Demoniac

The Nightcap

Halak and Arlo stood over the corpse. The man lay in a skewed position between two stools near the bar. A blank stare covered his face and drool pooled on the floor near his mouth, but his eyes were the most disturbing. The color was faded as cataracts covered each lens. Larry, a tall man of some girth and a fading hairline stood nearby, shaking his head. He sighed in a way that said this was all a shame. Halak was just confused.

“You didn’t call the police?” He said.

“They never know what to do with this stuff. I’m holding off as long as I can but if I wait much longer it’s gonna look suspicious. I can tell them I thought he had passed out but that story will only make sense before so long.”

“So, why did you think we needed to get involved?”

“Look, Hal. I’ve been around the block. I don’t know what it is but I guess bad spirits and alcoholic ones get along real well. Now, I know I don’t have a fraction of the experience you’ve got, but I think I know a possession when I see one, and this wasn’t just some random an up-and-die situation,” The bartender said. Halak bent closer to get a better look at the body. He put his hand closer and felt heat rising from it’s skin. That’s not normal. Demons usually made bodies colder, if anything. Halak stepped away and pulled out his phone. The lighting was poor but he took a few shots anyway. After he had taken some from different angles he bent closer again and got a close-up view of the right hand. It was smeared with blood and jagged half-circle was carved into it.

“Did he cut himself?”

“Not that I saw,” Larry said.

“Did someone else?”

“That man was clean when he went crazy. And, I swear, he started glowing. ‘Like his bones caught fire.”

Halak nodded and began looking through the pictures he had captured. “Call the police.” He said.

“Already?”

“I’m not a detective, Larry. I wouldn’t get close to telling you what this is.”

“And they can?” Larry asked, brow raised.

“Probably not.”

“Tell me if I was right at least,” Larry pleaded.

Halak sighed as he finished looking through the photos and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

“I can’t,” He said. “It’s definitely weird. But death by possession is rare and I’ve only seen it once. That isn’t much to go on. As far as I can tell, this isn’t anything like that.” Halak turned to Arlo, who leaned against the far wall by the door, noting the look of disappointment on Larry’s face as he did. It always surprised Halak how those who didn’t have much trouble in their lives sought so earnestly after it. The world in which Halak lived wasn’t something anyone should envy. Halak stopped at the exit and turned back, “Thank you for calling us, Larry. You’re right that this isn’t normal,” He said. Larry smiled, if only slightly. The words seemed to give him some form of comfort, like he’d done some good.

Halak pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold air. It wasn’t freezing, but it was enough to make him feel that slight prickle of discomfort trail from his fingertips to his neck. He bunched his coat around himself as Arlo strolled up on his right. All he wore was ragged t-shirt.

“You lied,” He said.

“About what?”

“You may have seen one death caused by possession, but you know more.”

“The few accounts that exist and the ones that I’ve studied are still barely a start when it comes to something like this,” Halak said, shoving his hands into his coat pocket. He hunched his shoulders against a passing breeze.

“Yeah, but this is a little funky. I can’t imagine you letting this go.”

“I’ll check-in for an update but I’m not going chase something I don’t need to be involved in.”

“You feel you do enough as an exorcist?” Arlo asked.

“It’s not about what’s enough. It’s something I know how to do and there is a demand for it. I get by.”

“You did more once.”

“I tried to do more once. There’s a difference.” He climbed into the cab they had left idling on the street, feeling a chill as he realized Jirou had made the final accusation.