My Best Friend's Exorcism(81)

“In the name of Jesus, I remove you,” he repeated. “Spirit of discord and disharmony, I send you to the cross.”

This time he threw the salt so hard, it left a mark on Gretchen’s right cheek. Then he did it again. Salt was in Gretchen’s nose, stuck to the spit on her chin and in the folds of her neck. It was in her hair, collecting in the wet corners of her eyes.

“In the name of Jesus, I remove you,” Brother Lemon said again. “Spirit of discord and disharmony, I send you to the cross.”

He smashed another handful of salt into Gretchen’s face. She began to weep. The next time Brother Lemon drew back his arm to hurl more salt into Gretchen’s face, Abby touched it. He whirled on her.

“You’re hurting her,” Abby whispered. “I don’t understand why we’re hurting her.”

“It is right to mortify the flesh of the demoniac to draw out the demon,” Brother Lemon said.

He lashed the fistful of salt onto Gretchen’s face as she rolled from side to side, trying to protect herself. Her lips moved and she said something, but it was so faint Abby couldn’t hear.

“You’re so smart?” Brother Lemon shouted, his face inches from Gretchen’s. “If you’re so smart, why are you tied to a bed and I’m standing up here?”

Something broke behind Gretchen’s face and she crumbled into tears, blowing spit bubbles, her body shaking, her face blotchy.

“That’s right!” Brother Lemon shouted, smashing another fistful of salt into her face. “Tell me your name, truth to God, tell me your name, demon! Tell me your name!”

There was the sound of a faucet turning on, of hissing from a leak, and the front of Gretchen’s shorts turned dark. A rivulet of urine raced from her crotch, down her right leg, pooling at her knee. Its briny tang filled the cold room. Abby was ashamed for her.

“She’s going to the bathroom,” she said.

Brother Lemon turned to her.

“Get a towel and run warm water on it,” he said.

Abby went to the kitchen and found a dish towel. When she turned on the tap, the pipes vibrated in the walls and the spigot spat rusty water, then ice water, then a lukewarm trickle. She soaked the towel and rushed back into the room.

Brother Lemon was praying, holding his hands over Gretchen.

“Go on now,” Brother Lemon said. “Clean her up.”

“Me?” Abby asked stupidly.

“I must avoid touching any areas of the demoniac that might open the doorway to lust,” he said.

Nervously, Abby stepped toward the bed and mopped at Gretchen’s leg. Brother Lemon found a plastic bucket and Abby wrung the cloth into it. At first, touching Gretchen’s urine disgusted her; then she started regarding Gretchen not as her friend, or even as a person, but as a thing to be cleaned, a car to be washed, and the task became easier.

“Abby?” Gretchen sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me?”

This time, Abby didn’t have an answer.

Brother Lemon left the room briefly but then came striding back, brushing past Abby. He marched to the head of the bed, poured salt into his hands, and bent over Gretchen, who began to struggle.

“No!” she shouted. “No, get off me. Get off me! Abby! ABBYYYY!!!! Help! Heeeelp!”

Brother Lemon smashed another handful of salt into her face.

“Step back, Satan,” he commanded.

Another blast of salt.

“Tempt me not with vain things,” he said.

Another fistful of salt. Gretchen’s body was shaking helplessly.

“What you offer is evil, Satan,” Brother Lemon shouted.

More salt blasted Gretchen’s face.

“Tell me your name, unholy one,” Brother Lemon shouted, his neck swollen and strained. “Truth before God. Tell me your name.”

Gretchen had given up struggling, her eyes were closed, her chest heaved. Brother Lemon pressed on her sternum, right below her throat, and Gretchen began to hiccup convulsively, unable to draw a deep breath.

“Andras.”

At first Abby wasn’t sure where the whispered word had come from, but then she saw Gretchen’s lips move as she said it again.

“Andras,” she whispered. “Its name is Andras.”

Gretchen opened her red shimmering eyes, and tears rolled down her temples.

“No,” a deeper male voice said with Gretchen’s mouth. “No crying, pig!”

“Abby,” Gretchen pleaded. “Get it out of me. Please, get it out.”

Two people were fighting to be visible on Gretchen’s face.

“Help me,” she choked. “Please, help me.”

Brother Lemon slapped his Bible against one of his palms.

“Hot damn!” he shouted. “We got ourselves a demon!”





I Think We’re Alone Now


The living room was dark and wind whistled through the windows, making the walls creak. The cold shrank Abby inside her clothes. Brother Lemon pulled out a baggie containing a chicken breast from his cooler and sat in a chair, eating it like a Popsicle.

“Sorry about this,” he said, his massive jaws grinding the meat. “Andras is the sixty-third entity in the Lesser Key of Solomon, a grand marquis of hell and commander of thirty legions of demons, known as the sower of discord and bringer of ruin. I need to protein-load.”