Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (49 page)

“Thanks,
Father,” Ravna said, waiting for William to take a seat behind the desk. “I’m
here on serious business.”

The priest took
his old glasses off, pulled a tissue from the box, and began to clean them. He
nodded at Ravna to continue.

“Father, what
do you know about exorcism?”

William stopped
and set the glasses down on the desk. His mouth shriveled as if biting into a
lemon.

“The church
does not publish a—”

“Not the
church,” interrupted Ravna. “You. What do
you
know about exorcism?”

Father William
sat back and let out a deep breath. He looked down the hall of the rectory and
saw no sign of Shuffling Purple Hair.

“I know enough
about it not to talk about it.”

“It’s not a
question of faith. I know the Church acknowledges Satan and that he is a force
of evil on this planet, right?”

“True. But many
lost souls have claimed to be possessed, letting them off the hook for heinous
and violent acts. If it’s not recognized as legitimate except for proven cases,
evildoers cannot dispute their crimes and blame them on Satan. What’s this
about, Ravna?”

Ravna slid
forward on the ancient plastic, putting his elbows on the table. He had to go
all in.

“How about Pretas?
Gakis?”

Again, William
shook his head. “I may recall texts from my earlier days, but nothing I can
cite specifically.”

“But you’ve
heard those terms. You know what they are?”

“Ravna, you are
asking me to speak of demons of other faiths, faiths which I believe to be
sacrilegious.”

Ravna reached
into his bag and pulled out a handful of papers. The printouts from his
research contained margin notes and long lines of yellow highlighter.

“Can you at
least look these over and let me know what you think?”

William thumbed
through the first two pages and shook his head.

“I’m not a
demon hunter. I run a small parish and a Catholic school. You should be taking
this to your
sensei
.”

Ravna laughed
and shook his head.

“I can have
more than one friend, dear William. And he is not my sensei any more than you
are. We haven’t even started the Samurai-sword training yet.”

Father William
rumbled, his laughter lighting up the room. “What has he to say about your
Gaki?” he asked, the laughter having dissipated into thin air.

“We hunt it.”

William shook
his head and made the sign of the cross at Ravna. “The blessing is more for me
than it is for you, Ravna. If you’re not going to look out for your immortal
soul, I guess I have to.”

Ravna stood and
shook the man’s hand. It felt damp, cold, frightened. “Thanks for your help, William.”

“This is going
to earn you three hours at the milk-bottle toss, or possibly an hour at the
dunk tank.”

“The parish
festival isn’t for four more months.”

“Great! The
dunk tank it is!”

Ravna slung his
bag over one shoulder and winked at Father William on his way out of the rectory.

***

“Charlatan.”

“You’re
jealous!”

Mashoka shook
his head and stroked his beard with one hand. “Of him? That crackpot zealot?”

Are
we going to get to work or not?”

Mashoka groaned
and leaned back on the couch. He grimaced at the B-grade-horror-movie posters
on the walls. “Why must you pollute your mind with this garbage?”

Ravna smiled. “At
least you two have that in common.”

The teapot
whistled and Ravna went to fetch the tray. The early spring sun fell to the
edge of the horizon. Orange bursts lit dust motes dancing in the dry air of
Ravna’s apartment. The rays brought warmth to the skin while gusts of frigid
air seeped through the old windows.

“Tell your
landlord to replace these with vinyl windows. The drafts are deadly to old
men.”

“I’ll be sure
not to get old. What’ve you got?”

Mashoka ignored
the snide remark. He prepared his tea and closed his eyes. “Christians call it
exorcism. I’m sure your Father William is familiar with the phenomenon.”

Ravna shook his
head and waited for Mashoka to continue.

“Gaki, or
demons, tend to find their way to our plane through portals. The portals can be
tools of the conjurer, or simply board games children play to frighten each
other. Once the Gaki comes through the portal, it is very difficult to banish
it.”

“Can Father William
bless the house?”

Mashoka took a
sip of his tea before answering. “He can.”

“And?” Ravna
asked, rolling his eyes.

“And it may not
work. First of all, Gaki is not human. It is not bound to the degeneration of
the physical container we inhabit. The creature may have come through a portal
on the other side of the Earth, or may have appeared decades ago.”

