Soup Just Dont Cut It Anymore"
It was the last night of the possession assignment. "It better
be good, Garmammanon!" they warned me. All the demons over in Possession Affairs were
on edge. We didnt normally worry about such routine procedure, but the boss was
concerned that too much of our market share was being pulled away by sex and violence in
the movies and video games. In other words, we were going to have to boost the ratings in
traditional demonic affairs or the face of evil would be losing a horn. I was in a
position where I had to come up with a cutting-edge show to pull the media off of Cameron
Diaz tits and over onto some good old fashioned, Satanic melodrama. Not that her
tits arent well worth the screen time, but they werent engineered by the boss.
He can get a little jealous of the small gray fellow up in the penthouse, if you know what
Anyway, this particular possession wasnt anything out of the
ordinary: young virgin, freaked-out mother, stiff-collared exorcists. The head priest on
the case, Julius Tinker, billed himself as a "neo-exorcist," but all I saw was
the familiar scripture and holy water routines. Like most of these jokers, he was trying
to put out a forest fire by peeing on it. But regardless, that night I was going to get a
chance for some real media coverage. A filmmaker had gotten foul wind of the case and was
coming in to get footage for a documentary he was doing on a good friend of mine, Anton
Levey. I was running low on quality evil ideas, so I had to do some quick thinking or else
I was going to be scrubbing toilets at Beelzebubs Barbecue Barn for the rest of
eternity (and believe me, thats a hell of a job, if youll pardon the pun!).
In order to think, I had ducked out of Misty - that was her name -
for a midnight snack. Were not really supposed to do that, but hell, a demon needs a
break every once-in-a-while. I dont know how many of you have tried it, but it
aint as easy as it looks. When youre possessing virgins, youre dealing
with someone with some serious will power. If youre tired, it can really throw off
the timing for certain stunts, especially when theyre resisting every single cuss
word and rude gesture youre trying to get out of them. Nothing is more embarrassing
than when the priest asks you, "what is your name?" and you answer
"cock" which was the answer you were trying to give a minute ago when he asked
the girl if she needed anything. Timing is everything.
Anyhow, I finally came up with a fantastic twist and sneaking back
into the cradle of Mistys soul, I woke her up with a good sharp jab to the brain. I
needed her eyes to scan the room for things to levitate. Part of my plan involved flying
furniture and the other part, well, something kind of new. I briefly considered the body
fluid projectile theme, but with the re-release of The Exorcist in theaters recently, it
seemed too predicable. Her vision was blurry as I raised her head up from the pillow and
pivoted it around - 180 degrees of course - so I could get an inventory. Desk, lamp,
dresser, nightstand, two chairs, a stereo, and some stuffed animals. All good stuff with
the exception of the stuffed animals, which usually only scare kids. Ive seen it
work, but I never could make much out of teddy bears. Clowns maybe, but not bears.
The documentary crew had a minimal amount of equipment set up, but
of course it would have defeated the purpose to destroy any of it. There was a single
camera operated by bearded guy in a football jersey and a few tripod lights positioned to
add an ambient glow to the scene. A younger kid wrestled with a boom mic, while a rather
attractive woman pecked at a laptop computer. A girl with a clipboard coordinated them.
The Priest, Tinker, and his assistant sat on folding chairs, praying
and mumbling. They were dressed in the typical black and white uniform of conservatism,
which looked stylish on the younger assistant. Tinker on the other hand looked more like
an awkward blackbird with his balding head and beaked nose.
"Shes awake!" said the girl with the clipboard as
Misty began moving. Just for her, I expanded and contracted the boils on Mistys face
like little red lungfish. A great effect if youre looking for something subtle. The
holy men rose from their prayer-saturated respite with Mistys renewed activity.
"We shall not sleep until you release her innocent soul!"
Father Tinker stated, as much to the camera as to me.
I forced myself on Mistys power of speech, transforming it
from the fresh spark of a young woman to the razorblade-gargled voice of a sewer pit. I
had her fart to add extra atmosphere.
"Release her I shall
to the pits of hell!"
Tinker responded with something like, "I command thee thusly,
give up this futile endeavor of evil and take your own corrupt essence back unto the
"Not without this delicious virgin!" I said greedily.
"Heed the scripture
Now when a sentence starts with that phrase, I know Im in for
a lecture. Tinker raised his hand into the air, already dripping sweat on the bible in
front of him as he read animatedly from its pages. I took the opportunity to focus my
energies on some of the bedroom furniture, raising the nightstand a good two or three feet
up into the air and revolving it like a pig on a spit.
The film crew got excited, but Father Tinker and his assistant paid
little attention to my lo-fi antics.
I began to animate Misty as Tinker read on.
and so to the demon God did say
Drooled some saliva from her mouth.
eternal darkness shall be your bane
Rolled her eyes around.
all fleshly sins shall remain
Had her grope herself inappropriately.
for the serpent is disdain
Flipped them off.
taste not the apple
I finally got him off the scriptures by having Misty rip open her
pajama top and reveal some red, raised words across her chest that I had scratched from
the inside. Its always difficult writing backwards, but I managed the phrase
"THE PIT THAT JUST WONT QUIT."
"By my hand, you shall quit and return to the pit of your vile
origin!" he houted.
The phrase was actually a plug for Beelzebubs Barbecue Barn ,
but his response worked out just as well.
"Tell the truth holy man, you really dont mean
that," I coaxed. "I give purpose to your own pit you call a life!"
