Revival
by Horns

"Reverend, there is someone who wishes to speak with you," the red-haired secretary said aloud, searching the room with her eyes. She was unable to see him, but was certain that he was in there.

There was a sudden sharp knock, that came from the vicinity of the desk.

"Do they have an appointment?" Reverend Leverty asked. His tone of voice sounded cranky, and he was fervently rubbing his forehead—along the hairline—where it had bumped against edge of the solid oak desk. He had been searching the shag carpet for an important memo that had fallen.

"No, it's a walk-in," she answered, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from laughing at his discomfort.

"Fuck, I don't have the time . . . with the revival week, and . . . "

She interrupted his babble by saying, "I can tell him to leave, that you're too busy to help someone in need."

Reading her snide comment loud-n-clear, he stopped mumbling and shuffling around books & paper to give to her a 'that's so very funny' un-amused grin.

"No, no, send the person in," he said with a sigh.

"Yes, Reverend," she replied in a way that hinted at sassy.

She turned around and departed the office. As she did, he quickly glanced up at her fixing his eyes on the shape of her ass, so suggestively covered by the red dress she was wearing.

'Hmm, I'd sure love to have that sitting in my lap,' he thought to himself.

In no time at all, a man walked in through the doorway. The stranger made eye contact with him, and then - - at once, snapped his head around in the direction from where he'd just come—the same direction the secretary had just went. The man's action surprised him.

"Ah, such a voluptuous creature. She radiates lust to a degree that even a godly-man can't ignore," the man said, walking to a stop just a foot or two in front of the long desk.

Leverty, found himself feeling embarrassed, as if the stranger had heard his naughty thoughts` outright and had caught him. 'Impossible,' he thought, and quickly cast aside the left-handed notion.

"Excuse me?" he said playing as if he had no clue as to the meaning of the stranger's words.

"Oh, pardon me. Sometimes I think out loud," the man said. He raised his hands out to his sides in a 'silly me' gesture. "Delighted that you would see me without any notice," he then said, and extended his left hand, offering it to be shaken.

"That's no problem, my pleasure," Reverend Leverty said forcing a smile and standing.

They shook hands.

In doing so, Leverty—all at once—felt as if he were going to be ill. A strong acidic stirring in his stomach threatened to discharge the meal he had consumed no more than an hour before. 'I need a drink,' he thought, and his eyes quickly peeked at the lower left drawer of his desk. There, in a black-metal lock-box, he kept a bottle of whiskey. Slowly and a bit shakily, he sat back down into the brown-leather chair.

"You look like you could use a swig or two of the Devil's fuel," the man said while taking a nearby seat of his own.

"Huh, well I've been a bit out of sorts lately . . . ill I suppose," Leverty replied giving the stranger a puzzled look.

As discreet as he possibly could be, he looked the stranger over. 'Somewhere I have met this person before,' he thought to himself, but couldn't place the face. A good-looking, athletically built, and well dressed individual, who had the darkest penetrating eyes he'd ever looked into. Eye's that you could feel baring down upon you, even if you weren't visually aware of them. His hair was black, as was his suit, tie, pants, and even his shoes. The offbeat article was his shirt - - a purple colored silk fabric. His age looked somewhere around late twenties, early thirties. Leverty noticed that he was empty-handed. 'Not a salesman,' he thought.

"So what is it that I can do for you . . . I'm sorry I didn't get your name?" he asked. Waiting for him to respond, he watched as the man examined the office . . . his facial expressions appearing almost condescending.

Leaning slightly forward in his chair the man smiled and said, "Trust me, Reverend, you couldn't pronounce it with your human tongue." Having said that, he slouched back into the chair and locked his fingers together.

Reverend Leverty, a little thrown off by the odd remark, stared into the face of the man only to find himself ardently feeling as if he somehow knew this person.

"I have to ask you, and please forgive me if I've forgotten, but have we met before?"

"No, but you've spoken of me on many occasions. Slanderously, I must add," the man replied, now wiggling his entwined digits in a playful manner. "But, I'm not here for apologies or to make you eat a piece of humble pie, not at all. I'm here in hopes of your assistance."

"I . . . I would like to apologize if I've somehow unknowingly wronged you, but I'm confused as to who you are," Leverty said, the perplexity in his voice unconcealed.

"Umm . . . I guess honesty would be the best policy, considering the reason I've come here to begin with," the man said, and as he spoke he straightened himself in the chair and separated his hands.

Leverty waited.

