Chapter One-2
2021 Words
“It is a crime against nature that Eloise was taken so young. I never understood why the most innocent in our world seem to suffer the most. There’s no rhyme or reason for it. God can be so randomly cruel sometimes, do you agree? I suppose you’ll have a few choice questions for the man upstairs when your time comes, no doubt. May I offer you a drink, Grace?”
My heart quickens its pace. How did he know my name?
“Champagne perhaps? Shall I call the waitress?”
Through clenched teeth, I mumble a response.
“I’m sorry Ms. Madsen. I didn’t hear you.”
“I don’t drink alcohol,” I say quietly.
“Ahhh, you must be an angel then. How delightful. We’ve so much in common, you and I.”
“What could I possibly have in common with you Sir?” I say between gritted teeth.
“You see Grace, we are both particular kinds of angels. Fallen angels, as it were…”
My heart races, my voice begins to quiver.
“Fallen angels?”
“Indeed…”
The man gestures to the waitress. As he places the order I summon the courage to look up at the demon. To my dismay, I notice the tip of his tongue is split. I try to mask my look of horror as his forked tongue slips in and out between his lips, like an alien creature with two slimy pointed heads living inside the cave of his mouth. I immediately feel nauseous again. It is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen, more horrifying perhaps than the pointed horns. He turns back to me and introduces himself by holding a limp hand out in a polite, even effete manner.
“Grace, please forgive my rudeness. I know your name but you don’t know mine. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lucius Barrington, at your service. I am the founder of the Chicago branch of the Worldwide Church of Satan. You are always invited to visit my temple, The Church of the Anti-Christ. Please do a Google search on the name and you’ll find our website. I conduct services there every Friday at midnight. Some in the press might call it a Black Mass, but really it’s nothing of the sort. Please ignore all the negative publicity we seem to attract. We are just a social gathering of open-minded intellectually curious friends, no different than you and your friends, I’m sure. You can also find us on the social media, f*******:, Twitter, etcetera. I’d love you to meet my congregation, if you’re not too busy this Friday. You’d be a most honored guest, Ms. Madsen, I assure you…”
The Church of the Anti-Christ… The Worldwide Church of Satan… I wish I was imagining all of this, but the scene playing out before me is all too real. The demon continues to hold out his pinkish, flabby hand for a long moment and I finally take it. I’m careful not to cut my skin on his fingernails, which have been filed down to five sharp points. I touch his sweaty claw and quickly let it go. The skin of his palm has a clammy texture to it, like the slimy wet surface of an eel. As he speaks I feel afraid again, back in the pews of First Assembly of God, listening to one of Pastor Orman’s famous sermons. The False Prophets, the Mark of the Beast, the Lake of Fire, the numbers 666. I know it is only a matter of time before I lose my mind. I don’t want to go the mental hospital. Please. I don’t want to go…
“I am descended from a long line of archangels,” he says, “leading all the way back to Lucifer Himself. After the curse of original sin, when Adam and Eve were separated from God, my ancestors lusted after the flesh of the first women. The Sons of Man came down from the Heavens to copulate with the wives of the first men. This displeased the Father so much that He threw His archangels into a deep abyss and separated them from God through eternity. God did not approve of His Host of Heaven having s*x with the Daughters of Men. I’ve often wondered, why did God do that? What was His motivation? Was God jealous? Did He secretly want to have s*x with the first women? Is that why he cast His offending angels out of Heaven? What do you think Grace?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think about such things. It’s all nonsense.”
“Yes, I agree. It’s not worth thinking about really. I’ve just always wondered why God would create a woman’s body in a fetching manner, yet impose such a harsh penalty on my ancestors for enjoying the fruits of that creation. The beauty of a woman is made to be enjoyed without shame, don’t you agree?”
Pastor Orman’s frequent sermons about the fallen angels had always frightened me, but it sounded even more terrible rolling off the demon’s snake-like tongue.
“You were raised a Christian, weren’t you, Ms. Madsen?”
How did he know that? How could he possibly know that?
“Have you any explanation for this paradox? Ms. Madsen?” he asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it further, if you don’t mind.”
“It is a difficult theological question, to be sure,” he said, ignoring me. “It’s not even worth considering, of course, for an educated man. Well, I’m very pleased to finally speak with you Grace. I’ve looked forward to this moment for many years. I hope we can get better acquainted. To be honest, it’s rather tedious always having to be the ‘Personification of Evil.’ The truth is no one really knows anything about me. I am a man of flesh and blood, just like every other man in this room. And I’m afraid, over time, I’ve developed a bit of an obsession with you, my dear. Would you care to get to know me a little better too, my little lost angel?”
I didn’t respond.
“You’re quite shy, aren’t you, little one? You needn’t be afraid of me, Ms. Madsen. Like all men, I am a divine mixture of both the sacred and the profane. If you allow yourself the opportunity to get to know me better, I think you’ll agree my negative attributes have been grossly exaggerated over the centuries of my existence. Once you see I’m not such a bad person, you won’t be nearly as nervous around me. That is my hope at least.”
