The Lobby

While it is doubtful that any soul, living or dead, has ever been eager to wait in a lobby—say, for an orthodontist appointment or to receive a loved one’s freshly cremated ashes from the local funeral director—there is a certain glass-eyed dread, a waning of the human spirit, that can only be found in the lobbies of government agencies and administrations like the one Agnes Dunn sat in now.

Like everyone in that suffocating, tightly-packed hell, she hated being there—hated it with every fiber of her being, every cell in her body, right down to the cancer-primed liver spots on her frail, wrinkled hands. But there was nothing to do, for her or anyone else, but stare dead ahead for minutes at a time. The only reprieve was recurring glances at her queue ticket each time the buzzing, ceiling-mounted speakers announced a number that wasn’t hers.

An hour passed. And then another.

“Now seeing R710 at station 13,” a woman’s crackled voice intoned. “Now seeing R710 at station 13.”

Agnes looked at her ticket. It read R710.

Agnes sat down at station 13. On the other side of the glass, a man with gaunt features hunched over a computer.

“Papers,” the clerk said.

She slid them through the pass-through slot.

The clerk checked the dates and signatures.

“How may I help you today?”

“I need an exorcism.”

He turned to his computer and clicked through a few screens. “It says you’ve already been denied….” He squinted. “Forty-seven times.”

“I know, I know, just—”

He gathered her documents and tried to slide them back. She blocked the slot with her hand.

“Ma’am.”

“Please, wait. I’m begging you.”

He gave two half-hearted pushes, and gave up. “Ma’am, there’s nothing I can do. You’ve already been told to go down to the Purging Center and throw yourself into the Flames of Purity.”

“They won’t take me,” she said. “I can’t do that until I clear my fine.”

“Well, if you need to pay a fine, you should’ve said so.” He clicked through a few more screens. “You owe a pint of pure soul blood. Please stick your arm into the machine on your left.”

An elaborate sigil was painted on the wall beside her. In the center of that sigil, lay a hole. She inserted her arm and winced a moment later as the needle sunk into her withered flesh. Immediately, the display screen flashed an error.

The clerk furrowed his brow. “Ma’am, you can’t give blood if you’re possessed.”

She withdrew her arm. “I know. I need an exorcism.” She rubbed her punctured skin.

“Then go down to the Purging Center.”

“They won’t let me in because of my fine.”

“And you can’t pay your fine because of the possession.”

“Yes!”

He sighed. “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to take it up with the Purging Center.”

“I’ve already talked to them.”

“And what did they say?”

“That I have to come here because I owe you the fine!”

“You don’t owe me, ma’am. You owe the department.”

He went to push the documents back through. Agnes launched out of her chair, using both hands to block the slot.

“Ma’am, I will call security.”

“Please, I’m begging you. I’ll pay. I’ll do anything. I just need help.”

He rubbed his temples. “Fine. Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

She sat back down—still ready to lunge, if needed.

“Now, have you tried any alternate forms of exorcism?”

“Huh?” She blinked.

“Non-government approved methods. I must warn you, those are strictly forbidden.”

“Oh, well, maybe,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Maybe?”

She nodded.

He sighed. “I see. And how did that go?”

“They couldn’t remove it. They said I had a load-bearing demon.”

“Load-bearing?”

“He said the spirit of my being is built around a pillar of grievance. He said I wanted to be miserable. Can you believe that!” Agnes huffed.

“I… uh…”

“He said I could be free from the demon today, if I gave it up. And then he tried to leave! He wouldn’t even give me my money back. Said the $99 was a diagnostic fee!”

The clerk shook his head. “Some people.”

“It’s alright,” she chimed. “I got my money back in the end. As he was walking out, I grabbed my grandson’s metal bat and struck him across the back of the head.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You what?”

The little old lady mimicked the swings. “I hit him, and I hit him, and I hit him until his blood pooled red on my nice white carpet.”

“You didn’t—”

“I did. I beat him to death,” she declared matter-of-factly. “And then I realized…” she reached into her bag and pulled out a jar. “…that he had solved my problem.”

She set the jar on the counter. It was smeared with hand prints.

“What’s this?”

“Pure blood.”

The man looked at the jar, then back at her, then at the jar again. She smiled.

“I… I can’t accept this.”

Her expression darkened. “Why not?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed. Agnes kept smiling. He pressed a button and the wall to her right popped open a flap.

“Pour it in.”

She took the jar and poured it in, spilling a bit along the metal lip.

The device whirred and halted. The display screen flashed another error.

“This blood is tainted,” the man said. “With avarice. That was a con man. He was never going to help you anyway.”

While she stared dumbfounded at the display, he slid the papers back through the slot.

“Only the Purging Center can remove your demon. I’m also going to have to report you for, well, murder.”

“I understand.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a long kitchen knife. “You’re just doing your job, dearie.”

He pressed the alert button under the desk and slid back in his chair. “Ma’am.”

She turned the blade and plunged it into her chest.

“Oh God,” he gasped.

She did it again. And again. “No one will help me. No one will help me. No one will help me,” she chanted, gouging away.

Suddenly, she stopped.

“M-ma’am?”

Her head jerked up, the whites of her eyes now blood-black.

“Ma’am,” he held up his hands. “I’m sure we can sort this out—”

Like a fire hydrant, a torrent of blood erupted from her wounds, blowing the plastic pane off its hinges.

Knocked to the ground, the clerk writhed in the gore, spluttering, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

When the deluge ceased, he frantically wiped his eyes and found her squatting on the counter. Vein-like serpents protruded from her wounds, snapping and lashing.

“You bastards,” she snarled. “I just wanted to pay the damn fine!”

An alarm went off, bathing the lobby in strobes of white and blue.

Two security guards in tactical crusader gear burst through a nearby door, leaped over the man on the floor and tackled Agnes off the counter.

“In the name of the Lord, you have the right to remain silent, demon!” they shouted.

“Fuck you!” Agnes howled.

The security guards pinned her to the floor, beating her into submission with their cross-studded fists. “YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO A CONFESSION. ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU, UNLESS YOU REPENT!”

“FUCK YOU!” She howled again, her voice corroding into a hideous gurgle.

As the security guards struggled with the demon-infested grandmother, the blood-drenched clerk pulled himself up, trembling.

His supervisor appeared beside him. “You alright, Paul?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good.” The supervisor gave his shoulder a brisk pat. “Clean yourself up and move to station R19. We’re slammed today.” Ω