Suggested Audio Candy:
 Alison Moyet “That Ole Devil Called Love”
 Mike Oldfield “Tubular Bells”
How does one know when they have been possessed by the devil? I wouldn’t ask but recently some pretty rare shit has been going down that has had my head in something of a spin. I’m not an atheist; I have my own quiet beliefs and don’t buy into any one faith per se. Neither do I claim to live the life of a saint and have been responsible for numerous dastardly acts during the course of my lifetime. I have never blown out a blind child’s birthday candles at the moment he puffs his little cheeks, haven’t harmed any of God’s little creatures to my best knowledge other than the odd bottle fly, and refrain from wishing bad fortune on others, in spite of whether or not they have justified such. I’m no saint but neither am I a bona fide sinner; guess the fence just suits me fine as I can discern both sides from my neutral vantage. Nevertheless I feel evil inside of me; something I cannot grasp or decipher, something concealed from sight but nagging away like an embittered fishwife on laundry day. Something truly malevolent.
My first clue came when I watched a hapless old lady take a tumble in the high street during a routine trip to the convenience store. Ethel McGraw is ninety four, bless her. She was widowed nearly twenty years ago and finds it hard keeping her days full nowadays. She’s sweet, tactile, and bakes the meanest scones in the village to boot. I often make a point of paying her a visit as I know how much her gammy hip plays her up. At least once a month I pop in and she relays to me all of the glorious stories of her childhood. Ethel really is a dear; the last person whose pratfall should evoke snorts of laughter at her expense. As her zimmer frame became lodged between the cracks in the pavement and she landed in a disheveled heap by the roadside; I found it downright hilarious. Obviously I waited for intelligence to suggest that she hadn’t endured a fatal coronary before sniggers commenced. But the moment her dentures shattered on the curb and she involuntarily farted through no other reason than being backed up to her prostate with wind, I went to pieces. I received some funny looks from fellow passers-by, let me tell you. Needless to say I made a swift exit before any burning torches were pointed in my direction and laughed the whole way home.
What was going on? Had I become an overnight bastard; the lowest form of pond scum maybe? Negative, the first thing I did was to feel absolutely horrid and donated twenty English pounds to my nearby hospice. However, I still had no inkling as to what had provoked such a mean response to another’s misery. This wasn’t me at all; I was raised to act with kindness and my sides sewed together tight enough not to rupture at the first sight of a geriatric hitting the granite. I locked myself away in my room and didn’t join my family for dinner; instead feigning a migraine so I could sit and repent my actions further. I hadn’t banked on cabin fever; that feeling whereby walls close in and you feel the bolts on your mental machinery starting to slacken. Mother took my temperature and the reading was almost off the mercury. Another couple of degrees would have been cause for concern but she decided to take no chances and called Dr Gupta to come give me a one-over, just for precaution. I don’t trust the old geezer any farther than I could throw him; since when has it been acceptable practice to perform a full rectal examination for a simple earache? Mom wouldn’t listen and told me it would be for my own good. The devil inside of me agreed.
I heard him knocking downstairs from my room and, considering mother was already pre-disposed on a phone call to Aunt Mabel, I decided to greet him personally. Problem was that standing made me come over all queer and there was no way I would make it down there without bagging myself a serious injury. I knew he wouldn’t wait forever as he has many other patients to see; other ears to syringe but not before a routine colonoscopy. I would have to get a wriggle on; thus I assumed the position of a crustacean and scuttled down in my nightdress. When I opened the door, it took him a moment to notice me as I was still poised like a crab so I grabbed his trouser leg with my pincers and coerced him inside for our appointment. He knew full well that this was no ordinary case of mumps. Today, I would make him work hard for his bloated paycheck. He perched himself on my crooked back and I transported him to my boudoir for further examination in the name of medicine. Bizarrely enough, he wasn’t quite so keen on the prospect of parting my buttocks this time. Strange fellow Dr Gupta.
I rarely vomit, and never via way of projectile. But the sight of my balding physician leering over his bifocals at me incited sudden nausea that I felt powerless to hold in. I don’t remember eating lentil soup this morning so why my broth was so thick and creamy is anyone’s guess. He took a full load to the face and instantly his spectacles were thick in my stomach acids. I felt a little embarrassed if truth be known and decided the best course of action would be to look away.
