Hunting Season (10 page)

After having a woman possessed by a demon vomit blood all over him in front of his congregation, Simms should be displaying at least an ounce of nervousness.  He should be wrestling with his guilt and finding himself unable to continue this hypocrisy.  He should wonder if the demon had appeared to torment him for his evil deeds.  Instead, Simms looked confident, as if the first torment had no effect on him.

Yarsloth swore to make the second torment tougher.  Still clown work but harsher clown work.

"A demon visited us last week," Simms said to the flock.  Many nodded their heads in agreement.  "But we drove that demon away through our faith in Jesus!"

Yarsloth shook his head.  The resolution in Simms's voice pissed him off.

"That demon is still here..."

Can he see me? Yarsloth thought.  Then he shook his head again.  He knew no human could see him unless Yarsloth chose to reveal himself.

"...in all of our hearts," Simms said.  "It is a representation of our sins, of our guilt, and of our shame.  But through faith, we can drive it away like a bird on the wind."

Yarsloth seized on Simms's words and unleashed the second torment.  The doors to the church flung open and hundreds of pigeons flew in.

The congregation screamed and Simms begged for calm.

Yarsloth let loose the bowels of the pigeons, dumping their contents on the heads of the panicking crowd.

Simms prayed loudly as the congregation rushed from the church.  The pigeons followed, dumping their loads as the crowd ran to their cars.

Yarsloth laughed.  Bird shit covered the inside of the church.  Bird shit covered Simms.

The flock had fled.  Simms, though, stood with his Bible cradled to his body, praying.

The exodus of the congregation had delighted Yarsloth until he saw the reverend standing firm and praying mightily.  Simms's congregation would fear returning next Sunday, the demon knew.  Maybe without his flock, Simms would see God punished, not helped him.

*  *  *  *  *

Yarsloth prepared to unleash a horrible third torment.  No more clown work.

The church had been cleaned but the congregation had not returned.  Maybe ten sat inside, listening to Simms try to explain the events of recent weeks.  Yarsloth resolved to make sure the third torment would chase off the last few believers and cripple Simms's faith.

Simms didn't get a chance to start the sermon when Yarsloth unleashed the torment.

Thunder boomed throughout the inside of the church.

Simms stood silent.  His tiny audience looked up at the ceiling in wonder.

Rain fell inside the church.  The ten people screamed when they noticed blood falling on them.

The miniscule crowd panicked and fled as it had when the pigeons invaded.  Again Yarsloth laughed.  And again Simms stood and prayed.

Burning hate surged through Yarsloth.  A possessed woman vomiting blood.  A plague of shitting pigeons.  And now blood raining from the ceiling.  And yet Simms stood firm in his faith. 

Yarsloth had cracked holier men than this and yet Simms still prayed.  And this was a child molester?  He should be begging God not to punish him further.  Yet he looked to God for help.  He didn't even ask forgiveness.

*  *  *  *  *

"I want this guy verified," Yarsloth said.

Hell's Dispatcher, the Great Demon Adramelech, looked up from his desk and gritted his teeth.  "It's the right guy.  I haven't gotten one wrong in two thousand years."

"Well, check anyway."

"Why?"

"I think it's the wrong guy."

Adramelech smirked.  "You're having problems breaking him so you're trying to blame me."

"Look, I'm down to my last torment and this guy isn't showing any signs of fear or repentance.  He's full of the Spirit, man.  This guy is holy.  I'm telling you something isn't right here."

Adramelech shook his head.  He pulled up his record on Simms and read, "Simms, Jon.  Forty-five.  Baptist Minister.  Tallahassee, Florida.  Is that what you've got, Yarsloth."

Yarsloth nodded his head with a wave of reluctance.  "Maybe-"

"Maybe you've been working curses too long," Adramelech said.  "You don't have a century to play with here, Demon.  Maybe we need to knock you down a caste to refresh your skills."

Yarsloth's pride didn't take the blow well.  "Fuck you, desk jockey."

Adramelech raised his huge frame and towered over Yarsloth.  Flames shot from his eyes and smoke from his mouth.  "DO NOT INSULT THE GREAT DEMON ADRAMELECH!"

