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Written by Bill Evans
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(part one)
THE TOWERING GOTHIC monastery cast an ominous swollen shadow, swallowing up everyone and everything on the otherwise barren island. He was probably somewhere off the coast of Turkey. Surely, he would never again be able to find his way to this miniscule ‘blip’ on the Aegean. That didn’t matter. He was here now.
John Kane was led up the “1,000 steps” by two very large and menacing looking Byzantine monks. Both priests were easily 6 feet 4 inches in height, with very large hands and thick wrists. Each was dressed in brightly colored formal religious garb. Prominently displayed on the chest area of each of the priestly cassocks, was some kind of mysterious gold in-laid inscription. John Kane believed the words to be of an ancient language, possibly Aramaic. The long and untrimmed ‘Rasputin-like’ beards of the priests obscured the words and prevented John from deciphering any meaning from them. That was probably for the better. The three men proceeded onward without uttering a word.
Atop the steps stood a large ornately designed black iron wrought protective gate. After a series of ritualistic bows, the monks moved to either side of the visitor. As the men then shuffled forward, the creaky hinges groaned and the gate slowly opened. After a few steps, the priests abruptly stopped. John Kane was signaled to enter. He did so briskly, after which the gates were quickly pulled shut behind him. Alone now, he stoically continued forward and then downward, descending deeper and deeper into the dimly candle-lit abyss.
John Kane had been given instructions. It was imperative that he follow them precisely. As he continued downward into the catacombs, he repeated these vital orders over and over in his mind.
Do not interfere. Be seated quietly to the rear and then don’t move. Above all, do not engage with the demon.
The corridor with a series of dungeon cells now appeared before him. He carefully counted to himself, “1...2...” until reaching 6. He then entered this cell to his left.
The “subject” in this 8 feet by 10 feet sectional, was strapped into some kind of seating device located at the center of the room. The chair was most likely a medieval torture rack in which, when properly secured, its prisoner had little chance of escaping...or even moving.
John Kane was careful not to make eye-contact, or even glance in the direction of the captive. All that he could discern from his periphery was that the subject was wearing a white smock or tunic. Height, weight, sex, age etc. could not be ascertained. John Kane dared not attempt to observe any of these details from the poor victim.
John Kane moved silently and swiftly to the rear of the room. He sat and waited.
The arrival of the exorcist was imminent.
LIAR
(part 2)
The slouching, limp, and lifeless captive straightened up rigidly...alarmed by an unknown presence...a presence yet unseen. John Kane dared not look up. He could hear the leather restraints stretching and cracking against the silent efforts to break free from the bonds. The ancient but well-constructed torture device was holding up well-for now. It would only be a matter of time however, before the brackets would give way to the supernatural strength being applied. Hopefully, there would be sufficient time. Heaven help them all if there wasn’t.
Seemingly, out of nowhere, a large shadow was cast against the back wall behind where John Kane was seated. The bloated silhouette lessened with each stealth-like step taken, as the exorcist entered the prison cell. The seated captive twisted and squirmed as if charged by an electric current. Father Dominic did not react.
Father Dominic was a world-renowned demonologist and exorcist. At 92 years of age, the frail Sicilian-born Passionist Franciscan monk had been “retired” for a number of years. His heavily lined and weary face begat that of a man who had experienced much pain and horror in his life. Although still considered by some as the pre-eminent expert on exorcisms in the world, for the past decade Father Dominic had been relegated as a consultant and research professor at the Vatican. ‘Someone’ had insisted specifically that Father Dominic be actively assigned for this exorcism. That directive had not been from the Pope. John Kane thought the decision-‘odd’.
Father Dominic proceeded to a bench along the near wall, and gingerly placed a black satchel upon it. He carefully reached inside and removed a small worn bible along with an ornately inscripted silver plated scepter containing holy water. John Kane could hear the priest muttering a prayer in Latin.
“Et tu.. spiriti...sancti...” the priest incanted more loudly as he turned and made the sign of the cross in the direction of the captive. Father Dominic then raised his right arm high in the air and with a robust sweeping motion, shook the scepter at the captive, dowsing him with the holy water.
The captive shrieked with an inhuman and unholy high-pitched shrillness that reverberated throughout the dungeon corridor. Father Dominic involuntarily dropped the scepter, and fell to his knees while clutching at the side of his head. A sticky gushing red fluid burst forth from his right ear and soon coated his hand and arm up to the elbow. The eardrum had been punctured.
The captive squealed with uncontrolled hysterical laughter, as the priest laid in a fetal position on the dirt floor...writhing in unimaginable pain.
John Kane sat perfectly still, being careful not to move a muscle. After a moment, the captive slumped passively back into a relaxed position. The room grew silent.
LIAR
(part 3)
The captive abruptly...yet silently sat upright. He was perched with a rigid instinctiveness. John Kane dared not move.
The prone priest shook the cobwebs from his head, and slowly pulled himself to his knees. With monumental effort, Father Dominic then staggered to his feet and slowly shuffled over to the nearby bench. The blood soaked priest retrieved the black satchel, and momentarily clutched it tightly to his chest. He then hurriedly opened the leather bag and fumbled through its contents. With a sigh of panicked relief, the priest quickly found the object needed for his protection. It was a simple wooden crucifix.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Father Dominic abruptly turned to the captive, holding the crucifix upright with shaking hands. The quivering exorcist strode steadfastly and bravely toward the captive, bearing the wooden cross like the sword of a valiant Crusader.
“Name yourself, demon,” the priest screamed in a surprisingly deep and powerful voice.
The captive impossibly sat up even more rigidly. John Kane could see his skin swelling and stretching. Would the captive literally burst right before his own horrified eyes?
“Name yourself, demon,” the priest commanded yet again.
The demon hissed like a serpent.
“Release Raphael from your grip, demon. Vacate his body. I command this in the name of Jesus Christ.”
The captive’s neck twisted away from the words, and his head then cocked in an unnatural angle. In a high-pitched inhuman and unholy shrill voice, the demon responded. “I have consumed Raphael like an over-ripe mango. I’ve peeled his skin away and sucked up his juices. We are now entwined for eternity.”
“Give him up, demon. Depart from his body.”
“I won’t give him up. I love him.”
“Name yourself...spawn from Hell.”
“I’m...I’m...a liar,” the demon responded. “I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you. I’m a liar. I’m a liar.”
“State your name, demon.”
“Ralthashan. My name is Ralthashan,” the demon relented. “Ralthashan, the defiler,” he added with arrogance.
The demon then stopped talking, as if puzzled or confused. The neck of the captive then twisted back almost 180 degrees. The head remained cocked unnaturally to the side.
John Kane looked on in horror as the captive’s vacant face gazed at him through cloudy pupil-less milky eyes. A contorted twisted smile then appeared on the otherwise emotionless face.
“Ahhh...there you are, John Kane. I’ve been talking to your father. Here is his message...”