Category: Halloween

When a priest exorcises a demon from someone, where does the demon go?
Does it go back to Hell? Or does it get released into the wild so it can possess someone else?
And if the demon goes back to Hell, what’s to stop it from finding its way back here to possess someone else?
Can daemons be destroyed? Because I’d think that would be a smarter option than just prying them loose and letting them go bother someone else.
Unless you’re in the business of exorcism, that is.
Can’t go threatening your customer base and revenue stream, I guess.

Traditional wedding vows state “Til death do we part.”
So when you die, you’re free.
However, some people prefer to remain married in the Hereafter.
That’s where I come in. I’m a Ghost Preacher, and I marry the dead.
Although they prefer to call it a renewal of their eternal vows.
Things get a little sticky when someone gets remarried after they lose their partner.
Not just because the spirits quibble and quarrel over who is more in love with each other.
But the fact that the ghosts tend to take it out on me, and that ectoplasm is disgusting.

Victorian London.
Carriages, top hats, gaslamps, and cobblestone streets.
Every Saturday, The Succubus Club gathers together.
The valet takes their canes and topcoats, and guides them…
To the study.
To the staircase.
To the cellar.
She is waiting there.
Over the centuries, she has survived.
She is the last of her kind.
Her sisters, loving one after another.
Leaving a trail to follow.
Discovered, hunted down, burned.
Unlike them, she loves many.
And they all love her. And protect her. And hide her.
The mayor arrives. The chief of police.
Captains of industry.
And they are so very happy together.

Remember me as I was, before the madness took me.
All the memories we shared. The things we did.
Those are all gone now.
What’s left, please don’t let it hurt you.
This is not me. This is something else.
Something sick, and evil.
And it can make you sick and evil, too.
Bury it somewhere, no matter how much it screams.
Or how much it begs you to stop.
Bring a shovel, duct tape, a machete.
And a sleeping bag. Or heavy blanket.
Whatever it takes.
Don’t let it touch you.
And, please, God, don’t let it bite you.

Leland’s mother liked to say “out of sight, out of mind” a lot.
She was also blind. And she was often out of her mind.
Some of it was the booze and pills, but insanity ran in Leland’s family, and he was sent off to live with relatives.
And then sent off to foster care when those relatives went missing.
Did Leland kill them? The police investigated, but couldn’t prove anything.
They never found the bodies.
People have a habit of disappearing around Leland.
“I don’t mind them at all,” he says.
And he smiles through the prison cell bars.

Every night in the dormitory, there’s a pillow fight.
No, it’s not coeds blowing off some steam.
It’s some nasty fighting between the ghosts that haunt the building.
Sometimes, it’s so bad, the house master has to call the campus police.
A pair of exorcists enter the building, and after a few minutes, the noise ceases.
“Why can’t we get rid of those spirits for good?” asks the headmaster.
The exorcists shrug. “You’d have to tear the building down,” they said.
Besides, exorcism costs the same as bug extermination.
Compared to building a new dormitory…
The headmaster writes another check.

According to the witness, we’re close to Ted’s neck of the woods.
If we walk that way, we’ll be at Ted’s foot of the woods.
On the way, we’ll pass his hip of the woods, his knee of the woods, and his ankle of the woods.
Did you bring the body bag?
Good. Snap plenty of photos before you mark the spot and bag up the remains.
Be quick about it, because there’s wolves in these woods, and they’ll drag off anything we don’t get before sundown.
Man, they sure did a number on this Ted guy.
That poor bastard.

Dr. Laslo Martin came to the facility with the best of references.
But his solution to everything was a lobotomy.
They complained to the state until they ordered an investigation.
Dr. Martin caught word of it, and the next day, he had the other doctors lobotomize him.
About an hour after the procedure, everyone began to get sick.
Patients. Doctors. Nurses. Staff. Guards.
Everyone was vomiting blood.
Dr. Martin had poisoned the day’s meals in facility’s cafeteria.
When the investigators arrived, slipping on the foulness on the floor, they found him blankly standing by a window, whispering incomprehensible meaningless mumbles.

I woke up, tied to a chair.

The bounty hunter loaded a bullet into the pistol, spun the chamber, and cocked the hammer.

He pointed the gun and me and pulled the trigger.

Click.

“How much do you lose if you bring me in dead instead of alive?” I said.

“Ten thousand,” he said.

Click.

“That’s a lot,” I said.

I felt a searing pain in my chest.

And then… the twisting and knotting of my flesh as it healed itself.

He loaded a silver bullet.

But by then, I had already torn the ropes and leapt for his throat.