WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:
IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.
THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.
Sunday, October 31
St Mocheomoc Metropolitan Cathedral
6:00 pm Mass
The evening mass was all set up and Chris had begun to play the prelude, "Fugue on 'Dies irae'" by the famous Kilcathclyde composer Sir Theophilus Stidham-Chaunter. Everyone was getting into place in their special exorcism vestments. The Processional Hymn began "Bohemian Rhapsody". Mass began quite as normal with the Archbishop making his usual grand entrance, blessing the assembly as he made his way to the Archbishop's seat in the sanctuary. People bowed and curtsied as he passed them wearing his usual miter and carrying his fancy staff.
Everything seemed quite as normal until the homily when the Archbishop explained what was going to happen afterward. At that point, he went back and sat down and picked up the Rubixcubix book and began scanning through it as Shug began an introductory hymn. His Grace's eyes flew back and forth over the words and the color drained from his face. He looked around first at Fr. Gabriel and then at Fr. Eric, who was looking rather pale.
The choir continued with "Faith" as the giant cross on which Emily had been firmly chained was wheeled up the center aisle preceded by an alter server carrying a thurible billowing with incense and followed by several different young people who performed an elegant liturgical dance carrying an enormous pitcher of boiling holy water, a stack of white towels, a patten with holy oil, and a soft boiled egg. At the end of the procession came two handsome boys, one of them with pitch black hair and radiant olive-complexioned skin carrying an old shortbread tin box, the relics of St. Mocheomoc himself; and the other boy had a very tall statue of the Child of Bucharest.
They had just brought Emily to the front and were wheeling her around to face the congregation when the Archbishop suddenly got to his feet, motioning to Fr. Gabriel with a nod from his mitered head toward the sacristy. Fr. Gabriel then turned to the increasingly malaise-looking Fr. Eric and both of them followed His Grace with swishes of satin chasubles flying everywhere.
"I've thought this through and I think you are the person to do this Gabriel. It would look good for your presbyteral future."
Gabriel, who was immediately suspicious by this sudden change in the Archbishop's tune, grabbed the Rubixcubix and quickly scanned the pubrics, the purple ink in the margins of the book that denoted the special actions of the clergy at this type of liturgy. Running down the book page after page he finally came to the conclusion of the rite:
The presider then takes
the spirit upon himself
and must thereafter dispose of it,
even at the expense of himself.
His face blanched and he looked up at the Archbishop. "Your Grace, don't you think that this is a job for the parochial vicar?" They both glanced over at Fr. Eric who looked the worse for wear. He was now sweating profusely and had begun to turn a definite shade of green. "Agreed!" they said at the same time. "Eric, you're doing the exorcising rite. Get ready. It says here you need the green stole."
Emily was writhing and shaking vigorously. When the Archbishop moved out in front of her and began the exorcism rite itself, Emily/Odious began singing loudly in a gravelly voice:
Rikki tikki a bowl of strong cider,
Here comes the bishop with the wee fancy miter.
He takes time for a berry
To become some mystery
All the while growing a bit wider.
The Archbishop shouted over Emily's rude poetry, "I call forth the spirits of all the saints of our bonnie fair land to come to our aid." He then nodded to Shug, who led the choir in a cracking version of "Help!"
When the Litany of Seventh Century Scottish Saints had ended, the Archbishop continued, pouring holy olive oil on Emily's feet. The poor possessed lassie's sacked saint had a response:
Rickem rickem ree
Kick 'em in the knee
There was a thud and the Archbishop cried out in pain.
Rickem rickem rass
Kick 'em in the other knee
Another thud and a second yelp of pain. The Archbishop got to his feet, rubbing both knees. His fancy staff cast aside and his magnificent miter off-center. Clearly, the Archbishop needed a break and he leaned over to Gabriel and screamed, "Music! Huddle in the sacristy!"
Leaning heavily on Fr. Gabriel they limped slowly into the sacristy. "It is almost time. The exorcising rite is next. Eric, are you ready?" Both he and Fr. Gabriel looked over to see Fr. Eric as pale white as a ghost. He stepped forward and fainted dead way.
"What do we do?" asked Fr. Gabriel.
"I know," said the Archbishop. "I'll call Eamonn. He can send us one of the seminarians." Fr. Eamonn McGillicuttie was the cranky but reliable rector of St. Pulcherius, the local seminary.
The Archbishop whipped out his mobile phone from some obscure place and Fr. Eamonn answered. "Eamonn, it's Clemmy. How are you? Oh dear...sorry to hear about that. You've been in and out all day?? Terrible. Yes, well, I've heard that eating those kinds of mushrooms can do that to you. Any word on your liver?...I'll say a prayer for you tonight. Listen...I need to ask a favor." He explained the situation. Presently he put his hand over the phone and turned to Gabriel, "He says he hasn't been to an exorcism since the big one of '73. Oh it was a cracker, that one. Eat your heart out Linda Blair!" He returned to the phone.
