The Immaculate Exorcism of Alice Germaine

The walls shook violently, sending vases and mugs and books hurtling towards the ground. The building itself seemed to be in pain, crying out for help as its soul was the battleground for the forces inside. Mr. Mitchell and his daughter held each other tight, silently praying for the safety of their family.

Finally, after an earth-shattering crack, the air seemed to still. The walls of their modest home settled back into the earth, and the evil, demonic aura calmed to a crisp, God-fearing chill.

After a tense five minutes and thirty-eight seconds, the blood-red front door swung out toward the lawn where they stood. A puff of dust followed the air that spilled from inside the house as the young priest stood in the door frame. He held his white collar in his hand and his disheveled hair showed clear signs of a struggle.

The two held their breath as they studied his face. It was unreadable for an almost unbearable amount of time until, finally, he flashed a small smile. He closed his eyes and nodded his head before combing a hand through his short, thick black hair. The two of them began to sob. Only this time, it was tears of joy. They ran past the priest towards the door. Only Mr. Mitchell thought to turn back and shake his hand. He thanked him profusely. The priest only had one last thing to say.

"Don't thank me. Just go, with God."

John sat hungover at the kitchen table, drinking a scalding hot cup of burnt coffee as he so often did on Sunday mornings. He found it to be the best hangover cure for a 30 year old, along with reading the headlines in the local paper. It sounded silly, what with any and all information at your fingertips in 2022 with the touch of a screen, but John found it to be as much of a physical and auditory experience as a visual one. The feeling of the flimsy paper in his fingers and the sound of the turning pages had an odd ritualistic quality that he just couldn't get enough of. Besides, it was nice to see your picture in the paper every once in a while.

He put the paper down and glanced at his phone. Another Sunday meant awaiting another phone call. And he found himself particularly excited about this one. He always kind of particularly excited for his eventual Sunday phone calls but this one would really be something.

As he swiped up on his phone screen, he took an ambitious swig of his coffee. Too ambitious as a matter of fact, because it ended up spilling down onto his bare chest and underwear.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

He got up and rushed over to the sink, leaving his mug down on the table to plant a ring of spilled coffee around its base as he soaked paper towels in cool water to soothe his skin. The coffee that reached his underwear luckily missed anything particularly sensitive before cooling down.

Jenny hated when he spilled things on himself like this. She used to tell him to 'pay the fuck attention' to what he was eating or drinking. That it was embarrassing when he was a mess everywhere he went. John laughed to himself, finding a special kind of humor in this. Besides, it wasn't his fault that he had trouble focusing on one thing at a time.

The cold paper towels felt good on the burns. He pulled them away for a moment. Just barely red. Not too bad.

He was at the sink tending his wounds when his phone started to ring. It was a pleasant, inoffensive ring tone, but to John's hungover head it was like a jackhammer prying at his ears. He turned quickly and carelessly back towards the table to snatch it. Stubbing his toe in the process. He clenched his teeth together, along with his hand as he brought it to his lips.

"Fuck!"

That was it. One yell. He needed to get it out. He took in a deep breath, letting it out as slowly as he believed time allowed. He grabbed the call, cool and collected.

"Father John Millow speaking."

...

"Oh. Oh, my Lord."

...

"Yes, of course."

...

"No, not at all. I would be honored. I am so sorry."

...

"Yes. I'll be there. And Charlene? Don't worry. He works in mysterious ways."

John hung up. He grabbed his toast for one last bite, the toasted crust irritating his marginally burned mouth. He needed to shower and get dressed.

John sat in his 2012 Honda Civic, watching the time tick by until he could work himself up to walk in. As the cars passed looking for the perfect parking spot, John searched for the perfect words. He wasn't normally this stressed for his typical Sunday, but the conditions were... unorthodox this time around. He laughed silently to himself. Jenny would have fucking hated that joke. By the end of their relationship, she was getting pretty sick of the simple puns and play-on-words jokes he so frequently used to supplement his humor. He thought she was just being an asshole for no good reason, so he never cut it out.

