was nearly at the door when Silas called out to her. “Hey, Mama?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I love you.”

“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

“Maddie!” Craig bellowed from the hallway. “A word, please!”

Maddie stepped into the hall and found Craig looking angrier than she’d ever seen him. “Craig, what’s wrong? Ain’t cha happy that—”

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here?” Craig growled, his heated eyes burning into Maddie’s.

“What are you gettin’ at? Cain’t you see a miracle has taken place. You’d think that you’d be

happy.”

Craig pulled in air and released it slowly, hoping to calm himself before responding. “Maddie, except for the room bein’ torn up and some grungy pajamas, I don’t see a thing wrong here.”

Maddie’s breathing sounded like the huffing and puffing of a locomotive. Her face turned red, scrunching into a mask of anger. “Are you suggestin’ that I faked all this? That I trashed Silas’ room? And you think you’re the one who oughta be ticked off? You got a heckuva nerve comin’ in here like Johnny-come-lately and takin’ away my joy just cos you weren’t around when all the trouble was goin’ on. I was the one cleanin’ up the blood and puke. I was the one listenin’ to all the howlin’ and screamin’. I turned to the one person in my crappy life who I believed might care enough to help me when things went south. And who do I get? My awful, no account husband.”

“That ain’t fair, Maddie. You cain’t lump me in with that piece-a-crap. All I’m sayin’ is that you been under a lot of stress for too long a time. Anybody’d understand if you turned to self-

medication to numb the pain. Trashin’ the boy’s room was just you actin’ out—who could blame

ya? Let Lorna and me help ya out some. We can take Silas for a spell.”

Craig let his words of worry hover for a bit, allowing both of them time to let their heated emotions settle down. “Maddie, I love ya. Please let me help ya get through this.”

Maddie crossed her arms across her heaving chest, shaking her head from side to side in frustration. “Just forget it, Craig. I can handle this all by myself! I don’t need—”

Sinister cackling travelled from the bedroom, crescendoing into a full-throated laugh.

Maddie and Craig saw fear in each other’s eyes. They inched toward the bedroom, sliding their feet haltingly over the carpet, stopping at the door.

They looked on in terror at the scrawny creature with bright yellow eyes jumping up and

down on the bed like a hyperactive toddler. With its pajama top ripped away, they saw dark purple veins crisscrossing its bone-white body like railroad tracks. Small gray fangs shined through a pair of cracked, bloody lips.

“Gotcha!” it screeched. “Can’t believe you fell for that!” It began speaking in Maddie’s voice. “Ooh, baby, are ya better now? Praise God, darlin’—he brung ya back to me.” Then its own scratchy voice returned. “Looks like God had a hole in the bag that he returned your sweet baby boy in.”

The demon flew off the bed and landed on the ceiling like a fly. Its head turned around on its crunching neck until it was peering down at Craig and Maddie, their faces fraught with unspoken horror. A long, forked tongue unfurled from its twisted mouth, smearing its face with a shiny goop. “Heard you two going at each other in the hall. Oh, how I love it when the children fight!” It resumed its loud chortling, causing the walls to crack under the deafening volume.

“Holy Rice-a-Rony, the San Francisco treat!” Craig shouted.

He and Maddie scurried to the hall, both of them sweating and breathless from the unexpected encounter with the demon.

“Sorry for thinkin’ so poorly of ya, Maddie,” Craig said humbly. “That thang played me like it was Eddie Van Halen.” He yanked his cellphone from the pocket of his shorts and began punching numbers.

“What’re ya doin’?” Maddie asked, her voice wavering from her overwrought nerves.

“It’s gonna take a demon to fight a demon—I’m callin’ Lorna!”

* * * * * *

Lorna kept looking at the clock on the hair salon’s wall. She felt as though she’d been snipping

hair for days. Her feet hurt, her back was sore, and her stomach was rumbling like a souped-up

Harley. But the discomfort paled compared to the endless yammering coming from the odd woman whose hair she was attempting to repair. The gabby gal was going on about the tragic series of events that led her to Lorna’s styling station.

“Ernest and his dopey family insisted that we go to a Japanese steakhouse called A Taste of Tokyo,” she explained. “Said they heard it was an authentic Japanese dining experience. The first thing I noticed when we got there was this kinda special, magical vibe. The oriental music bein’ piped in was mesmerizin’. They’d decorated the entrance with what appeared to be priceless ancient Japanese artifacts. So it was kind of a letdown when Vicki, the chick who checked us in, confided that Dave Shapiro, the owner, had found it all on eBay.

“Well, now, honey, we waited forever for that hostess to call our number. By the time she finally did, I felt like I’d been waitin’ in line to get on Space Mountain.

“Well, sir, we squeezed in with some other people around a long, flat top grill. Whilst we waited for our chef to arrive, I couldn’t resist watchin’ the other ones perform.

“They was like a group of great, priestly magicians cloaked in the ancient art of culinary mysticism. They was one-part master chef, one-part ninja, and two-parts entertainers. Let me tell ya, sister—they rocked! They was finger-twirlin’ their knives like rock drummers. One of ‘em was flickin’ charred shrimp tails into the air and catching ‘em in the top of his hat, for cryin’ out loud. I was startin’ to look forward to seein’ what our chef was gonna do.

“When he finally showed up, we was all a little surprised and disappointed. They musta run out of Japanese cooks cos this little sucker was as Mexican as a burrito. He welcomed us, told us his name was Pedro, and that he’d just graduated from Donnie’s School of Asian Cuisine, Taxidermy, and Exotic Dancing. Course, we kinda figured that out by the writin’ on his chef’s hat that read, I graduated from Donnie’s and all I got was this silly hat.

“I was mighty glad Ernest didn’t say nothin’ stupid and bigoted to him. He keeps goin’ on about how if the government don’t keep the Mexicans from pourin’ over the border, they’re gonna have this whole country sheet rocked in under five years.

“Anyhow, Pedro got things goin’ by leading us in a sing-along of “La Bamba” while he got his stuff ready. Next thing we knowed, he was spinnin’ one of them big ole knives and screamin’, ‘Bon Sai, amigos!’ Well the glare from the overhead light musta hit that shiny blade just right and seared his peepers, cos he let out a yell like his pecker had tripped a mousetrap. Then he commenced to panickin’ and swingin’ wild with that razor-sharp knife of his.

“Well, now, honey, I felt this whoosh of air over the top of my head. I didn’t know whether to cry or scream when I seen the top half of my bouffant roll past my face like a tumbleweed and

land on that hot grill. I must’ve gone a little heavy on the hair spray, cos when that thang hit the heat, it burst into a massive fireball.

“Well, sir, people started  runnin’ and a-screamin’. There was this elderly woman who was so old she probably knew the Dollar General back when he was a buck private. She hollered, ‘Take me home, country roads,’ and flung herself through one of the plate glass windas.

“Pedro tried to put out the fire with what he musta thought was water, but it turned out to be the flammable cookin’ oil. The blindin’ flash probably made them poor Japanese cooks think Truman had come back from the dead to drop another biggun on ‘em. I heard one of ‘em yell, ‘Rot sa ruck!’ then him and the other cooks took off like they was chained to a SpaceX rocket. Looked like a good idea to us, so we lit out, too.

“Any ways, that’s how I ended up here with you. Is there enough hair left to work with?”

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” Lorna said, shaking her head, “I’ve seen more hair on my dog’s balls, but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask,” Vonda, the other stylist, said. “How’s ole El Superbo been doin’?”

Lorna grimaced. “Honestly, Vonda, that dumb dawg river dances on my nerves every chance he gets—talk about annoying. Five minutes alone with that stupid mutt would make Jesus wanna bitch-slap a Quaker.”

“Know watcha mean. Our mutt, Luke, recently started identifyin’ as a frisbee. We been havin’ a heckuva time keepin’ him off the neighbor’s roof.”

Now Lorna really needed a break. She was thankful when her phone interrupted the insanity. She recognized the ring tone immediately. “Loser” by Beck meant only one thing: Craig had FUBAR-ed something again. “I gotta take this, y’all.”

Lorna went to the backroom and answered her phone. “How much are we bein’ sued for?”

