It all started with a tiny box of text in my local ad trader.
“NOW HIRING AN EXTERMINATOR’S APPRENTICE. GOOD PAY. PUSSIES NEED NOT APPLY.”
I’m a staunch internet Social Justice Warrior who takes no prisoners so the first thing I thought was, “This guy is totally un-P.C. Pussies make people so they’re strong as shit and very resilient. What a tool.”
All that being said, I’m still no pussy. I’m a college student majoring in exercise physiology with a minor in martial arts and I like to find ways to validate my opinion of myself as a certified badass. This ad, although a bit odd, looked like a golden opportunity. I would show this guy what’s up.
I’m a big guy. I can kick ass in a few different disciplines and have proven it time and time again with head gear and padded gloves. No one fucks with me because it would be suicide. I’m sure of it. I was meant for this job. Rats, raccoons, bugs--I would crush them in my hands like all those walnut shells I turn to dust at the bar to impress the ladies.
I called the provided number. A man with a booming voice and very thick country accent answered.
“Yep.”
“Hey, I’m calling about your ad in the trader. I’m your guy. I’m tough as nails, unlike all those other pussies out there you don’t want coming around.”
“OK, you got the job,” the voice replied. “Meet me at the Methodist Church on 6th street in an hour.”
I was caught off guard. “I got the job, just like that??”
“Yup. I’ve had fourteen people quit already this month so I keep the ad runnin’ all the time. They last for one job then take their check and leave. Kids today are soft as shit, but if I can get ya for one fight then I got what I needed. See ya in an hour, buddy.”
Click..he hung up. Wait...did he say “fight?” Interesting lingo for someone spraying chemicals and setting out vermin traps.
This guy had no idea who he was challenging though. I would show him not all the millennials are entitled, unprepared products of helicopter parenting. My mom may have driven me three blocks to school every day and cut the crusts off my sandwiches until my teens, but I was a latchkey kid and I know how to fend for myself when my student loans get low at the end of the month. Ramen noodles all day, baby. I’m legit AF. The only times I’ve ever cried were when I didn’t get an A on a test. Shit. I got this.
An hour later I pulled my Prius into the parking lot of 6th Street Methodist church. It was easy to spot my new employer because near the doors of the place was a giant, black passenger van with the word EXTERMINATOR spray painted on the side. It had a lot of dents, but most of them were pushing from the INSIDE OUT. Weird. He must really jam the inside of that thing with his exterminating gear.
I hopped out of my car and walked around the van. There he was, suiting up. I was taken aback by his size. I’m 6’2” and 235lbs. That’s 190cm and 106 kilos for you non Yanks. I don’t often come across people who are significantly bigger than me but this guy was an absolute monster. The guy had to be at least 6’9” and 300lbs. He was pulling coveralls over legs that looked like tree trunks, and his upper body was comic book hero muscular. It gave way to a neck that was so thick it had clearly defeated the collar of his ratty old T-shirt long ago. He was ugly as homemade sin, with a protruding nose and deep set, almost yellow eyes. His skin was extremely tan and looked like it had been severely burned at some point. His looks made it hard to tell his age, but he was clearly very, very old…probably 45-50. He also looked vaguely familiar, but there was no way I could have known him. You don’t forget someone his size, ever. Despite all this, I figured those were just “mirror muscles” so I was sure he wasn’t as tough as me. He was about to find out his #15 apprentice applicant was his last.
“Hey kid. You ready to do some exterminatin’?”
“You know it, buddy. I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you. Do you have some coveralls for me?” I had on my best Aeropostale hoodie and some REI boots in case anything needed stomped in style.
“Naw, you’re good. I do most of the work. I only need you to stand by to assist just a bit. Easiest gig you’ll ever have, buddy. I promise.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He pointed at the tag on his coveralls. “It don’t matter though. You won’t need to know it after today anyway.” He chuckled. I cringed, just a bit. A hint of an unsettling feeling hit me.
I could see now the tag on his coveralls said “Devin.” He had a wry, shit eating look on his face. I’m very perceptive so it was clear he was having a bit of fun with me, but I would play along. After I kicked some critter ass, he would be begging me to come back tomorrow.
I started for the church door when he said “we’re goin’ round back. There’s a house on the property they want to tear down but it needs cleaned up first.” That was strange. Why not just bulldoze the thing and let the pests make a run for it? Whatever. It’s his dime. I’ll just go do this and take my 50 bucks or whatever and stop at Chipotle on the way home.
