My brother-in-law was indeed a weird dude. My then wife Jenny would tell me all kinds of stories of his disturbing behavior. She said he had a condition, but that it could be fixed in time. She would never tell me what that condition was but assured me that it would be remedied with the right kind of medicine. The first and last time I met her brother- Christmas Eve of 94- he explained to me that he was possessed. At first, I thought it was just the eggnog. The Kelly family mixes a mean eggnog: nine parts bourbon, one part eggnog. Sweet mixed drinks never sat well on my stomach. In fact, we had been married two years and it was the first time I had met any of Jenny’s family. Jenny wanted a simple civil marriage without any of her family attending. I was uncomfortable from the first moment I walked through her parent’s front door. I had an intangible sinking feeling. Maybe it’s a false memory or I’m confusing the beginning with the end. Maybe it was that toxic eggnog. It made me sick to my stomach and flat out irritable. I know I wasn’t a joyous person to be around that night. I didn’t feel too sociable. Jenny was furious with me. Some parts of the evening are a blur, but there’s one event I’ll never forget and I’m still trying to find a way to shake it.
I was smashed in between Jenny’s grandparents on a couch in front of the television, making small talk about mundane things no one really cares about until they have to get to know one another. I couldn’t concentrate, my head was spinning and her grandfather was droning on about the toys kids play with nowadays. Even the blinking lights on the Christmas tree were a source of misery.
“Justin, are you ok?” Jenny whispered in my ear from behind.
“My head is killing me. Get me out of here. Save me.”
She ignored my plea, giving me that look that I was about to mess things up forever. “I’ll go find some aspirin.”
The droning began again, incessant talk about nothing. Jenny never came back. I could hear her laughing in the kitchen. Her cousins had caught her and they were catching up on life, with subtle comparisons about who was better off and all that nonsense. They didn’t say it out loud, but every word they spoke was a competitive jab at the other’s mistaken belief in their own superiority.
“Hey, man. You’re Jenny’s fella?” I heard someone from behind me inquire. A lanky young man with long stringy blonde hair made his way to the front of the couch. His hands were balled up in fists and he looked rigid, with an intense look on his face.
“I’m Bob, Jenny’s brother.”
“I thought your name was Marty?”
He tilted his head and rolled his eyes upward, pausing as if confused and lost in thought. “I guess you can call me Marty, but I like Bob as well. You wanna come outside to the shed, my bedroom? I wanna show you something.”
I was ready to get out of that stuffy house, crammed with relatives, exuding heat, noise, and body odor. I felt like I was trapped under a pile of bodies. I was more than willing to get outside.
“Sure.”
I followed Marty, or Bob out to the shed in the backyard.
It was a large red shed, faced with dirt and moss. He swung open the door. A waft of warm putrid air rushed across my face. On the inside was a small cot and a dresser. Above the cot was a bland oval mirror, with silver framing. I could hear an unusual sound, scurrying or the ruffling of feathers.
“What is that sound?”
Marty grabbed a hanging chain and pulled downward, announcing with pride, “Rats!” An extremely bright light filled the shed and blinded me. There was a shelf that ran the length of the shed wall, and on that shelf were three cages filled to capacity with rats.
“You raise rats?”
“Well… raise them, until they’re plump and fat and ready to eat,” he answered. He looked at me with a wicked grin and a twinkle in his eyes. I honestly didn’t know if he was joking or not. The mood was tense at first but after a brief pause and some awkward silence we had some normal conversations and talked about things I could relate to- football, muscle cars, and music. I was finally getting comfortable, even with the audience of rats clamoring about, when out of nowhere he brought it back to weird.
“You know, I’m possessed, and I did it on purpose.”
“You’re silly.”
‘No, I’m for real. I read a book about making an enchanted mirror. Well, I just went and bought one. The important thing is the spell you put over it, the ritual. If you do the ritual right, you can make any mirror a portal and looking into it, will reveal the possessor of your soul behind the mask of your face. Come here, I’ll show you.”
He moved the cot out of the way and stood directly in front of the mirror. He started chanting something to himself. The words weren’t audible, but the chant had a haunting mesmerizing rhythm.
“Come here stand beside me. Keep looking and you’ll see the possessor of my soul.”
I walked over, stood beside him shoulder-to-shoulder so that both our faces fit in the reflection. I stared into the mirror. My face was lower than his, and it looked as if we were attached to one another. I looked like a little latched on brother, begging for attention.
“Do you see it?”
“I don’t see nothing.” Yet, as I said that his face became contorted.
“I look like a demonic pig humanoid.” I couldn’t have described it any better. He didn’t look exactly like a pig, but it did remind me of a pig. He didn’t have any tusks but a few of his bottom teeth had protruded out from his lips. They weren’t symmetrical, there was no pattern, just a few teeth here and there displayed in odd places. His nose was flattened and large, exposing huge nostrils. His complexion was a sickly greenish gray and his eyes were black as ink.