The man made two fists and brought them up to his head -- placing each against the skin about a half an inch above his temples. Then, to conclude the peculiar activity, stuck up both pointer-fingers and held them there. Leverty's mind searched for the man's identity, browsing through a mental list of figures he might have spoken out against at one time or the other. Maybe a political personage, a local business owner, or any number of secular characters?

Seeing the absorbed look of contemplative constipation covering the Reverend's face, the stranger frowned and then said, "I'm the Devil . . . Perry Leverty."

It took a few seconds for him to react, clearly he had heard his first name uttered.

"You're a bad person, is that what you mean to say?" Leverty asked.

"A bad person," the man said, laughter following as he repeated the words. Lowering his hands, he said, "Oh, I guess you could say that I've been bad, but haven't we all? That's the primary motive of why I've come to you. I've been thinking a lot lately, soul-searching if you will, and I've come to a point in my existence where I have found weariness. I'm jaded in so many words. The 'spiritual battle', as you Christians so fashionably refer to it, has gone stale. Whatever great cause there once was has lost its luster and meaning to me now. I'm not a simple one-track minded, one-colored crayon character that the 'righteous book' portrays me out to be. That's perhaps the most hurtful accusation I've been stamped as by humanity -- the worst characterization I've had to bear."

Leverty crossed his arms together and leaned back into the chair. After a few moments, and with an eyebrow raised high above his spectacles, he said, "I don't follow you."

"Come on, Reverend, surely you had to pass some form of an I.Q. test in order to attend Bible College!" the man said slamming a fist down on the desk in front of him.

The action startled Leverty, and then the insult incited anger in him.

"How dare you . . . " Leverty began to say as he started to stand.

Quickly holding his hands open in front of him the stranger said, "Please forgive me, I apologize . . . please."

Observing the sincerity in the man's look, Leverty plopped back down into the chair.

"Possibly, a demonstration might do the trick. Ah, the irony in that word 'Demon -- stration. (laughter) Sometimes I forget how challenging it can be interacting with humans on a sociable level. Well, at any cost . . . " And with that, the black-suited stranger stood.

Leverty, curiously watched on with both his hands placidly set upon the desktop.

The man then proceeded to flip his tie over his right-shoulder, gracefully unbutton two of the topmost buttons on his shirt, and then slide his left hand on the inside -- all the while, smiling mischievously over at his audience of one.

All of a sudden, there was a strange squishing noise and then a few sharp pops. Leverty's eyes noted the writhing motion of the stranger's arm, partially hidden within the purple dress shirt.

'What in the world is he doing?' Leverty thought to himself. He then stiffened up, drawing back a little bit, as his concern began to grow.

In no time at all, the man—still smiling—withdrew his hand from his shirt. Leverty, instantly noticed a bright red substance completely covering the man's hand—up past his wrist a short ways—and the grotesque looking object that it now held.

Sudden realization—as the man held it forward—that the thing was an organ and that the substance was blood, made Leverty vomit onto the carpet at his feet. The man held the saturated pulsating heart up to his mouth, blood dripping heavily onto the floor, and said, "Take eat; this is my body." And then, displaying a mouth full of sharp bestial teeth, took a deep bite out of it. There was another sickening sound as his teeth tore away a chunk of the muscular organ. At this point, Leverty's head was down, and he was wiping at the upchuck surrounding his mouth. He heard the mouth-full muffled laughter of the man, and chewing. Traumatized by the horror he'd just witnessed, Leverty pushed the chair back with his legs, his mind was set on getting out of the room. In doing so, he glanced up at the man expecting again to see the grisly scene. Instead, like waking up from a nightmare to find oneself in a familiar bed, he saw no trace of the gore, not a drop of it. The man, whom called himself the Devil, sat in the seat staring back at him with a gleam in his sinister eyes. His clothing normally arranged, skin clean of blood.

Leverty stopped along side of the desk, leaning and supporting himself with his arm. Still queasy, still in a shock haze, he spoke, "What are you? Some kind of a stage magician . . . an illusionist?"

The man took his finger and brushed at the left side of his own face with it. Then, with a nod in Leverty's direction he conveyed a message. Leverty felt his left cheek and discovered a piece of ejected matter sticking to it. He swiped it off.

"Reverend, why is it that the bulk of your kind freely tosses the word 'faith' around so often, but only a handful really have it? I've not only asked you to have faith in who I am, but I've shown you. I'm the enemy, call me Satan, Lucifer, the adversary. You've told your flock about me, about how well you know me . . . now I'm here and you deny me?"

The man wrinkled up his nose, widening his nostrils.