We came around the building and there sat a small, 1960’s era farm house, smack dab in the middle of a parking lot paved right up to the exterior walls and porch. It was bizarre to say the least. I figured it was one of those situations where the owners had refused to sell and all the property was bought up around it to piss them off. I walked straight for the door with my shoulders back and head high. My perfect, hipster cut blonde hair shifted a bit in the breeze like Brad Pitt out in the desert, and I had a thousand yard stare that could cut through stone.
I looked back at Devin and noticed he wasn’t carrying a spray tank or any traps or nets or anything exterminating related. In his left hand was an old wooden baseball bat with dark stains all over it. In his right was a burlap sack with a drawstring. On his right hand was a pair of brass knuckles and stuffed in his belt was, of all things, a gas grill type scraper and an African Maraca like they use in tribal dances or whatever. I suddenly wished I had some sort of weapon, or at least a djembe drum. These must be some bigass raccoons that you have to mesmerize like those king cobras when you play a flute.
We walked through the front door. The house was totally empty and the walls were bare but had some odd symbols and things drawn on them, especially at the basement door. Devin laughed “When are people gon’ learn, that shit don’t work? This ain’t a TV show.”
I was perplexed. What the hell was in that basement?
We went through the door and down some creaky steps. He pulled on a chain to activate a single light bulb that cast a dim but adequate amount of light into the small room. At the center of the room embedded in the concrete floor was a circular concrete pad a bit bigger around than a manhole, and it had a huge iron lid with a massive padlock and more symbols that were actually cast into the metal itself. Devin produced a key the church had given him.
More confused than ever, I asked, “Uhhh...what are we looking at here? What the heck kind of animal would be down there? Is that a sewer access or something?”
I nervously scratched the side fade of my kickass haircut and reminded myself to hit that spot with some shea butter later. This winter air is drying me out.
“Naw,” he said matter-of-factly. They call it a “Well to Hell,” but it’s just a dimensional rift.
“A what?” I said, with a bit of crack in my voice.
“A dimensional rift, son. A hole in this world that goes to another world. Some are vertical, and some are horizontal, but they all go between this world and the next.” He made huge, sweeping gestures with his long, monstrous arms. It was fairly intimidating.
“Ya’ see, there are a lot of dimensions out there where a lot of other things live. The dimensions are close to each other and they sorta flex and pulsate and move around all the time, like the bubbles in the toilet when you pee. And what happens to those?” he said, like he was Bill Nye on a Saturday morning.
“The bubbles in my pee?” I said. “Well, they pop.”
“That’s riiiiiight,” he said in a condescending tone. “They pop. So to keep these dimensions from poppin’, there’s rifts. It’s like they’re made of meshed atmospheres so when they bump into each other there’s some give and take so things remain stable. But sometimes the rifts get stuck open and things find those rifts and go through to the other side. Some of them like this one get capped by iron. It’s about the only piece of paranormal lore that actually works for anything like this. Touching is is suicide, but even the smell of iron wrecks their senses to the point of death if they’re exposed for too long.”
“So what the heck are we about to do here?” I asked. I thought you were an exterminator.”
Devin absolutely roared with laughter. I could tell he’d had this conversation a thousand times and it never ceased to amuse him.
“I am an exterminator, son! A PARANORMAL exterminator!” HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” He laughed at least 47 seconds longer than necessary, repeatedly saying “I cain’t breathe! I cain’t breaaaaathe!”
Well, shit. What had I gotten myself into? Fuck it. I didn’t care. I was down to my last pack of Ramen and there was another week until my next loan check came in. I needed this cash.”
I gave him my most badass look and said “So what’s the deal? I’m in.”
