He shared the carriage with one other, a young man, bearded, head buried in a crumpled paperback. Doing his best to ignore me... he thought, smiling inwardly. As he stood at one end of the brightly lit carriage he’d catch the man glancing at him then quickly look away as their gazes met. This was no run-of-the-mill Tube paranoia however, there was something about him that people didn’t like, something that scared them. It wasn’t his appearance, it wasn’t like he wore a uniform that others associated with fear and distrust, no, just being in his company was enough to cause unease in others. He was tainted, changed in a way that was apparent (albeit on some deep, subconscious level) even to people he’d never met before. This reaction had long ago ceased to bother him. Goes with the territory, he thought, there are worse things in life to worry about...

The understatement of that particular thought made him chuckle out loud. Covering his mouth with his hand, he turned the laugh into a cough. Poor bastard’s nervous enough already, no need to make matters worse...

On those rare occasions when strangers plucked up the courage to actually talk to him, and when the conversation had turned to the subject of his profession he had, in the early days, come up with some crass joke, saying something like “I’m in removals” or “evictions, I deal with unruly tenants”. These days he didn’t even make that degree of effort. “I work in The City” was all he would say, a statement that was undeniably true yet at the same time ambiguous enough to satisfy most inquisitors and end the discussion there and then.

The carriage jolted as the train approached the next station and he tightened his grip on the overhead rail. As it slowed, the screech of the brakes and the whistling of the air pushed ahead of the train through narrow tunnels combined to make an unearthly howling, a sound that for all the world resembled the voices of the damned, crying out for release. The world outside became light again as the train entered the station, posters for the latest paperback and cinema releases flashing past the windows, gradually metamorphosing from blurs of colour.

As he left the train he smiled and waved at his travelling companion. No response was forthcoming but he could sense the relief in the bearded man so strongly it was almost palpable.

*

Through the dark city streets he walked, hands in the pockets of his knee-length overcoat, head slightly dipped against the onrushing wind. The rain had stopped some thirty minutes ago but the pavements still glistened, reflecting the amber streetlights, their surfaces slick like they’d been covered in oil. Or blood, he thought, blood looks black under these lights too.

A figure approached him, footsteps echoing in the otherwise deserted street. A woman, like him huddled against the cold, her pace rapid, no doubt eager to get home, out of this foul night. He looked at her as they passed, at the pale face beneath the head scarf. Deep sunken eyes, mouth open in a rictus grin, the pallid skin, like the underbelly of a fish, magnifying her features.

“He eats shit in Hell now,” her voice muffled as if the words were spoken through a mouthful of blood.

It’s started, he thought, I must be getting close.

*

The paint on the door was flaking and peeling, the bare wood beneath exposed in strips like the aftermath of an attack by some clawed beast. Wind-blown debris, empty lager cans, rattled along the road behind him, urban tumbleweed.   From a distance came the sound of breaking glass followed immediately by the surprised squeal of a cat. The howl echoed along the empty street, sounding like the cries of a child, the distressed calls of a new-born.

He hammered against the door with his fist, taking an involuntary step backwards as it clicked off the latch and swung open.   Once again, howls echoed down the street this time answered by the barking of a dog. Light rain, no more than drizzle, began to fall, droplets forming on the lenses of his spectacles.

He stepped forward, across the threshold, into the waiting gloom. Immediately, the smell hit him, making him gag. He covered his nose and mouth with a hand but this did little to diminish the intensity of the foul odour. Light creeping in from outside faintly illuminated a bare light-bulb dangling from a wire above his head and he reached out to flick the switch on the wall. The bulb fizzed and slowly, almost begrudgingly, glowed into life to cast dull illumination over the hallway and the staircase directly in front of him.

A buzzing, humming noise filled the air as hundreds of flies alighted from the walls to fill the stairwell with a swirling mass of black specks, swarming above his head in a black cloud. Their roost, and the source of the smell that had assailed him as he had entered was now clearly visible. Ending in a puckered collar of flesh above the light switch, a leathery tube stretched the length of the stairwell, nailed to the wall to keep it in place.  Thick and serrated near to where he stood at the foot of the stairs, the repellent banister gradually narrowed to the thickness of a rope as it reached the landing.

Dear God...

Slowly, he began to ascend the stairs, keeping to one side so as to put as much distance between himself and the festering tissue stuck to the wall. Flies buzzed around his head, some settling back onto the unravelled intestines to feast and procreate once more, now that the disturbance was over.

The body lay on the landing, to one side of the door, head turned around so that it faced the wall as if unable to bring itself to look at the ragged hole in its abdomen, the hole through which its guts had been pulled out to decorate the stairwell. He looked down on the broken remains, revulsion and sorrow combining inside his head, threatening to overwhelm him.

You didn’t deserve this...