By this time, Shug had come into the sacristy. "What's going on in here? We've sung through "I've Got You, Babe" and "Please Release Me." The Archbishop saw Shug and then said, "Eamonn, I'm going to put you on speakerphone so we can all hear you."
"OK," came a croaking, cranky voice. "Listen, I can send down one of the seminarians to do that rite for you."
"Oh, that would be splendid, Eamonn. Is there anyone in particular you'd recommend?" asked the Archbishop.
"What about one of the Nigerians? There are loads of them," offered Eamonn. "I'll send one down. It'll take about ten minutes or so."
They all looked at one another and nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Eamonn. That will do splendidly," said the Archbishop, hanging up the phone.
"At home they always get a Mexican to do it," chimed in Shug. "They're really good at attracting evil spirits."
"Shug, you've got to keep everything calm. Now's your chance...keep the natives from getting restless! Noodle!"
"Right!" said Shug. "No worries!!" Shug stepped up to his call as music director of the cathedral. He had his trusty exorcism binder with him brought all the way from St. Oreo in Oregon. It was falling apart but continued to do its job faithfully. The choir sang "Bewitched," "Up From Below," "Let Her Go," as well as "Hello, Hell No!" and ended with "Spirit in the Sky". They had just finished the chorus when in strode the seminarian.
"Ya beauty!" exclaimed the Archbishop. He handed the Rubixcubix to the already vested seminarian, who moved in front of Emily/Odious. She was ready for him:
Hickory dickory dock
The vicar had a big
"I call forth the spirit from your weak body," said the seminarian. Grabbing the egg from the patten that was being held by one of the alter servers. "I release you from the yoke of this world, Emily. Come back to us."
The congregation responded. "Come back to us."
He then smashed and smeared the egg all over Emily's face.
"I banish you from this world of toil and sin," said the seminarian. Now splashing boiling hot water all over Emily. She writhed and tried to tear the chains that bound her to the cross loose. "Come back to us."
The congregation responded. "Come back to us."
Then he picked up the shortbread box with the sacred relics of St. Mocheomoc: his left patella and some dandruff and removed the lid. A white powdery smoke rose from it. "I banish you with the contents of this tin!" screamed the seminarian. "Come back to us!"
As the congregation responded a series of startling and unexplainable events happened in rapid succession. Emily and her spirit managed to wrench free one of the posts chaining her foot to the cross from all the writhing she had done. The loose end of the chain flung out and then up, striking the head of the statue of the Child of Bucharest off. It went flying as the tin holding the sacred relics of St. Mocheomoc burst into flame spontaneously.
The seminarian poured the rest of the water on it, extinguishing the fire which then turned the contents into a batter that was immediately seared to a round, bread-like beige disk of dandruff and knee bone. When the seminarian picked it up, it was very hot to the touch and he dropped it. It rolled across the front of the church behind Ina Mallarky who was getting ready to start to conduct the choir to sing something and tripped her. She toppled backward and lost her balance tumbling to the mosaic tile floor just as the flying, spinning head of the Child of Bucharest struck hers and conked her into a coma.
And lastly, the spirit left Emily and went straight into the seminarian who threw back his head and began reciting poetry at once:
Oh, I know a Klingon
Who just like King Kong
Has a giant
The seminarian spun around...made a raspberry at the Archbishop, who shuddered, and then promptly ran out the back of the cathedral screaming "...ding dong!" Emily lay unconscious on the cross while Ina lay unconscious in front of the choir.
"Our offertory hymn is page 2830 in the green book, 'Simple Gifts," announced Shug. After mass was over, the priests and Archbishop were greeting the parishioners outside the cathedral. It was completely dark and a frightfully chilly night as people poured into the street. "That was a lovely homily, Your Grace." "Your miter is looking spanking good on you tonight, sir." "That Ina Mallarky can sure sing, can't she?" were just some of the comments Shug heard as Ina was carried away on a stretcher by the paramedics.
He had just shut the ambulance door, shaking his head in sorrow at Ina's incredible bad luck with regard to traumatic brain injuries when he came face to face with Myra Dick. "You haven't won, Shug Grant. Just try to stay out of my way," she said, pointing a skeletal finger in his face. A white van pulled up. "Just try! I'll get you and your little cat, too!" She cackled as Brenda closed the van door quickly on Myra's black dress. It wafted in the cold night air as they sped off back to Overdale East.
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