It was time. With that, he finally found himself in the right headspace, so he stepped out of the car and made his way toward the Panera Bread that sat so elegantly between a Foot Locker and a Chinese buffet in the strip mall. The heat and humidity was almost unbearable in his black vestments as he waked across the hot concrete. Off in the distance, he noticed some dark clouds slowly making their way across the mostly clear skies. Rain would be nice right about now.

The Panera was exactly like every other Panera sitting in a dying strip or shopping mall. A mix of yuppies and old heads filled every third table while the smell of expensive hospital food clung onto every surface it could reach. John made sure to keep his coffee under his nose to drown out the other scents.

Across from him sat Mr. and Mrs. Germaine. They were almost comically distraught. John caught the end of Mrs. Germaine's long, sad rant.

"... but they told us exorcisms aren't practiced anymore! How can they say that? To leave one of Satan's own amongst us... it's unjust. It isn't Catholic."

He heard enough to know how to respond. "Yes, I have heard this a lot recently. It's troubling, to say the least."

Mr. Germaine chimed in. "It's so nice to talk to someone who doesn't look at us like we're crazy. I mean, the things we've seen can't be explained any other way."

"And they don't need to be, Carl. You both know I'm no stranger to this. And I don't mean to lack in humility, but I do have a good track record with these things." He leaned in to both of them, giving an assured look. "I promise your daughter is in good hands."

"Oh, thank God!" Mrs. Germain responded. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear some good news."

"I think I may have some idea," John responded warmly. "I'll be excited to see you all reunited once more. So tell me again of the signs you encountered?"

"Books! Falling off of shelves for no reason! Creaks and voices in the distance just out of sight! Sinks turning on and off by themselves!" Mr. Germaine had a dramatic flair about him. John liked that.

"And then our sweet daughter Alice." Mrs. Germaine continued. "At first, it just seemed like something was off. She started forgetting things. Acting a little different here and there from the daughter we know and love. But then... she changed. Started to scream out of nowhere. Lost her temper quickly and sharply. And then the house started to respond to her. Chairs would fall over or mirrors would crack when she got angry. And then... the red eyes. It was terrifying."

Mrs. Germaine began to cry. Her husband pulled her in for a hug as he kept his composure, giving John a stern look.

"We just want our daughter back, Father. Please."

"I promise that I will use all the power vested in me to return your daughter to you, safe and sound." John had become good at this. "I'll take your keys, and by tomorrow morning this will all be nothing but a memory."

Mrs. Germaine excused herself to the restroom. After she was out of earshot, Mr. Germaine took his opportunity.

"Look, we really appreciate you doing this. And if it's too much, what with Jen—"

"Please, Carl. It's okay."

"No I'm serious! We can find someone else if we—"

"There is no need. My duty is to you and the Lord."

"Thank you, Father." He paused.

"John. Thank you, John."

John never got used to being called Father by people older than him. It felt like a sigh of relief to hear his name being spoken without it. He grabbed the keys and smiled.

"No need to thank me, please. Just pray and I promise your daughter will once again see the light." He stood up, coffee in hand.

"And tell the Mrs. that it will all be over soon for me."

John pulled up to the Germaines' property. The house was less than modest, with two huge floors and a detached garage. On his way down the road, he even caught a glimpse of the in-ground pool. Well, the slide into it anyway. Bottom line was, the Germaines were loaded. More than he remembered. It was a beautiful property, which made the broken windows and tilted curtains stand out even more amongst their fellow wealthy neighbors.

John looked through each of the windows, a crucifix in one hand and bible in the other. As he surveyed them, some movement caught his eye just as the sound of thunder rolled over the hills far beyond the house. John rolled his eyes and began walking up the steps to the front door as he started to feel the familiar pitter-patter of rain drops on his hair and shoulders, signifying the beginnings of a storm.

As he went to insert the key into the door, he noticed it was sitting ajar and instead pushed the handle forward and walked into the house.

