Speaker 1: The bar I worked at didn't even have a name.
The sign out front had been blank since the early
two thousands, and nobody who came in cared enough to
ask what the place was called. We could have been
called drink here, and it wouldn't have changed the thing.
Most of our regulars were either in debt, going through
their third divorced, or waiting to die, or for a
few it was a combination. I worked at the bar
because it paid me in actual money, not drink tokens
or promises. Most of the time, I was behind on
rent again. My bank account was so low it rounded
to zero, and had already tried every get rich quick
scheme that tik tok read it and sheer desperation had
to offer. I didn't have the face for tutoring or
the charm for streaming and drop shipping. Died before I
figured out what the hell it even was. That night,
I was wiping down a chipped glass for the sixth time,
wondering if I could call in sick tomorrow and still
keep the job. I stared at the TV bolted above
the bar. Usually it was sports reruns or weather warnings.
That night, some televangelist was pacing around a fake church set,
waving a crucifix like he was directing traffic. He was
going on about demons, speaking in a voice that cracked
between shouts and sobs. People in the audience were crying.
It looked like bad theater. But what made me freeze
was the giant number at the bottom of the screen.
Cleansing services start at two thousand, four hundred and ninety
nine dollars. I blinked at it. The screen cut to
a testimonial some woman hugging him and crying about how
a walls don't scream any more. Then the price flashed again,
nice and bold. I stood there, glass in hand, getting
ready for round seven, wondering how this guy was making
three months of my rent by waving a book and
shouting a dry wall. Then I set my glass down,
wiped my hands and my jeans, and made a decision
that at the time felt kind of brilliant. Back at home,
I sat on my mattress, opened my laptop and typed
how to do an exorcism, real, real good into the
search bar. The stuff that came up was mostly religious
doctrine and official church rules, all of which boiled down
to you need to be ordained, and also, don't do
this not helpful. So I switched to the weirder side
of the internet, blogs with names like Sacred Warrior cleansing
services and a Sended Realm Brotherhood that was where the
real gold was. Guys in robes charging five hundred dollars
an hour to wave herbs and throw salt at basements.
I could do that. I already had herbs in my kitchen.
Sure they were expired parsley flakes and garlic powder, but
it was a start. I rode a shopping list one Bible,
didn't matter which version. I found, a beat at one
online for four bucks, salt table salt worked fine crucifix
plastic from a Halloween shop, spray painted gold that looked
slightly less like a toy, candles the Dollar store. Ones
that came in packs of ten. Latin phrases copy pasted
from demonology forums. I didn't know what I was saying
and didn't care, as long as I could confidently pronounce them.
I practiced in the mid that night, waving the crucifix
and muttering exoses O taste spiritus imundus while trying not
to laugh. I looked ridiculous. But I knew it wouldn't
matter if someone was desperate enough to call me. The
nods were good. They didn't have a priest on speed dial.
They'd be about as clueless about priests and exorcisms as me.
I made a Craigslist listing under the name brother Elias
because it sounded both biblical and fake enough that nobody
would try locking me up. Added a line that said
no spirit too dark, no presence too strong, guaranteed results.
I went to bed and figured it'd be a few
days before anyone actually called. It took six hours from
the time I woke up. The call came in around noon.
I almost ignored it because I thought it was my
landlord again, but something told me to pick it up,
probably that little voice in my head called rent anxiety.
She sounded nervous, quiet, breathy voice, like she thought some
one was listening on her end too. Said she'd been
here and banging at night and whispers in the hallway.
Thought maybe some one had died in the house years
ago and never left. She mentioned she lived alone, which
made a desperation more believable. People who live alone get
haunted more. I think there's a law in movies or something.
I scribbled down her a dress, told her brother Elias
would arrive within the hour, then immediately spent fifteen minutes
googling how far away she lived and trying to remember
if I'd printed out my Latin cheat sheet. I didn't
have a car. I had to borrow my neighbors. He
beat up civic that smell like astray and beef jerky.
