Wednesday, May 15, 2013
The Mischievous Demon
I antagonized—in an insulting way—the demon who was irritating me, and as uncustomary, he received a wiry grin from me. This was back in 1987; I had been a new born Christian for some three years then. From his vanity bag he gave me a “Yeh!” then produced an awful smell, it was putrid, I can only remember a worse smell once when I was at a slaughterhouse, in what they called the ‘Rose Room,’ and people were bringing loads of guts and pig heads and cow heads, and parts of cow hides and pig hides, and nasty organs covered with slim and blood and pus, to be brunet in the what was a pit of flames: after a long moment one almost vomited, hence no one stayed in the room they threw the animal parts into the pit and vacated quickly.
Anyhow, the stink had filled the whole room, the mischievous sprite laughed mirthlessly at this disgusting joke that I found not so funny. When I came out of the bathroom having completed my shower, I wasn’t at all sure what to say to my mother, what her answer would be, she had only been a new born Christian for less than a year. When she went to the bathroom to check, or test the results of the smell, and my proclamation, it was no longer quite as vivid. Although there had never been any doubt as to her answer.
This had been a second time occurrence for me, once, a year earlier, while sitting in my car deliberating over some business, or perhaps daydreaming on some obligation or event to be. I had told the imp or demon to get out of my car, he had been whispering some derogatory insults towards me—, trying to provoke me, with an outstretched finger, I scolded him, and I told him a second time: in Christ’s name to get out of my car and stay out.
“What are you doing in my car, you wild sow!” I think I added said; if not, something to that effect. And of course, that nasty grin I can give when I’m upset. A grin the demon thought was not so laughable, thus, with his a high pitched voice tinkling, like chiming Chinese wind bells, —not sure what he was trying to say, but what he did was stink my car up with the reeking pong from the pit of hell before he left.
I suppose if I’ve learned anything in those far-off days it was: you don’t scorn a demon if you don’t want a stale drag of his breath.
Originally named: “Demons with Chinese Wind Bells” (changed, 5-8-2013)