A couple weeks back I performed one of my short stories to a live audience for the first time. It was great getting such mass feedback. I’m not really a performer (As you can tell from the delivery of my story, thankfully I’ve supplied sub-titles for those who don’t understand Scottish Mumbling) but it’s fantastic to see that the humour and the story shines through.
This story is one of a number of stories I wrote as part of a writing experiment over on my other blog. The rules of the experiment was that I wrote a list of 20 “Starting Emotions” and 20 “Horror Sub-genres” and attempted to write a story based on the combination. This was the combo of Drunk and Religious.
Post Exorcism Drinks
A shiver shot down my spine as I sat on the steps outside the back door, drunk but not quite as drunk as I felt I should be. I loosely gripped the neck of a bottle of cheap vodka, three quarters empty. The bottle bounced off my knees as my body involuntarily swayed. Still not drunk enough. My shoes were spattered with speckles of vomit. Not my own vomit either. It was either the girl’s or Father Williams’. The mixture of cheap vodka fumes and the stench of other people’s bodily discharge was making it difficult not to retch. I clumsily kicked off my shoes and staggered back inside the house. This proved to be a bad idea almost immediately because I’d apparently forgot that the floor was teeming with broken glass. All of the picture frames had fallen off the walls earlier and were left where they fell due to more pressing matters at hand. I grabbed my shoes from outside the back door and tried to rinse them off in the kitchen sink. The taps rattled for a couple seconds before blood began pouring out. I frowned, still not drunk enough for this. There was still evil in the house.
I had accompanied Father Williams here with intentions of removing the evil which when Williams had been called, was inside of Macy Gordon. Macy was a student who was renting this house with two other girls, Jenna Reid and Susie James. It was Miss James who had contacted Williams, under guidance from her mother. Susie had let us into the property before taking a taxi to her mother’s house. When we entered it seemed like the usual residence of college students except it was very dark and there was unnatural howling coming from up the stairs. Father Williams led the way as we ascended the stairs. There was a few bedrooms on the second floor but I had quickly assumed that the one we were looking for was behind the door covered in a large number of paper crosses. The howling felt like a physical barrier pushing us back as Father Williams opened the door. My eyes watered and I could feel sweat pouring out of me, like whatever forces of evil were causing all the liquid in my body to evacuate in terror.
When I first saw Macy she was sat in a rather subdued, serene state on the ceiling. The howling didn’t seem to be coming from her specifically but was swirling around the room like a tornado. I was ready to give up at that point. I was only there anyway because I owed a favour to Father Williams for the time last summer when he helped me move house. I had been woken rudely about an hour ago, the old man telling me he was claiming that favour. I was thinking more in the realms of watering his plants when he was out of town or something but it was too late to make excuses. On the drive over he had explained that I wouldn’t have to do much, hold his bag, be a second pair of eyes in case whatever devils were active here tried anything too tricky. I was still half asleep at that point and assumed it was just church humour or maybe he was loosing a few of his marbles.
Father Williams wasted no time and was already chanting out scripture, the kind of anti-satanic smack-talk I recognised from The Exorcist. The Power of Christ compels you… Your Demon Momma so fat… Macy was still sat casually on the ceiling, taking very little mind of what Williams was saying. It was only when he splashed her with some Holy Water that things really took a turn for the worse. Her eyes opened wide and shone like the high beams of a truck, cutting through the dingy darkness of the room. The howling became a booming cacophony as her mouth dropped open, unnaturally wide. The shadows danced in the lights from her eyes, the forms of unseen creatures populating the room. Father Williams screamed his holy commandments loudly, eyes locked with Macy’s high beams. The shadows seems to be reaching for him and I quickly edged towards him to pull him out of there when Macy erupted.
Brightly coloured vomit rained down on Williams. It covered him and entered him through his screaming mouth. I retched from the little amount that had sprayed back towards me. I looked back up to see Williams regurgitating the demon vom along with whatever he had for dinner. Macy dangled from the light fixture. It wasn’t really her any more though, mostly just skin. It fluttered like an empty bag. Father Williams looked at it with an expression that I could only interpret as severe disappointment, before the puddle of bile and evil on the floor rushed up at him and pulled him down. He was covered entirely within seconds and I couldn’t make out the shape of him soon after that. It dissolved Father Williams into nothing before disappearing into the floor boards. I stood in a state of shock for a few minutes, not quite sure how I was supposed to comprehend this. Also I was pretty sure Father Williams had had the car keys in his pocket at the time he was consumed by evil.
Stranded, and dumbfounded by what I had just witnessed, I decided that the best course of action was to raid the college girls’ booze supply and try to force some kind of mental repression. I thought about maybe phoning for a taxi but I was pretty sure if I attempted any sort of vocal communication I was just going to either scream or sob uncontrollably until I passed out. I closed the cross-covered bedroom door behind me and made my way down to the kitchen, glass crunching under my feet as I went. Rummaging in the kitchen, I found a half bottle of Bacardi which I necked immediately, and the vodka which I took with me onto the steps outside.
Standing by the sink, watching blood pool amongst unwashed dishes, I pondered the right course of action. Is this the time for me to burn the house down and run screaming into the night? Would that kill the evil? This wasn’t my house. It wasn’t my holy mission either. As an Atheist, although by this point closer to Agnostic, I felt out of my depth. I turned off the taps, put on my shoes and with a final swig from the bottle of vodka, left the house. Walking down the street, I felt tears of frustration streaming down my face as I began to run. I had seen hell that night and I’m sure I’ll see it again.