A man, who is looking for a story, finds a lot more.
Stevens sipped his coffee as he sat across from the dark skinned handsome man dressed in a green and yellow dashiki. Stevens noticed that even though he had a single days growth he still had visible gray hair. The stranger sipped his glass of scotch slowly, and even though it was 10:30 in the morning the gentlemen didn't seem to mind. Stevens felt guilty about that.
When he came into the cantina he had asked for the witch hunter, Enrique. The barkeep pointed Stevens to the man that sat across from him. Stevens had asked to interview the supposed hunter, but the man become offended at the implication that he hunted witches. He asked Enrique if it was true that he had cast out ghost, faced vampires, even tangled with a werewolf, a shape sifter.
"Ay, what's it to you?" Enrique responded.
Stevens laughed, which had further offended Enrique. Stevens apologized profusely and offered to buy the man a drink in exchange for a conversation about his past. A few minutes later the unlikely pair sat at a quiet table away from the fire place. Stevens hoped to write a scathing op-ed exposing the charlatan to the world. But he didn't tell Enrique that. He told the man he had heard stories and was curious.
"So what was your worse case?" asked Stevens. "Vampires in Romania? Werewolves in France?"
"I can tell by your voice you don't believe," said Enrique calmly. "sad really, non-believers always suffer the most."
"Come on, you really think I'm buying this real estate on the moon that your selling?" replied Stevens.
"So you think me a con man?" asked Enrique. Steven floundered.
"It is a failing of your culture, Western culture, to ridicule that which you don't understand and can't explain. Your culture is inherently disrespectful to powers immensely beyond your understanding or ability," replied Enrique.
"But you didn't come for a civics lesson. You asked what my worse case was. It was here, in Chicago," he sad. He paused momentarily and then finished his scotch with a smile. Stevens noticed he had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He also noticed that the cantina had grown cold. We're pretty far from the fireplace, he thought to himself.
"Have you heard of John Wayne Gacy?" asked Enrique.
"The serial killer? Yeah, but that was like 50 years ago and he died in prison."
""He had a son. Duncan Little, who not only end up with Gacy's house but he also ended up with his father's pension for killing. When Little died he had sent thirty souls to their deaths in a horrific orgy of blood and murder that he was never even charged for."
A chill ran up Stevens' spine. From thew corner of his eye he thought he saw a shadow move. His mind was playing tricks on him.
"Those of us that sell real estate on the moon and believe in such things knew that Gacy had killed because he was evil. What he didn't know was that those deaths strengthened the demons that surrounded him. They drove him into killing frenzies."
"Demons,?" said Stevens, " come on."
Enrique ignored him and continued.
"His son was much more intentional. He offered his first victim's soul to the dark powers in a ritualistic sacrifice of his own creation. He invited the dark one's into his fathers home. With each murder his ritual became darker and more depraved, torturing his victims, then offering then the release of suicide so that they would be trapped for eternity in the house with him."
"Little was never convicted, and died in his home. After his death the new owners paid me to remove his tainted soul. He had begun to torment the new owners who couldn't leave," said Enrique motioning at the bar keep for another scotch. As the barkeep set the drink in front of Enrique a barstool across the room fell.
Stevens' eyes became wide with shock. Then they narrowed. It had to be a trick.
"Nice touch" he said to Enrique who dismissed his comment with a shrug.
For three days I battled Little's soul, a fledgling wraith in it's own right. I tried everything I could but to no avail. I eventually got him out," said Enrique.
"You exorcised him to hell?" asked Stevens in a mocking tone.
"No," replied Enrique, "I said I got him out. I brought him with me, you see. He's here now, kept under control by very powerful holy rituals of both Santeria and the Church. He's here now," Enrique finished his scotch and set the glass on the table.
"Bullshit. You're messing with me," said Stevens. He went to stand but the glass flew across the table and smashed into the wall.
"How did you do that!" said Stevens.
"I didn't do anything. That was Little. He likes you and wraiths love non believers." concluded Enrique
"Right. So you push your 'evil spirit' on me" said Stevens with air quotes "then ask for money to remove it. Nice scam, but I'll pass," as he said the last words a light bulb popped and burned out behind the bar.
"I'll give you an A for theatrics" said Stevens.
"He's chosen you. I had nothing to do with it," said Enrique.
Stevens leaned back in his chair, "so what does he want then?" he asked.
"Just your soul, and if your not careful he'll get it," replied Enrique.
Enrique's words hung between them, then Enrique stood to leave.
"I take my leave, from you both," said Enrique.
"Right," replied Stevens, "good show."
"Find your faith Mr?" asked Enrique
""Find your faith Mr. Stevens, find your faith. It's the only thing that can save you now."
"And if I don't" spat Stevens.
"He who has no faith in the light will ultimately serves the dark."
"What does that mean, that ill die?" mocked Stevens again.
"No, oh no Mr. Stevens. That's too easy. It means that you'll kill."