A Familiar Exorcism

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Familiar Exorcism is a short story surrounding a family in crisis. John and Martha Drakkar will do anything in their power to save the life of thier young son whom has been possessed by an acient evil.

Submitted: January 12, 2011

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Submitted: January 12, 2011

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White sheets twisted around his arms and legs, tightly holding him against the wooden chair. The house’s temperature had dropped near zero. His rotten breath fogged the living room. The Drakkar’s large mansion seemed like a lost diamond amidst rocks. His parents could not only afford one but numerous of them. “Ding, dong,” shouted the doorbell. His nose could already sense the holy water. Martha rushed downstairs and opened the door. A man dressed in black walked in and followed her to the living room. The chair began to shake furiously. Blood traveled quickly through his strained arms and legs. He banged his head against the back of the chair.
 
Exactly a month ago, mid September when the sun blazed the northern hemisphere, Damien sat bored at home. He watched television, and played with his expensive toys, which lived in the playroom on the third floor of his house. Being an only son was extremely hard on Damien. Even with an entire room filled with Toys’R’us products, he was not happy. Martha, his middle-aged mother would not let him associate with the poverty-stricken neighbors. Damien could, on the tip of his fingers, count the amount of friends he had.
 
 
Martha loved to pet Damien’s curls as she bathed the eight year old. Every night she sat beside his bed and read him a bedtime story and when Damien fell asleep, she kissed him goodnight. Damien’s father, John, on the other hand was never present to experience the sugarcoated moments Martha created throughout the day. He worked in Seattle and only got to take the nine hour trip on the weekends to visit his family. Martha did not mind his distance; as long as the money kept coming, she was more than supportive.
 
Damien wondered about the tall steel gate of the house, face down, rusting his hands against the shinning metal hoping to one day cross it and be free from his mother’s claws. Suddenly a small rock banged against the gate. Damien looked up in surprise. A boy stood in front of him. Damien right away saw the opportunity and sprung into action.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“My name is Luis,” he said while gazing at the tall house.
“My name is Damien, do you want to play?”
Luis looked around and noted the street was empty.
“Sure.”
Damien asked the servant to open the gate. The servant did not argue and silently carried out his wishes.
“Never let strangers enter this house!” Martha would scream at Damien.
She hated the town yet John never wanted to move for it belonged to his great grandfather.
 
 
Luis was a meatless child, pure bones who only took baths once a week. Damien avoided his dirty appearance, bathed or not, he was desperate for a friend. Luis’s mind burst in excitement; he couldn’t believe the size of the playroom, which was bigger than his own house. There were many varieties of toys from stuffed animals to pin-pong tables. They played for hours until Martha arrived home. She had taken five hours to complete the grocery shopping and she had taken four servants to help her carry the merchandise. The second she witnessed the strange pair of cheap Havaianas resting on the 500 dollar “welcome” rug, her faced turned red in anger. She asked the servants whom they belonged to and they did not hesitate to answer.
“Damien!” She screamed from the first floor.
Her voice carried out strongly all the way to the third floor. Damien knew he was in trouble. He ran downstairs, pushing Luis in front of him.
“Nice meeting you!” said Luis shyly towards Martha.
Martha examined the boy closely. She did not reply. She called Damien to the kitchen.
“What were you thinking?” she shouted.
“I’m tired of listening to you!” he yelled nervously.
Martha was shocked. The strength on Damien’s words scared her. He had never spoken to her in such a tone.
“I’m sorry cornflakes!”
Damien walked away with a grin on his face, he ran upstairs and Luis followed him. Martha shook her head and looked to see it any of the servants had witnessed the happening.
“I at least want his house number so his parents can pick him up!”
 