“Lorna, this ain’t no time for jokes,” Craig said. “Maddie and Silas are in a bad way. They need our help somethin’ awful.”

Craig’s right; this ain’t no time for jokes, thought Lorna. Maddie and Silas were the only one of Craig’s relatives that she cared for. She’d been there for Maddie when Danny left her to raise Silas alone. She remembered standing in Maddie’s kitchen, sobbing into a dishtowel, while she listened to her in the living room, telling Silas that his daddy wasn’t coming home. The chasms in Lorna’s broken heart splintered wider and deeper with every recollection of Silas’ small, innocent voice. Mama, did I do somethin’ wrong? Is that why Daddy don’t love us no more? The memory was closing in on her mind even now. She fought to keep the dark thoughts away, to be of use to Maddie and Silas. “Are they okay? What’s wrong? My Lord, what’s happened now?”

“Don’t get mad, but I cain’t explain it to ya over the phone,” said Craig. “Can ya leave early and get over here?”

Lorna’s heart dropped to her stomach, as worst-case scenarios sped along her mental highway. “Are they hurt? Are they alive? Please, Craig, tell me somethin’!”

Lorna’s concern moved Craig. True, she was as tough as cheap meat, but when she cared about you, you knew it. “They’re okay, but not okay. Ya know what I mean?”

Lorna was pacing back and forth like a panther in a cage. She felt tightness in her chest; her stomach tumbled inside her. “No, Craig. I don’t know what cha mean.”

Although he knew he was going to sound stupid to Lorna—nothing new there—he filled her in anyhow. “It’s Silas. Somethin’ evil’s taken hold of him. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I

seen how he looked, how he acted.”

Lorna felt foolish for believing Craig. “Dang it, Craig! You nearly scared me to death. You called me over a boogeyman?”

“Lorna, I ain’t messin’ around here. I think they’re both in danger from somethin’ I cain’t quite explain. I don’t know what to do ‘bout this. I really need ya to come help.”

Craig’s tone gave Lorna pause. She thought back to the supernatural event with the possessed chair and the investigation of the Yeti in the woods. What if somethin’s really wrong? she wondered. “All right, then. Tell Maddie and Silas I’m on my way. Oh, and Craig?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you let nothin’ happen to them. They’s as much my kin as yours.”

There was that love again. “Sure, darlin’—I ain’t gonna leave ‘em for an instant.”

“You better not,” Lorna said before hanging up.

Craig felt better already. The devil might be hiding upstairs, but hell’s most fiery beast was on its way. And boy, it was pissed.

* * * * * *

The beat-up orange compact known as the pumpkin car skidded to a stop in front of Maddie’s place. With some effort, Lorna pulled herself out of the tiny ride, much to the relief of its shock absorbers.

Walking past Craig’s truck, she noticed El Superbo in the cab performing a sexual act on a stuffed animal so depraved that it would get you kicked out of a back alley brothel in Tijuana. “I sure hope that sex is consensual, ya pervert,” she remarked to the horny mutt.

Grooowl. El Superbo cared little for Lorna’s tone.

She didn’t care for his tone either. “You better back down, boy, or so help me—I’ll rip that heat-seekin’ missile of yours off and change your name to Mr. Twinkles.”

If El Superbo still had the sombrero that Craig had purchased for him a while back, he would’ve tipped it. Instead, he lowered his ears and issued a faint whimper.

“Mmmhmm, that’s what I thought.” Lorna walked across the yard and climbed the porch’s warped wooden steps. She beat on the front door like it’d just trash talked her mama.

The loud pounding scared Craig and Maddie, who huddled together in the kitchen.

“That must be Lorna,” said Maddie.

“Ya think?” Craig replied sarcastically.

“Craig? Maddie? Y’all still alive in there?” boomed the voice from the porch.

A skinny, middle-aged man, wearing boxer shorts and a stained “wife-beater” tank top, came out on the porch of the house next door. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth. “Hey! Y’all better keep it down over there! I’ll call the law if I hafta!”

Lorna stomped to the edge of Maddie’s porch and gave the man her patented glare of disapproval. “You do that, you dingleberry from a baboon’s butt crack. I’ll come over there, yank them pissy, poopy, jizzy drawers down, and play your butt cheeks like a pair of conga drums!”

Anger left the man as he realized he’d poked the wrong bear. He broke eye contact with Lorna, letting his balding head drop to his puny, hairless chest. “I’m awful sorry, ma’am” he mumbled. “I ain’t been myself since my dawg died.”

The pitiful man’s excuse didn’t move the needle on Lorna’s compassion meter by a single digit. She hated dogs—El Superbo had seen to that. She had so little sympathy for dogs, injured or otherwise, that whenever one of Sarah McLachlan’s animal welfare ads came on, she wanted to hunt her down and rip the arms off her angel.

Lorna grinned at the grieving man. “Well, considerin’ he was your dawg, it must’ve been a suicide!” She turned on her heels and returned to the door just in time for Maddie to open it, leaving the distraught neighbor bawling with self-reproach.

“Oh, Lorna,” Maddie said. “Thank ya for comin’. Craig’s in the kitchen.”

Lorna gave her a firm hug. “I’m glad to be here, Maddie darlin’. Let’s get on to the kitchen ‘fore Craig starts rootin’ through the trash.”

Lorna and Maddie entered the kitchen and found Craig sitting at a small table, his head buried in his hands. “Lord, help us . . . Lord, help us,” he mumbled repeatedly.

“Glad to see you’re bein’ so helpful, Craig,” Lorna said, breaking his spell.

“We’re both more than a little shook up,” Maddie said, coming to Craig’s defense.

“So, what exactly’s been goin’ on?” Lorna asked Maddie. “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Hamster over there said somethin’ evil has taken over Silas. Care to clarify for me?”

Craig spoke first. “Maddie, take her upstairs and let her see for herself. She’ll never believe us otherwise.”

“He’s right, Lorna. I need you to understand what’s happenin’ to my baby. Words alone ain’t enough to describe it.”

“Lead the way,” Lorna said officiously.

Maddie led Lorna upstairs, with Craig bringing up the rear. She stopped at Silas’ bedroom door. “Be as strong as I know you can be, Lorna. It’s like I told Craig: fear makes it laugh.”

Lorna scowled. “Yeah, I’m like that, too.”

Maddie opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Craig and Lorna to enter first.

The former Silas was lying on his back in bed, his chest ballooning to a colossal size with each wheezy breath, his rib cage creaking from the strain. Craig and Maddie remained near the door, prepared to run if they needed to.

Lorna marched to the foot of the bed with her hands rolled into fists and fire in her soul. She let out a short, shrill whistle as though she were summoning a dog. “Hey! You in there, Silas? You better get on out here and talk to me!”

The creature’s panting stopped. Its body stiffened and snapped into a standing position, as if it were falling down in reverse.

Despite the demon-boy’s defiance of physics, Lorna remained nonplussed. “Well now, that’s somethin’ ya don’t see every day.” She rested her hands on her wide hips, cocked her head to the side, and sized up her opponent. “That all you got, ya ugly goomer? I am not impressed. Whatcha gonna do next, pull a pony outta your butt?”

“Do not mock me, woman,” the demon growled. “Your kind holds no power over me.”

“You might wanna ask Craig about the power I have over men.” Lorna looked back at Craig.

“Testify, brother! Testify!”

“Choose your words carefully, bitch,” the demon sneered.

Oh, snap, thought Craig. I hope Son of Chucky brought a helmet, some pads, and a jock strap cos Lorna’s about to teach him some manners.

Lorna’s face contorted into a terrifying rictus of rage. “The only thang I’m gonna be choosin’ is which foot I’m gonna bury in your stupid butt!”

The Silas-monster threw back its head and screamed in fury, fixing its hateful gaze on Lorna. “Be gone, foolish pig!”

A powerful whoosh of air rushed through the room, lifting and propelling Lorna backwards.

Craig had been on the receiving end of countless ticked-off  Lorna looks, but this one—a look of fear and helplessness—was as chilling as it was foreign to him. Still, he couldn’t help but snicker as he saw her whistling by like a barfly cannonball.