"That aroma is very offensive, let us do something about it," the man said, and then snapped his fingers together. "There much better."

Leverty turned his head, and twisted his body back to look at the carpet. Where there had been puke, no sign of it remained - - not even on his pant legs or shoes. Reverend Leverty finally understood who he was dealing with.

His surprise almost instantly transformed into animosity.

The Devil took note and grinned.

Leverty stepped around the desk and climbed back into his chair - - this time keeping a little distance, a few feet.

With an authoritarian guise refulgent on his face and in his posture, he said, "You are not welcome here! You have no business nor power in a house-of-God!"

Satan turned his body crooked in the chair and scratched the side of his neck. His expression showed disappointment.

"My, my, such arrogance, such rudeness, pretentiousness and false-pride. The characteristics of God that now seem to be coming back to mind. Is it not un-Christian of you to act in such a fashion? This is a letdown. House-of-God you say? Why, does he pay the bills? Yes, but he is always there, tongue waging in egotistic swagger, to take all the credit for the hard work of mankind."

Leverty grabbed a large leather-bound Bible off the desk and held it forward like a weapon.

"I won't listen to your blasphemous patter, you're the 'Father of Lies'."

Leverty's words evoked Lucifer into a roar of laughter.

"Words straight out of Heaven. The ideology of dictatorship. Close-minded fools, fascist pigs. And you Reverend, obviously nothing more than a programmed follower of God's totalitarianism . . . his cosmic vanity. At least, on the outside, isn't that right Perry? The facade, the holy-role you play. This is good, this is too good. You've begun to rejuvenate me, just as the advertisement vowed to do. However, it does seem that you are not just guilty of hypocrisy, but of false-advertising, bad customer service." He shook his head in a scolding manner.

Just as he was about to speak, the Devil—out of thin air—produced a gold colored paper-flier in one hand. He let go of it, causing it to glide directly in front of Leverty and to rest on the desk -- text side up. One glance at it and Leverty knew what it was, there was a couple cases of them no more than ten feet away, by the bookshelves. Revival pamphlets, that by now had circulated to every home in the neighborhood and to the neighborhood's surrounding it.

Saracota's Church of God -

Revival Week.

Come renew your faith in Christ and

receive his holy blessing of salvation.

Everyone and anyone welcome, you

don't have to be a member of our

Church to attend.

-- Bible Study

-- Games

-- Christian fellowship

-- Worship & Praise

-- Guest Speakers

-- Gospel Music

-- Revitalization

4532 Clarksville Rd. (555)555-5555

As he looked upon it a magical change took place. The words Everyone and anyone welcome began to bleed and run down off the page -- as if the ink had been doused in water. Only those words bled.

"See, Reverend, you've rushed to judge me unfairly. What have I ever done to you? Why is it that I should deserve treatment such as this from you? Only because some God has told you it is so, without evidence, without my side of the story? You've never even heard his voice, let alone received a visit." Satan said sitting up straight and sliding to the edge of the seat.

With a troubled look that more than hinted at fear Leverty sat the book down and began to thumb through it, searching fervently for scripture to use against his unexpected diabolic guest.

"Oh, shit, now he's going to read from the Bible as if it were a book of spells. Witchcraft is a sin you know?" Satan jested. "Give that here!"

Satan held out his hands, and instantly—as if being magnetically pulled away—the Bible flew into them. Terrified, Leverty backed up, almost tumbling over his chair. Casually, the Devil flipped through the pages skimming over them with ridiculing eyes.

"Ah, it's been centuries since I've read this work of fiction. Listen to this," he said, fingering a single page. "The Ten Commandments, you shall have no other gods before me, you shall not do this and you shall not do that. Don't we get a say?" he questioned looking over at Leverty, letting the book dangle open in one hand. "I mean come on, is there anything that we can do? If God told you to jump off a bridge, would you? . . . on second thought, don't answer that. God is such a tantrum thrower, a spoiled child. I'll tell you the truth of it, the minute I started to think on my own . . . " With his free hand he snapped his fingers. " . . . the next minute he threw me out! His way or the Highway to Hell . . . no pun intended. Take the first humans for instance, swell kids, how were they to know it was wrong to disobey God, if they didn't fucking know right from wrong until after the fact? Makes no sense. And what did they gain? . . . " He paused for a second spinning the book with his hand. " . . . They gained knowledge. And for that they were punished!? God knew what he was doing when he formulated the terms good and evil, threw that in just to confuse everyone and to assure everyone a sinner. Great strategist, God."

