The nightmares started immediately. If I had managed to forget the strange exchange from earlier that day I was rudely reminded that night when I went to sleep. I found that my head was host to a raging party from hell. I fell in and out of consciousness like a drowning man slipping under and over the surface of the water. Judging by how damp I was the next morning, I really might have almost drowned, though by sweat, not seawater. I was relieved when my alarm shocked my eyes open to the sunlight streaming through my window. For a few minutes I laid in the tangle of blankets, glad to have escaped the clutches of the night.
My mind wandered back to the day before.
That girl, Lucy. Oh my god, she wasn’t kidding!
I jumped out of bed, my heart racing again.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, this can’t be real. What am I gonna do?
I repeated these words over and over again in my head as I paced, sweated and bit my nails. Some people would pull out a smoke in this situation, but I bit my nails. I only had a few good ones left this morning and soon I had bitten those down to the nubs and they burned. Too bad I can’t go out and buy a new pack of fingernails.
Okay, do something, Juan, something, something.
I thought about seeing a priest but I didn’t believe in God. Then again, I didn’t believe in the Devil and demons before this either.
After a moment of deliberation I knew what to do.
“Google will know.”
I pulled out my laptop and was greeted by the friendly and colorful “G”s and “O”s of my favorite internet deity. But what to search? “What to do when you sell your soul to the devil” seemed far too specific, so I typed in the more generic “demon possession”.
I clicked search and was sucked into the dark world of the occult and Satanism. I was hypnotized by page after page telling stories of possessions and hauntings. The accounts of demon hunters and exorcists held my eyes captive for hours until I realized I had to work today. It was then that I decided to look for something actually useful rather than just titillating.
On the ninth page of search results I found a promising lead: Possessed Anonymous. Surprisingly mundane. Apparently there was enough of this going around to warrant the formation of a twelve step program.
I wrote down the time and place: Seven thirty, Saint Anthony’s downtown.
“Well, maybe I will get to see a priest after all.”
I hurriedly dressed and ate breakfast before hopping in my car to go to work. The clock in the dash read 10:37.
Good. Just enough time to grab a candy bar.
* * *
My shift passed quickly. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush from the idea that my soul was in grave danger. Maybe it was because I spent all the empty time thinking about the scary and exciting world I had been reading about.
Part of me I hoped I was ensnared by the Devil. My life was boring but this was exciting. The idea of having to fight for my very soul gave me a purpose. It was like getting caught up in a movie adventure. I just hoped the lights wouldn’t turn back on and remind me that I had to go back to my ordinary existence.
Earlier in the day, I clocked in with my head down but now when I clocked out I had my head up and a new vigor in my steps. Again, maybe it was the adrenaline. Or caffeine. Anyways, I was practically, shaking with nervous energy as I drove myself downtown. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, afraid that if I didn’t, I would shake right out of the window.
Okay, Juan, calm down, breathe.
I parked on the street near the old cathedral. There was a statue of, St. Anthony out front which I admired briefly before heading to the front door. I pulled on the handle and was surprised when it rattled and refused to open.
All my energy, and excitement immediately drained as the reality of the situation sobered me up.
That website was a joke… Dammit! How did I fall for it? ‘Posessed Anonymous’? Seriously? I’m sure some thirteen year olds had a laugh creating it imagining all the eleven year olds who would fall for it. Nice, Juan. Arrrgh, I am such an idiot!
Suddenly, it occurred to me that this might all be a video ambush. I scanned the street, paranoid that someone in a Halloween costume would jump out of nowhere to get me to scream or something. They’d post the video online and I’d be the laughingstock of Youtube. I imagined them getting a close up of my face as it contorted with fright. They’d replay it in slow motion to capture every humiliating detail.
I slinked down the steps and around the corner as fast as I could.
Maybe I was just early I thought, trying to push away the image of those thirteen year old pranksters getting the better of me.
I ducked into an alley and pulled out my phone to double check. To my relief, and confusion, I saw that I was too early and, apparently, at the wrong St. Anthony’s too. The one I wanted was on East Main Street, not West Main Street
Why would they have two St. Anthony’s so close to each other? I wondered People probably confuse them all the time.
It was growing darker, but soon enough I saw the right church. It was a sad little place, sandwiched between two larger buildings. Underneath a sign feebly declaring “St. Anthony’s” was this simple invitation: Come to the Light
It was dark inside and smelled smoky, like stale cigarettes. Suddenly the lights buzzed on and a calm voice from behind me said,
“Hi there. You’re early.”
He was negotiating the doorway quite well even with both hands occupied: one with heavily used binders and the other dragging a plastic tub with wheels. Still, I jumped to hold the door open for him.
He said thank you and set his load inside the circle of metal folding chairs. He looked a lot like me but thinner and he kept his head up. Even trying to get in the door with no hands he kept his composure. I get flustered just walking down the street.
“My name is Jackie” he said as he extended an open hand to me. I wasn’t much of a hand shaker, or a toucher even, but I didn’t want to be rude so I clasped my hand in his and when I did he quickly pulled me into a bear hug and I landed against him with an umph!
“I’m so glad you made it” he said in this unexpected embrace.
When he released me he asked me what my name was.
“Uhh, Juan.”
“Well, Juan, what brought you here tonight?”
“Google,” I said meekly.
“I mean why,” he responded patiently, “what made you look for us?”
He patted the seat across from him as he sat down.
“Here, have a seat.”
I began to relate to him my story. He sat back and listened thoughtfully. He grimaced when I told him about getting my finger sliced. When I told him about my nightmares he nodded slowly as if to say Yes, yes. I know exactly what you mean. He stopped me a few times to ask me some specific questions: What finger did she slice? What was her name? Did I remember any of the symbols?
