Aaron Rayburn
Dan Davidson is a horror novelist, who just signed a three-book, $30 million contract. But it wasn't his talent alone that got him the deal. It was JR, the demon spirit, which had been living dormant inside him for the past thirty-two years.
Until now.
JR seeks restitution for helping kill Dan's abusive father all those years ago. Now he wants Dan to write the ultimate horror novel, coupled with his rising popularity, that will coerce people into selling their souls to the Devil; a fresh start to a new and enticing world.
But with Dan's life turning upside down, he finds it difficult to concentrate on the new novel. Though the less work he does, the more JR threatens to take full control of him.
Adam, Dan's only child, recognizes the signs of demonic possession in his father and begs the help of Father Levin, who was almost killed in his first and only exorcism, twenty years prior. Reluctantly, he agrees to see Dan.
And when priest and demon meet, a spiritual calamity breaks loose, shattering the serenity of a cabin by the lake and the small town nestled beside it.
Aaron Rayburn brings yet another mesmerizing tale of terror to the page. The question, "How do you think up that stuff?" often arises in the course of a horror writer's life. Rayburn readily admits that the Devil sometimes whispers the stories into his ear. But that doesn't make up for the bulk of his material. He says there are 8 X 10 pictures on his office wall of Ted Bundy, David Berkowitz, Henry Lucas, Ed Kemper, Jeffrey Dahmer, Ed Gein, Charles Whitman, Richard Ramirez, Charles Starkweather, Jack the Ripper, and Adolph Hitler, all of whom recite the stories to him telepathically.
Rayburn's third book, The Devil's Children, is near completion. It is a compilation of short stories, outlining twenty-two of Satan's offspring.
Levin reached over and traced the sign of the cross with his thumb on Dan's forehead.
Dan thrashed, his limbs flailing. Pained agony exuded from his mouth, lasting three full minutes before finally subsiding. He shook his head and said, "The archangel, Michael, has a six-inch wide pussy!"
"Why don't you leave Dan's body?"
Another abrupt change in Dan's demeanor took place. The demon was fully there now. He snarled. "Because I like it here! And because no matter how hard you try, you can't make me!"
"Is that so?"
"YES! THAT'S SO!"
"What is your name?" Levin asked.
Dan gritted his teeth, his eyes back to their solid whites. "I am the Devil!" he spat. "And if you don't leave right fucking now, then I will eat your heart right out of your fucking chest!"
Goose bumps flared on Levin's body. "I believe you are lying," he said softly. "You aren't the Devil. He doesn't have time to waste on such a simplistic man as Dan Davidson."
Dan rose up. "I am the Devil!"
Suddenly the front door opened, then slammed shut repeatedly. After several seconds, it ceased.
Levin sat still, carefully regarding the thing lying on the couch. "Did you do that?" he asked. "Or was it the wind?"
Dan nodded. "It was me."
"Then do it again."
Dan shook his head.
"Why not? If you're the Devil--"
"I do not need to prove anything to you, you simple, powerless mortal," said Dan.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," said Levin, finding the arm of the couch and sitting on it. "I know that Satan Himself would never manifest into another human being. He is too great for such menial things. That's why he has demons. So, which one are you?"
The demon hissed through Dan's clenched teeth, his eyes closed, as if he were concentrating. Levin took that opportunity to extract his crucifix from his jacket.
Suddenly the demon's eye sockets widened, his pinpoint pupils directed toward the shiny object. It sucked in a raspy breath. "What is that?"
Levin studied the crucifix, turning it in his hands. "Well ... you tell me. What does it look like?"
Dan rasped. "It looks like a silver trophy of a faggot!"
Levin held it up.
"NO!" cried the demon. "You keep it away!"
Levin stood, holding the crucifix out toward the demon. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you from that body!" He swung the crucifix in a hammer-like gesture.
"Aaaaaaaggghh!" the demon moaned painfully, slinking further into the cushions of the couch. Finally his knees fell to the floor, his body slumped over the coffee table.
Father Levin stepped closer, keeping an eye on him while casting furtive glances toward Adam, who was still slouched in the far corner of the room. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," said Levin. "Hallowed be thy name."
"Noooooo!" The demon began to regurgitate onto the polished surface of the table. It looked like liquid celery spilling out of a squeeze tube.
Father Levin, with all his courage, stepped up beside Dan and placed his trembling hand upon Dan's forehead. It was hot--burning hot, but Levin kept his hand there. "Unclean spirit," he said. "I demand in the name of Christ that you tell me your name."
The demon craned its neck abnormally, peering at Levin with those haunting, dead, white eyes. "You really want to know?" it said, smiling.
Levin took away his hand, then nodded.
"My name is Zebulun," it said. "Does that ring a bell, Father?"
Levin immediately shied away, a sheer terror overcoming him as he tripped and fell to the floor. "No," he muttered. "It can't be."
