The Demon

The Demon

by

Chloé Sehr

Pastor Pidgeon was sitting down to dinner with his wife, Nancy. She had made his favorite dish, fried chicken with mashed potatoes and okra. Nancy was allergic to okra, so she had a little mixed green salad instead.

Nancy watched her husband shovel mashed potatoes dripping with brown gravy into his mouth while he read the paper.

“Dear,” she said, “The coat drive is this week. I’ll be gathering with the other ladies at the church tomorrow.”

“That’s nice,” said Pastor Pidgeon, sliding an eaten chicken leg into his mouth to suck the rest off the bone.

“I was going through some of our closets. We simply have too much clothing and there are so many in need.”

Pastor Pidgeon took a swig of his beer. Nancy sipped her wine.

“So, I decided to completely clear out the hall closet, and you wouldn’t believe the things I found! It was a trip down memory lane. A receipt for that purple blouse I wanted to return. Oh, and I found that earring I thought I lost at Rosie’s.”

Pastor Pidgeon grunted and stabbed some okra with his fork.

“So, while I was in the hall closet, I found your old tweed coat. I know you love it, but it’s worn to death and I don’t think I can let out the seams any more, Mr. Mashed Potatoes. Will you live if I give it away? Barry?”

“What?” Pastor Pidgeon snapped.

“Is it okay if I give away your old tweed coat?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Pastor Pidgeon turned the page of his newspaper.

“What would you like me to do with this phone? It was in the pocket.” Nancy held up a cheap cell phone. “It’s one of those they call a burner, I think. Heard someone say it on TV. One of those detective shows. You know they’re my weakness!”

Pastor Pidgeon put down his newspaper and looked at his wife for the first time since dinner had started. She was smiling brightly. He paused for a moment.

“It’s not mine,” he said.

“That’s interesting,” she said. “Because there are so many messages on this phone with your name in them.”

“You know how many Barrys there are? Barts? Bartholomews? For God’s sake, I have about seven in my congregation alone. Must be one of them’s phone.”

“You know, I hadn’t thought about that. Let’s go through the messages and see which Bartholomew we need to track down.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. We can just give the phone to Maria in the church office and put up a found-phone flier or something.”

“Nonsense. This is my chance to be a real-life detective!” Nancy turned on the phone and started tapping. “Here we go. Looks like Barry has a very close friendship with a person named Candy. Now, do you suppose that’s her given name? Maybe it’s short for Candace, or one of those new no-name names, like Canoe or Candelabra?” Nancy giggled.

“Uh–” Barry attempted.

“I think it’s always best to start at the beginning, don’t you? Looks like they began corresponding about this time last year.

‘–Pastor Barry, it’s Candy from the Single 20-Somethings bible study group. Your words were so inspiring tonight. How can a young woman of faith like me serve Jesus the way I should?

–Candy, when we serve our church, we serve Jesus. We serve the church by listening to everything Jesus says. How do we know what Jesus says? He speaks through holy men. Therefore, you can serve Jesus by serving your pastor.

–How can I serve you?

–Meet me tomorrow evening in my office after six and we can talk.’”

“Now, Nancy, what’s this? All good young women should be serving Jesus. Someone is clearly playing some sort of prank on us. I see nothing to go on about here. Let’s get back to dinner. These potatoes are delicious!”

“Don’t be silly. I’m just getting started.

‘–Pastor, I didn’t know before now what true joy was. I had no idea that I could serve Jesus by sucking your cock. Your cum on my tits was a baptism. I haven’t showered. I want to wear it like a badge of honor for Christ.

–Candy, God bless you. Your tits are a gift from God and he would want his seed all over them. I am the vessel for God and have done His will. I know you went to St. Bernadette’s. Do you still have the uniform?

–Yes.

–Wear it tomorrow night. We can role-play as Catholics.’ The young people today have such a way with words, don’t they, dear?” Nancy took a sip of her wine.

“You know, I just remembered, someone told me the other day, that there’s this weird thing happening with texts. It’s because of the cloud. Because all the data is going to the cloud, when it’s drifting up there, some messages float into other phones by mistake. It’s a very serious problem. The FCC is looking into it. It’s a threat to national security.” Pastor Pidgeon was getting red in the face and a little sweaty.

“Sounds dangerous. Let’s see what else this eloquent young lady has to say.

‘–Pastor, I thought Reverse Cowgirl was a country line dance until last night. I thought Pretzel Dip was the chipped beef thing my Aunt Debbie makes for Thanksgiving every year. It’s inspiring how many ways there are to serve the Lord!

–Candy, your commitment to your faith and service is what’s inspiring. Next time we meet, I’m gonna bend you over the altar and fuck you from behind. Please put your hair in two braids so I can hold on to them while I thrust in the name of Christ.’”

“Don’t read any more!”

“But there are so many interesting details to come. Wait until you hear about the time he lies to his wife and says he’s at a diocese retreat when he’s really in Las Vegas with Candy, having a three-way with a sex worker. They’re all wearing something called a fursuit. The pastor is a lion. And the whole time, his wife is at her mother’s bedside, holding her hand as she dies. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” Nancy wasn’t smiling anymore. Her voice had gone down an octave or two.

“Nancy,” said Pastor Pidgeon, taking a deep breath and summoning his preacher voice, “it’s obvious what’s happening here,” his voice grew louder. “Clearly, my phone has been possessed by a demon. And it is my job, as a man of faith, to abide these attacks in the name of God, until such time as the demon has been vanquished,” he reached the crescendo, then beseeched her breathily, “give me the phone and I will do my duty as a man of God.”

“I thought you might say that,” she said, putting the phone in her pocket and going into the kitchen. When she returned, she was holding something plastic and folded. She grasped the edge of it and swung her arms like she was making the bed. It was, in fact, a plastic sheet and it was all around her husband.

“What’s all this?”

“Well, dear, it’s hard to say. Maybe I’m possessed by a demon, too. Or maybe I've decided to vanquish one myself. I guess we’ll know soon enough. How are you feeling?”

The Pastor’s color was minty and the sweating had gotten worse. “Not–so–good–” he slurred. His breath slowed. He clutched at his neck and chest in the universal sign of choking.

“You’re not choking. You’re dying of poison. But just for good measure–”

She grabbed the ugly brass candlestick she had received from her mother-in-law and swung it at his head. In all the decades of marriage and the hundreds of pork chops and chicken breasts, pounded out on her counter, wishing it had been his stupid head, she had never imagined how satisfying this single WHACK could be.

He toppled to the floor, right on the sheet. She stood over him.

“Serves you right. Okra is disgusting. It’s always slimy. Always!”