I looked away from the mirror and at Marty to see if the real person looked the same as his ghastly reflection.
“No, don’t look at me. Keep staring at the mirror!” I heard two voices as he barked his command at me- his own and a deeper menacing voice. The real Marty looked normal, but his reflection now had a monstruous reality painted over the top of his face, the full transformation now complete.
Marty stepped aside, moving out of the focus of the mirror. I saw the lower half of his body move out of the frame, but the grotesque head remained, floating and turning its gaze towards me. I tried to step away from the reflection but Marty grabbed my shoulders and held me in place. He ducked his head down behind my back, hiding his face from the mirror, and began chanting again.
“Alright, I’m done playing with the trick mirror. Let’s go back inside.”
Marty ignored me and kept chanting. The head in the mirror grew larger, eventually extending out beyond the frame of the mirror. The demon had now emerged into the real world. I could hear it whispering my name. It was coming closer. I struggled against Marty’s grasp, but he had the force of a vise on my body, and my feet felt glued to the ground.
“Let me go! I mean it you crazy moron!”
The head had completely left the confines of the mirror and was floating in the air about the shed. It stared directly at me. I closed my eyes tight, wishing I would wake up from this bourbon induced nightmare. I heard a groan, and the air in the shed began to fluctuate.
“I’m sorry man. I had to do this. You seem like a cool dude, but this is the only way to get rid of it.”
The wind picked up, and the temperature dropped. My body was freezing, the tips of my fingers aching with extreme cold. I felt a warmness in my chest. When I opened my eyes and looked down, I saw the head entering my body through my chest.
“Get it off of me!” Marty let go of me. I was pushed to the floor by an unseen force, my body paralyzed, and useless to fight off the intrusion. As the head entered, my mind grew darker with nefarious thoughts, unholy macabre thoughts. I tried to fight them off but I was tangled in a mental web of anguish and despair. Suddenly, my body was released, but still rigid. I could move a little, but it took effort and my muscles felt contorted.
I heard a stampede of footsteps. Jenny and her family had come into the shed.
“Is it done?” I heard her father ask.
“Yeah,” Marty answered in a somber tone.
“Don’t feel bad. We had to do it.” My vision was blurry, but I could see that Jenny’s dad had a hammer in his hand. He went over to the mirror, took it off the wall, and placed it on the floor. He started smashing the mirror. He didn’t stop until it was shattered into tiny powder-like shards.
Jenny bent down over me. “I’m sorry honey. I was starting to like you. This was the only way to cure my brother. The only cure is to give the curse to someone else.” She stood up and walked out of the shed. I never saw her again. She claimed I was abusive and filed for divorce.
Jenny’s father picked me up off the floor and escorted me through the side-yard gate.
“Leave, and don’t ever come back. If you do, we’ll call the police. We’ll say that you hit her. Just go and find yourself a new life. Jenny don’t need any of her things. Forget you ever met her or us. Forget about tonight.”
I stumbled to my car, weak, confused, and angry. I got in and turned the ignition, but I didn’t immediately leave. I wanted to go back into that house and tear the shit out of it. I wanted to stab every person in that house. I had an intense urge for violence.
“Hey.” I heard a muffled voice and a knock on the window. It was Marty. He looked more relaxed, his demeanor less intense, and his hands hung loose, not balled up in fists. I rolled down my window.
“I do feel terrible, but I’ve lived with it long enough. There is a way though for you to get rid of it.” He handed me a leather-bound book.
“Page 49. Start there. Get you a cheap mirror and find you a gullible host. No offence.”
“What’s going to happen? How’s this going to play out?”
“Not good. That’s all I can tell you.”
He walked off and in front of my car. I thought about running him over.
Years have passed. I hear voices, telling me to do unspeakable things. I have a horrible appetite and a hankering for rats. The human part of me wants to cook them, the other part of me wants them raw. I have gone over the ritual. It’s easy enough. I’ve even spotted a few ‘gullible’ candidates. I’ve decided that if I’m going to give someone this curse, it’s going to be someone who deserves it- a real piece of shit, but then I get to thinking that maybe that would create an even worse monster. I’ve become a terrible person, a half-monster, but I feel the spirit inside me is unimpressed, disappointed. I’m bad, but not evil. I’ve reasoned that I can handle being possessed and that the best place for this spirit to be is locked inside my body, away from someone who could do much more harm than me. The spirit likes to call himself Bob. It’s short for Beelzebub. He’s assured me that if I don’t release him to someone more capable, he’ll make my life a living hell. I assure him that my life is already a living hell. A little more poison in the pot isn’t going to make it any more lethal than it already is. Besides, cooked and seasoned correctly, rat isn’t all that bad.