Chapter 3: Chapter Two- The Poem
Jack's corner had become Doug's home away from home. When he wasn't at Jack's bar he would miss his worn chair, the stale and bitter smell of smoke that hung lazily in the air from the cigars and cigarettes, and mostly the smell of cheap perfume that all of the washed-up women wore within their last attempt to get a man. This was the one of the few bars in town that allowed him to come back, for he'd been thrown out of every other restaurant and bar within the area. He couldn't figure out why because in his mind, he was loyal and consistent and the life of the party.
The nauseating scent of cheap cologne mixed with the fragrance of watered-down bottom shelf liquor and body odor deterred most of the locals within the west side of Philadelphia. Not to Doug though, Jack's bar had become a place where he felt loved and wanted even if everyone made fun of him, this was their way of showing that he was a part of the family. No one judged him to his face, and everyone knew his name because Jack was always screaming it when Doug would drink too much
"Doug," the bartender said, trying to rouse him from his drunken stupor," here is another shot on the house, it's closing time, bud."
Doug rose up and looked at the bartender and said," If I'm your bud, biddy ole pale, then give me another shot, top shelf instead of the bottom shelf shit." a wicked grin covered his face as he threw back the free shot that sat in front of him.
"Go home, Doug!" the bartender said while pulling the quick pour nozzles off of the bottles and soaking them in solution, "Last call!"
"I am home, buddy!" Doug said as he raised his voice and turned to see everyone finishing their drinks and walking out of the bar.
A burly man stepped out from the back room and watched Doug as he resisted the bartender's attempts to close the bar. He walked behind Doug and slapped a heavy hand on the drunk man's shoulder, "Are we gonna have to throw you out again, the streets are still hard."
"One last shot, Jack, for old times' sake!" Doug said with an impish grin.
The bartender looked at Jack for his approval. Jack smiled and said, "Fine, but give him the good stuff, top shelf for my friend, on the house." and shook his head no, pointing to the watered-down bottle of vodka at either end of the top shelf.
"Thanks, you're my friend." Doug said as he threw his arms around Jack's waist and hugged him.
"Get off of me!" Jack said as he pushed Doug into the bar's countertop.
The bar erupted into laughter as the big man became grossed out by Doug's affection.
"He wasn't like this in high school." Sally said to her girlfriends as they laughed at both men, "everything changed when his brother left for the military, then shortly after, his wife filed for divorce, taking their children and all of their money." Sally looked over her shoulder at Doug's broken state and said, "he used to be an attractive man before he became an alcoholic drug user." She whispered not wanting Doug to hear her speak ill of him.
Doug tried to get up from his seat, but fell flat on his face," Sally…" he called out as his head rested on the cold floor, soothing his drunken state.
"Wait!" Sally said loudly, "I got him."
"I don't want to go home," Doug whispered and whined, "I'm so lonely."
Everyone in the bar began to laugh and point as Doug began to pitch a fit while lying on the floor. Jack took pictures and others within the bar posted the ordeal on the internet.
"Doug!" Sally yelled, "Let's go! You're making a fool out of yourself." She reached down and helped him get onto his shaky legs, the alcohol taking its full effect. The room reeled and began to spin in different directions. He tried desperately to stop the room from spinning, yet the harder he tried the worse it became. He reached the exit and staggered out of the door, walking face first into a bi-fold menu board, tripped, and they all fell hard to the found. The onlookers all laughed and mocked both Sally and Doug and began to shout, "This guy can't get enough of this sidewalk, loser." Doug tried to pick both himself and the menu board up, fixing his mess, while Sally looked up in amazement and unbelief, "Thanks for the help, Doug!" Jack snatched Doug up by his shirt collar and threw him into the side of Sally's car.
"Hey!" Sally picked herself up off of the ground and turned toward Jack, "Watch it asshole. You didn't have to do that."
"Ayah… just shut it, Sally." Jacked yelled as he looked down over her," what do you see in this loser anyways?" and threw a handful of free drink chips at her, "for you and your boyfriend."
Sally grabbed the chips and threw them back in Jack's face, then opened the passenger's side door before she turned back to Jack, "First he's not my boyfriend, ass wad, he's, my brother. Second, you're still angry that he kicked your ass in high school. Let it go, it was twenty years ago." Sally wrestled Doug into the passenger's seat and slammed the door shut. She turned and gave Jack an evil grin before getting into the car, "This isn't over, bully!" She screamed out through Doug's open window.