I kept rehearsing lines on my way over begone foul spirit,
and I cast you back into the Abyss, even though
I had no idea where the Abyss was or if
it had a return policy. Her house was really small
and beat up shutters held together with cracked paint, looked
like it hadn't been renovated since the Cold War. She
entered the door in a floor bathrobe and heavy slippers,
hair up in pink rollers, real throwback energy. Her eyes
darted past me like she thought someone might be following.
I'm so glad you came, she whispered, like this was
a covert operation. I stepped in, holding my props in
a tote bag. I pulled out the plastic crucifx, the candles,
and the salt. She watched every move like our sacred.
I did a walk through, muttering random Latin phrases that
I couldn't pronounce correctly. She didn't question it, so I
kept going Spiritus sanctum er dominos repairly mallum, something like that.
I wasn't fluent all literate for that manner. I sprinkled
salt in the corners of a hallway, waved my Bible
in a lazy cross pattern near the ceiling van, and
shouted into the closet for dramatic effect. Nothing responded, but
she gasped anyway, which felt like a win. Then I
got to the kitchen she had told me that was
where the bang was loudest. I looked round, opened a
few cabinets, and tapped on a few walls like I
knew what I was doing. I heard something scratch behind
the fridge. I froze actual panic. I thought maybe it
was going to be an actual ghost and I'd have
to either fight it or apologize to it. But it
wasn't a ghost. It was a rat, huge, fat, smug.
It looked at me and blinked slowly like it knew
I wasn't a real priest. There it is, I thought
to myself. The dark ended his physical form a nasty
one too. I then quickly turned around to the woman
to give her the awful news. Ma'am. She looked at me,
eye as wide as dinner plates. You will have to
leave the house. I'm going to have to fight the demon.
She gasped and covered her mouth. You saw it, Yes,
it's evil, more evil than many I've encountered in my day.
She suddenly got a serious expression on her face. She
said she'd pray for me, before turning around and walking away.
I sighed, I actually was about to fight a demon.
This rat was massive. I reached around the fridge and
nicked my fingers, but I managed to catch it. I
threw it outside the window, hoping that i'd do the
trick before stepping out. I did a few jumping jacks
to make it look like I was really putting the
work in. When I stepped outside, the woman nearly jumped
for joy. I banished it, I lied, but it'll take
a few hours for its presence to fully dissipate. She
looked at me like i'd handed a soul back. Then
she gave me two bucks in cash, folded it in half,
and tucked it in a Kleenex, like this was an
illegal transaction. I told her to keep her windows open
for airflow. She nodded solemnly. I left before the rat
came back from the backyard for round two. I drove
home feeling like a lunatic, but a two hundred dollars lunatic.
After the first call, the jobs came easier. Some people
messaged through craigslist, some left voice mails that sounded drunk.
A few were angry at first, like they were expecting
someone else, but once I showed up with my black
shirt and candlepack, they calmed down. One guy had me
exercise his bathroom. I waved some smoke around the toilet
while he cried on the couch. None of the places
were haunted. Most ad leaky pipes or weird neighbors. One
woman heard voices that turned out to be a TV
left on in another room. Another guy swore his mirror
was possessed because he couldn't see his reflection blink. I
started enjoying it in a way. I upgraded my gear,
bought a slightly nicer crucifix from a thrift store. It
was wood instead of plastic, which meant it probably wouldn't
melt in direct sunlight. I found a second hand priestcoat
that fit well enough if I didn't button it. I
also memorized more Latin phrases that sounded impressive if I
said them quickly and with conviction. At this point I
was sure ghost business was a joke, a profitable, idiot
proof scam. Everyone wanted to believe in something, and I
was more affordable than therapy or actual religion. It was
around six in the evening when my phone rang. I
was my gwaving instant noodles and trying to remember if
I still had eggs in the fridge. I answered with
my usual vake, calm voice, brother Elia speaking. The man
on the line sounded tense. He said he got my
number from a friend for whom I had performed in exorcism.