Lorna’s airborne body sailed through the doorway and along the short hall before being hurtled down the staircase by the demonic force.

Craig and Maddie stood like statues as the sound of Lorna’s hefty frame careening down the long flight of stairs reverberated throughout the house. When they heard her skidding to a stop at the bottom, they broke from their trance and went to check on her.

They found Lorna sprawled near the front door, unconscious, and looking worse for wear. Her ill-fitting spandex shorts were around her ankles, revealing her favorite pair of panties commemorating the musical career of Garth Brooks. The endless somersaulting down the staircase had caused her hair to wrap around her head like a bleach blonde turban. Her droopy left boob had popped free of its restraint.

“Dear God!” Maddie shouted, rushing to Lorna. “Honey, speak to me. Please, wake up!”

Craig ambled down the steps and stood over the two. “You’re doin’ it all wrong, rookie,” he said to Maddie. “Watch this—Pizza’s here!”

Lorna sprang to a sitting position. “Ya better save me a slice, Slim Jim!”

“See, I told ya,” Craig sniffed.

Maddie threw her arms around Lorna. “Praise the Lord, darlin’. I was scared you was dead.”

Lorna pushed Maddie away. “Well, I will be if ya don’t stop squeezin’ the life outta me!”

Confused, she looked at Craig. “Whut the heck happened?”

“The devil boy chucked ya down them flight of stairs. Your big ole tail busted the heck outta the wall and banister. Talk about a racket—sounded like a Neil Peart solo.”

“The important thing is that you’re all right,” Maddie said. “I’m afraid to say it, but that awful thing has grown stronger—more dangerous. What’re we gonna do, y’all?”

Lorna stuffed her wayward boob back into her bra and brushed her hair from her face, revealing a look of contemplation. “I’s hopin’ it weren’t gonna come to this, but I think I might have an answer.”

* * * * * *

Sunday morning was a hot one. It didn’t help that the sanctuary was full and cramped.

Lorna leaned close to Craig. “Dadgum, it’s hotter than hell in here.”

“And humid, too,” Craig added. “At least in hell it’s a dry heat. Are you sure this is a good idea? We don’t know the first thing about this preacher.”

“Myrna from down at the Snappy Snip said her mama comes here regularly. Accordin’ to her, this guy’s supposed to be a Bible-smackin’, fire and brimstone, no holds barred kind of preacher. If anybody can help get rid of that thang that’s got its hooks into my angel, Silas, then it’s gotta be this guy.”

“All right. Let’s just settle in and see what we got here.”

Lorna and Craig observed the congregation made up of lower-income, working-class people: men with grease beneath their nails wearing clip-on ties and women who had so much makeup on they resembled Pennywise the Clown if he’d been a drag queen.

Looking at Craig, Lorna figured she had no reason to judge other people’s appearances. Craig had never been one to dress to the nines; it was more like two and three-fourths. She was often ashamed of being seen with him. She wistfully thought, If only I had married Mr. Right instead of getting stuck with Mr. Right Next to The Guy I Shoulda Married.

Craig felt the side of his head getting hot. That meant that Lorna was giving him one of her heated stares. “What is it now, Lorna? Spit it out; it’ll improve the taste.”

“Why’d you wear that tacky shirt? You look like the Grand Marshall in a Gay Pride Parade.”

Lorna’s offensive observation put Craig on defense. “Maybe I wore this shirt to make a fashion statement.”

“What’s the statement—‘Hi there, sailor, new in town?’ And Lord have mercy, what is goin’ on with your hair? I know I didn’t style it like that. All I can say is you must’ve ticked off somebody at Great Clips, cos ya look like Colin Kaepernick experimentin’ with Crisco and electricity.”

While one of two deacons was reminding a couple of congregants that smoking wasn’t allowed inside the sanctuary, his counterpart made a loud announcement. “Okay, everybody! Stand for the entrance of the Senior Pastor!”

The crowd watched as a slump-shouldered man in a second-hand suit entered and stood behind a podium covered in green shag carpet. With the word “Rev” posted on the front in bright, silver glitter, it looked like something you’d see on a reality show called, “Pimp My Pulpit.” He had a creepy vibe about him: a combination of circus carny and serial pedophile. His slicked-back hair was an unnatural shade of black that screamed expired Clairol hair dye. His eyes were dark and beady, his lips tight and thin. He had pulled back his facial skin so tightly

that it made Lorna concerned that his eyeballs would pop out of his head. He faced away from the congregation and bowed to the wooden cross behind him.

Lorna held back a guffaw of epic proportions when she noticed the duct tape on his neck that was serving as a DIY facelift.

With a great theatrical panache, he motioned for the congregation to sit down.

“Don’t freak out if’n he starts swattin’ at imaginary flies,” whispered someone seated behind them. “He’s only been outta rehab a few weeks, so he still has the DTs.”

The pastor cleared the smoker’s phlegm from his throat, and the service began. “Good mornin’ brothers and sisters, honored guests, and fellow hemorrhoid sufferers. I’m the Right Reverend Ronnie-Don Smellum, and I’d like to give a big ole howdy-doo to all of you here this mornin’ at Buttermilk Bible Chapel where sin is a four-letter word. We’re all thrilled to be here in our newly leased facility, or as it was called, a short while back, Auto Zone. If this is your first time here, we are deeply pleased. If this is your second time here, we are downright astonished! If’n you wouldn’t mind, please grab one of them little, red putt-putt pencils off the back of the seat in front of ya, and take just a moment to fill out one of our Geez, I Can’t Believe I Let You Drag Me Here cards.

“Before we begin, I have a few announcements to make. First off, for all you parents who dropped your kids off at our children’s ministry, please keep an eye peeled to the bottom right-hand corner of the screen next to me. If you see your child’s assigned number flashin’, please go as quickly as possible back to the children’s ministry. The flashin’ number is an indicator that our volunteers have had enough of your little hopped-up howler monkey and are preparing to

fling ‘em out of a catapult they keep aimed at the interstate. Thank y’all in advance for your courtesy and cooperation.

“Also, we here at Buttermilk Bible Chapel, where sin is a four-letter . . . oh, for the love of Mike Lindell’s creepy mustache. Who came up with that slogan? Anyways, we care deeply about the well-being of all our members. In this spirit, we’ll be holding a daylong seminar back in our fellowship trailer on May 15th, which will deal with the subject of Christian dieting and fitness. Now I don’t wanna start namin’ names or nothin’, but some of y’all are so fat that when you jump up to sing, you make the praise band skip. Personally, I’d love to get as many of y’all as possible in here on Sunday mornings—I just don’t wanna have to grease the doorframes to do it. It’s pretty bad when only half a dozen of y’all can put us over our fire capacity.

“Well, let’s get started. Many of you may have noticed that our praise band ain’t here today. Apparently, while they were rehearsin’ over in the band director’s garage on Wednesday night, they ingested some bad fondue. Consequently, they’re all recovering from an evil force more commonly known as The Screamin’ Squirts. Still, if I may paraphrase Scripture: What bad fondue meant for evil, the Lord meant for good. That explains our surprise treat. To fill in for our ailing praise band, we have some very special musical guests here this morning all the way from Pork Rind, South Carolina. Please join me as we welcome a wonderful a cappella southern gospel group, The Stuttering Shepherds.”

Four nervous and well-attired men took the stage. One of them reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a pitch pipe. He blew into it and they hummed to match its key. With their pitch set, they began the performance. “Goin’ down to the r-r-river, goin’ down to the r-r-river, goin’ down to the r-r-river, gonna wash my s-s-sins away.”

Pastor Smellum rushed the stage. “WHOOOA! Judas on a moped, no wonder y’all come so cheap—ya sound like the backup singers for Porky Pig. Thanks for comin’ boys, but I’ll take it from here.”

With their collective dignity stripped from them, the disgruntled and embarrassed quartet left the stage and headed for the nearest exit. As they passed Lorna and Craig, one of them grumbled, “I oughta g-g-grab hold of his Bible, d-d-duct tape him to a pew, and r-r-read the Book of G-G-Genesis to him.”