 
In the pile of board games resembling the Eiffel Tower, Luis grabbed one of the boxes. Inside consisted a wooden board and a planchette. There were no instructions but Luis knew them by heart. He grabbed the board and asked Damien’s permission to play.
“What is it?” asked Damien.
“It’s a game that lets talk with ghosts!” confirmed Luis.
Damien was not convinced at first, he had never heard of such a thing, but as he looked within himself, he realized he had not heard of much in the first place.
“How does it work?”
Luis explained and they started to play.
“Just place your hand on this piece,” he said pointing.
Luis turned off the lights and the board glowed amidst darkness.
“Are there any ghosts in here?” giggled Luis.
Damien shook in fear, all he could see were the mysterious letters and numbers the board consisted of. The planchette slowly moved to YES.
“Your pushing it,” declared Damien.
“Shhhh…what is your name?” directed Luis to the board.
The board spelled out, A-C-A-R-I-O. They proceeded to ask questions to the talking board. Unexpectedly, Martha opened the door and switched on the lights.
“What are you guys doing in here?” she asked.
“We are just playing a game mom.”
“It’s getting dark, I think you should call your parents,” said Martha towards Luis.
“It’s okay, I will just walk,” he said.
“Well, at least give us a call when you get home.”
They both released their hands from the planchette. As they walked out of the room and closed the door behind them, the planchette twitched by itself.
 
 
The next morning, when Damien entered the playroom, the board was in the exact same place. While he was placing it back into the box, he found the instructions glued with gum under the board. As he shuffled through the instructions, his eyes came upon a terrifying factor. Damien’s heart jumped in fright. Luis and he had not said good-bye, which was an important rule of the game. Damien looked around and felt dread surround him. He rushed to the kitchen where his mother was waiting to start breakfast.
“What’s wrong cornflakes? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost!” said Martha.
Damien did not respond, he quietly ate his breakfast. The entire day he followed Martha around the house, he even decided to go out shopping with her. Martha interpreted it as his way of feeling bad for screaming at her the day before.
 
 
When night arrived, Damien’s room temperature dropped five degrees. As he lay asleep, the bed lightly trembled. He woke up frightened. He was paralyzed, his eyes moved rapidly tearing in pain. He heard footsteps approaching. He tried to scream for his mother, but no voice left his throat. Lurking in the corner of his left eye, he saw a black figure, standing over him. As the black figured stretched out his wrinkling hands to cover Damien’s eyes, the blackness turned into light as he gasped out of paralysis. The next morning, Damien no longer felt like himself.
 
 
Damien slowly walked downstairs, breathing heavily and growling. Martha’s palms sweated in fear of her eight year old child as he walked in the kitchen with empty eyes.
“What’s wrong cornflakes?”
Damien did not speak, he silently set down on his usual seat and starred at the wall. Martha right away phoned John crying, telling him about Damien’s strange behavior.
“Are you sure he is not just acting up?” John suggested.
“Don’t patronize me, I know my son.”
“Take him to see our doctor then. We pay him for that exact reason,” John suggested, not even worried.
Martha noticed Damien had anxiety and anger written all over his face. After many exams, the doctors did not find anything wrong with Damien, so Martha took him home. Damien continued to act strangely until Martha could not take it any longer. She phoned John and pleaded for him to return home. Once John placed his eyes upon Damien, he noticed the emotional features in Damien’s face and right away knew it was no longer his boy inside the pale body. John gathered all his resources. They jumped from doctor to doctor, but none could help. Weeks passed and Damien only got worse.
 
 
John and Martha laid in bed, worried for their only child’s safety. Martha laced her arms around John’s chest and kissed his shoulder.
“I have missed you so much John,” she pleaded.
John looked at the celling, not replying. He turned to the side, facing his nightstand. His cellphone ringed. “Wrong number,” he responded to Martha as she asked who it was. Martha felt lonely. She rolled on top of John and fiercely kissed him. She kissed his neck and made her way down to his chest. She gripped his nipple and lightly bite it. in luscious pain, John grabbed her by the neck and lifted her silky red lingerie. Martha breathed heavenly as John caressed her breasts. It had been years since the two had made love, Martha longed for her husbands touch. In this moment she no longer felt alone. John’s cellphone rang again. He reached to grab it.
“Screw you,” she yelled as she walked towards the master bathroom.
Martha starred at herself in the mirror. She could see why her husband no longer desired her. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and walked back in the room. John quickly hanged up the phone.
“Wrong number again?” asked Martha.
“It was Doug, I have to return to Seattle in two days.
“it’s one in the morning!”
“You’re point?”
“Oh Go to hell!” martha whispered in his ear as she turned around, placed on her eye mask and fell asleep.
“It’s our last resort, we have to call him.” John pointed out as he sealed his eyes for the night.
 