“Well, about 20 years ago when this house still had a yard and the property was for sale, the owner made a big deal of the house never being torn down. He made a big show of it, sending some creepy looking lawyer over here with a bunch of contracts and stipulations they had to sign for. They even had to seal the envelopes with their thumbprints in red wax. The church board of directors wanted the land so bad they figured leaving the house standing wasn’t too much to ask. They slapped up the parking lot around it and shuttered the place. They stuck to their word all these years until they got a new pastor a few years back and he thought the agreement was ridiculous. The previous owner and the lawyer were both long gone, and he insisted they tear this place down. The last of the original board of directors died a few months ago so they agreed to it. The new board is full of a bunch of participation trophy givin’ Gen-X’ers who never say no to their own kids, much less an egotistical pastor. So the workers were cleaning the place out and uncapped this here hole and heard all sorts of screamin’ and moanin’. They knew it was a bad idea and shut it down fast. They decided it was a well to Hell and that’s why there was stipulations on tearin’ this place down. They thought all those symbols was keepin’ it under control. The pastor is a real piece of work and he insisted they do something about it. That’s where I come in. He had called around to a lot of churches for advice and found one I’ve worked for before. They told him I’d get them taken care of, but it would be expensive. He took up a special offerin’ at the next Sunday service and here I am. I mean…here we are. Right kid?”
“Uhhh…yeah I guess. Man, this day has taken a turn that would even catch George R.R. Martin off guard,” I said in a shaky voice.
Devin looked confused. “George who??”
“Ya know…Game of Thrones” I said.
He looked at me sternly and said “I don’t play games, son. I kick ass and feed pigeons. Rinse and repeat.”
“Shiiiiiiiit. I knew I’d seen you before. I’ve passed you a hundred times in the park when I’m on my way to the beard grooming store! I thought you were homeless because you’re always wrapped up and wearing a hood. I always wondered how a homeless guy paid for that much bread and seed.”
“I got plenty of money, and I cover up because I ain’t the prettiest thing in the world and get a lot of attention for it. Now, let’s get down to business.
He removed the lock, pulled the latch back and lifted the enormous iron cap with one hand. There was a blast of really cold air. As he kneeled and peered into the hole he said “Ya know how people always say a room is cold just before they interact with a demon? That’s this. The other side of these rifts are colder than our side. Some Dimensions run colder and some hotter. So when some demon decides to pop through here and fuck with the new family in the house, it gets cold quick. Did you know, those assholes actually sign up for a chance to do that? There’s a lottery for it. It’s a bunch of rich douchebags, and then some very bad rich douchebags. They’re the demon equivalent of people like you see in that movie where they got tired of huntin’ animals so they kidnapped Ice-T and turned him loose in the woods.
“Surviving The Game?” I said.
He continued. “That’s the one. But these jackasses don’t actually possess people all that much because it’s illegal to possess, kill, or show yourself to a human. It gets done plenty though, for the right price. Charlie Manson, Hitler, Harvey Weinstein.”
My eyebrows shot up. “They were possessed?”
“Yep,” he said. “Bigtime assholes got in there, too. Some real pieces of work, as evil as they come.”
My head is spinning as he’s there on his knees with his head completely down in the hole, looking around. It was pitch black.
“I can get you a flashlight from my car.” I said.
“Naw, I’m good. I can see clear as day.”
He continued with his story. “It’s also hard for most of them to breathe our air once they’re too far from the rift if they haven’t possessed someone, which is why they like to hit houses and buildings. They don’t have to go lookin’ for people in the bad air.
“Wow,” I said. “Very interesting.”
Devin backed out of the hole. “But still, over on the other side there’s a lotta good people too. Some of ‘em come over here and just look around, and maybe move your shit around a little bit—just your garden variety poltergeists. They got long periods of darkness over there so they love playin’ with light switches. In their true form, the demons look scary to you and me, and make no mistake about it…they’re big, very strong and real ugly. But they’re also slow as shit and run outta gas as fast as a fat lady with emphysema. That’s why you can run around the house from ‘em and they stop chasin’ ya for a while.”
A lot of shit was really starting to make sense. It suddenly dawned on me to ask…”Devin, are you trying to tell me there’s not an actual Hell?”
He again roared with laughter.
“No. The ‘below’ advertised in all the religions and stories is just the next dimension. And some of the asshats that’s been comin’ over here through the centuries wrote some good stories to make everyone think they was a bunch of monsters comin’ from the dark underworld so it would ramp up the fear when the rest of ‘em hit the lottery and got to come over and spook some humans.”
“What about humans on the other side, Devin? Are we ending up over there?”