Smellum continued to hasten their exit. “While The Stuttering Shepherds make their way down, could I get one of the deacons to go ahead and pay ‘em out of petty cash? That way we can get ‘em on back to Pork Rind before the town council there has to look for a new group of village idiots.”

Smellum’s eyes bulged when took a gander at his wristwatch. “Well, would ya look at the time? If we don’t wrap up soon, we’ll never beat the Baptists down to Cracker Barrel. Tell y’all what: We’ll keep today’s message short and sweet. Here we go! Today’s message is God good, devil bad! Any questions? Good. Now somebody find my car keys, and I’ll see y’all next time here at Buttermilk Bible Chapel where sin is a four letter—oh, never mind!”

* * * * * *

Craig and Lorna hung back while the other churchgoers shook Reverend Smellum’s hand. After a few minutes of watching him press the flesh, it was finally their turn.

The man’s noxious scent, a mixture of hair oil and hard liquor, was so overpowering that it made their eyes water. And then there was his dandruff. Even though it was August in Claxton, Georgia, Lorna wondered if the clouds had opened up and sprinkled snowflakes over the shoulder pads of his navy blue suit.

Upon seeing Craig and Lorna, Smellum flashed a wide jack-o’-lantern grin that revealed perfect, pearly white teeth. “Well, welcome. I don’t believe I’ve seen y’all here before. What’d ya think of the service?”

“Unforgettable,” said Craig, “but Lord knows I’ll try.”

Lorna made a different observation. “Is that whiskey I smell on your breath?”

“Ma’am,” Smellum stated resolutely, “I’ll have you know that since I joined AA, alcohol has not touched my lips. However, I cain’t say enough about them new Jim Beam suppositories.” After a quick chuckle, he continued. “Now then, let this ole country pastor share an observation with you. I get the feelin’ you two ain’t here to find religion; you’re here cos you need some spiritual help. Am I right?”

“That’d be right,” Craig said. “I got this cousin, see, and she’s havin’ some terrible trouble with her boy.”

“Lotsa kids give their parents problems. Shoot, my mama and me fought all the time, but the makeup sex always made it worth it. What’s so bad about this one that you have to turn to a pastor for help? Fair warning: I don’t do counselin’ to others very well. Fact is it’s usually me in some type of counselin’.”

“Can I be frank with you, pastor?” asked Lorna.

“You can be whoever ya wanna be,” replied Smellum, ogling her sizeable chest.

Lorna was aghast. “Excuse me, but my face is up here.”

“Yeah, but your boobies are down here. And boy howdy, they are a ga-lorious sight to behold!”

It was all Craig could do to not send Smellum’s brilliant veneers flying across the parking lot

like rocket-propelled Tic Tacs.  “Now listen here—preacher or not, nobody says that to my old lady!”

“Down, boy,” Lorna said to Craig. “At my age, I’ll take any compliment I can get.”

Craig snorted in frustration. “Fine, then.”

He glowered at Smellum. “Look, what she was tryin’ to tell ya . . . we’re tryin’ to tell ya . . . is that it looks like a demon has possessed our young nephew. He looks like a monster, cusses like a sailor, and smells like a porta potty . . . on an asparagus farm . . . in South America . . . in the middle of July. Get the picture yet?”

Smellum, offended by Craig’s harsh tone, soured. “I’d like to help y’all, but I’m gonna be tied up the rest of the afternoon.”

Worried he may have killed any chance of enlisting Smellum’s help, Craig attempted to salvage things. “I’m sorry for what I said, Pastor. It’s just that—”

“Oh, Ronnie-Dooon . . .” mewed an attractive woman wearing a sheer blouse and a skirt so tight you could tell her religion. “I’ll be ready ‘round three with your favorite rope.”

Smellum waved to her. “Might oughta go with nylon this time, sugar; the jute tends to chafe.”

He resumed his awkward conversation with Craig and Lorna. “I know what this looks like, but a stallion’s gotta run free.”

“Do tell,” said Craig.

“Don’t tell,” said Lorna. “Look, we’ll do anything ya need us to do to help ya with the

exorcism.”

Smellum’s eyes spread wide as he raised his palms in a warding off gesture. “Hang on, Sloopy! Sloopy, hang on! I never said nothin’ about doin’ no exorcism. That there’s above my pay grade.”

Craig took a step closer to Smellum, his face dour and desperate. “Reverend, we’re just a couple of sinners in need of some mercy. Take me, for example. I wasn’t baptized, I was pressure washed. And Lorna here—”

“Speak for yourself, O burning itch on the groin of Satan. I may be mean, but that’s cos I’m a sword of the Lord.”

Craig picked up where he’d left off. “Pastor—Ronnie-Don—God knows all about our mistakes. Every one of us has got a good old-fashioned belt whompin’ comin’ to us on the day of judgment. But I also know he’s a God of mercy . . . of redemption. There’s a sweet, innocent child who’s probably bein’ attacked by the devil himself. Maybe if we save him, we can earn a little of that redemption for ourselves. What is it the Bible says about standin’ up to evil? ‘For such a time as this.’”

Smellum felt convicted. It occurred to him that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he might live up to his sacred calling. “Listen, this might be the gin talkin’, but I’ll try to figure out a way to help y’all. Lemme give the matter some thought, and we’ll meet tomorrow to discuss it. Howzabout noonish at the Christian bookstore downtown on Fell Street?”

Craig and Lorna shared a palpable relief. “Thank ya, Preacher,” Craig said, shaking Smellum’s hand vigorously. “We’ll be there with bells on.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” warned Smellum. “That might seem weird and distracting to the other customers.”

Craig became flustered and impatient. “No, no, no. I just meant that—”

“He means we’ll see ya there,” Lorna finished.

Smellum flashed a lightening-white smile. “It’s a date, then!”

He staggered to a white Plymouth Neon with a hood that someone had replaced with a purple one. He braced his foot against the frame on the driver’s side of the wreck and pulled hard until the door popped free with a loud clang. After a couple minutes of fondling his way to his car keys, he got in and blasted out of the parking lot, marching band music blaring from the car’s speakers.

“Ya think he’ll be able to help?” asked Craig.

Lorna shrugged, shaking her head in doubt. “I don’t know, Craig. That boy’s head is emptier than the tomb on Easter mornin’.”

* * * * * *

As agreed, Craig and Lorna arrived at the bookstore Reverend Smellum had suggested, The Silence of the Lamb. Neither of them had ever been in a bookstore before, much less a Christian one, so they were a tad apprehensive.

The rich smell of fresh coffee blends, baked goods, and honest-to-goodness hardcover books welcomed them. The lighting was gentle and inviting, unlike other stores with their harsh, bright lights that make everything look as if it were ready to be dissected in a sterile lab. Music of faith flowed down from overhead speakers, filling the store with its melodic messages of hope and love in a world that’s been breaking bad for a while.

A smiling young woman in a colorful floral sundress greeted them. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Welcome to Silence of the Lamb. My name’s Anna. Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, naw,” Craig said sheepishly. “We’re s’posed to be meetin’ a preacher here in a bit. I think we’ll do a little explorin’ whilst we wait.”

“Okay,” said Anna. “Our café is straight back, our music section is along that left wall, and our books are everywhere else. Please, let me know if I can help you in any way.”

Lorna trembled. She felt her aura of meanness and harsh judgment wilting under the bold, golden light of the young woman’s genuine kindness. In her distress, Lorna reached to her right, grabbed a small brass cross from a shelf, and held it in front of Anna’s face. “Flee from me, O sweet, perky cherub of goodness!”

Anna’s bright eyes widened; her bottom lip gave in to gravity, as if she were using a brick as a lip ring. “Um, I’ll just go, then. Let me know if you change your minds.” She turned and trotted down a narrow aisle, hiding behind a large wooden bookcase located under a banner that read, “Jesus saves and so can you with our Frequent Shopper card.”

Craig narrowed his eyes at Lorna. “Now why in the world would you go and be mean to somebody as nice as that?”

“I cain’t exactly say,” Lorna said. “Her humility, intelligence, and warmth were too overwhelming. I could feel my hatred of you and others slippin’ away. What was I s’posed to do? I couldn’t just let her take away my reason for livin’. Besides, she made me feel inadequate. With people like that in line at The Pearly Gates, I’ll never get into Heaven.”