Yarsloth had no choice but to cower.  Although Adramelech was old, he was still powerful.  The Great Demon's anger gnawed at his insides.

"Yes, Great Demon."

Adramelech calmed down and returned to his seat.  "You've got a torment and a judgment left.  Handle it and you can go back to your precious curse."

*  *  *  *  *

Simms stood alone in his church on Sunday.  No one had come to hear his sermon.  But he gave the sermon nonetheless.

Yarsloth walked down the middle of the church.  Time for the last torment.

Simms watched, transfixed, as his Bible floated in front of him.  His eyes widened and his jaw slacked.  Yarsloth tore the pages from the binding, letting them fall to the floor.  Then in frenzy, he shredded the entire book to pieces before Simms.

"What are YOU?"

Yarsloth's booming laugh filled the church.

"God, why have you forsaken me to this evil spirit?"

The final torment had worked.  Finally, Yarsloth saw Simms confused and weakened.  He'd won.  Now he could execute the judgment and end this torturous assignment.

From thin air appeared black vapor.  Yarsloth revealed himself as a black, shapeless cloud before Simms.  Inside the cloud, flies and locusts swarmed.

Simms looked upon the demon.  "God in Heaven."

Yarsloth screamed with triumph.  Simms hadn't repented upon the revelation.  Now he could be judged and his soul dragged to Hell.

"You have been judged," Yarsloth said.  "You have been damned for your sins!"

Yarsloth flew at Simms.  He engulfed him and lifted him into the air.  The flies and locusts bit at the reverend's flesh.

"And you will understand the truth, reverend, and not know mercy!"

"Demon!" Simms yelled.  "You know not the power of the Lord!"

Simms spread his arms wide and tried to embrace the cloud around him.

Yarsloth could feel intense heat radiating from Simms.  His arms sliced through his shapeless mass like swords, leaving a trail of pain in their wake.

"In the name of God I command thee to release his Shepard!"

Yarsloth had no choice.  Against his straining effort, he found himself lowering Simms to the ground.  The heat from the reverend burned and demon's body felt on fire.

Yarsloth released Simms but the burning continued.  He backed away from him, trying to understand.  He looked at Simms and saw power swimming in his eyes. 

Simms approached Yarsloth.  "BACK, DEMON!"

The demon cloud moved away with each advancing step.  Fire danced on Yarsloth's damned soul.

"I CAST THEE OUT OF THIS HOLY PLACE!"

The demon cloud contorted and shivered.  Against his will, Yarsloth drifted to the ground and sank into the shadows of a corner.

*  *  *  *  *

Yarsloth stood before Adramelech in his true form, his body burnt to a crisp, smoke rising off his once scaly skin.  His legs, charred.  His face looked like it had been melted then frozen.

"What the hell?" Adramelech said.

"You got the wrong guy."  Yarsloth coughed on the smoke rising from his shoulders.

Adramelech shook his head, staring at the damage.  "Impossible."

"This guy is no child molester.  He wasn't afraid.  He's in good with the Almighty.  And he knows how to use the Spirit.  You got the wrong guy."

"It couldn't have been that bad."

"Have you ever been touched by the power of the Throne?" 

Adramelech sat silent.

"Didn't think so."

Adramelech took Yarsloth's file and went about comparing it to his record.  As he did, he kept lifting his eyes to gaze upon the destruction written on Yarsloth's body.

After a few minutes, Adramelech said, "Well, what do you know."

Yarsloth moved closer to the desk.  "What?"

"Your file says Simms, John with John spelled J-O-H-N," Adramelech said.  "My record says Simms, Jon with Jon spelled J-O-N.  Everything else matches.  That potato head Astaroth in Admin gave you the wrong file.  I guess there are two forty-five-year-old Baptist ministers in Tallahassee with the same name, just spelled differently.  Simple mistake."

Yarsloth, if only he had the rank, would have pounced on the Great Demon and tore him to shreds.  Instead, he just nodded weakly.

"Do you think you're up for getting the other minister?"

Yarsloth just stared.

"Okay, I'll put someone else on it.  You just get better.  You've got a curse to get back to."

Yarsloth nodded and turned away.

"You'll be okay."

Yarsloth moved away.