Tinker fumbled a moment for words. "Lie! You would wish me to
believe that," he said at last.
I had Misty smile a toothy grin. "Come on, you love me and you
With that, I let the nightstand crash to the ground and hurled the
desk lamp through the air. Unfortunately, the cord stopped it short and instead of hitting
him it snapped back and fell to the carpeted floor. Not a great start for my television
debut, I realize, but after what I had planned, no one would criticize these kind of
To reclaim the moment, I turned the stereo on full blast. But
unknown to me, White Zombie had revoked our license to use their music due to some royalty
disputes. Let me just say that the demon responsible for keeping possessors informed of
legal issues is serving time as a shipping and receiving clerk in Purgatory. So instead of
some techo-terror exploding out of the speakers, I got the warm apple cider voice of Karen
Carpenter. Thinking quick, I hurled the receiver across the room and out the window. A
scream from the street below made me feel better, apparently having inadvertently killed
someone in the process.
Tinker started back with his bellowing. "You are a vile serpent
of the flesh. We have no love for your kind."
I responded to this bad bit of prose with a bed levitation move.
"Release her, I say unto you demon!" chimed in the
assistant as he made some kind of meaningless hand gesture.
I gave Mistys eyes a complete 180 spin and growled, "Not
before your body rots in the stinking earth, cowboy." For effect, I pushed a gush of
snot from Mistys nose, hitting him in the face.
The camera panned to get a shot of him wiping it off with his combed
cotton handkerchief. To coax it back, I began to rack Mistys tender flesh with
violent shudders. I escalated them to a vibrating pace which made her look as though she
would explode into a pasty organic stew at any second. But I knew this was standard fare.
"EaT mE," I wrote on her chest.
"Leave this young woman and come into me," Tinker shouted
"That sounds like a come-on," I oozed.
"You twist the truth."
I rolled one of Mistys eyes to see that some of the film crew
"Do I?" I asked as I forced several rills of blood to pour
from the eye like red spider legs. The giggling stopped.
"Show your hideous face, demon, and leave this girl be!"
"I might not be as hideous as you think," I said smiling
again with the girls sickly lips.
"You bore me, demon," Tinker said defiantly.
That seemed like a good cue. Mistys boils began pumping, her
eyes rolling, her hands groping her nether regions like a caged animal. "I might even
tempt a cold fish like you," I teased.
"Not possible, demon!" Tinker assured.
Then, with a sudden flash, I levitated all of the bedroom furniture
and began whirling it around. At first in a slow, steady rhythm, until finally building
into a tremendous maelstrom of imitation oak. I was careful though to avoid hitting the
camera or camera operator during the feat. To add a hellish effect, I bent the lights into
a crimson spectrum of blinding strobes and forced a chilling shriek from the mucous-lined
throat of the virgin.
The desk, the nightstand, the chairs, the stuffed animals, clothes,
shoes, everything was now twirling in the air like a tornado from the bowels of ninth
level. Tinker, his assistant, and the crew had to hit the ground in order to avoid having
their cracker-boned skulls smashed into powder.
My moment was coming. I pulled the flying furniture into a tight
whirlpool just above the bed as they looked on, obviously dazzled by my control.
Then like a master illusionist, I crafted the image of Cameron Diaz,
in perfect scale, there in the air above the tornado. Her breasts naked, undulating
sensuously below her half-moon, golden smile. Their eyes drew to the image like wolves to
a dying camp fire. I bulged and gyrated the body while the camera focused its own
unblinking eye in suspense. Even Father Tinker had lost track of his flowered tongue as he
crouched below the unexpected display. I heard one of the crew say, "its so
But then so much for the warm-up, it was time to go whole
horror-hog. I pushed three sharp horns from the specter of Ms. Diaz forehead, gooing
with all the blood and realism of a physical transformation splattering them with the
expurgated matter. Her teeth extended, her hair grew wild, and her eyes lit with the fires
of hell. Scarlet-tinged bile poured forth from her mouth, falling like a bloody waterfall
though the center of the maelstrom and onto the body of poor Misty, who had become all but
inconsequential to the whole production. I turned her breasts from softly dancing crests
of flesh to roaring machines of death, with earth-core drilling bits bursting forth in
place of the nipples. The din of their spin pierced the delicate human eardrums of my
audience causing them to slam their palms over their ears as the bits lunged dangerously
Steel talons burst forth from the model-gone-monsters slender
knuckles and fingertips and I sent her through the whirlpool down upon them. The claws and
drills began skimming shards of flesh from the holy men and camera crew as they struggled
to escape. Meat came from the bone and the bones fell to the ground. The room was painted
red. The camera lens held steady.
"My God! This shit is real!" screamed the production head
as she saw her fresh-faced mic boy being humped by the leading ladys image, which
dug its talons into his back so deep that they emerged from his chest. She ran for the
door, but I held the knob. The camera man was the only one still doing his job, admittedly
partly by my hand, but mostly by his own will driven by the innate urge to ogle death. He
got a nice close up of her final gasp as I send the phantasm down upon her.
I let him live. I was prime time!
As you know, I bit into the ratings war like a piranha into a
babys arm with the actress-cum-devil finale. I would like to thank the clergy and
crew for becoming sacrifices in the years most successful media blitz. And I
would naturally like to thank Ms. Cameron Diaz herself for the inspiration, hot body, and
the autograph she gave me at the awards ceremony. Ill just turn it in to Accounts
Receivable for processing and in 60 years or so, Ill be one happy demon!
© Robert Thorn