“Oh, now, sure you will,” Craig said consolingly. “They’ll just give ya a room near the ice makin’ machine.”

Lorna, as she typically was with one of Craig’s pithy remarks, was unamused. Her face hardened, and her voice dropped to the floor-rumbling octave she used to get a point across to the victim in her crosshairs. “Ya know, Craig, there’s times when I wanna thank you for carin’ enough about me to lovingly speak hard truths, no matter how much it pains you to do so. But then, there’s times like now when I wanna squirt ya in your face with WD40, light your head on fire, and watch ya hop around like a dancin’ tiki torch.”

Craig had once promised Lorna that he would love her for all his days. He never said those days would run consecutively. “Now look, Lorna. I was only sayin’ that—”

Someone nearby was clearing their throat loudly. Lorna and Craig turned toward the noise and saw Reverend Smellum sitting at a table in the café, waving his arms, trying to get their attention.

Craig waved back, then he and Lorna walked towards the cafe. Along their crooked path, they sauntered by rows of bobblehead disciples and poorly made religious films with a budget that could barely cover breakfast at IHOP. They paused to play with a life-sized Moses doll that danced to a hip-hop version of “Bringing in the Sheaves” when they clapped their hands. After watching the biblical prophet throw his hands in the air like he just didn’t care, they joined Smellum at his table in the cafe.

The prurient pastor was well into a thick, meaty sandwich. The loud, wet smacking of his lips sounded like someone beating an octopus against a brick wall. “Y’all want somethin’ to eat. I love these here Turkey and Havarti sandwiches. I get ‘em with bacon. I know, I know—beer is God’s way of sayin’ he loves his children and wants ‘em to be happy, and bacon is his way of sayin’ he misses us and wants us to drop by the house real soon. Still, howzabout one of these suckers? The church gives me an expense account for stuff like this. Bless their hearts. They also give me another used company car when I drove the last one through the coffee bar. I gotta tell ya, I love them folks. They knew right off the bat I had a problem with the firewater . . . the drugs . . . the hookers . . . them poor little farm animals that I—”

“We got ya!” Craig interrupted, for all their sakes. “Like we told ya at the church, we got kin who might be possessed by none other than Old Scratch himself. The doctors ain’t helped. The child psychologists ain’t helped. The Robitussin ain’t helped, and that crap cures everything!”

“Whoa there, Sally. Ya better slow that Mustang down,” said Smellum. “Describe to me some symptoms you’ve seen.”

Craig hesitated. He feared that if he relayed everything he’d witnessed to the reverend, he might appear crazy. Then whom would he ever find to help them deal with the demon?

Lorna sensed Craig’s reluctance. “Walkin’ up the walls; he’s been walkin’ up the walls. His body is all deformed; we hardly recognize him. He speaks in tongues and says the most godawful things you cain’t ever imagine comin’ from a little boy. His mama’s tired and scared. All’s we’re askin’ is that you come by and look for yourself. Hopefully, with you bein’ a man of God and all, you can do somethin’ to help the child.”

Smellum stroked his chin in thought. “This might be the meth talkin’, but you’ve stoked my curiosity. ‘Course it was curiosity that killed the cat.”

“You sure?” Lorna asked. “I thought it was the brick I throwed at it.”

“Lorna, please,” said Craig. “That’s neither here nor there.”

Smellum’s face took on a puzzled look. “Well if it ain’t here nor there, where the heck is it?”

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” asked Lorna.

“Sho ‘nuff,” Smellum, boomed, slapping his palms on the tabletop. “What say we break some bread together?” He turned and hollered at a woman behind a counter full of baked

goods.  “S’cuse me there, miss! Could we get a couple more of them Turkey and Havarti sandwiches?” He leaned toward Craig and Lorna. “Y’all want tea with that?”

“Yep,” Craig said. “And can we get an appetizer, too?”

“Of course,” the café employee said. “What would you like?”

Craig and Lorna perused the laminated menu.

“Give us one of them Nazarene Nacho Platters,” Lorna instructed.

The woman entered the information into a POS System and went about helping another employee in the kitchen prepare the order.

Smellum leaned back and laced his nicotine-stained fingers behind his well-oiled head. “Before we get rollin’ on this thing, I feel it would be fittin’ to lay our cards on the table. In admitting our sins to one another, we establish honesty and accountability. Craig, you wanna start us off? For example, are you a practicing Christian?”

“I sure am. I’m hopin’ that if I keep practicin’ I might be good enough to go pro after my senior year.”

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Just ignore him, Pastor. Craig’s a real smartass.”

“Well, it did score a 1,600 on its SAT,” Craig said proudly.

Smellum turned to Lorna. “Okay, young lady—your turn. Share with me somethin’ that you struggle with from time to time.”

If the idea was to lay her soul bare, then Lorna was going for the gold. “Some nights, I like to watch Craig sleep while I toy with ideas about how I can scratch murder off my bucket list.”

Craig shook his head. Not only was Lorna driving him to an early grave, she was lead footing and blowing through stop signs to get him there. “Woman, you’re so cold that every time I kiss ya, my scrotum shrivels, and I get an ice cream headache.”

Smellum broke in to quell the dispute. “Looks like it’s time for me to do some confessin’. Y’all, I got a thing for the ladies—there I said it! Yeah, baby, when it comes to gettin’ my freak on, I like to head on down to Funky Town. Back when I was doin’ mission work in Korea, I used to frequent this place where a dominatrix by the name of Song Sung Blue would whip my bare bottom with a strip of Hot Wheels track. Talk about some ooh-la-la!”

Lorna had heard far too much info. “Well, I can assure you, my Craig may have his faults, but he ain’t never had no hooker named Song Sung Blue whippin’ his butt.

“She’s right,” Craig agreed. “Hooker who lit up my fanny was named Velvet.”

“Shut up!” Lorna bellowed. She was relieved when the server, identified as Bethany on her nametag, brought the appetizers to their table.

When Craig reached out his hand to grab one of the hot, cheesy chips, Lorna slapped his wrist. “Will you just hold on one second?” she said.

She looked at Smellum. “I’ve always wondered about somethin’.

“Fire at will,” Smellum answered, reaching for a nacho himself.

“Do you say grace when the salad or appetizers come, or do you wait until the entrée?”

“I usually do it over the entrée myself.”

“Excuse me, but that’s not quite accurate,” said Bethany from behind the counter. “It’s the first food to arrive that you’re to bless.”

A man’s voice behind them chimed in. “No, no, no. You say grace when the actual meal comes out, not before.”

“Oh, nonsense, Herman,” said the man’s female companion. “It’s appropriate to bless the

meal once the initial process begins.”

The man seemed offended and embarrassed by the correction. “Sorry. You’ll all have to overlook my wife’s remark.” Then he addressed his wife. “Look, Natalie, it only makes sense to give thanks when the best part of the meal is partaken.”

“Well, what about those of us who enjoy desserts the most?” asked Craig. “For us, that’s the best part of the meal.”

“With all due respect to everyone,” said Bethany, “neither salads nor appetizers were served during The Last Supper, and that’s about as big a culinary event as ever there was. So technically, they blessed the first thing that was brought out.”

Lorna, an active participant in many backyard squabbles, could see where this train car full of poisonous chemicals was heading. She attempted to intervene before it got derailed. “Listen, y’all. There ain’t no cause to get all worked up about—”

“You’re a jerk, Herman!” screeched Natalie. “You’re woefully ignorant of biblical dining protocol, and frankly, a selfish lover!”

Herman recoiled at Natalie’s public announcement. “Oh yeah? As we laid in the darkness on the first night I took you, I thought you were lying on your stomach. I was, of course, wrong—you just don’t have any boobs!”

“My word!” shouted Bethany, her face reddened with embarrassment.

“Oh, shut up!” Natalie yelled at her. “You and your insipid yammering about, ‘Ooh, at The Last Supper . . .’ Why don’t you go into the janitor’s closet and drown yourself in a mop bucket?”

Bethany drew her hands to her face in shock. “You’re so hurtful! It’s no wonder Herman

doesn’t love you anymore!” She stormed to the rear of the kitchen, weeping loudly and bitterly.