Lucifer noticed the Reverend engaging in silent prayer.

"That doesn't do any good . . . honest. Awhile ago, and I heard this through the seraphic grapevine -- so you have to take it with a grain of salt, I heard that God doesn't have an interest in the Earth anymore. Moved on to another universe, so they say. Seems plausible to me, how about you?"

He listen and began to speak out loud—and in mockery—Leverty's soundless words, like a child playing the repeat everything you say game.

"The thing that gets me the most is the hypocrisy, the way in which you lie to yourself about your human desires - - your needs. The little skeleton's with erections that you hide in your closets, ashamed, and burdened with the needless guilt of what it means to be human," Satan complained, and then tossed the Bible into the air where it exploded into a brilliant flash of red light and smoke, falling like a party-popper streamer atop the furnishings. The blast startled Leverty out of his communion with God, and he flinched away, cowering behind his chair. Making a face at Leverty, the Devil crossed his legs, folded his hands together, and then waited.

The red-haired secretary, wearing the tight red dress that was slit up the left side, seductively baring her slender tan thigh -- almost up to her waist, walked into the office. At once, Leverty cried out to her, "Susan, get out of here . . . call the police!"

The Devil shook his head and groaned while looking down.

"The police . . . pitiful."

Stepping forward flirtatiously, the red-haired woman said, "So you want my hot ass, huh, Reverend?"

Leverty looked at her stunned and speechless.

She began to caress her body with her hands. Sex hungry fingers probing her body, feeling her tits, stomach, ass, thighs, and private area. Licking them greedily with her tongue, and running them through her hair.

Leverty could not keep from getting aroused.

She moved closer to him, pulling him away from the chair, pressing her firm breasts up against him, and then passionately began kissing him. His glasses fell off in the heat of the moment. She guided him toward the desk. As soon as she brushed up against it she turned around, facing away from him, placing both her hands on the surface.

"Fuck my hot ass, Reverend . . . please," she begged wantonly.

Leverty proceeded to run his hands under her dress and up her legs, eagerly pulling down her rose-colored cotton panties. Then, he unzipped his pants and released his hard-on. With unbridled lust he flipped up her dress—stealing a quick peek at her light-red fuzz and outturned pink lips—and then entered her. He screwed hard, ramming, and clawing her ass cheeks with both hands.

For only a brief moment, Satan looked on amused by the display. He stood and coolly walked over to the desk, on his side facing the church-secretary. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, locking his tongue with hers as her body rocked back and forth. Then he released her and walked out.

Pausing just outside the office door, he listened. Then a second later he heard a woman's scream. Next came fighting voices, "How could you do this to me Reverend!? How could you, you bastard!?" "I . . . I . . . it's not my fault . . . "

He chuckled and listened again this time for another sound.

'Boom!'

And then he heard it; a loud blast and the agonizing screams that followed.

"Satan has left the building," he jokingly said as he exited the church.

Out in the parking-lot he gazed up at the place and studied the large banner heralding the word; Revival.

"Thanks, Reverend. Thanks for renewing my faith in me and what I stand for. Thanks for reminding me of how much of an asshole God and his followers really are. I have a refreshed outlook on why I chose freedom and why I so hate the plague called 'mankind' that surrounds me. Thank you for that," he said, and then tipped an imaginary hat at the church. Heavy black smoke had begun to rise high into the air above the building.

* * *

A day later, on a crowded street corner in the downtown metropolis area, the man dressed in almost all black stole a newspaper, drawing away the attention of the vender with the simple wave of his hand. He speed read through it, slowing down first at a specific article of interest. A story about a Church of God that burnt down, killing four people, and leaving its members for the time being without a leader. Next, he skipped to the entertainment section. It was there that he would decide upon a film to see. He looked over the pictured advertisements finding one of them fairly comical. The ad for the movie 'Titanic', containing a black & white picture of Leonardo DiCaprio and the caption line; "I'm the king of the world". Not being able to resist making a witticism, he said, "Wrong, little Leonardo, that would be me."

Laughing and discarding the paper on the ground, he went his way.

©2000 Horns

Horns was born in Cincinnati, OH on December 29, 1969. His stories have been featured online at:Dreadful Dreams, The Writer's Hood (No-Wolf Publishing), Short Scary Tales (includes an interview), The Writer's InkWell, Dr. Casey's Cabinet, Death Grip Ezine, The House Of Pain and more.

He is the editor of "The Devil's Mouth", an on-line 'zine and his personal site can be found at: http://www.angelfire.com/in2/hornsweb