“I’m sure William
would try.”

“Then we have
to first identify the soul Gaki has attached itself to. This person’s home would
be the logical first step, although I doubt it is where Gaki came through.”

“You have known
Hunters. What do they do?” Ravna asked the old man.

“They battle
the demon and banish it.”

“How?”

“It requires a
sacrifice.”

Ravna sat
forward on his chair and squinted before replying. “Human?”

“You see what
these films do to your mind? I am not speaking of a ritualistic sacrifice. What
I mean is that the Gaki will not willingly release the soul it has polluted
unless another is offered in its place.”

Ravna shook his
head in disgust. “Who in their right mind would offer their own soul to Gaki?”

Mashoka sipped
his tea again and smiled at Ravna. “The Catholics know nothing about the
afterlife.”

“What do you
know that Father William doesn’t, Mashoka?”

“The East
believes in the Grand Cycle, the Wheel of Incarnation. Once the soul is
released from the body, it enters a place where Gaki can be tossed aside like
an old rag. It is quite simple, really.”

Ravna shook his
head at the old man. “You’re crazy. Even if you could get Gaki to come with a
soul to the afterlife, it would require the forfeit of a human life. Someone
has to give up their body.”

“Hence, the
sacrifice.”

Ravna sat back
and exhaled. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and shook his head at Mashoka.
“Who would do that?”

“It would have
to be an Easterner, one who did not believe in St. Peter’s Gate and the
nonsense of the Holy Trinity. It would have to be a soul whose body was nearing
the end of its span, a frame that did not have much life left in it.” Mashoka’s
eyes sparkled over the lip of the cup.

“I can’t let
you do that.”

“I wasn’t
asking you for permission.”

“But you’re not
dying.”

“How do you
know what is taking place inside of me?”

Ravna shook his
head. He stood up and paced the crowded living room before entering the kitchen
and refilling the tea pot.

“You would do
that for a complete stranger? You’d give up your life to take a Gaki off this
plane and release it from another’s soul?”

“I have done so
many times. It is what Hunters do.”

***

The rain came
in waves, slamming the windows and rattling them in their wooden frames. The
light blanketed the room like gray gauze. A Led Zeppelin poster hung above the
bed and a velvet Elvis clung to the adjacent wall. The aquarium’s fluorescent
bulb generated the only light from inside. Molly brushed away the curling smoke
of incense that danced in front of her nose. She listened to the toilet flush
and closed her eyes. She thought back to the first time and bit her bottom lip
until it bled.

Seven years of
marriage left her yearning for the chase, the magical time when the sex was
new. They called it the seven-year itch, and Molly knew why. After splitting
the duties of running the household, the time spent on intimacy was tainted. Some
women claimed headaches. Molly was simply tired. She could not find the passion
anymore.

“Hey,” Brian
said as he slid into his bed next to Molly.

She
felt the warmth of his naked body and the edge of his manliness. He sidled up
to her and put his hand on her hip. Brian took her earlobe into his mouth,
caressing the earring and flesh with his tongue.

Molly
raised a shoulder and shivered. The move felt too much like one Drew used to
use. Brian breathed on her neck and moved his lips toward hers.

“We
don’t kiss,” she said, turning her face from his. Molly rolled onto her stomach
and spread her legs. Brian slid over them. He nudged her legs apart with his
knees and eased down on her. Molly felt the heat from him near her. She gasped,
anticipating the moment of penetration that would drive her instantly to the
edge of orgasm.

She
placed a hand between her legs and guided Brian inside. Molly was wet and
arched her back, pushing back on him. The sex with Brian always turned rough. She
loved the contrast. Drew caressed and massaged her while Brian punished her. As
if on cue, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Brian thrust,
reaching around to grab her breasts. He pinched her nipples.

Molly
moaned, each one becoming louder and more uncontrolled. Brian felt the surge in
him. He pulled back and she rolled over onto her back at the same time. Brian
placed the tip of his penis on her chin and closed his eyes. The spasms ended and
he collapsed next to her. Molly grabbed the back of his head and thrust it into
her crotch until she came again. The orgasm passed and Molly threw the blankets
to one side. She walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. The
shower cleaned him from her and helped to wash the tears down the drain.