Herman was incensed. “Are you happy now, you dried out shrew? You’re like a disease: you infect everyone you touch!”

Natalie jumped to her feet, almost toppling the table. She was shaking with hatred and fury. “Oh screw you, Herman! Whatever this has been is over!”

She stormed from the café, stopping and turning after a few steps. “And I want my panties back, you freak! When you wear them, you stretch them out!”

“Good! They’ll match your face!” he roared.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Natalie countered, “I faked my orgasms.”

“Me, too!” Herman yelled.

“Well, I never!” Natalie barked before stomping her way to the front of the bookstore.

“And with a face like yours, you never will!” Herman retorted.

Craig, Lorna, and the reverend exchanged curious and troubled glances.

“Maybe we should take this outside,” Lorna suggested. “The air just got heavy in here. Besides, I think there’s been way too much sharin’ goin’ on.”

“Yeah, it’s a little uncomfortable,” agreed Craig.

“I s’pose we might oughta lay off the touchy-feely stuff and cut to the chase,” Smellum said. He shouted toward the kitchen. “Hey, Beth! Could you cancel the rest of our order? Just set us up with three of them Super Chunky Chocolate Chip Cookies to go! I promise, we won’t bless ‘em!”

* * * * * *

As they congregated in the store’s parking lot, Lorna posed the big question. “So, will ya help us or not?”

Smellum thought back to the words Craig had shared the day before. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I will. Look, this might be the black tar heroin talkin’, but I think I’m bein’ called on for a purpose. Gimme the address, and I’ll go by and check things out for myself. If I think this is a spiritual matter, I’ll call upon all my years of experience as a pastor and a healer. If I don’t think I can help, I’m gonna have to ask y’all to reimburse me for the gas. The deacons have been keepin’ a closer eye on my receipts since my troubles with the cartels.”

“It’s a deal,” said Craig. “When can ya come? The sooner, the better.”

Smellum pulled in an emphysema-laden breath. “There’s no better time than now. Take me to the boy.”

“Well, okay,” Lorna said enthusiastically. “Let’s put ‘er in the wind!”

They piled into their respective vehicles and pulled out of the parking lot, each with important thoughts on their minds:

Craig: I have hope—genuine hope.

Lorna: I sure hope we know what we’re doin’.

And Smellum: I wonder if I can reach that last bit of joint I dropped on the floorboard.

That sucker’s got at least one more good toke in it.

* * * * * *

“Please, will you just stop?” Maddie begged from the living room. The thrashing, the voices, and the steady drop in temperature were driving her mad. She tried several times to  check on Silas after Craig and Lorna went to find an exorcist. But each time she did, the closet door

slammed shut in quick succession, and the bulky furniture shifted around, bumping into one another like bumper cars, causing her to flee in terror. The deafening sound filled her ears with pain and horror. The sound was so loud that it echoed through the air. It was like a chorus of ghouls and demons wailing a dark funeral dirge. If hell had a theme song, this would be it. Maddie pressed her hands against her ears. “No more! No more!”

She was sobbing so loudly, she didn’t notice the heavy knocking on her front door. It took Lorna yelling her name repeatedly before she found the strength to get up and answer it. She felt like a ghost, drifting through a heavy fog, her emptiness and exhaustion making her feel weightless. As she opened the door, she was struck by the surprised expressions of the three people in front of her.

“Oh my God, Maddie,” Lorna said. “You look awful.”

Maddie resembled an inmate from a sadistic, insane asylum. Her hair was oily, dirty, and uncombed, her face devoid of color and emotion. She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on from their last visit. An abominable stench emanated from her malnourished, unwashed frame. “‘Mon in,” Maddie mumbled robotically. She turned around and shuffled down the hall, her bare feet squeaking as she dragged them along the wooden floor.

The haunting cacophony that the monster was performing upstairs was at its highest intensity.

An icy tendril of terror snaked its way up the backs of Lorna, Craig, and Smellum.

Upon reaching the disheveled living room, the threesome exchanged worried glances as the shell of Maddie Womack dropped to the sofa.

“Maddie, look at me!” Lorna hollered, trying to be heard over the din of the damned.

Craig knelt in front of Maddie and held her chilly hands in his.

Maddie’s vacant eyes peered absently into Craig’s, as though he weren’t there, weren’t real.

Smellum was paler than usual, less cocky. “Sounds like she’s got choir practice goin’ on. We should probably be polite and come back at a more convenient time.”

His words angered Craig. “Are you serious? Do you not hear what’s comin’ outta that bedroom? We gotta do somethin’ now before we lose Silas forever!”

Smellum wasn’t expecting this much terror; he was literally shaking in his shoes. “This might be the Percocet talkin’, but I’m in over my head here. I think y’all might wanna call up one of them Catholic priests who do exorcisms how Target employees ignore customers: regularly and with great passion.”

Craig rose and went to the sputtering pastor, pressing his nose within an inch of his sweaty face. “We ain’t got time for that now.”

“But what if that thang tries to kill me?”

Lorna cut Smellum a nasty look. “Would ya rather deal with me or some crazed monster from the pits of hell?”

“A crazed monster from the pits of hell,” said Smellum, Craig, and Maddie in unison.

“All right,” Lorna said. “Let’s get to ‘er, then.”

“Before we begin . . .” said Smellum, pulling an ornate flask from the inner pocket of his ill-fitted jacket.

“Holy water?” asked Craig.

“Fire water,” said Smellum, taking a long pull of the flask’s questionable contents.

“Whoa, Padre,” Lorna said. “You’re suckin’ that down like a diabetic camel.” She grabbed Smellum by the crook of his arm and yanked him up the stairs. “Showtime, big boy!”

Craig turned to Maddie, who looked like a filthy mannequin. Ladies and gentlemen, Maddie has left the building, he thought. He stepped in front of her, put his hand under her chin, and lifted her face. Looking at the husk of his sweet cousin filled his heart with profound sadness and his eyes with tears so heavy they could barely hold them. “I swear to ya, Maddie, we gonna save Silas. You’ve lost enough already; you’re not losin’ him, too.” Sniffling, he followed Lorna and Smellum upstairs.

* * * * * *

The ear-piercing sounds grew louder as they made their way down the hall to Silas’ room. Lorna squinted from the shrill singing, fearful that her ears might bleed. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she braced for the rupture of her eardrums. She quickly twisted the knob. The instant she threw open the door, the horrific sounds stopped.

Smellum spoke first. “Did I just go deaf, or did the racket stop?”

“Who wants to go first?” Craig whispered from behind them.

“Whoever goes in there first will probably find themselves in the greatest and most probable danger,” Lorna said, before shoving Smellum inside the room.

EEEEE! Smellum squealed as he tumbled near the bed’s foot. “Great googly-moogly, I don’t wanna die!” He lifted his flask and doused the air in front of him with its contents. “With the spilling of this not-entirely holy liquid, I banish you, evil spirit!” He returned the flask to his lips and threw back an enormous swig. “Same sentiment as before, vile demon!” After gulping another shot, he slurred, “Verily, I say again—”

“Knock it off, ya useless souse!” yelled Lorna. “We got work to do.”

The calm, grinning demon was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Oh, would you look at that? Big girl and little man have returned for more.” It watched Smellum, as he reluctantly stood up. “And they brought a friend, too.”

Craig and Lorna joined Smellum at the end of the bed.

“Ya know,” said Lorna, “I’ve just about had enough of your ugly face. You’re right about us bringin’ reinforcements. We’re here to take you out and bring our baby back.”

“What’s he gonna do?” the demon chuckled, referring to Smellum. “Breathe on me?”

Smellum felt embarrassed. He hadn’t suffered this much shame since the time the deacons had caught him skinny dipping in the baptismal pool. Pushing away the weight of his inadequacies, he locked eyes with the foul creature. “This might be the whippits talkin’, but you’re gonna give us that boy’s soul back. I know you ain’t scared of me, but you’re a coward before the Lord.”

“You tell him, Preacher,” said Craig. “Although to be fair, he made a good point about you breathin’ on him. I know my peepers are sure startin’ to simmer.”