Didn't say who. Said he had a situation and needed
me to come out to night if possible. Offered double
my rate. Before I could even respond, I grinned and
told him that he's too kind. He gave me an
ad dress on the edge of town. He told me
the house had been empty for a while. He hadn't
wanted to go back in there alone, but now that
I'd be coming with him. He felt pretty confident, said
there had been an incident. When he asked him what
kind he poor personal, he said, but the energy is
still there. I'm pretty sure. I wanted to ask what
he meant, but I also didn't care he was paying double.
I threw my supplies in the toat again, grabbed the
wooden crucifix and a fresh box of candles, then borrowed
the civic for another run. The check engine light came
on before I hit the freeway. It had been doing
that since I borrowed it last week. I ignored it
the same way I ignored every other warning in my life.
The house was exactly what I expected from some one
who described it as having energy. It was sat behind
a chainling fence that leaned more than it stood. One
of the upstairs windows was boarded up, and an old
satellite dish was pointed at the ground instead of the sky.
The man met me at the gate. To his credit,
he looked more normal than my usual customers. He tucked
in his shirt, neat hair, with his hands folded in
front of him. He handed me a hundred dollar bill
and said he'd pay the rest when it was done.
Inside it smelled horrific. I can't even describe the smell,
but I wanted to get out of there pronto. Everything
was still furniture, under sheets, carpet covered in that fine
gray dust that sticks to your shoes and makes you
feel like you're walking on dead skin. I walked in first,
but at this point I'd been doing this exorcism gig
for so long I actually wasn't even fake in my
confidence any more. The man followed behind me without speaking.
He was so quiet that it made me miss the
people who had asked dumb questions react when I waved
my fake holy water Instead. He hovered near the door
and stared into the living room. I lit the candles
one by one, muttering phrases I was pretty sure were
indistinguishable from actual priests. Now, I sprinkled salt around the
door frames, making sure to look intent and focused, or
thinking about what I would order. On the drive home,
I opened my Bible to a random passage, traced my
fingers down the margin, and read the first verse. I saw,
woa unto them, they call evil good and good evil,
I said out loud, But something felt off, not loud
or obvious, more like a draft. You only notice when
the back of your neck starts, to which I'd circled
through every room on the main floor, performing what I
generously call rights. I figured were about done, though I
hadn't found out what the cause of his haunting was yet.
Then the hallway door slam shut behind me. I didn't jump,
but my shoulders did move a little unprofessionally. I turned around,
trying to see one made the noise. Another door slammed,
this time the one to the kitchen. That one shook
the wall. A second later, something clattered behind me. I
turned and saw a plate spin off the counter and
explode onto the floor. I paused. I looked at the
homeowner the gage. If this was some kind of sick prank,
maybe a set up, a weird joke to get back
at whoever referred to me. But he wasn't laughing. He
looked nervous and scared. You seeing this, I asked, pointing
at the mess. He nodded. I stared at the shattered plate,
then at the ceiling. Okay, I said, a voice a
little higher than before. Strong one, strong presence. We'll need
more tools for this. I started walking toward the front door.
If this was a prank. I wasn't giving them the satisfaction.
If it wasn't, then I was going to regroup in
the car, come up with a better excuse, or just
drive away and pretend someone in my immediate family died
or something. I reached for the door and grabbed the
handle with what I hoped to look like casual authority.
Turned it. Nothing happened. I twisted harder. It didn't budge.
I glanced over my shoulder. You lock the yes, He
shook his head slowly. I tried again. Still locked. I
then leaned into it, pressing my weight forward, then stepped
back and gave it a good rattle. It stayed shut.
That was when the sweat started under my shirt. We'll erh,
We'll give it a second, I said out loud. I
turned back toward the men, hoping for some input. He
wasn't looking in my direction. Instead, he was looking toward
the hallway. His face had gone slack, his mouth opened slightly,
and his eyes widened without blinking. I didn't like that expression.