Sally drove down Roosevelt Blvd. and onto Busselton drive and turned right onto Chestnut St. driving until the street turned into a cul-de-sac and packed. She looked over a few dented trash cans and scattered beer bottles, trying to find his apartment, and realized that Doug was the disheveled duplex with the black curtains, "Get up, Doug!" Sally pushed hard against his shoulder, then smacked him in the head, "We're at your house. I'll call you later, okay."
"Huh… what… where am I?" he looked over at Sally and whispered, "You're so butiful." he tried to caress her face, but Sally smacked his hand away annoyed, "Get out of my car, Doug. Now!"
He fumbled with the door handle and opened it slowly, "You wanna come inside?" He said as the drool slid down his lip. Sally covered her mouth to avoid throwing up. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and yelled. "Get the fuck out of my car! Get out! What makes you…" She paused and realized who she was talking to. "Never mind. Get out, Doug."
Doug fought with his seat belt as he climbed out of the car, stumbling toward the front door, fumbling with his keys, he tried to discern which key was which by bringing the keys real close to his face. The victory was sweet, he smiled as the lock turned on the first try. He staggered in and tripped over his coffee table, landing hard on the couch and shattered the glass top, as his foot hit center mass. Glass shards exploded everywhere along with empty beer cans and bottles that sat atop the table making a home with the rest of the empty cans that were strewn all about the living room. The walls were stained and dingy from years of cigarette and cannabis residue. Beside the remains of Doug's coffee table was one-half of a case of warm beer and a week-old slice of pizza.
Doug began to relax as his buzz began to fade a little, making the room stop from spinning. He needed to close his eyes, yet he felt sick, ready to throw up every time he did. He simply took a deep breath and pictured Sally naked as he had done before in situations like this. Just the thought of her made everything better. A deep sigh escaped from his mouth as he closed his eyes successfully. Doug' thoughts jumped around from Sally to his ex-wife and the home they once had, Sammi was tired of his lies and the excessive spending that only benefitted Doug, leaving his family without food and clean clothes more times than not. A tear rolled down his face as the memories began to re-surface, DeJa'Vu. Doug wanted them back so much, especially on nights like this one.
The neighbor's dog began to bark relentlessly, pulling him out of his thoughts, "I hate that stupid dog! He always messed up the good dreams. If I had a gun I would murder that dumb animal, no, better yet…" A voice began to whisper into his ear, "You should end it all. You hate everything." Doug looked around trying to find the person talking to him in his head. Tears fell freely as Doug wrapped his arm around a throw pillow. The spirit of suicide continued to whisper more destructive suggestions into Doug's already broken mind. "There is no hope. All is lost, Doug. You lost your family, your career, and you just lost your dignity and pride to Sally," Doug looked around through blurry eyes and began to cry harder. A shard of glass fell into his foot from the broken table above as he hit it with his arm. Doug examined the sharp glass and then looked at his wrist. Out of the darkness, the spirit of rage rapped incessantly on the front door, drawing Doug's attention away from taking his own life. He looked at the blood that dripped from his wrist and hand, the shard of glass still cutting his flesh.
"Tell suicide not to kill the human, yet we need him alive."
"It was just starting to get good." Death said with a crooked grin.
"Lord Baal has plans for this one, "Rage hissed, "As you wish." Death said as he cracked the door in two with his anger fueled fist. "I need to kill something tonight." and he disappeared into the shadowy night.
Doug yelled at the door as he grabbed a t-shirt, wrapping his hands with it. "I'm gonna wring your neck for breaking my door," hoping to scare off whoever it was that hit his door. Doug assumed it was the local teenagers playing another cruel prank. "You better run!" He yelled louder as he yanked the door open, tearing the door in half. A paper bag sat on the front step with a note attached. Doug grabbed the bag and was suddenly overwhelmed with a deep-seated sense of fear, as if someone had a knife to his throat. He forced the broken door shut the best he could and fastened the locks before sliding down the wall while holding his chest, out of breath and heart racing. Doug looked around and began to laugh at himself, grabbing a beer that lay next to him. He grabbed the bag and read the note:
If you have problems, don't get a gun
Open the bag and have some fun
All your desires will come true
This, Doug, is what you must do
Follow the instructions to the "T"
Whisper his name and set him free.