“Sometimes,” he said. Once in a while someone accidentally gets through. It’s usually airplanes hittin’ one of the few rifts in the sky. Amelia Earhart was one. And then D.B. Cooper. Sumbitch jumped out of the plane with all that cash and dropped right into a rift. Bam! He was a rich man in a world where his money was worthless! They wouldn’t let him go back through the rift, so he eventually found work with a place where they have bizarre things. He just sat there on display for a few hours a day and they paid him with shelter and food and things they brought back from our world. He actually died well into his 90’s. Flight MH370 a few years back. Boy that one was a mess. The damned plane blew apart because the rift was too small. Lemme tell ya…demon world or no demon world, when somethin’ that big hits a rift at five hundred miles an hour and the other side of it is a city street in the demon world, it makes a helluva mess. Bodies flyin’ through so fast like that. It killed quite a few demons. Anyway, it takes somethin’ pretty powerful to blow open a rift like that, so it’s usually planes or the occasional ship. ‘Lost at sea’ can have a whole different meaning.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I said. “What about the exorcisms? Are they all totally fake?”
“Nope,” he said. “Here’s the real kicker and a big part of why I do what I do. There are quite a few humans who know about all of this. A lot of the ones that know are the paranormal hunter types. They have arrangements with the demon people that are mutually beneficial. Basically, the demons do the song and dance for the TV show and the investigators make a buttload of cash when the show gets great ratings.”
“And what do the demons get in return?”
“All sorts of things. Stuff like, alcohol, foot fetish porn, George Michael cassettes.”
My eyes went wide. “What the hell? George Michael?”
“Oh yeah. He is HUGE over there. Elton John showed him a rift and they did a tour. The title for the song “Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” was loosely inspired by the onset of one of the long periods of darkness during a tour. He and Elton came up with the lyrics on the spot.”
“What about the exorcisms?” I asked.
He chuckled. “For the most part, the priests come in there and just keep it up so long the demon gets tired of it and goes home. Remember they’re really, really out of shape. Their hearts don’t process their air as efficiently as ours do. It’s as simple as that.”
It was so much to take in, but the thoughts were short lived. Devin pulled a quarter from his pocket and dropped it in the hole. It didn’t make a sound for a few seconds.
“Geez. How deep is that ya think?” I asked.
“Oh…75 feet or so. It’s a pretty small rift. I’ll go down there and close it up. Probably somethin’ is standin’ guard on the other side and will try to stop me. That’s where you come in. If it gets up here, you keep it busy until I get back. If it’s just an asshole I’ll push it through then seal up the rift. If it’s an evil one I’ll send it up here to ya, then it’s goin’ for a ride.”
I looked at him, a bit perplexed with the logistics of this whole thing. “How do you get down there? We need a rope or something.”
Just as I finished saying it, I looked over at him. He flexed his brass knuckled hand, tossed me the grill scraper, bat, and Maraca, and dropped into the hole.
“Shit!” I screamed and ran to look down. It was pitch black. This was getting ridiculous. I sat down against the wall with bat in hand, and the scraper at my side. I couldn’t think of any way to kill something with the Maraca so it was laying a few feet away. I was kinda scared shitless but I was also hungry. I would just wait it out a bit for Devin to get back, then collect my cash and get the fuck out.
No sooner than the thought crossed my mind, I heard a terrible shriek then Devin yelled “SHAKE THE MARACA!!. I scrambled to grab it and shook it furiously above the hole. Just as I was asking myself why the fuck I was shaking a Maraca over a Well to Hell, something shot out of the hole the way hornets do when you disturb the nest. It crashed to the floor clumsily, then slowly stood up. It was as tall as me and twice as thick. It had a human body shape and similar extremities and digits but was dark green with yellow eyes that conveyed awareness and intelligence, a pointy nose and skin with the texture of Freddy Krueger’s face. It wore no clothing and had no visible genitalia. A row of short spines ran from its lower back up to its neck and its fingers and toes were pointed and slightly claw-like. the back of each foot had a sharp looking spine that curved slightly upward. It kinda reminded me of the thing from the Jeepers Creepers movies. It clearly was shocked to see me and it was pissed.
I jumped up in a flash. It looked at the door and I knew it wanted out. It actually made me feel pretty badass that something like that was scared of me. It was time to earn my 50 bucks. I glanced toward the door and clenched the bat tighter, giving that motherfucker a stone cold killer stare and a grin. I had to prove myself to Devin, even though I definitely was never working for him again. Plus, I couldn’t let the thing get out because the church daycare kids were playing in the parking lot.
