Exorcism and chow mein

The Unholy Home Visit

A sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front door of the modest suburban house. Carl Anderson threw the door open to reveal a Catholic priest standing on the porch in a stiff black collar, flanked by a nun whose habit looked slightly dusty from travel.

“Hello, you must be the Andersons?” the priest asked.

“Yes, we are. Thank you for coming, Father,” Carl replied, stepping back. “This is my wife, Beth.”

“Happy to make your acquaintance; this is Sister Anne,” Father Anderson said, stepping across the threshold.

“Come on in, would you like something to drink?” Carl offered, closing the door behind them.

“No thank you,” the priest said smoothly. “I understand you would like for your home to be blessed?”

“No, sorry. We must have got our wires crossed,” Carl admitted sheepishly. “I need you to perform an exorcism. We have a bloody ghost.”

Father Anderson stopped dead in his tracks. “An exorcism? I’m not authorized by the church to perform an exorcism. I have the text you sent, and it clearly says ‘blessing.’”

“I apologize, Father. I didn’t think you’d come if I told you what we really needed.”

“You do realize that lying is a sin?” the priest asked, leveling a firm look at him.

“Yes, Father, but we are desperate. This is our first home, and we can’t have a ghost.”

Sister Anne chimed in, looking around the pristine room. “What makes you think your home is haunted?”

“Don’t you see the demon sitting on the couch?” Carl asked, pointing directly toward the living room furniture.

Both the priest and the nun turned their heads. Sitting comfortably with his legs crossed on the cushions was a red-skinned demon, casually flipping through the morning newspaper.

“Holy shit!” the priest exclaimed, dropping his professional demeanor. “How long has he been there?”

“He wasn’t here when the saleslady showed us the house,” Beth replied nervously.

“Does he have a name?” Father Anderson asked.

The demon turned a page of the paper, replying without skipping a beat. “Todd. My name is Todd.”

“Todd the evil? Todd the demon?” the priest pressed.

“Just call me Todd; you won’t understand my real name,” the demon muttered.

“Ok Todd, is there any chance you can leave this couple alone and move out?”

“I got free rent here,” Todd replied simply.

“Why not move back to Hell?” the priest countered.

Todd looked up over the edge of the newspaper. “Have you ever been there, priest?”

“No, but I’ve heard about it.”

“Effing hot as Hell,” Todd replied, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.”

“Do you intend to be a bother to these fine young newlyweds?” Father Anderson demanded.

“No, I have my own room in the basement.”

Carl stepped forward defensively. “He plays his music so loud that it rattles our dishes! And he sneaks food out of our fridge at night.”

“Is that true?” the priest asked the sofa’s occupant.

“No, none of that is true.”

“You are the king of lies,” the priest said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you lying to me now?”

“Not at all,” Todd said. He casually reached down and took a long drink from a soda bottle he had apparently brought into the living room.

“Where did you get that soda?” Father Anderson asked.

“Found it outside.”

“Huh. Outside, you say?”

“Yeah, it was sitting on the sidewalk. Some kid must have left it,” Todd replied with a shrug.

“He’s lying,” Carl interjected loudly. “I saw him take it out of our pantry.”

Father Anderson’s frustration was beginning to mount. “So not only are you a liar, you’re a thief. Do you pay rent like you infer?”

“I’m like a security guard; I pay by keeping this place safe,” Todd explained.

“Did they ask you to be a security guard?”

“I don’t recall.”

“So you are a liar, a thief, and now a deadbeat,” Father Anderson concluded. “I can see why they called me.”

“That’s rude,” Todd grumbled, setting the paper down. “What if I called you a child molester?”

“That is a misrepresentation of the priesthood and very offensive,” the priest snapped back.

“Just saying.”

Carl looked anxiously between the two of them. “Is there anything you can do, Father?”

“I can douse him with Holy water and see if that does any good,” Father Anderson muttered, reaching for his coat pocket.

Todd set the paper completely flat on his lap. “Don’t bother, Priest. I bathe in Holy Water. I’m immune.”

“I’d expect the King of Lies to say that,” Father Anderson replied.

“Can you bless him?” Carl suggested. “Maybe that would work.”

The priest blinked, pausing. “Never thought of that. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Todd gestured toward his red chest. “Go ahead, Priest. Bless away!”

Father Anderson closed his eyes as he brainstormed a custom blessing. He raised one hand in the air and intoned, “In the name of the Lord our God, I bless you.”

Todd sat there, completely unimpressed. “Really? Is that the best you can do? I’m not a new car, or a baby. I deserve better than that.”

Father Anderson lowered his hand and turned back to Carl. “I don’t think a blessing will work.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“I can email the Vatican and ask them for help,” the priest offered.

“Email? Can’t you at least call someone? This is important!” Carl barked, his patience wearing thin.

“All I get is an operator from India, and they always send me to voicemail. I find a text is faster.”

