(Author’s Note: This is another TerribleMinds challenge! This time it’s grab a random title and build a story off it. This story contains a fair amount of irreverance towards evangelical Christianity, as well as poop and swearing. It is also exactly 666 words long, hurr hurr. Enjoy!)
“The power of Christ Jesus compels you, unholy spirit! Leave this body and show your true form!”
The peacock tipped its head to one side, as if listening, then took an unholy dump on the manicured lawn. I left it there. There wasn’t a retainer big enough to cover demon-poop bags.
From here I could hear the client sobbing inside her house, convinced beyond reason that her idiotic vanity pet had been possessed by a demon. Specifically one called Adramelech. High Chancellor of Hell. President of the High Council of Devils. Snappy dresser. Mean
Of course, it could also just be a plain old peacock. The easiest way to tell for sure would be to offer it a sacrifice, but for some reason the wasp queen wasn’t keen to give up one of her oversized crotch-dumplings.
Time for Plan B. I pull out the Super Soaker and get that cock absolutely soaking wet. It starts making the most horrendous noise. Could still be a regular peacock. Then it glows red-hot like a Chinese firework, and explodes, leaving a smokey skull hanging in the air for a moment.
I told you this guy was classy.
The client creeps out of the house. She’s not crying anymore. Too scared to cry. “Well, you were right,” I said. “That was definitely an Adramelech avatar. Good thing you called me when you did.”
I holster the soaker. “Now, about our fee,” I said. “Let’s see that sweet Mammon of yours.”
She glares at me. Folds her arms over her chest. “What the shit!? I meant money, not your tits. Seriously, how do you not know who Mammon is? You reading Demonpedia? Ugh.
Self-diagnosis is a rabbit hole, lady.”
She silently opens her wallet and pulls out several bills. They’re crispy. Nice. I pocket them and walk away.
I suppose I should rewind a bit and get you up to speed. The name’s Harold Iball, and I’m a demon hunter. I’ve travelled the world looking for demons. Sometimes they’re kids playing pranks in the hopes of YouTube fame. Sometimes they’re legit. But I always get paid.
“But Harold,” you’re saying, “How can you possibly kill a demon that’s older than civilisation itself? I mean, these are dark forces incarnate.”
Oh, really? I can’t kill the demons forever? Well thanks for reminding me of that critical flaw in my plan. Douche.
What I can do is punch them back out of meatspace for a while, and really, that’s enough. The thing is, they’re not very good at being corporeal. They used to just rely on word-of-mouth to get the people afraid of ’em and keep the sacrifices coming. Now that people don’t fall for that so much, they have to work. That makes ’em visible.
Which is where I come in.
I wasn’t always this total badass. I used to be the geeky kid who sat in the back row at church and made up rude words to the hymns. But then I saw my first demon.
I still make up rude words to the hymns, but now I do the church the occasional solid to make up for my blaspheming. They say I’ve got a gift. They even tried to rope me into their way of demon-whacking, but it was all barf and glossolalia and generally humiliating the
person into a stupor so they’d mistake the relief of the ceremony being over with some kinda deliverance. And if there’s a real demon hanging around that person, well, they just get a
giant boner from all that suffering.
Demon boners. Not a happy thought. Then again, thinking of boners in general is kinda iffy since it reminds me of the one demon I haven’t caught yet. The one that started it all. The one they call the Dark Rainbow. His real name’s Bapoby, and he turned my best friend gay. And even though my friend says he’s fine, I’m gonna take that demon out if it’s the last thing I do…