I finally gather the courage to speak.
“What…”
“Yes, Ms. Madsen?”
“What… is it that you want from me, Mr. Barrington?”
“Why so formal, Grace? Call me Lucius. We’re old friends. We’ve known each other since childhood. Don’t you remember?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I said, beginning to lose my composure.
“Are you sure? Has the Pastor of your church ever mentioned anything about me?”
I shake my head no.
“Here. Perhaps this will answer a few of your questions about my relationship to you. Read it at your leisure, my dear. Many things will be made clear to you once you’ve read the document.”
The demon hands me an envelope. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want it, whatever it was. But rather than talking further to him, I fold it in half and stuff it in the bottom of my purse under my makeup to throw away later.
“You were quite young when last we met, little one. Around 5 years old, I do believe. I suppose you don’t remember. It was so long ago. Our parents attended the same church, First Assembly of God, next to Target off the highway. I’ve always found it apt that the wonderful church you grew up in is literally right next to that bastion of American consumerism. I was a wee lad, only 7 years old when Mother brought me to Sunday school for my first and only time. All the other children ignored me, but not you, Grace. You were such a sweet child. You invited me to play dolls with you. How nice you were. This made quite an impression on me, as a child. I’ll always remember the kindness you showed me that day. I’m sure to you it was nothing and you don’t even remember it, but to me, it was the only true act of kindness anyone has ever shown me in my life. You and I were having a good time playing with the dollhouse, do you remember, until Pastor Orman saw me through the window. He immediately came into the Sunday school classroom and looked down at me strangely. We continued playing, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The Pastor asked the Sunday school teacher about me. Do you remember who the Sunday school teacher was, Ms. Madsen? It was your Mother. Your Mother taught Sunday school at church while you were growing up, did she not? Ms. Madsen?”
I nod, as if in a trance. How could the stranger have possibly known that detail about my childhood?
“Suddenly the Pastor Orman grabbed me and I fell to the floor, yelling and writhing under his grasp. Someone was sent to pull my Mother out of the morning chapel service and she immediately came running into the classroom, thinking I’d been hurt. I remember Pastor Orman kneeling before me, laying hands upon me and praying as a crowd gathered to watch the show. I remember how harshly he pressed my small body into the floor.”
I feel my skin tingle with fear.
“Why was Pastor Orman… praying over you?”
“Do you not know? It’s quite simple, my dear. I was possessed by a demon as a child. And I still am to this day…”
The manner in which he said it, in such a nonchalant fashion, terrifies me. I look down at my hands on the table. They’re trembling.
“The Pastor tried his best to cast the demon out of me. Though he quoted all sorts of bible verses, spoke in tongues and beseeched the Lord Jesus to remove the unclean spirit from my body, nothing worked. Pastor Orman eventually gave up on the exorcism and told my Mother to take me away from his church and to never come back. “His soul is tainted!” he declared. “This boy is the child of Satan, possessed by the Devil Himself!” I remember how you gave me a sad confused look as my Mother snatched me off the floor, sobbing. I cried to be separated from you too. The tears of a child are the saddest thing, are they not? Needless to say, I never returned to your church… You don’t recall any of this embarrassing incident, do you Grace?”
I shake my head no. He keeps talking, asking me questions.
“It feels to me like it happened just yesterday. You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“May I ask you as a Christian, you do believe in the power of demonic possession?”
“I’m no longer a Christian.”
“That’s good because neither am I.”
I sit absolutely still, unable to speak.
“You still don’t know who I am, do you Ms. Madsen? I’m surprised you don’t remember me. Why don’t you take a guess?”
“No! I don’t know you! I don’t remember you.”
“There’s no need to raise your voice. Have I said something to offend you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore!” I shout, quite loudly.
Several heads turn in my direction and the crowd becomes quiet around me. After I raise my voice, the sides of the demon’s lips curl up slightly in amusement. James hears my outburst and moves quickly through the crowd toward my table. He eyes the man suspiciously.
“Grace, I heard you shout. Is everything alright?” James asks.
I look up at James and nod, embarrassed to have caused a scene in his club.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Everything’s OK,” I say.
James gives the demon a stern look.
“Is this man bothering you?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Are you sure, honey?” James asks.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“OK. I’ll be right over at the bar if you need me,” James says, slipping back through the crowd.
I take a deep breath and answer the demon’s question in a more composed voice.
“I don’t remember your story, Mr. Barrington. I wasn’t there. You must have me mistaken for someone else. I have no idea who you are, Sir.”
The demon leans forward across the table and whispers in a conspiratorial voice.
“I apologize if I’ve upset you child. For now, in the limited time we have together; let me say that the slave collar you wear is undignified and does not befit a woman of your royal bloodline. You don’t realize this yet Grace, but you are a much more important and powerful person than you think. It is your destiny to become the Queen of the Underworld. You have no idea what power lies within you. Allow me to help you become aware of that power and utilize it, for good or ill.”
The crazy talk upsets me further. I feel nauseous. My head is spinning. I try to move away but my ankle is cuffed to the leg of the table.
- Writer