The priest sat down on the corner couch in the living room and analyzed Martha and John standing over Damien as he was latched onto a wooden chair.
“My poor cornflake,” whispered Martha.
“That is not our little boy,” said John, “I am sure.”
“Please help us father,” she begged, directing her voice towards the priest.
The priest did not answer. He quietly placed on his necklace cross, kissing it before resting it on his chest. He grabbed a glass vial from his pocket and rose it to the heavens. The boy stared into the vial, his eyes twitched in fear. The room silenced. The boy’s heavy breathing scared Martha. The priest’s forceful footsteps shook the floor. The boy gathered an immense amount of saliva and spat on the priest’s necklace. The priest calmly grabbed a tissue from his chest pocket and polished the silver cross. Diabolical screams filled the living room. The priest opened the vial and poured some of the liquid into his right hand. The boy’s skin ripped open as the holy water splattered all over his thin, unfed body.
“Stop it!” screamed Martha, hearing the cries of pain coming from her son.
The priest did not care to listen, he continued to slat holy water on the boy and pray in God’s name. The boy’s tears turned red. Martha moaned in shock.
“What on earth is happening?” asked John.
The priest maintained with his prayer. The boy’s chair levitated into the cold air. The priest’s jaw fell to the ground, he had never experienced such malicious power.
“The power of Christ expels you!” shouted the priest, gasping for air.
John, who had been comfortably sitting in the corner couch, got up and grabbed the chair. He used all this force to pull it down. The bone on his left thumb cracked. Martha, lost in the chaos ran towards John and helped him lay down on the couch. The priest continued to repeat his sentence until the chair returned to the ground. The boy’s head leaned forward, his eyes shut.
“Is it over?” asked Martha hopeful.
The inexperienced priest shook his head in doubt. Martha walked over to Damien and lightly tapped his raw right shoulder.
“Cornflakes?” she muttered.
 
 
Damien’s eyes opened and he gently lifted up his head.
“Mom?” he asked confused. His eyes had turned back to their usual green color.
“Oh my sweet cornflakes!”
“Why can’t I move?”
“Don’t worry, everything’s okay.”
Martha looked at the priest’s droopy eyes. The priest searched for his pen inside his briefcase. When he found it, he pulled in a chair near Damien and jotted down some notes.
“My name is Father Hayden.”
Damien paid minor attention to the priest, he looked at his wrist and feet and still wondered why he had been confined to the chair.
“Damien,” demanded the priest, “listen to me carefully.”
Martha left Damien’s side and took John to the bathroom, to take a closer look at this fractured thumb.
“Do you know what is happening to you?” asked the priest.
“No...but...I can feel something inside of me,” Damien said innocently.
“Inside you?”
“I think its Acario” whispered Damien.
The name echoed inside the priest’s mind.
“Where did you hear this name?”
“He told us when we played the game.”
“What game Damien?”
“I don’t know, but Luis does, he can tell you.”
The priest called Martha into the room and explained the situation. Martha right away grabbed the phone and looked at the recent calls. She phoned.
“This is Martha Drakker, Damien’s mother, is Luis in?” she asked.
Cries were heard on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, hello?” repeated Martha confused.
“Luis is missing,” cried a woman.
“I am so sorry!” Martha quickly dropped the phone to its base. “He is missing father!”
 
 
The priest did not make any promises, for this would be the first time he would try to exorcize a demonic entity. The priest rested on his knees and begged God for strength. Martha prepared a light soup for Damien, whose hollow stomach pleaded to be fed. After she satisfied Damien’s hunger, the priest was ready to begin. Father Hayden sat across from Damien, while Martha sat on the corner couch. He violently evoked Acario. Damien began to sweat and felt a cold worm swirling within his body.
“He’s coming!” shouted Damien in ache.
Damien held on tight to the chair and bounced like a basketball as Acario took over his body. His eyes once again darkened.
“Hello father,” giggled Damien.
The priest trembled; he could not allow the entity to note his fear.
“You have to leave this boy’s body!”
Damien laughed hysterically. Paused. He then seriously looked into the priest’s eyes.
“NEVER!”
As the priest rose from the chair to grab the holy water, Damien vomited the freshly ingested soup all over his black vest. Martha ran towards the kitchen and grabbed a damp cloth.
“Here you go father, I am so sorry!”
The priest cleaned his vest and grabbed the vial. Damien began to call the priest hideous names. The priest closed his ears to the demon and focused on his praying. He cleansed Damien’s body with holy water and he screamed in pain. Martha could no longer watch the body of her small child being torn apart. She ran towards the chair.
“Get out of my son!” she screamed while shaking Damien’s body.
She repeatedly slapped Damien in the face.
"You don't want me to rip out of this chair do you? You're ruining all the fun!" said Damien with a deadly smirk.
“Get out of my house!” Martha said shaking.
The priest grabbed her hand.
“Stop it, that’s not going to help.”
“I just want my little cornflake back,” cried Martha leaning on the priest’s shoulder.
 
