Exorgasm!

By

Brandy Corvin

 

Copyright © 2012 by Brandy Corvin

* * * * *

First day out of Bible College and I'm handed my first task right in front of the man nailed to the cross. Things just can't get more perfect than this.

Of course, when I speak of 'Bible College', one is sure to conjure up mental images of many chaste young boys and girls gathering round in their respective single-sex classrooms, leaning forward, leather bound bibles open, ready to take notes and engage in scholarly discussion on the life and leanings of our dear Lord Jesus Christ, Mother Mary and half a dozen other saints.

But when I say 'Bible College', I mean exorcism training school. In today's world of technological prowess and increasing spiritual apathy, the church struggles to find its voice to guide its masses. But there's one function it serves that's needed more than ever. For when people no longer believe, they render themselves vulnerable to demonic forces that surround us.

I stand now, a graduate of Bible College and a full-fledged exorcist. The divine will of God is shown through my actions in casting out any demons from the possessed.

With the scroll in my hand, I note the authentic seal bearing the symbol of the Exorcist's Intelligence Bureau and carefully unroll the parchment.

Someone has summoned the church for spiritual help, to cast out the evil spirits residing in their loved ones. It doesn't matter if people don't believe, when they're desperate, even we will hear about it.

The poor soul in question seems to be a strapping young man, roughly my age. Joe Robbinz; he seems handsome enough according to the attached photo. If he wasn't possessed and possibly restrained in his bed, he should have been engaged or even married by now. Well, it's not in my position to judge what he's done in life. The evil forces of Satan have wreaked havoc on enough poor souls already.

22 Azacia Avenue, the client in question lives close by. I walk through the rows of benches facing Lord Jesus Christ behind me, swiping a bottle of holy water on my way out of the aged wooden double doors of the church. It shouldn't take me more than a half hour to get there, unless the devil of lousy traffic gets to me.

I vault over my car door and land in the leather covered driver's seat of my 2012 Corvette convertible. The engine revs up, reminding the whole neighborhood of the power packing within its six cylinder pistons. Stepping on the clutch, I shift into first gear and peel my way out of the church parking lot.

Who said exorcists can't leave in style?

* * * * *

The house my first 'client lives in seems innocuous enough. Its crumbling eighteenth century Victorian architecture is a somber reminder of a beauty that once was. Now, I only see a shabby run down structure kept together by industrial glue and fervent prayer.

The church's exorcism service runs on a 'pay-as-you-can' structure and from the looks of it, I think I'll be doing this one for free. Not that it matters anyway. The church pays me for each cleansing depending on how difficult it is and what matters most is that these demons are driven back to whichever godforsaken hell they come from.

I climb up the worn stone steps on the path to the front door, trying to ignore the crunch of gravel beneath my feet. It's a good strategy though. If the residents of this home get any visitors, they'll know long before the doorbell is rung. I raise my hand to rap my knuckles on the smooth oak paneled front door but it opens before I strike the surface. Ha, they heard me coming up to their property.

Maybe I'm right about why I'm crunching gravel on my way here.

"Father Jacobs I presume?" the elderly lady confidently looks me in the eye with a regal air about her. The house suits her personality well.

I nod. She steps back, letting me in. I ignore the slight trembling in her legs and the tears almost welling up in her eyes. It's best I don't mention it. I'm guessing there's too much pride in her to admit weakness. It's probably taken a lot of courage she never knew she had to ask the church for help already. I shan't make this any tougher on her.

"He's upstairs?" I ask tersely, taking in the quaint interior décor of this place.

"Yes." she barely whispers, resisting a full blown bout of hysterics. She's distraught, I know, and from the looks of it, she obviously cares very much about Joe the possessed.

"Your son?"

"Yes." she whispers again, "Anything you need, I'll get it for you no matter what. Just... just make sure to banish whatever's making my Joe sick."

"Of course," I say without hesitation. Be still my beating heart, the constant increased palpitations are no good for my soul.

I place a comforting hand on the shoulder of her small frame.

"Don't worry, he's going to get better. But it won't be easy. They'll be screaming, cursing, violence and maybe more. Wait here, and no matter what, don't come upstairs until I come back down."

"MOARRRR..." The otherworldly guttural groan from upstairs strikes raw fear into the both of us; sending the little old lady next to me bursting into tears at last.

I take a deep breath, remembering the spiritual power and knowledge I possess as well as my unwavering faith in God. With God's help, I'll definitely get through this.

"Stay here."

The lady nods, watching me leave her side and proceed up the creaky flight of stairs. The groans of the possessed make me tremble with nervousness and trepidation no matter how hard I try to suppress it. I guess it's impossible after all. But just because I'm anxious doesn't mean I'm afraid.

I say my final prayers, asking the Lord for support as I turn the doorknob leading into the room of the possessed.

What I see shocks me more than anything else I've ever experienced in life. I don't think any number of years practicing occult theory in Bible College would have prepared me for this.

There, strapped to his bed by fragile-looking, hastily-made ropes and improvised straps lies Joe, a young, nubile, healthy young man, the kind that stirs my loins and teases my manhood. He glances up at me and smiles, showing a set of perfect pearly whites. If not for the straps and inhuman red glow in his eyes, I'd flirt openly with him and ask for his number on the spot.

But then again, he's the one tied down to the bed. If I did anything he'd be powerless to stop it...

What unclean thoughts are running through your mind, Father Jacobs!

I chastise myself mentally, remembering my mission.

"Ave demon," I wave my hand over his body, leaving it hovering at his forehead, "tell me your name." I command, my tone as cold as ice.

"Ha." he laughs in an unnaturally low voice, "do you honestly think that'll work?"

"In the name of the Lord, I command you tell me your name!" I unleash a wooden cross hidden in my robes, pressing it onto Joe's forehead.

He screams with an unnatural fury and for a second, leading me to think it's actually working.

But then he stops and looks at me, sneering all the while.

"That's the best ya got, holy punk? Your mother sucks cocks in hell!"