"No big deal.  I'll take the blame for this one."

Yarsloth continued to walk, leaving Hell's Dispatcher alone in his office.

"You're a champ, Yarsloth.  You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Yarsloth was well down the hallway when he heard, "How about we pretend this never happened?"

THE REVEREND'S POWDER

NOW

I sit on the couch and look at the good Reverend Simms across from me strapped naked to the hand truck and wonder how I got to this point. Then I settle on the butcher knife on the coffee table in front of me, sitting right next to a Ziploc bag of the reverend's powder, and remember: oh, yeah, the piece of shit killed my sister. Reap what you sow, asshole.

Simms's head is canted to the side, eyes closed. The flesh of his big fat pink belly pokes through where the duct tape overlaps in places. He snores like a hibernating bear.

I want to poke one of those fleshy protrusions with the knife, draw a little blood. But I promised Tony we'd wait until Simms came around. Want him conscious. Got some things to say to him.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I woke up one morning wanting to kidnap a reverend and strap him down to a cold metal moving dolly. No. A series of events led to this. Led to the here and now. But there can be only one origin, one point which all those sequences originate from. Looking at Simms, remembering that starting point is all too easy.

Laura.

I blink and look away, focusing on a dirt-smear on the seventies era wood-paneling of the trailer. I ask myself if I can really go through with this, even for Laura. Can I do to Simms what he did to her? Can I punish him?

Time will tell. And sooner rather than later.

In the mean time, I need to focus. Get motivated. Ratchet up the anger and boil some blood.

Need to relive the past a little.

THEN

"You don't think this is actually gonna work, do you?" I ask my sister.

Laura nods and smiles. "You must have faith, Matthew."

Screw faith, I think and look around. We sit in a middle row surrounded by a large mass of humanity which packs the small movie theater. It seems the faith revivalists gave up on the tent long ago. Now they rent out halls and movie theaters and hotel conference rooms. Apparently the sick, lame, and unlucky searching for miracles have no issues rushing into them based on tonight's crowd. Laura falls into all three categories. And she was the first in line.

The cancer has spread to her brain and the doctors say she has zero chance of remission. All of Laura's hair has fallen out thanks to the chemo. Her skin, waxy and pale. Her arms and legs, slender as a bird's. The disease destroyed the carefree and happy sister I knew and replaced her with a beaten woman clinging on to a single thread of hope.

"Faith will reward us in the end," Laura says.

"I hope so." I make sure not to sound negative.

"Mom would have trusted faith."

"Well mom and dad are dead, aren't they?"

If I could jam my foot in my mouth I would. Probably would kick a couple of teeth out for good measure. I turn to Laura and see the words have shaken her. Tears well in her eyes. She wipes them away before they fall down her boney cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Laura. I'm just...sorry."

Laura shakes her head. "You don't have to apologize to me."

"I do. I didn't mean to act like an asshole. If this guy's the real deal, you'll be healed in no time."

"Thank you." Laura grins. She looks like a smiling skull. "With this man's reputation he must be the real deal."

The man who has given life to Laura's hope, the guy with the solid reputation, is Reverend Billy Simms.

"How long has this reverend been doing his revival?" I say.

"Twenty years. He's healed over ten thousand people and freed a thousand more from the grips of terrible demons."

"Are there demons that aren't terrible?"

"Don't make fun. This man is bona fide."

Bullshit.
"And where did you learn this?"

Laura holds up a program. "All right here in his bio."

I resist the temptation to smirk. I never found religion or took easily to the idea of miracles. And I know bullshit when I hear it. No demon possesses Laura and nothing will cure her cancer.  I understand this. Hard to accept but it is what it is.

"If Reverend Simms can cast out demons," Laura says, "His God-given power should be able to handle a little cancer."

I laugh against my better judgment. "Yeah, if Simms can scare demons then he must be in good standing with the Almighty."

"You know maybe you should put as much energy into faith as you do into your sarcasm."

My smile fades.
Nice move, dickhead. Shut up and keep her happy.

"It's a bit warm in here with all these people, don't you think?" I say.

"Well considering the lack of meat on my bones," Laura motions to her frame, "I'd say it's quite comfortable."