 
John walked in the room. They both sat in the couch, hopeless. The priest grabbed his bible and began to read. Damien shrieked and screamed as the father Hayden preached God’s word. The entity refused to leave Damien’s body while the priest refused to stop. The priest grew tired of the continuous back and forth. He exploded.
“Leave this boy you pest!”
With his wrist secured to the wooden chair Damien’s bloodless hands rotated like helicopter blades. His bones cracked and his skin ripped as it twisted inside his muscle. Martha and John got up and rushed towards the chair.
“Do something!” John screamed shaking the priest’s vest.
“I don’t know what else to do!” he calmly said,” We have to keep praying.”
Martha, lost in thought, slammed her tired body into the couch crying.
“I knew this wouldn’t work! I just want my cornflake back.”
The lights in the living room flickered, the glass coffee table slowly shattered. The designer plates hanging on the wall began to fly across the room. The priest fell to the floor as a golden plate sliced the side of his scalp open. Martha placed the couch’s cushions on top of her and screamed helplessly. John helped the priest up to his feet. The priest pressured his head to stop the bleeding.
“I am sorry,” continued the priest, handing John a tightly wrapped bulk of one hundreds, “I can’t do it!”
 
The money flew from the priest’s hand to the turbulent and chilly air. The one hundred dollar bills slapped John in the face as they created a tornado in the living room.
“Hahahaha,” laughed Damien, “your money can’t save you now!”
John looked at boy sitting at the chair, his own son, transformed into something so ugly and monstrous.
“Shut up!” he shouted, trying to hold back his anger, “give me back my son.”
“Do you miss him John?” Damien asked with a grin.
“He is my son! Don’t you dare ask me that!”
“Is that why you only visit him on the weekends?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” screamed Martha with all her strength.
John walked over to Martha. Both were lost. Their last hope had ran out the door. They were lost. John sat down besides Martha. She leaned her head against John’s shoulders. He lifted her head.
“I promise you, I will fix this.” he strongly affirmed.
Damien giggle turned into a deep laughter. He turned his head and looked Martha straight in the eyes.
“What do you want?” Martha yelled.
“You should be nicer to me Martha, at least I am honest with you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?
“So you don’t know? Hahahaha!”
Martha looked around. She looked at John confused. John demonstrated no understanding.
“So she really does not know about Linda?” Damien asked John.
Martha looked at John. He looked away. His heart pumped faster, his blood pressure increased.
“What is that thing talking about John? What about your damn assistant? Huh?” she yelled punching his chest.
John’s anger took over his mind and body and he ran towards Damien. He wrapped his hands around his son’s neck.
“What are you doing? Stop it!” screamed Martha, she pulled John away from Damien.
John continued to suffocate the boy. Damien laughed hysterically as his last breath on earth expired.
Martha yanked John, “Get off him!”
John was in tears, yet he was not able to let go of his son’s neck.
“What have you done?” screamed Martha from the top of her lungs, “You killed my cornflake! You killed my son.”
John took a deep breath, swallowing his own tears. Martha slapped John repeatedly across the face as he fell to the ground realizing what his merciless hands had done.
 
 
His hands dangled from the tip of the armchair, his arms and legs were ripped and sliced open from the holy water’s power, his eyes empty and trailed with bloody tears, his lips dry and cracked, his soul gone.


© Copyright 2018 PSilva. All rights reserved.

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