“Who gets the text? The pope?”

“Oh fuck no,” the priest scoffed. “The Pope is way too busy for this minor bullshit.”

Sister Anne gasped, her eyes widening. “Father? What’s with the language?”

From the couch, Todd grinned wildly. His clawed fingers subtly twitched in a small, unseen casting motion. “Sorry, just having a little fun,” the demon whispered under his breath.

“Send the text then!” Carl yelled, rubbing his temples. “I can’t take that red-skinned demon much longer. My parents are coming tomorrow to see the house, and I need him gone!”

“Tomorrow?” Father Anderson chuckled hollowly. “This could take a month to get a reply, and then there is the matter of arranging an exorcist, the trip, and a hotel for whoever comes. And they will charge you for this.”

“What the fuck?” Carl snapped, completely exasperated. “The Catholic church is loaded! They can’t just send someone?”

“That is why they are loaded; they don’t spend money unless they have to,” the priest explained matter-of-factly. “Like if a priest needs an attorney, they will always try a GoFundMe first.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Carl shouted.

On the sofa, Todd leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling enthusiastically. “That’s more like it!”

A sudden, rapid knock thudded against the heavy front wood of the door, breaking the tension. Everyone froze in place. Carl blinked as a look of sudden realization washed over his face.

“Oh, bloody hell. I forgot,” Carl mumbled.

“Forgot what, Carl?” Beth asked, crossing her arms.

“I ordered a Chinese. About an hour ago, before the Church arrived.”

Father Anderson shook his head solemnly. “Gluttony. The silent killer of the soul.”

Carl pulled the front door open for the second time that morning. Standing on the threshold was Jesus. He was wearing a bright orange, insulated food delivery backpack over a flowing white tunic, a pair of worn leather sandals, and a radiant, golden halo that hovered precisely three inches above his head. In his hand, he held a brown paper bag that smelled heavily of sesame oil and fried rice.

“Good morning,” Jesus said calmly. “Peace be upon this house. Delivery for Carl?”

Carl stared blankly at the glowing ring of light above the man’s head. “Yes… mate. That’s me.”

“That will be twenty-four pounds and fifty pence. Cash or card?” Jesus asked, consulting his phone.

Behind Carl, Father Anderson gasped loudly and dropped straight to his knees on the carpet. “My Lord! It is you! You have answered the text!”

Jesus looked down past Carl at the kneeling priest, looking slightly embarrassed. “Actually, I’m on an active shift right now. If you want a miracle, you have to book it through the app under ‘Special Requests.’ Otherwise, I’m just trying to protect my five-star rating.”

From the living room couch, Todd waved a casual hand. “Hey, Nazarene! Did you bring the prawn crackers? If there are no prawn crackers, I’m downvoting the whole establishment!”

Jesus looked past Carl, his eyes landing squarely on the sofa. He let out a heavy, tired sigh. “Todd. I should have known.”

“Allright, JC,” Todd grinned, leaning back. “Nice outfit. Did the Vatican crowd-fund that delivery bag?”

Father Anderson stayed on his knees, pointing an aggressive finger toward the couch. “Lord, cast him out! He is a liar, a thief, and he took a soda from the pantry that belonged to these fine young people!”

Jesus turned his attention back to Carl. “Is the demon bothering you?”

“He plays heavy metal at midnight and he refuses to contribute to the council tax,” Carl explained flatly.

“Say no more.”

Jesus stepped past Carl into the living room, setting the heavy bag of Chinese takeout onto the coffee table. He turned to face Todd, and the golden glow of his halo began to hum with a low, majestic resonance.

“By the authority given to me, I command you to pack your things and vacate these premises, Todd,” Jesus declared.

Todd merely smirking, entirely unfazed by the divine light. “Can’t do it, mate. Tenant laws in this borough are incredibly strict. You need to give me at least three months’ written notice and a formal eviction order signed by a local magistrate. Otherwise, it’s an illegal lockout and I’ll sue your landlord into the stone age.”

Jesus paused, his halo dimming just a fraction. He turned his head slightly. “Is that true?”

Sister Anne nodded her head in solemn agreement. “Section 8 of the Housing Act, Lord. It’s an absolute nightmare. Even the Almighty cannot bypass local zoning regulations without a proper permit.”

Todd grinned broadly, lifting his newspaper back up to hide his face. “Like I said. Free rent.”

Jesus sighed heavily, looking over at Carl with an apologetic expression. “Right. Look, I can’t cast him out without a mountain of legal paperwork, but I can turn his entire bedroom in the basement into solid, un-drinkable vinegar. How does that sound?”

Carl looked down at the paper bag on the coffee table. “Honestly, I’d just settle for my chicken chow mein.”

“Fair enough,” Jesus said, pulling up the payment screen on his device. “That’ll be twenty-four fifty.”