Juan goes to church, because he sees the devil in his dreams. He wakes up in the middle of the night with sweat streaming down his body.
“I don’t know why Satan don’t let go of me,” Juan wails on his hands and knees. Father Mallory motions for him to get up. “What do I do, Father? Why does Satan keep on me?” He sobs, grasping the priest’s leg.
Father Mallory clears his throat and desperately tries to free himself. He also fights the erection that is steadily building beneath his ceremonial gown. The unholy bulge swells toward the heavens. A stained glass saint leers down at Father Mallory.
“Juan, get up!” Through gritted teeth, he sharply draws in a breath. The twenty-year-old responds by crying louder. He hugs the priest’s leg even more tightly against his athletic, trembling body.
Father Mallory is now close to climaxing and breathes heavily. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. Anyone entering the rectory and seeing him in this state would assume he were possessed. God, help me, he groaned. Somehow, he’s able to bend down and yank a shoe off. With his stocking foot, he pushes against Juan’s forehead.
“No, Father, don’t leave me!” Juan screams in anguish and fright. “Satan’s coming to get me. Don’t you see? He’s coming!”
“He’ll be coming all right, if you don’t let go of me, my boy.” With all the strength his 65-year-old body could muster, the frantic priest finally extricates himself from the young man’s grasp. Free at last, Father Mallory is awashed with feelings of both relief and disappointment.
I’ll say fifty…no, a hundred Hail Marys tonight, he silently vows, dropping to his knees and giving Juan an exorcism.
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