It was dark inside, and after the door closed, quiet enough that the loudest noise he could hear was the rain picking up through the broken window in the room to his left. As his eyes adjusted, he came to see how beautiful the house must have been. Ahead of him was a crescent staircase with a marble-topped railing that led to the second floor. The place has a classical beauty to it, something you might have seen in a southern mansion owned by a big family with great grandparents of questionable moral standing. This was much further north than that, though. And the Germaines only had one daughter.

The room to the right was filled with books. Quite literally, as John began to notice the extent of what happened here. The room to the right was obviously a library who's massive shelves-worth of books now littered the ground in piles. As the wind picked up outside, the books and their pages stirred. John knew better though, that this was not from the wind itself, but from another presence that had no doubt become acutely aware of his snooping. Outside the house, another roll of thunder meandered across the sky.

John walked around the bottom floor, taking in the destruction that had overcome the house. In the kitchen, boxes and bags of different non-perishables littered the floors, along with various pieces of silverware and the drawers that once held them. He jumped slightly as he walked past the fridge, hearing it creak open as its light spilled across the kitchen.

"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath. Normally he didn't care much to take in the sights and sounds, but this was on another level. John wasn't sure if he was angry or impressed.

After a few more minutes of walking around the first floor and taking in the sights (a snapped-in-half chair and portrait of Mr. Germaine with red X's on the eyes among his favorites), John decided it was time to make his way upstairs. As he began slowly creeping up the carpeted steps, the feeling of being watched sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't anything new, but something in a human's brain was just wired to react like that, he figured.

He counted the steps as he walked up. 37. Something he'd done as a kid to calm himself down that still happened to work wonders as an adult.

When he reached the upstairs hallway it became apparent just how bad the storm had begun to rage. The rain was a constant, inescapable drumming on the roof above him and the thunder shook the house after a particularly immaculate lightning strike. John made his way down the hallway, intent on finding the room he had seen movement in. It was, of course, the last one down on his right. As he slowly, carefully drifted across the floor, the walls of the hallway ever so slightly expanded and contracted. The creaking was obvious, but the physical movement of the building was something you could be forgiven for not noticing.

The lights flickered. From nothing to a dim glow and back to nothing, giving John a slideshow of the rapidly approaching cabinet at the end of the hall. His heart was pounding. In all of their time doing this, his heart had never raced quite like it did now. He thought about yelling out. Calling for a time out, but something about this made him feel more alive than usual.

John finally found himself at the door. This was where he had seen the movement. He was sure of it. Right behind this door, it all came to an end and everything would be back to... well, maybe normal wasn't the word for it. The new normal?

It didn't matter. The floor and walls and ceiling ached. An impossible wind blew through the house as the storm carried on its assault of the house. Another roll of thunder carried on in the distance.

John reached his hand down to the handle. Just six inches. Four. Three. Two. One...

"Ahhhhhhhh!"

A shriek exploded out from the room behind him. John jumped, falling back onto his ass. As he thumped against the ground, the shrieking voice, or rather voices, began to giggle.

"Oh fuck off! Really?" John stood back up, rubbing a cheek with one hand.

"Oh don't be such a baby," the voices said, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere at all. "Just get the fuck in here."

John turned around. The light was seeping under the door behind him.

"Okay, that wasn't happening before."

"You're right. I really fucking got you this time."

"Maybe I'll just turn around then? We can forget this whole thing."

"Oh come on, don't be like that. Besides..."

John began to feel an invisible pressure rubbing around his crotch. He started to get hard.

"... I know you want this even more than I do."

"T-this is new."

"You like it? Can't believe I didn't think of it til now." The two voices giggled together. "Now get your ass in here before you bust in your pants."

John walked in the door, as the invisible pressure on his crotch began to focus itself, rubbing up and down his now hardening penis. The room was hardly touched compared to the rest of the house. It was a typical back-home bedroom you would imagine of any college-aged girl. A few old boy-band posters from their youth, a desk covered in trinkets and books that had just begun collecting dust. Then, in the center if the room was a bed with soft string lights hanging over it from the ceiling.