I followed his gaze. A wind came through the hallway,
cold and natural. It passed through me with enough pressure
to push the air out of my lungs. I staggered
and grabbed the door frame to steady myself. Then I
saw her. She stepped from the shadows near the stairs,
but her feet didn't move. They hovered, dragging nothing. Her
form shimmered. Her face was twisted and sunken, as if
something had scooped half of it out. Her eyes were
pitch black and glossy, dripping some thick black sludge that
slid down her cheeks and vanished before hitting a jaw.
Her hair looked soaked. Her dress clung to her in patches,
like it had dried in places and stayed wet in others.
I wasn't quite sure what to do. That's her, he said,
turning to face me distinctively. I got my salt jar
out and hurled salt at the supposed ghost. It did nothing.
Then I threw the entire jar at her. If this
was a person in a costume, it was about to
do some real damage. It went through her and hit
the floor behind her, bursting open in a stupid little
splash of white grains. The blessed salt did nothing. The
man quizzed blessed, I thought to myself. He had to
bless the salt I saw the man trembling, his hands
at his side, eyes locked on her. I looked back
at the ghost. This whole time, she completely ignored me
and my presence. Her gaze was fixed on him. She
moved one moment she stood by the wall, and the
next she passed straight through the air and collided with him.
He dropped instantly, his back hid the floor, and then
he began to convulse. It wasn't natural. His body seized
in waves. His arms smacked the floor, and his legs
bent wrong. His mouth opened, but no noise came out.
He slowly started levitating. I stood frozen, completely useless. I
had no script for this part. None of my notes
said what to do when your fake demon actually showed up.
I looked around for something holy, but all I had
left was a melted candle stup and the Bible. I
turned and ran for the front door. I didn't expect
it to open. I reached for the with a full
belief that it would be fuse shut, but it turned.
The door gave way with no resistance. I didn't wait
to think about why. I stepped out into the cold night,
walked fast to the civic and drove off without checking
if leaving that front door open meant I'd just released
the demon out into the streets. My hand shook and
the wheel so badly I nearly drifted off the path
twice before returning to the main road. My legs bounced
under the dashboard. My stomach was a solid block of
guilt and confusion. I didn't even know what I had seen.
I kept thinking, maybe it was some weird performance art
gone wrong. Maybe I'd inhaled something in that house mouled hallucinations.
That was a thing, right. I parked three streets away
from my apartment and sat there with the engine running.
I thought about what would happen if I called someone,
told the cops there was something wrong at that house.
They'd asked me what I couldn't say, A dead woman
possessed the guy who hired me to perform an exorcism.
I didn't even know his name. I'd get asked questions
I didn't have answers for. I pulled out my phone
and hit the non emergency number. Said I was a
concerned neighbor, hadn't seen the guy in a while, heard
something weird from inside, thought someone should check on him.
The despatcher thanked me and said they'd send someone out.
I hung up and stared at the ceiling of my
car for a while. I was half way through reheating
the same noodles from earlier when the phone rang again,
same number as before. Hello, Hi, The officer said, you
called early about someone on Shorewell lane, Yeah, I said,
did you find anything? He laughed, A little guy's fine,
said he was meditating, really friendly. House looked good, too, clean, quiet,
nothing unusual. He said he appreciated us checkin in, but
us neighbors not to bother him with noise any more.
I didn't say anything for a second, right, I said, good,
thanks for letting me know. I hung up, stared at
the floor, then at the window, then back at the floor.
By morning, my eyes fell like sandpaper, and my hands
still had that post adrenaline tingle. I couldn't stop replying it.
Every time I blinked, I saw her face again, those
black holes he her eyes should have been the thick
drip sliding down her face. I told myself to forget
it and move on, but I couldn't. I had to
make sure I slowed. As I passed the man's house.
My eyes went to the window. He was there, standing
behind the glass. He was smiling. His head followed my
car as I passed, slow and smooth, like it was
mounted on something. They could rotate full circle if needed.
I drove forward, turned the car and didn't stop again
until I was home. With the door locked and the
candles thrown in the trash, I saw all I needed
to see. I sat at my desk and deleted every
ad I'd posted. Brother Elias was officially retired. Maybe I
wasn't cut out for the hole Riocht after all,