The demon laughed. “You three are pathetic! Leave me!” In an instant, he plunged the room into profound darkness, as if someone had flicked off a light switch. The trio felt themselves hurtling uncontrollably through a frigid void of impenetrable darkness. The sensation was disorienting, like being trapped in a vacuum. Suddenly, the motion came to an abrupt halt.

Craig screamed, his voice high with panic. “Where are we? Lordy, I think he sent us to hell!”

Lorna felt trapped in a tight enclosure, pressed against the other two. She perceived a dank, musty odor and heard metal tinkling on metal. A thought occurred to her. “Unless hell has wire hangers and smells like mothballs, we may be a might closer to home.” She proved her point when she reached down and opened the closet door.

They each felt a wave of relief when they stepped out into the first floor foyer.

“I know he’s of the devil and all, but color me impressed,” said Smellum.

“Know whatcha mean, Preacher,” Craig said. “I seen this TV special a while back where Penn and Teller made a submarine disappear.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Smellum chirped with childlike excitement. “I seen that one, too. Say, did ya know that Teller can actually talk?”

“I knowed that lil feller could talk. He weren’t foolin’ me for a sec—”

“Shut up, the two of ya!” Lorna shouted. “We got real trouble on our hands if that thang can control us this way. What’re we s’posed to do to battle that kind of supernatural ability?”

“I think it’s time for me to seek some answers by appealing to a higher power,” said Smellum.

“The good Lord, I expect,” guessed Craig.

“Google,” replied Smellum. He removed his phone from his pocket and spoke into it.

“How to defeat demons.”

As Smellum thumbed the screen, Craig became increasingly anxious. “Come on, Preacher. How do we do it?”

Smellum continued scrolling, then stopped. “This might be it. Accordin’ to this here article, we gotta use our center and power forward to force the team’s will on . . . no, wait. It’s a basketball article on the Northwestern University Demons. Let’s scroll down a bit more.”

After a couple of swipes, he came to an article on demonic possession which outlined the official protocol employed by the Catholic Church. “Okay, it says here that the best thing you can do to thwart a demon is to force it to give you its name. Once you got that, you can compel it to leave the victim’s body and return to hell.”

“How are we supposed to do that? That thang ain’t only strong, it’s clever.” Craig reminded him.

“We better try somethin’ sooner than later,” Lorna added. “Otherwise, we’ll be out of options.”

“Like hell you will!” screamed Maddie, coming back to life. “It’s not takin’ my baby. Ya hear me? It’s not takin’ him anywhere. If y’all are thinkin’ about givin’ up, then go on—get out! I’m his mama; ain’t none of y’all that’s gonna fight harder than me.”

“Oh, Maddie,” croaked Craig. “You ain’t gonna be doin’ this alone. We’re in this with ya. Now come on, y’all. Let’s go back up there and show Lucifer’s nut sack that he’s done ticked off the wrong clan.”

“Amen to that!” Lorna exclaimed.

Smellum lifted his face purposefully towards the heavens. “This might be the bath salts talkin’, but I’m in this till the end as well.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” said Craig.

Thinking of her weak partners, Lorna’s head drooped in doubt. “Saints preserve us.”

* * * * * *

The bedroom door was open when they arrived. No one dared to enter first.

“I can smell you out there,” teased the creature. “Smells like fried chicken and fear.”

Maddie stomped into the room, bold and determined.

The Silas-monster sat atop the dresser, staring menacingly. “Oooh, has mama bear come back to save her pwecious, wittle, boy cub?”

Its sarcasm didn’t affect Maddie’s demeanor or her courage. “Is that s’posed to upset me? You sound like a pipsqueak playground bully. You’re gonna have to do a whole lot better than hurlin’ sticks and stones to get me out of this room, you vulgar son of a whore.”

Maddie’s line in the sand amused and empowered the others. Still, they feared that stirring up the powerful creature could bring them more harm.

The demon jumped with squirrel-like agility, bounced off the ceiling, and settled on a chair, giving Maddie an unsettling gaze. “Didn’t your friends tell you I can banish all of you from this room on a whim?”

The rest of the group worried when Maddie walked near the chair and addressed the demon directly. “You can banish us from this room a hundred times, and we’ll come right back a hundred times to deal with you and your arrogance.”

The gruesome being stepped off the chair, peered up at Maddie, and bared its rotting teeth, its eyes glowing in the dim light. It extended its arms, and a sickening sound of bones

cracking echoed through the air. The skin stretched and strained like elastic, emitting a pungent odor of burning flesh. The sight of the skin tearing apart was both grotesque and fascinating, as if the creature was shedding an old layer. It grabbed Maddie with its spindly fingers and threw her across the room, startling the others. After hitting the wall, she lay motionless, but alive.

Craig, Lorna, and Smellum were riveted in place by terror as the creature’s arms slithered back into place like retracting fire hoses.

The small beast cackled. “For our remaining customers, we’ll be passing out free samples of violence today in our deli. Be sure to stop by and try some.” Its face formed a smug smile, assured that it had won. However, what it didn’t count on was the rage and commitment that fueled the other three.

“You sorry sack of snot!” yelled Lorna. “It’s time to drop the mic, cue the sunset, roll the credits, and wait for the blooper reel, cos your butt is done!”

It was not a supernatural force, but a ticked off, redneck, trailer trash meanness that Lorna used to propel herself at the demon. She grabbed the grimy creature, throwing it on the bed, and pinning its shoulders to the stained mattress. She laid haymakers on it that would’ve made the World Boxing Association proud. “Gimme me your name, you sorry S.O.B. Gimme your name!” she yelled with every powerful punch.

The demon raged and thrashed wildly as the hammy fists continued to rain down upon its face.

Lorna wailed louder. “I said, Gimme your dadgum name!” Her fury turned to frustration when the hellish ghoul laughed at her.

“It’s gonna take more than a couple of trailer park whores to keep me down,” it chuckled.

Craig would not let the creature speak about the two most important women in his life that way. Outrage surged through his veins like liquid fire, his fear turning to fury. “I don’t know what you demons do in hell. But here in Georgia, if you talk trash to another man’s family, you gonna get a fifteen hundred square foot, double-wide, two bedroom, one bath, galley kitchen with a deck off the back, beat down!” He gripped the thing’s ankles. “Preacher, do your stuff!”

Smellum railed against the beast, “Gimme your name, you foul, despicable pawn of Satan! Reveal yourself to me!”

The demon opened its mouth, and the screams of legions of lost souls erupted from its throat. The room shook as the temperature plummeted, frosting the trio’s breaths, and fogging the windowpanes.

Smellum proclaimed the name that bends the knee of every angel in heaven and every demon in hell. “I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to reveal your name, you filthy coward!”

“My name is Med-Calla-Op-Sum-Deo-Med-Valla-Oh!” it roared.

The revelation of the demon’s lengthy name overwhelmed Smellum. “Don’t s’pose there’s a nickname ya go by?”

Craig concurred. “Dang, and I thought Keegan-Michael Key was a mouthful.”

Fed up with everyone, Lorna put a stop to all the nonsense. “You listen to me, Mr. Ching-Chang-Calla-Walla-Bing-Bang, or whatever your dopey name is. You better take leave of this boy’s body or I’m gonna keep on holdin’ ya down while Craig pulls up Spotify and plays some of that jazz fusion mess. That’s right—I ain’t talkin’ about that Kenny G. easy-listenin’ style of commercial jazz. I’m talkin’ about that Miles Davis, Wynton Marsalis crap that sounds like a bunch of tone deaf amateurs tunin’ up.”

The creature fought back harder against its human restraints. In a stronger attempt to free itself, it flew upwards, taking Craig and Lorna with it, colliding with the ceiling. The impact was so intense that the ceiling cracked, sending tiny particles of dust and debris raining down. The overpowering presence held them in place, with a grip so strong that they could feel their bones rattling. It was an overwhelming experience, and they were powerless against it.

The Silas-creature plummeted to the mattress and glowered at Smellum.

Smellum found himself trapped between his faltering faith and the demon before him. His panicked mind drew upon a pivotal scene in the movie The Exorcist when Father Damian Karras invited the demon into his body. “Oh, most putrid spawn of Lucifer, leave this child and enter my body!”