“Come on in!” The voice came from behind the door, interrupting his thoughts, “I’ve been expecting you!”

Tearing his gaze from the ruined man, he took a step towards the door and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, prepare himself for the ordeal ahead, he entered the room.

His host sat on a battered armchair, sprawled over it, one leg draped over a threadbare arm. Unshaven, thin as a rake, deep shadows beneath his eyes and dressed in a stained vest, pyjama bottoms, barefooted. The room itself reflected the shabby, neglected look of its owner – empty food cartons and drinks cans lay strewn across the floor, covered the small coffee table  to one side of the single, occupied chair. A bundle of clothes were piled in one corner, next to the open doorway into the small kitchen...

...what must it be like in there..?

An ashtray was visible amongst the clutter on the coffee table, overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. The smell of nicotine hung heavily in the air, the walls and ceiling – from which hung another bare light bulb – were stained with dark patches, petechiae of damp. In another corner of the room a small portable TV flickered, sound turned down, projecting images of a topless woman waving a mobile phone, her look of fake allure failing to hide the deadness behind her eyes.

“You must be the cavalry,” the dishevelled man said, “except you’ve arrived a little late!” The laugh that accompanied his words was like a hideous death rattle, the sound of it grating, disturbing.

“What you did... there was no need for it. What is it? Some kind of sign? Trying to scare us off?”

“Oh I knew I’d never scare you off, your persistence is... admirable!” Swinging his leg over the chair arm he shuffled into an upright position, leaned forward. “Some words of advice though, don’t send a boy to do a man’s work.”

For a moment he almost let emotion get the better of him, to overcome all those years of training, the discipline instilled in him that allowed him to do this job. Instead, he reached into his pockets, withdrew the cross and the book from within.

“At last! Some decent entertainment!” He turned his skull-like face towards the TV, “more entertaining than you anyway darling!” He clapped his hands like an excited child, “I’m looking forward to this! You been to confession priest? Won’t work if you’re not pure of spirit!” Again, the hideous death-rattle laughter.

Ignoring the taunting, he raised his arms, bible in one hand, crucifix in the other. “Demon, I name you,” he began, the words like a chant, a mantra to enhance their power, “I name thee Allocen...”

“But you can call me Al!”

The words flow from him, learnt by heart; “Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell, who sent your only-begotten Son into the world to crush that roaring lion; hasten to our call for help and snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness...”

“Mmmm... this all sounds very familiar. Go on, spout your mumbo-jumbo, it didn’t work for the boy and it won’t work for you!” Allocen laughed, the sound this time a high-pitched squeal. Saliva flew from the mouth of the human shell it had chosen to inhabit. “They’re only words, and words alone have no power over me – didn’t you get the hint out there in the hallway?”

“I command you, unclean spirit, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit and by the blood sacrifice carried out within this place...”

 And, even as he continued with the rite of exorcism, he saw the look of confusion on Allocen’s face at hearing those particular words, those extra words, watched that expression turn quickly to realisation, to fear.

The demon shrieked, leapt to its feet, “No! You Can’t do this! You can’t have...”

Striding forward, crucifix held out at arm’s length before him, now shouting the words, “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Begone and stay far from this creature of God. For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell...”

Allocen shrieked again, backed away, fell backwards over the chair to cower in the corner of the room. “Leave me alone...” it pleaded, its voice now that of a small girl.

“Begone, then, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit by this sign of the holy cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.”

A wind howled through the apartment, scattering the cartons and cans, toppling the coffee table. The girl on the TV disappeared as the screen exploded, showering glass across the floor. Smoke drifted from the hole that replaced it.

“Damn you to Hell,” he looked down at the body curled in the corner, just a man now, the vessel emptied. “Damn us both to Hell...”

*

The rain was now torrential as he stood outside on the street again, pressing the call button on his phone.

“Allocen. It’s done.”

“Allocen? Shit John, we said we had to discuss this one – you were taking a hell of a risk going there...”

“It’s done. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s great news, how on earth did you manage to pull that one off?”

A car drove by, splashing through the rain, headlights throwing his shadow high against the wall behind him, elongated, distorted by the uneven surface to become something monstrous.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Send the car for the pick-up and...” he paused, composing himself, “Carl’s here too, he needs to be taken away...”

“Carl? Oh Christ John, he didn’t go there on his own did he..? Ah shit, the stupid, hot-headed fool. Dammit John, we told him...”

“Just come get him.” He ended the call, threw the phone against the wall beside him, shattering it into shards of plastic. He stamped on the fragments, completing their destruction, a stamp for every nail he’d pulled from the wall.

We told him all right. I made damn sure we told him so he’d want to be involved, so he’d know where to come...

His destruction of the phone complete he turned and walked away, into the darkness. And the darkness welcomed him as if it had simply been waiting all this time to claim him.