***

He opened his eyes
and shivered. The door to the house stood open and the woman’s body was gone. Drew
had stepped toward the hallway leading into the kitchen when his foot stuck to
the concrete. He lifted his leg and turned his foot sideways to reveal a dark
patch on his heel.

Her blood.
He thought.
A woman is dead because that fucking creature killed her.

Drew walked
into the house and felt the warmth strike his naked body. He turned into a
powder room and ripped the towel off the bar. He wrapped it around his waist more
out of habit than modesty. To the right he noticed a laundry nook. A clothesline
ran over the washer with jeans and T-shirts strung out. Drew grabbed the first
pair of jeans. He discarded the towel in the corner and slid them on. They felt
damp but almost dry. The waist matched his, but he had to cuff the bottoms of
the pant legs. A white T-shirt hung next to a pair of bras. He tore it from the
hanger and slid it over his head. A laundry basket sat on the floor with a shoe
rack next to it. Drew rummaged through the dirty laundry until he found two
socks and then slid his feet into a pair of men’s athletic shoes. He stood,
feeling better that he could face the demon fully clothed, could leave the
house on foot if he had to.

The blood smear
led down the hallway and into another room. Drew followed it, dark patches
congealing on the ivory, ceramic tile. The trail turned into a room with a
laundry tub. The woman’s arms and legs hug over the sides. The trunk of her
body and her head sat beneath the top of the tub, obscuring them from view.

“There.”

Drew knew
before he turned that it was Gaki that had spoken. The long, bluish-gray finger
pointed at a gallon of bleach on the floor.

“Clean the
blood trail first,” the creature said.

Drew spotted a
mop and bucket in the hallway. He dumped half of the bleach into the bucket and
shoved the mop inside. The vapors burnt his lungs. He pushed the mop bucket on
its wheels into the hallway, where he began swishing it back and forth. At
first it made more of a mess on the tile, spreading the blood into a pink film.
After several rinses in the bucket, the mop captured the blood. Drew dumped the
water into the drain, trying hard not to look at the body of the woman. He
refilled the mop bucket. Each time Gaki seemed to find another jug of bleach. Within
thirty minutes, Drew had mopped the hallway and the garage floor. The bleach
stung and made it difficult to breathe, but once it cleared there would be no
evidence of the violence that took place in the house. Except for the body.

Gaki handed
Drew a hatchet. The wooden handle, stained by decades of use, held a rusty
blade. The tip shone in the light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling
of the laundry room.

“You must. If
you want to keep killing, you must.”

“I don’t. I
fucking don’t!” Drew screamed at Gaki.

The creature
stepped from the shadows. It reached into the sink basin and scooped a handful
of intestines. It shoved them into the slit of its mouth, managing to chew on a
few. Drew gagged and staggered back against the cinder-block wall. He saw a
clear, plastic bag with the woman’s bloody shirt and boxers.

“You do. The
rage consumes you. The rape and the murder keeps you alive.”

Drew ran a hand
through his hair and wiped snot from his nose. “I’ll kill you,” he said.

Drew swung the
hatchet at Gaki’s thin, spindly arm. The blade sliced through the shoulder,
dropping it to the ground. Gaki laughed. He tossed his head back and the room
reverberated with the sick, grisly sound of his cackle. A popping sound came from
the severed shoulder, where a thin stream of gray ooze came forth. It coalesced
into a long cylinder, fingers forming on the end. In a matter of seconds, the
new arm replaced the severed one.

“Dispose of
her. Time is short.”

Drew staggered
and his breath hitched through choking sobs. He hacked at the woman’s body
until it sat in a pool of blood and flesh. Gaki dropped the body parts into a
garbage bag. After wrapping a towel around the woman’s head, Gaki placed it in
a clear plastic bag. He handed Drew another gallon of bleach. He took it from
Gaki and poured the yellow liquid into the tub, where it swirled with the
woman’s blood. Drew took his hand, ignored the chemical burn on his skin, and
swished the liquid around until most of the blood disappeared down the drain. He
turned on the faucet and rinsed his arms in cold water while red patches
blossomed on the back of his hands.