The demon made a dash for the door. It really was slow as shit, and I got there at least two steps faster. I gave it a smug grin and was feeling proud of myself when it slapped the shit out of me, giving me a whack and a backhand to follow, and I hit the floor. It was strong as an ox and loomed over me with its own sinister grin. I reacted quickly and swung the bat against its knee, causing it to stagger back, screaming in pain. I ran toward it with the bat, swinging wildly but it reached out and caught the bat in one hand and shoved it back so hard it hit me in the forehead. I felt a trickle of blood down the bridge of my nose as I fell back and the bat made a clanging sound as it hit the floor. The demon screamed something in its own language, then snatched me up like a rag doll and threw me across the room. I hit the wall and fell to the floor.
I got up and charged with a look of fury. The demon looked a bit surprised and wasn’t quick enough to get out of my way. I smashed into its solar plexus area with my shoulder and it spat a gush of air as we tumbled down. No sooner than we had hit the ground, it grabbed me by the neck with one hand and picked me up off the floor, just like in the movies. It was tired of this shit and a sobering feeling hit me. I was a goner. I was on the brink of losing consciousness when I heard Devin behind me. He said something in what sounded like the same language and the demon clearly understood. It dropped me to the floor and I hit like a sack of flour. I turned and looked up and there was Devin, holding my bat and looking like someone’s worst nightmare. The demon looked scared shitless.
Devin pulled the bat back and added his left hand to the grip. The demon backed up, clearly scared. It screamed something I couldn’t decipher, but based on its body language it clearly meant something like “Leave me alone or my dad will come back and kick your ass.”
Devin swung hard, and I heard ribs crack as the bat made contact. Holy shit was he strong. The demon screamed with a mixture of pain and rage, and slowly circled the room. It clearly wanted to get back down that hole.
Devin grinned the grin of a guy who was having a blast. “Not this time, bitch. You’re goin’ for a ride with Big Daddy.”
I half expected him to say something like “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” but it quickly became clear…Devin only offered the hard way. He flipped the bat like he had just hit a 600ft homerun and caught the demon at the halfway point. He was incredibly agile for a guy his size. He snatched the demon under the throat, picked it up and slammed it hard on its back. It was and incredible display of power. The demon had to weigh every bit of 275lbs and when it rolled over in pain I could see the concrete had cracked.
“Hooooooly shit.” I said under my breath.
Devin laughed again. “Get up, motherfucker! We still dancin’!”
The demon rolled over in pain and made it halfway up before Devin leapt freakishly high in the air and brought one of his huge boots down into its back. I heard bone crunching and there was a perfect boot print about 2 inches deep into that horrific, green skin. The demon writhed in pain as Devin knelt down, grabbed it by those pointy ears and slammed its head into the concrete. It stopped moving.
“Is it dead?” I said, panting. I was shocked, horrified, and impressed all at the same time.
“Nah...just knocked him out a little. Pass me that grill scraper.”
What I witnessed next will never, ever leave my brain.
Devin grabbed the scraper and began to run it up the demon’s back, scraping the spines down a bit at a time. It was nasty work, with what I presume was blood seeping out and chunks of living tissue flying around. It smelled awful. Devin was whistling “Go Tell it on the Mountain” as we worked. The whole thing was surreal.
He looked over at me.
“Ya see, when I put ‘em in the back these here spikes can really do a number on the sides of the van. They’re strong as shit and when he wakes up he’s gonna be pissed and looking for an escape.”
“Run over and get the van and back ‘er up to the front door and I’ll toss him inside and be on my way,” He reached into the burlap sack and pulled out a huge red canvas bag with pictures of Santa Claus all over it.
I did as instructed. When I got back, he was on the porch smoking a big cigar, looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator. The demon was in the Santa bag, not moving.
“Welp…time to take this sucker for a ride.” He said as he shoved the demon in the back of the van.
I stood there motionless, trying to take it all in.
“Where are you taking it?”
He let out another of his signature, bellowing laughs. “Lots of places, son. Lots of places.”
He slammed the doors shut. “Ya done real good, kid. Hell, you’re the first one in a least a month that didn’t drive himself straight to the emergency room. There might even be a little less pussy in ya than I thought.” He reached into his pocket then tossed me a roll of bills. It was full of 20’s. Fifty of them, to be exact. I’d just made a thousand bucks for participating in this shit show.
“Devin. Who are you? And How the hell do you know about all this?” I said.
He walked to the front of the van and opened the door, then looked back at me and gave me a wink.
“Come back out with me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Submitted March 18, 2019 at 06:11PM by hgtv_neighbor https://ift.tt/2FkC9ah
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