The Blank Bedroom Wall
Her parents opened the door immediately, on my first knock.
Two middle-aged people, stressed out and worried; the mother constantly biting her lower lip while the father kept on adjusting his spectacles without there being any need for that.
“We took her to so many doctors, to so many churches. So many pastors prayed and poured holy water on her. Then the ..................... condition seemed normal for few hours but it always keeps coming back.”
The wife dabs at tears falling down her face while the husband dutifully puts a hand on her shoulder, although he seems in as much need of consolation as her.
“Please, we don’t know what to do.”
“Can you do something for her?”
I promise the wife that I will do the best I can for their daughter.
* * * * * *
Being an exorcist is no easy job.
You never know what the hell you’re up against; whether it’s an agitated spirit, a horde of corrupted souls or a demon who has decided to take some poor soul for a spin.
Plus, this is my first sole exorcism.
I’ve seen it being done quite a few times and have helped to do it but I’ve never done it without an experienced exorcist by my side.
I wouldn’t have tried to do it by myself either but no one who can help is around and the girl’s condition seems to be worsening rapidly.
If whatever possessed her didn’t kill her, hunger, thirst or some physical affliction would.
They had not been able to feed her or even give her water for a day or two.
I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing as I entered her room.
If I screw up she would be dead. But if I did nothing the result will probably be the same.
Damned if you do.
Damned if you don’t.
* * * * * *
Her room felt ‘off’.
There was no cooling, yet the room was cold and the air itself felt charged.
The girl, a weak-looking tiny thing in her late teens, with bones nearly poking out of her skin lay in a disorderly tangle on the bed, sweating despite the cold.
She looked more dead than alive and the only signs of life were the slight heaving of her chest and incoherent mumbling from time to time.
She seemed completely oblivious to my presence with eyes staring vacantly at the blank wall in front of her.
This changed as soon as I took out from my pocket my book of incantations, a small, worn book with a plain black cover, which had seen better days.
The girl looked at me and gave a strange unsettling smile.
I gave a nod in her direction - it was time.
I opened the book and started reading.
And all hell broke loose.
* * * * * *
At the end of two hours her room was in tatters.
I myself nearly had my eyes scratched out and some buttons were missing from my shirt.
But the job was done.
The girl was sleeping peacefully, exhausted.
I stayed around for two more hours as a precaution but it was clear that the demon that had possessed her was gone.
The mother was sobbing - only this time it was tears of relief and gratitude.
As I left, the father threw his hands around me and thrust an envelope in my hand.
I protested, knowing that it was way more than my charge, but they were adamant.
They had their little girl back and for them no price was too high for their daughter.
As for me, I had just completed my first sole exorcism; I was officially an exorcist.
* * * * * *
It was the first of many exorcisms.
Over a decade, I did hundreds of exorcisms - mostly successful, some less so.
If all goes well, it’s red carpet treatment from the family of the possessed.
If not, it’s about managing to get out of the window and making a break for it before cops come banging on the door, trying to find out how a man can slash both wrists and stab his own eyes out, before bleeding to death.
At night, when all is quiet, I still hear the shrill screams of those I couldn’t save.
In my nightmares I again feel the blood spraying across my face or the dredded sound of the crack of a neck bent beyond its limit.
But unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it.
* * * * * *
In my first year as an exorcist, on my bedroom walls I started hanging photos, cards and letters sent by my successful 'patients' and their families.
When shit hits the ceiling, it helps to have some perspective; to see the good you’ve done, to see what you have achieved and the people you’ve managed to save.
The most visible spot was always for photos sent by the parents of Lisa, the teenage girl I saved through my first exorcism.
Her parents used to send me a big Christmas card every year, for five years.
Right until Lisa got addicted to drugs and ultimately died from a drug overdose.
The story was more or less the same for most of my other ‘success’ cases.
You see, I can dispel demons and corrupted souls from people, at least most of the time.
But in the end that’s not enough.
I am an exorcist, I can only chase back to hell demons and corrupted souls who find shelter within people.
But it’s not demons from hell that corrode people. It’s the demons within themselves.
And I have no cure against them.
I can't save people from themselves.
At night when the nightmares come, I wake up and look at my empty bedroom wall and think about demons, the ones that I can do nothing about.
The ones that matter.