Doug opened the bag and found an old leather book with faded golden letters, pictures of shadowy skulls chasing humans with sharp curved blades.
Five red and five black candles were tied together, resting next to a piece of carbon that looked as if it could have been a human bone at one time. Doug dropped everything and wiped his hands off on his jeans. "What is this crap?" He said as he finished another beer, letting the can fall to the floor, "It's not even Halloween yet, dumb kids." Doug laughed at the practical joke and the thought of him being scared as he got up and stumbled over the garbage in his living room. "I need another beer. All of this shit is killing my buzz." He snapped open the pull tab and watched the warm foam flow over his fingers before he guzzled it, passing out on the couch before the empty can hit the floor.
Hours passed, the room was smokey, unventilated, and filled with the stale odor of cigarettes, beer, and rotten food. Ashtrays overflowed onto the floor, counters, and end tables throughout. A single ray of sunlight found a solitary hole in the dark curtain. The light danced on Doug's face until it found his eyes and played there, as if trying to get his attention. Bloodshot eyes struggled to stay shut, to no avail, "Someone… aannyone, please turn the lights off. Turn down the radio, the drums are killing me" Doug whimpered, hoping that it was all a dream. He looked around and realized that he was in his living room and the pounding was the omnipotent hangover from last night's chaos and mayhem. He knew how to fix the problem. "I need a beer." He grabbed an open beer can and tried to down it but found a cigarette butt mix in with the warm liquid. Warm beer exploded out of his mouth all over himself and the living room. "No more open ones, stupid." He reached into a case laying on the floor. A smile curled onto his face as his hand came back with a full can. Doug snapped the tab open and watched the white foam crest the mouth of the can, he kissed the can and said, "I missed you sweetheart." guzzling it quickly, "Yep…" He looked at the empty can, "Old faithful, AAHHHH!"
Doug downed two more beers before he felt normal enough to get up and start his day, lighting an old half-smoked butt, he went to place his lighter on the table and found the leather book, candles, and carbon instead sitting on the floor in a pile. The note screamed out to his curiosity. Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the note and read it for the second time while aimlessly he grabbed a slice of week-old pizza, gnawing through the hard crust and shriveled pepperonis leaving nothing behind. The warmth, bitterness, and destruction of another beer washed down the spoiled food. "AAAHHHH! Breakfast of champions." He said as he looked at the empty beer can.
Doug took a satisfied breath and turned the T.V. on, looking for mind-numbing entertainment. Doug watched a family having a birthday party in a park, the commercial he had seen before and hated. His mind began to play tricks on him as the mother's face became his ex-wife's, the children became his, and the father became him. Doug's ex-wife and children began to dance around him laughing and smiling, they all looked so happy. The spirits of error and pride began to play with Doug's mind and changed his face on the screen to others. His ex-wife didn't even notice, "Hey! Hey! Sammi, it's not me!" Doug yelled and tried to turn off the T.V. but nothing worked. Doug was forced to watch his ex-wife and children laugh and have fun with a stranger. A man that he knew and loved turned and looked at Doug while he squeezed Sammi's ass and began to kiss her, "You dirty fucking whore! Fuck you, George Clooney!" he felt the subjugation loose from him as he threw an empty beer can at the T.V. "You whore, how could you?" He turned to look away from the Party City advertisement, noticing all of the cracked picture frames all over his living room; they were all missing the glass and his ex-wife's face, especially the pictures that were filled with deep creases and wrinkles from when he crumbled them in a fit of rage. Anger and rage resurfaced and began to spill all over Doug's mind and emotions. Deep breaths and weak whispers escaped from his mouth. All of these things, the commercials, the pictures, and his apartment reminded him that he was a loser, giving him another reason to continue drinking. Doug was finally able to turn off the T.V. and slammed the remote through the empty space where the glass was supposed to be, hitting the floor hard. "You're so stupid, Doug! What's wrong with you?" Those words spilled from his mouth as if his ex-wife had said them. He was tired of his life and was ready to die, it was just so hard by himself. He looked around for another beer and, instead, found the leather book. Curious, he read the first chapter. His curiosity intensified, so he began to follow the instructions. Doug took the bone and drew a large pentagram on the hardwood floor within his kitchen, placing the candles as directed, lighting them accordingly. He sat within the pentagram and began chanting ancient words, evil words that made his skin crawl with every syllable. As he spoke the final words the candles began to flare and flicker, billowing streams of both black and crimson smoke. A thunderhead gathered above him, turning into a swirling vortex that was eerily illuminated by flashes of lightning. The room came to life, he jumped as a blood curdling chill enveloped his being and began to crawl across his goose bumped skin; the atmosphere had changed. Doug's breath chilled his teeth, making his jaw chatter and violently shake as he looked around. The room was filled with dense swirls of smoke and clouds, making it nearly impossible to see within the room. A moment later a warm gust of air hit him as the candles relit themselves. Doug's heart leapt within his chest as the fear and excitement divided him into two halves that warred against each other. Was this real? Could these words and this book hold all of the answers? Doug hoped that all of this hadn't been some kind of a joke, or a delicious alcohol fueled illusion.
