I wasn’t sure if he was joking, but when he didn’t say anything further, I wondered what had happened to make this man want to hide. We climbed out, and our footsteps crunched softly on the gravel. Father Dulaney rapped his knuckles on the door, and the sound echoed through the house.
We waited. And waited.
From inside, something stirred. A low thump, the creak of old floorboards, the metallic clink of a bottle set down too hard. More silence. Then came the heavy drag of footsteps. When the door finally opened, it did so only partway, revealing a shirtless man with tangled blonde hair and deep-set eyes that squinted at the porch light like it pained him. A tattered towel was thrown over one shoulder. He smelled like sweat and whiskey, and I did everything I could to not show the disdain on my face.
Up close, he most definitely didn’t seem like the type to have been a soldier of God. More like a homeless druggie out on the street. Then again, God spoke to us in different ways, and he used different vessels to do so.
“Jesus,” the man muttered, voice rough from drinking all night, or lack of sleep, I wasn’t sure. “You know what time it is?”
“It’s the dead of night, Virgil. And last, I remember, my name is not Jesus.” Father Dulaney said, folding his hands in front ofhim with practiced calm. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve had worse wake-up calls.”
Virgil looked at the priest, then shifted his gaze to me. His eyes narrowed, not with suspicion, but with curiosity.
“This the kid you were talkin’ about?” he asked.
“Yes, this is Peter Hellsing. He wanted to meet you.”
“Why?” He squinted at me.
“Says he’s got a calling, but no idea what to do with it.”
Virgil scoffed and rubbed his hand down his stubbled face. “We all think we have a calling, until you actually witness that the Devil truly does exist. Then off they go running”
“Peter’s different,” the priest said evenly. “He’ll stay if you ask him to.”
“Oh, yeah.” His eyes landed on mine. “You think you’ve got the balls to do what I do?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m willing to find out,” I responded.
“We’ll see about that.”
“I brought him here because I think you can help him find out what it truly means. So don’t go off putting his life in danger just to get your kicks off.” Father Dulaney warned. “He needs to see what the dangers of this vocation entail before he can decide who he wants to be.”
“And you decided I can help him with that?”
“You owe me one, Virgil.”
The man let out a long expletive, followed by a frustrated breath. Then, without a word, he pushed the door open wide and stepped aside.
“Well,” he grunted. “If he’s gonna’ puke from the spirits, best he do it inside. Come on in, kid.”
And just like that, I stepped over the threshold of that old house, into the world of the hunted and the haunted, where nothing would be the same again.
As I brushed past him, he grabbed my arm. “I’m not gonna’ sugarcoat shit. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I need to know,” I said.
And I did, I wanted to know what was out there that I couldn’t see but could feel. That was the first time I ever met Virgil Desdemone. That night he went gentle on me, providing me with my first encounter with the spirit world. But it wouldn’t be until seven years later that I’d see him again, this time as his apprentice. And he’d been right all these years. I had no fucking clue what I was getting myself into. At seventeen, I got my first taste of demonology with the first exorcism I assisted with, and I learned quickly that I needed to put boundaries up between myself and the evil that lurked in the shadows.
“Hold the motherfucker down!” Virgil screamed as he flicked the older man, who was foaming at the mouth, with Holy Water.
I’d never experienced anything like that in my short life.
"Come out and play you demonic piece of shit!" He taunted the demon held trapped inside Mr. Robinson.
"You think that's a good idea, Father?" I stated, afraid for all our souls at this point.
"I think you should keep your mouth shut," He flicked more holy water on both of us this time.