Now that’s definitely not par for the course. A full 180 degrees no less. Evidently all was not well and he rushed from my chamber to deliver his prognosis to my mother without dalliance. This left me a little time to kill so I grabbed my trusty crucifix and began reeling off a few hail Marys before being wheeled away by the men in white lab coats for extensive testing. Meanwhile, I eavesdropped on their conversation from my doorway. “She’s bad. I think Regan needs help that my expansive skill-set cannot provide. I have never before seen a case like this but, in my professional opinion, the only route to take now is to arrange exorcism.” What a bastard; he sold me/us out and now I would have even more visitation to cope with. I felt betrayed and overcome with the rage of hell and the desire to self-harm using whatever I had closest to hand at the time. There seemed irony that I would use a symbol of faith to vent my frustration and a few choice words were spoken, make no mistake about that.
Fathers Merrin and his affiliate Karras arrived on the scene like the holy Ghostbusters and mother relayed to them my symptoms. I could hear them downstairs scattering their holy water and generally spreading their sanctimonious drivel about good defeating evil. How dare they take something so precious away from a girl of such tender years; one filled with hopes and dreams, one clearly relishing her brush with indignant behavior. I decided it was high-time that I let my associate do any talking on my behalf. He knew what to expect from them and would be prepared for every last one of their dirty tricks and biblical smear campaigns. When they plucked up the courage to enter the room; I moved a little furniture around just to make space for them to operate and gave them a light show they would never forget. They knew straight away who they were dealing with; the prince of darkness that’s who. Everyone loves a tale about good and evil and this provided them a unique opportunity to banish my malevolent keeper and come out smelling of roses. Every rose has its thorns; including me. If they wanted a skirmish then they had come to exactly the right place.
They thought they had the measure of me but the truth is that they were dead men walking the moment they happened upon me. I wasn’t about to allow them to gain the upper hand so levitated above them just to show them who was boss. Still they recited some Hebrew passage in an attempt to wrestle me back from the brink. Fuck it guys, you brought this on yourselves. Have a look at my tongue. Ha! never seen one of those before have you? Check this out. Damn right I can lick next door’s double glazing while still sat here hovering above you two chumps. Mess with Satan would you? Hmm…hmm! Exactly, you’re a pair of scam artists. Go back to whence ye came and tell them Beelzebub sends his regards. Merrin was as old as shit anyway so a quick pinch of his aortic valve was all it took to defeat his sorry withered ass. Karras, on the other hand, was more of a spring chicken, so I sent him packing via the upstairs window, giggling uncontrollably and maniacally as every bone in his upper body cracked upon impact below. Last rites bitches!
What use is a life where one doesn’t learn from experience? Precious little if you ask me. If there is one thing I have learned from this whole debacle then that is that a low-profile is tantamount if you wish to bring on apocalypse. The moment I run for senator, red flags will be raised and I will have a battle on my hands that just isn’t necessary when you think about it. I’m a young, sweet, innocent young girl in the prime of her life. I have the face of a cherub and could melt the heart in a cold man’s chest with a single recital of We’ll Meet Again. Hell, I even bust out pigtails and feign interest in regular girly pursuits such as textiles and sewing mittens for the annual village fete. As for dear old Ethel McGraw; I help her across the road and assist with her daily groceries so nobody suspects a single thing. While she’s sidetracked by the single raven trotting about the bushes I will tie her laces together, give her a nudge, and be home before her brittle bones shatter. That’s how I’m rolling see. If you are elderly or have recently undergone hip replacement surgery then watch out for Samaritans such as I. We prey on the fragile first, just for shits and grins.
Is there a devil inside me? Yes in fact there is. I carry that shit about like airport luggage. Do I have plans? Let me pose you this; what adolescent girl doesn’t? Some wish to be fairy princesses, others barristers, public servants or stay-at-home wives. I just want to spread a little evil; so sue me. I just have the advantage of being able to lick my own toes and rise above bullshit quite literally. When all is said and done, I’m just your slightly irregular twelve year-old girl. If you’re approaching your twilight years and feel a little unsteady on your feet then best order your shopping direct as I’m out there, performing good deeds until which point as I need a good belly laugh. One last thing, don’t even think about plotting any shit behind my back or you’ll gravely regret it. Now where did I leave my dollies?
There they are!