The sight that greeted him on the bed wasn't particularly shocking. Laying on her side, propping her head up with one hand was Alice Germaine. She was a 20-year-old college student with long, straight, strawberry blonde hair. Her other hand was resting on her hip, accentuating her alluring curves. She was wearing very little, with the exception of a green lacy bra and matching panties. John decided her fashion sense was spot on. He supposed the most glaring feature she had were her impossibly red irises.

After a few seconds of taking in the view, she moved her mouth and two voices spilled out.

"Do you like it? Can't believe she just had this shit lying around."

John looked at the closet. The clothes were strewn about outside the open doors.

"Not even old enough to drink yet but this is fuck-me lingerie if I've ever seen it."

One of the voices, John presumed, was Alice's. It was calm, sweet, on the higher end in terms of pitch. The voice of a girl who lived a life free of worry. It almost made him feel bad for what was about to happen.

Okay, maybe not almost. Maybe he just thought about it for a bit longer than he historically did in the past.

The other voice was different. Still a clearly feminine voice, but deeper. A bit more annoying to John's ears, though he figured most other guys wouldn't feel that way. This was because the voice was, of course, Jenny's.

The late Jenny. John's now-deceased ex-girlfriend.

John ignored her comment.

"You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck was that? You know I already know what you are, right?"

He wasn't totally telling the truth. John often landed somewhere between 'ghost' and 'demon'. Usually demon was in first based on her penchant for acting like one, but the telekinetic hand stroking him through his pants were pointing towards 'poltergeist' at the moment.

"Oh get over it. Do you really wanna argue about a little jumpscare with this practically-naked, tight young thing in front of you?" Alice's body climbed up onto its knees at the command of Jenny.

"Honestly wasn't totally on board with this one at first, but god this limber little body makes me feel like I could do anything. Way better than that mom we did last week. Must've been double Allie's age."

John and Jenny had been at this for a few months, since practically the month after she died. When Jenny made contact with him, possession was one of the first things she wanted to try. She hadn't expected it to work. John, on the other hand, was still in shock that he could talk to her at all.

When Jenny unexpectedly passed, he was heartbroken. They had only been broken up for a few months and the ties between them were still strong. It seemed like a blessing to speak to her after her death.

For a time anyway. It turns out having one half of a relationship literally dead didn't make things magically better. At this point there was only one thing keeping the two of them together. Jenny loved getting fucked. For that she needed a body and a willing partner. And John? Well, to John, Jenny was a fuck-whoever-you-want-for-free card.

"I gotta say though," Jenny and Alice said in unison. "Asking me to possess my cousin so you can fuck her is pretty messed up."

John tossed his cheap crucifix and bible to the side and started taking off his vestments.

"You love it."

"Do not!"

"Okay then." He stopped. "I'll go hit up some random girl on Tinder instead." The invisible handjob stopped immediately.

"Ugh, you're such an asshole! Okay, okay, I like it. Happy now?"

"So happy." John grinned. Jenny and Alice giggled. Something about the two giggles never failed to turn him on.

"Good. Now be a good boy and take those clothes off. I need to get fucked in this thing."

He didn't need to be asked again. John managed to kick off his shoes, drop the rest of his vestments, and pull off his undershirt before Alice's body climbed off the bed and kneeled in front of him. She looked up at his face. The red eyes always got him.

"Are you gonna suck my cock?"

"I don't know. Maybe," they said with a shit-eating grin that screamed Jenny much more than Alice. "If you ask really, really nicely."

John pulled down his underwear, releasing his already hard dick.

"Wow. Looks like the ghost-job was a crowd pleaser, huh?"

"You gonna start jerking off random guys in public now?"

Alice licked her lips.

"Hadn't even considered it. Thanks for the idea."

"My ideas don't come cheap. Open that pretty little mouth of yours."

John softly grabbed the side of her head, fingers combing through Alice's hair. He watched her covered breasts rise and fall as she began to breathe deeper.

"Make me."

John grabbed his shaft and pressed his tip against her forehead, sliding it along her smooth skin. He made a crude cross with his precum.