The Power Of Unholy Friendship

20251008

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

It was a sign of how society had fallen from the Righteous Way that unholy fiends had managed to infest a place of worship. Long-abandoned, but still.
Father Bernard clutched his tools; in his left hand, a travel-sized unabridged bible, thick with bookmarks and blessed by every peer he had assisted. In his right hand, his sanctified revolver. While society made it ever harder to wield guns, the church found a way. They had a higher calling to answer to.
The old chapel slumped amongst the faded tombstones, its crumpled roof slid low over broken, boarded windows. It put him unpleasantly in mind of the feckless, corrupted youth whose marks were sprayed across the once holy building.
He would make it holy once more.
Unlike the windows, the doors were unbarred and hanging open. A mocking welcome. Soon the fiend would rue its hubris.
Bernard made the sign of the cross, his wary gaze not leaving the chapel, then clicked on the flashlight clipped to his clerical collar. The light, though unblessed (attempts to sanctify LEDs were ongoing), was bright and clear and threw the stone entryway into stark relief.
It was empty. Naturally. The fiend would want him further inside before it struck.
Shoulders square, jaw tight, he strode into the building. Disdaining to react when the doors swung shut behind him. Their mundane locks were long smashed and he wouldn’t be leaving until the demon’s power was destroyed.
Once the space would have been beautiful. Before the gilt was scraped off to be sold for pennies, and the stained glass was smashed for the lead, and the carved pews were broken up for firewood, their charred remains marring the polished marble floor.
Bernard shook his head, sorrow clouding his eyes. He embraced it. Let it transmute into righteous fury. Though the original defilers of this space were long gone, and likely thought themselves having escaped justice, judgement would find them.
His task was to deal with the squatters those original reprobates had (perhaps inadvertently) allowed in.
Above the altar, where once a cross watched over visitors, a goat skull had been nailed. Its empty eyes stuffed with wilted lilies (stolen from loving gifts offered to the dead?) and a smear of blood marking its nose.
Its jaw clicked.
It spoke, in the rasping legionary cacophony of a manifested demon. “Hello, Bernard. Long time no see.”
Bernard took aim, focusing the crucifix of his iron sight squarely on the demon’s crux. A single emblazoned silver bullet should suffice. But first…
“You claim to know me? I will not be tricked by lies.”
“I no longer need lies.”
Bernard’s lip twisted, but before he could voice his contempt the demon continued “It was eighteen years ago. A drizzly November evening. I had a cult in southeast London, meeting in a nightclub basement. Four members. One was the nightclub cleaner.”
The skull’s jaw slowly ground left and right, its eyeless gaze sharpening. “She was my host. My chosen. Do you remember her?”
“No.”
“Of course not. I might as well tell you it was a Wednesday, or that you didn’t wipe your shoes. Well. You killed her. To banish me back to the aether.”
“An unfortunate necessity.” With a CRACK the skull shattered. “I regret that it failed. I will not fail again.”
Clotted byzantium miasma dripped from the bullet hole and spread across the wall, forming a ghoulish face. “Oh, you didn’t fail then. But you will fail now. I’ve learned, Bernie. I brought friends.”
“I have faced countless cults. I fear no-”
“Not cultists. Not pawns. Not tools. I. Have. Made. Friends.”
A chilling, breathy cackle danced around the room. Shadows rose in its wake.
“Do you know, Bernie? Do you know how many lives you’ve shattered and souls you’ve cast aside in the name of your righteousness? I do.”
“You seek to shake my faith.” Bernard’s jaw tightened. “I dirty my hands that the world may be clean. I-”
“You indulge your thirst for power and tell yourself it’s justified.”
“-carry the weight of sin that others might be-”
“You hold yourself above others and call it piety.”
“-unburdened, I-”
“And you blather unceasingly. By far your worst habit.”
“-AM THE LIGHT WHICH HOLDS BACK THE DARKNESS. I-”
“So call those you have aided. Call the powers whose hate you perform. Call whoever you like. See how many answer.”
Bernard took a deep breath. Thrust his bible aloft. “I need no aid. I have my faith.”
“Faith won’t help you here.”
Undeterred, Bernard pointed his crucifix sights and started chanting prayer.
“You cannot severe control which isn’t exerted. You cannot cleanse what isn’t evil. You cannot banish those who are where they belong. This isn’t a chess match, Bernie.”
The shadowy figures, clots of ash and spirit and anger, drew closer.
“This… is a fight. Put ‘em up.”
Bernard fired with swift precision, his remaining five bullets flying through the first shadows - and harmlessly embedding in the walls behind them.
One shadow flinched, backing up and raising half-formed limbs above its head, and Bernard rounded on it, pointing his crucifix and chanting. But it simply patted itself down, straightened up, and continued approaching.
“See? They’re not mine. Not unholy. They’re just very, very pissed off.”
The holy water spray clung to the shadows as if they were solid… but only seemed to make them moist.
“Do you know how to get rid of poltergeists, Bernie? You appease them. Resolve the root of their grudge. So… don’t fret. This will technically be a successful mission.”
Annotated pages went flying as the bible was ripped apart.
“I do look forward to seeing what they do to you. There was a lot of… passionate discussion about it earlier. Nobody quite agreed.”
The skull slowly pulled itself back together, its eyeless sockets glittering. “But I’m sure they’ll work it out. After all…”
Bernard’s first scream split the air.
“…That’s what friends do.”

Prompt was “A priest who is known for his many successful exorcisms comes face to face with a demon from his past, and this time it brought friends…”