“You’re more like ‘the stumbling’ than ‘the fallen,’ and only a poser, a wannabe, would call themselves that anyway. I’m Ballard, Laytham Ballard, and if you really want the rough trade, man, you got it.”
As the light held him fast, I began to intone the ritual of exorcism, one of the variations I was taught over thirty years ago from a gruff old demonologist and his sweet, gray-haired, hymn-singing wife. It called on the nurturing powers of creation to compel the Hungry to depart the innocent host. It could take days, months, or even longer, but with all this pure Manipura energy behind it, a lightweight like Dean here should be heading for the exit.
Instead, Corll began to laugh, even as tears rolled down poor, convulsing Joey’s cheeks. “You have some balls even uttering those words, half-soul-man,” Corll growled. “We know of you in the empty places, Ballard. Ballard, the corrupt Nightwise; Ballard, who supped with our Master and skipped out on the check. Ballard, whom both monsters and saints fear … and pity. You dare try to dislodge me from my meat with pretty, pretty holy words. You’ve bargained away pieces of your soul for petty powers and shallow favors. You’re bound for a far greater hell than I, Ballard. You have no moral authority over me,” the child-defiling demon said. “Keep trying to pull me out, and you’ll add this boy to the endless roll of all those you have damned in your miserable life.”
He was right, unfortunately, about all kinds of things. He’d have to willingly come out of there, and all that would be waiting for him was Hell, so I had to sweeten the pot a bit, or maybe more like piss in it. The spiritual light diminished and was gone. Corll guffawed, sounding for all the world like a rutting pig. Before he could rise off the floor, I took something from my shirt pocket and knelt beside him. It was a three-inch-long, dull, rusted needle. I placed it on Joey’s chest and uttered, “Malum, manere donec veniam ad hanc formam amotus fuero.” Then I grabbed an industrial-sized jug of bright blue window cleaner off the shelf next to me. “Fine,” I said, “suit yourself.” I unscrewed the cap of cleaner and took a whiff.
“What is that?” Corll said. He tried to rise but discovered he couldn’t.
“If you’re staying at the party,” I said, “you might as well have a drink.” I pinched Joey’s nose and began to pour the window cleaner down his throat. The boy and the demon choked and hacked as the toxic gunk went down.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Corll sputtered as I tipped the bottle back up. “Are you actually trying to kill the boy?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I am. That little needle there came out of the pelvis of a guy by the name of Albert Fish. He killed kids too, more than you. He thought God was telling him to do it, go figure. Old Al was a self-mutilator, besides being a homicidal fuck, and he would drive needles into his body. A buddy of mine who collects high-end weird shit got this for me. It’s got some power to it, bad power, and I figured it would have a good resonance with you, Dino, and looky there, it does. You can’t come out of that body until I take this off the kid’s chest, and yeah, I’m going to fucking kill him, and his soul will fly off to a real sweet place, maybe back into the big old cosmic rinse cycle where hopefully he won’t draw the ‘get possessed by a C-list demon fucktard’ card again.”
I poured another big drink of the poison down the kid’s throat. Joey and Corll both gagged and coughed. I stopped pouring again. I heard shouts and bullhorns far away. I was running out of time. “You see, Dino,” I continued, “wherever the poor kid’s soul ends up, it’s better than being with you. So happy ending for little Joey. I’m not sure what kind of ending for ‘the mighty Zepar,’ however. Hard to say.”
“You’re bluffing,” Corll said. “You came in here, tried to stop me, because you wanted to save the boy. You won’t kill him now.”
“Actually,” I said, pouring more of the poison out of the jug again into the struggling boy’s mouth, “I’m here for you, Dino. I don’t give a fuck what happens to this kid, or anyone else. You read me my bio. You think I won’t? Stick around and find out, huckleberry. This is a contract job … for your landlord. Y’know, the one you call…” I tried to do my best Igor impersonation, which is kinda rough when you have a West Virginia drawl, “… the Master.”
“Oh shit!” Corll gasped around more of the poison splashing into Joey’s mouth. “Wait, wait!”
“The power of Windex compels you, fucker,” I said.
“Jesus!” Corll screamed, squirming, “Stop, stop, please, don’t!”
“I slip this needle into the boy’s body somewhere, and you’re anchored for good. My best guess is that after the agonizing stomach cramps and painful-as-shit death from his nervous system shutting down,” I said, “you’ll just be trapped in there until the body decays. Locked in that rotting meat jail, until everything that is Dean Corll just fades away into oblivion. It’s a harsh ending, Dino, but it satisfies my employer, so…”
“I’ll leave, I’ll fucking leave,” Corll said. “Hurry up, I can feel that shit starting to affect his nervous system!”
I put the cap back on the jug and placed the boy’s hand around the plastic handle. I put my hand on Fish’s needle. “I ever catch you in this world again, I’ll finish the