Silas’ head thrashed from side to side, and his eyes rolled back, revealing only the whites. His body tensed up, his muscles stiffening, as the demon’s spirit violently departed from him. The sound of it leaving was like a deafening screech, as if a thousand nails were being dragged across a chalkboard.

Suddenly, Smellum felt his insides burning and melting like candle wax. Vivid images of serpents squirming through pits of fire, and hideous creatures clawing at the tortured flesh of the screaming damned, invaded his horrified mind, prompting him to yell, “Go back into him! Go back into him!”

When the demon refused, he realized it was up to him to seal the deal. Like Father Karras in the iconic movie scene, he darted across the bedroom and hurled himself at the window. However, instead of bursting through the glass and falling to a long stone staircase below, he splatted against the window like a bug on a windshield. His body squeaked as it slid slowly downward, leaving a gooey trail of spit and snot.

“Whoops,” Craig said from his spot on the ceiling. “Guess he wasn’t aware of the city code that all second-story windas have to be made of tempered glass.”

Silas let out a blood-curdling scream as the demon’s sinister black spirit slithered its way into his vulnerable soul yet again. The putrid stench of sulfur filled his nostrils, and the palpable sensation of the twisted entity made his skin crawl with fear. The sound of its menacing laughter echoed in his mind, sending shivers down his spine. The feeling of its icy grip on his soul left him gasping for air, making him unable to break free from its grasp.

“Well, well,” the creature beamed. “I guess that just about does it. Say your goodbyes to Silas; he won’t be coming back.”

Without warning, Maddie threw herself at the demon, pulling him to her bosom in a fierce hug.

“Maddie, no!” Lorna bellowed, thrashing to free herself.

Maddie ignored her warning. “Silas, Mama loves you. I remember the day you were born. My heart was so full, I thought it might burst.”

Stunned, the demon struggled to free itself from Maddie’s embrace. “Don’t listen to her, boy! She’s lying! You mean nothing to her!”

“Shut up, you filth!” Maddie yelled. “Silas, you’re the rock that I cling to, the love that keeps me alive. Baby, if you can hear Mama, come back to me—fight this thing.”

A strong, wailing wind engulfed the room, producing a cyclone of sound.

“This is all your fault, Silas! You’re the reason your father left!” the monster cried in desperation.

“That’s just not true, baby. He left because he’s weak and selfish. This is about you and me. I love you, sweetie—I need you in my life!”

Maddie pulled Silas to the floor, embracing him more fully. She squeezed her eyes shut in fervent prayer. “God, please bring my baby back to me! I don’t care anymore about all the other pain! Just please, Father, let me have my boy back!”

The room warmed and brightened to where everyone shielded their eyes for fear of going blind; it was like staring into the sun.

“No, you can’t have him!” the demon shouted, its cracking voice full of anguish. “Give him back to me!”

Maddie hugged her son’s body tighter. “In the name of the Lord, go to hell, you nasty monster!”

Suddenly, the hellish wind died, the brilliant light diminished, and the room fell silent.

Lorna and Craig dropped from the ceiling, landing on the mattress with a loud sproing.

“What just happened?” asked Lorna.

“Love brought him back to me,” Maddie replied. “It didn’t take any potions or incantations. It only took a reminder that God’s love can never be taken without our permission.”

“Uuugh,” came the voice from the below the window. “What’s goin’ on? Am I dead?”

“Naw, Preacher,” said Craig. “You’re still among the living. Maddie here saved the day.”

Silas coughed. “Mama, is that you?”

Maddie’s face lit up with a long-absent smile. “Yeah, darlin’, it’s me. How ya feelin’?”

“Tired, but good. I had a nightmare, though. I dreamed I was in a dark place. I kept callin’ for ya, but you didn’t answer, at least not at first. But then, I heard you shoutin’ at somebody, demandin’ they let me go. Next thing I knew, here I was.” He yawned, stretching his overworked body. “Can I have some ice cream? I’m really hungry.”

Maddie’s eyes glistened with tears of elation, as she basked in the moment. “Yes, baby. You can have all the ice cream you want.”

Silas looked around the room. “What’s Craig and Lorna doin’ here? And who’s that fella sittin’ on the floor?”

“They’s the people who helped bring you back from that awful place.”

Smellum stood, shaking the fog from his head. “Hi there, Silas. I’m the Right Reverend Ronnie-Don Smellum from Buttermilk Bible Chapel, where sin is a—”

“Silas,” Craig interjected, “the important thing is that, as a family, we can overcome anything. Whether it’s your daddy’s foolishness or the devil himself, nothin’ can break our bond.”

Maddie gathered Silas, and they all went downstairs to revel in their hard-fought victory over the darkness. Then they had some ice cream.

* * * * * *

They stood in the driveway exchanging hugs, along with promises that they’d stay in touch more often.

On the porch, Silas sat quietly, his heart heavy with thoughts of the love and laughter that had departed with his lowly father, only to be returned in abundance.

“I wanna thank y’all for whatcha done today,” Maddie said to Craig and Lorna. “You two sure make a great team.”

“Yeah,” said Lorna, “he’s good at creatin’ fiascos and I’m good at solving ‘em.”

Craig refused to be outdone. “And I’m good at kickin’ tail, while Lorna here is good at numbers: the number to Dominoes, the number to Jimmy John’s—”

“That’s enough, Craig,” Lorna replied.

“. . . the number to Grubhub—”

“Craig, I said that’s enough.”

“. . . the number to Door Dash—

Craig’s ill-advised name game came to an immediate stop when he received—free of charge, of course—the slap heard ‘round the world.

“There’s another number I know, dung drip: 9-1-1,” barked Lorna. “Want me to call it?”

“Y’all are too much sometimes,” chimed Maddie. She looked caringly at Silas. “Ya know, I used to curse God for all the terrible, heartbreakin’ things that haunted me. Now I’m grateful. I’m grateful because he showed me that happiness ain’t about havin’ what you want; it’s about wantin’ what you have. All I ever needed to heal me was right here all along.”

Craig kissed Maddie’s forehead and pulled it to his own. “Never forget that you got us, too.”

“As long as we’re together, not even the powers of hell can touch us,” Lorna said, joining the two.

Smellum looked on, taking care to keep a respectful distance from the family circle.

“Okay then,” Craig said. “It’s time for everything to get back to normal. We’ll see you and Silas next week.” Then looking at Silas yelled, “And there’ll be plenty of ice cream!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” replied Maddie. Then she went to Smellum and hugged him. “Silas wasn’t the only one who got healed today, was he?”

Smellum remained silent; there was no bragging to be done.

“Lordy, I better get home and take care of El Superbo,” said Craig. “There ain’t no tellin’ what he’s been into whilst we was gone.” He slid inside his old truck’s trashy cab and shouted a last message. “Okay, y’all: Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em and drink those glasses to the bottom!”

“Ain’t that what the weirdo on that podcast always says?” Lorna asked, walking to her pumpkin car.

“He ain’t no weirdo.”

“How would you know?”

“Cos I’m a weirdo, and I ain’t never seen him at the meetings.”

Lorna stood next to her festive heap, taking time to criticize Craig’s. “I’ll wait and make sure that ole rusty monstrosity of yours cranks. When are you gonna trade that ole Chevy truck in for somethin’ nicer like a Cadillac Escalade?”

“Woman, there ain’t no way I’m ever tradin’ in my Chevy for a Cadi-lack-cack-cack-cack-cack!”

“Whatever,” said Lorna.

Once Lorna and Craig had left, Maddie took advantage of the opportunity to thank Smellum privately. “Reverend Smellum, I cain’t thank you enough for what you done for us. We’re gonna have to start comin’ to your church. Like it or not, you’re a part of our lives now.” She kissed him on his cheek, joined Silas, and went inside the house, leaving Smellum to bask in the afternoon sunlight.

Smellum lingered for a while, then went to his new, used car and performed the laborious ritual required to open the driver’s side door. Before climbing in, he rested his arms on the car’s roof and gazed at the puke green house. Smiling broadly, he touched his cheek.

“Gotcha,” he hissed.