Doug found himself unconsciously holding his breath, his anticipation and hopes dispersing with the last of the multicolored smoke and the candles that melted and flowed into a murky river of wax. Doug closed his eyes and dropped his chin to chest as the disappointment and self-loathing settled itself around him again, a familiar friend. He laughed at the fact that he had already allowed himself to hope for something he had learned not to do so long ago. He despised himself for breaking that cardinal rule, "Still a gullible asshole after all these years, Doug." He muttered under his breath. All of this nonsense brought a flood of unpleasant memories. The memories he tried to forget and drown; the religion of his mother, the patriotism of his family, his brother's so-called love, his marriage, the idea of a successful and rewarding career. It was all soul crushing.
Warm air continued to circulate within the pentagram, sweat beads began to surface on his forehead and under his arms. Doug looked around again, something didn't feel right. Eyes watched, he could feel eyes on him, yet he couldn't see through the shifting haze. He studied the room, looking to the left and the right desperately. A surge of emotion created a violent storm inside of his already racked mind. Doug's eyes inadvertently pulled toward the center of his filthy living where a woman of surpassing beauty stood, her eyes drawing him in.
She was captivating with her dark chestnut hair, olive skin, and bold middle eastern features. Her face was the epitome of perfection with pleasing symmetry. She wore a simple short dress of white linen that flowed as if it were alive, from another time and place. Leather sandals graced her perfect feet and tied around delicate calves. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, yet her deminer and look was timeless. It was her eyes he realized, they were a brown so deep that they appeared to be black, like twin pools of liquid ink. A swirl of Jasper flashed within her inkwells of perfection, looking like a midnight storm in July. She had an ageless quality, but something else as well, a sense of knowing and authority that struck Doug as godlike. He felt his initial attraction and lust for her die completely, he now wanted what she had, whatever that was.
"Wh… who are yoyuu?" Doug stuttered, trying to find his words.
"You may call me Baal." she replied, her voice strung with an accent, as if she were speaking in rhythm with unheard music.
The name tickled some deep corner of Doug's memory, like an itch that couldn't be reached. The thought fled however as he realized that he had no clue as to what to ask next. He found himself gaping stupidly at her.
"I am here because you summoned me, Douglas," Baal offered, moving the conversation forward, "You summoned me because you desire something, a desire that I can satisfy."
"Are you a witch?" He asked earnestly.
"Nothing so mundane, Son of Adam," Baal replied lightly, "I am much more than any mere mortal could hope to be."
"Are you the devil?" Doug followed up with evident trepidation, his mouth dry with a blend of both fear and excitement.
"The creature you call Satan is another manner of being entirely," Baal answered with a throaty chuckle. "We are in entirely different families." Her gaze intensified as she spoke. "I was the god of Sidan, Samana, and Ekron. Diverse peoples and places worshiped me, they sacrificed to me, dedicated altars and raised Asherah poles in my name. My priest feely shed their own life blood and called upon my blessings, even kings of Israel paid homage to me and worshiped my likeness. All until the greedy and jealous one came along and stole their hearts from my brethren and I."
Baal-Zebub, the memory clicked into place for Doug, the creature's words dredging up stones learned in Sunday school and Bible studies many years before. Aside from the shock and surrealness of seeing Biblical stories come to life, Doug found himself strongly unmoved by the revelation. There was no guilt or sense of wrong speaking with Baal. What had God ever done for him anyhow? Besides, it was not like he was making a deal with the devil, right?
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