By the time I finished talking, people had been streaming in and chatting for a few minutes. They didn’t seem to distract him. He was completely focused on me and my story. That felt good.
“Juan,” he said when I was finished, “I’m very sorry that this happened to you, but I am glad that you found us, and I want you to know that it’s going to be okay. We’ve all been where you’ve been and there is a way out. I’m not saying this to scare you but you need to know this problem is going to get worse, a lot worse, before it gets better.”
The circle of chairs was filled now and he turned to address the gathering.
“Alright everyone! Let’s get started.”
I slid down into my chair and crossed my arms. The tension in my guts finally dissipated as I found my rescuers. I wasn’t alone. The possession, or whatever, was real but Jackie was going to help me, and the rest of these poor souls, we were going to get out together. That’s what Jackie said.
I let his words seep into my ears and unclench my worried brain. He seemed to be reading from a script in his binder but the words were no less soothing because of it. Everyone else looked down or closed their eyes and nodded, as if finally understanding the meaning of the words.
When he came to the end of the script, he opened the meeting up for sharing. After a brief silence, one burly guy took a deep breath and started talking.
“Hello, I’m Peter and I’m possessed.”
“Hi Peter” the group responded in unison.
I raised my eyebrow at this.
Wow, I’m living a cliché.
One by one people shared their stories of possession. Some were in deep debt and some greasy stranger came along to offer a way out. Some were consumed by hatred-of their bosses, coworkers, ex lovers- and someone just happened to come into their lives who empathized with their grievance and offered to fulfill their revenge fantasies…for a price. Some had the objects of their hatred killed. It was nothing that could be traced to them. One guy’s boss died of a heart attack the next day. This other woman’s boyfriend was killed by a drunk driver.
Mine was by far the lamest story. I was pressured into selling my soul by a cashier at the Stars and Stripes. Why did I do it? So Lucy wouldn’t think I was lame. That and thirty cents. Not that it made it any worse, really, but I didn’t even get thirty cents, I only saved thirty cents. I am such an idiot.
“Well,” Jackie said after a long silence in which no one else volunteered any stories, “does anyone else have any burning desire to share?”
Nooo, thank you, I thought, I’ll just keep this to myself for a while.
“Okay, those who would like to can join me for the serenity prayer”
He slapped is binder shut and stood up. Everyone else followed his lead and grabbed hands with the people next to them. I was still seated with my arms crossed. Again? What is with these people and touching and hugging? The guys on my right and left were already standing with their hands were reaching out expectantly. The awkward gap between them mocked me: are you going to be lame? The one asshole who doesn’t want to participate?
After a brief second I got up and completed the chain of hands.
After mouthing along to the serenity prayer, we unclasped hands and began dispersing. Some paired off to talk but most began to stream out to the sidewalk and I followed behind, eager to escape back to the safety of my car. People had already begun congregating under the streetlight and were smoking.
I twisted and maneuvered my way though them and was almost free when a Hand on my shoulder pulled me back in.
“Juan! I’m glad I caught you.”
It was Jackie.
“I’m glad you came tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Uh, kind of relieved actually. I’m glad I came. I’m glad I’m not alone. You know, I thought this was a trap on the way over here, but, uhh yeah, I’m relieved.”
“Good, good. And you’re not alone. I’m here for you, the group’s here for you. Just keep coming Juan. You are going to make it through this. But not alone. Our next meeting is tomorrow night. You coming?”
I reached a finger to my teeth but there was no nail left to bite.
“Yeah, Sure.”
Jackie cocked his head and looked at me deeper with questioning eyes, as though he knew I was the kind of person who would say whatever I thought he wanted me to say with no intention of following through. I felt his eyes slip past my quivering lips and peer over the precipice down to my very heart. They must have seen the squishy indecision there.
“Juan,” they commanded like a parent, the words echoing down my gullet “tell me the truth.”
“Yes!” I spit out, surprising myself. “I will be there tomorrow.”
“Good!” He replied with a smile, withdrawing his eyes from inside me.
“Remember what I said earlier, we’re going to help you but things are going to get worse before they get better. They know you’re trying to break from your deal and they’re not going to let go of you easily.”
“Who is they?”
“Juan,” he explained patiently, “You sold your soul to the Devil. Now, he isn’t personally going to come after you, we’re not on his level, but his servants are going to do their best to drag you back to their hell. The nightmares are going to get worse.”
“So what do I do?” I asked in a panic, dreading another night like the one before.”
“Just keep coming. We’re going to teach you everything you need to know. And one final thing: that girl who ensnared you, she’s going to come again for you. Do not let her back into your life.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders.
“Don’t give her any time. Don’t listen to her. She is going to lie to you. She works for Satan, Juan, the Father of Lies. She’ll say anything to keep you from coming back but don’t believe anything she says. Geez, Juan, she works for Lucifer. Her name is Lucy, she’s from the Devil, okay!”
He seemed to catch himself losing his composure and let me go.
“Sorry for getting excited there. It’s just that I’ve seen too many souls get pulled back in by her kind.”
He leaned back against the brick wall, looked down and sighed. Suddenly he looked tired and weak. I didn’t know what to do. He was supposed to be the strong one.
“Juan,” he said as he lifted his eyes towards me, “Promise me you won’t listen to her.”
His plea tugged at my heart.
Sure, Jackie. I won’t. I promise.” I said, eager to comfort him.
“Not a word Juan.”
“No, no! I promise.”
“Okay.”
Jackie lifted himself off the wall and patted my shoulder.
“We’re going to get through this together, Juan.”
With his hand on my shoulder and his eyes on mine, he said reassuringly,
“Believe me.”
