CHAPTER FIVE: In which a humble diocesan priest beseeches his Church for aid.

In the morning, Michael was exhausted. He scarcely wanted to remember the rest of that night: pulling a pillow over his head, hunkering down, ignoring Yael's taunts until she seemed to grow bored and faded away into Lord only knows where. A few shreds of uneasy sleep. And now the dawn light peeked in his window.

Michael rifled through his clothes drawers, looking for the one thing he knew he could rely on as a weapon in the next stage of the fight. Aha, there they were. Thick, grey, cotton t-shirts. Just the thing to avoid chafing, and detection, when you sported plump, womanly nipples on your chest. He pulled one on, sighing in relief. It masked his newly developed nipples perfectly, so he wore it with a pair of black priestly slacks, an unbuttoned jacket, and his usual loafers. Everything was back to normal; it was a lie, but necessary to function. Michael walked across the yard to the church, and found Susan sitting outside the side gate, waiting for him.

"Morning, Father. I'm glad to see you up and about. Anything… else happen? Last night?" She swept her cascade of black hair behind one shoulder to give Michael a quick once-over, not so subtly peering at his face, his backside, his hands.

"Susan... Susan, please. I don't want to talk about it." The young woman gasped.

"Talk about what? Did you have a nocturnal visitation? Those are quite common in cases like this. Did she change something else? Your feet? Your stomach... oh my goodness! Your..." Michael held a hand up. "Please stop right there, Susan." Susan blinked her large brown eyes and sighed but did not speak again for several moments. Finally, she took a deep breath and sat upright on the stone bench. "All right, Father. I'll be serious. What happened last night?"

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose and began to stalk towards the main building of the church. "Nothing happened. Nothing I care to speak of." When it became clear that Susan wouldn't take this for an answer, walking alongside and staring at him, he barked "My nipples, all right? It's my nipples."

Father John, the newest priest assigned to the parish, rounded the corner of the building, looking understandably surprised. "Your—your… what, father?" said the younger priest, his eyebrows raising. Susan blanched and hurriedly interjected "... Father Michael was just telling me that he needs to bring his NICKELS. His nickels, for the holiday change drive!"

John looked a bit incredulous, but smiled, a somewhat indulgent look on his broad and handsome face. He was a good-looking man, thought Michael suddenly, skin the color of toffee with a short beard, and tight, kinky hair that was shaved on the sides but slightly bushier at the top of his skull, a fashionable cut that Michael hadn't the least idea how to name.

John was built like a wrestler with broad shoulders, a muscular physique, and was probably about thirty years old, although his open countenance made him seem younger. He had been assigned to the parish by the Vatican after the elderly Father Boudreau retired, and Michael liked him. Father John stepped inside, and Susan winced apologetically at Michael before following suit.

Inside, Michael and Susan took a left and entered the parish offices, much to Michael's relief. "No more about me. Let's call the Archdiocese immediately." He picked up the big black telephone and dialed, then asked the receptionist to get Monsignor Albert as soon as possible. "Please hold," came the polite response, and then they found themselves listening to elevator music, on speakerphone.

Susan sat down and looked sadly at Michael. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't pry."

Michael shook his head. "It's fine, really. I'd rather you know what's happening. I should've told you from the beginning. This is going to sound crazy, but I think Yael is trying to turn me into… her."

Susan frowned. "I still don't understand how that's even possible. She's a demon. You're a human. Despite the records we found, there aren't too many stories of demons who do more than possess and control bodies—who could truly transform a human being. Lycanthropic or vampiric infection can change the body, but demons…?"

Michael nodded. "Yet it's certainly true of my body. Just little bits here and there so far. My body hair was the first thing she changed. Then she inflated my nipples. Tonight, maybe it'll be my feet that become petite size fours. Or my chest. Then maybe my thighs, then my stomach. It's the worst exercise plan in the universe." The hold music continued to play. Father Michael picked up an apple from a basket on a side table. "Imagine that I'm this apple, Susan. And that Yael is something like a worm."

Susan's expression grew concerned as she listened to Michael. "I understand the theory of possession, Father Michael. But why does Yael need a host body, and why you in particular?"

Michael took another bite of the apple. "I think the first answer is pretty obvious. Yael is a demon. She's a parasite, and exists by feeding on sexual energy, but also by hollowing out a home inside a host body. Devouring a psyche from the inside, so that there's nothing left eventually... but her." Michael swallowed his mouthful of fruit, then spoke more seriously. "And since Yael is a succubus, then she must be doing this to me because I'm a particular kind of human that she likes, I suspect. A virgin." Susan nodded thoughtfully and regarded him with quiet intensity.

"So, what do we do?" Father Michael said nothing. Susan was undeterred. "Tell me, Father… have you ever had feelings of—"

"Monsignor Albert speaking," came a stern voice over the phone. Father Michael leapt to his feet.

"Yes, hello. Monsignor Albert, thank you for taking my call. It's Father Michael Belmont, down at St. Andrew's." This was going to be tricky. Michael was certain that Albert would over-react, or simply act to get rid of him through excommunication or worse, if he found out that a parish priest's body was home to a demon. But they had to ask for help somehow.

Albert's tone was impatient. "How can I help you, Father?"

Michael hesitated. "We have a serious problem here, Monsignor. I have reason to believe that a succubus may have targeted our parish and community. Signs have been found in the nave, after reports of strange noises, and I was hoping you could send for an exorcist."

Albert said nothing for a moment, as if thinking on the other side of the phone. Finally, he responded. "What kind of signs?"

Michael paused. He knew what Albert would say next; he had seen it before. "Well, uh, they were very small and hard to see. Like... like..." He couldn't find the words to describe them. "Like they were carved into the floor and walls." Susan held up a finger, flipping through a book, then began to draw a pattern on a piece of paper.

Michael continued. "Scorch marks, in a jagged halo radiating outwards, and tiny hexagons etched into the floor and walls, in a pentagram formation. We couldn't determine who might have done it... but I think that it suggests..." Michael paused as Susan mouthed the words "possessed."

Michael cleared his throat and spoke again, "It seems to me that someone in this parish may already have been possessed. But... the church has no way of determining who that might be." He wasn't lying, not exactly.

Monsignor Albert sounded like he was shuffling some papers on the other end of the line, then spoke quickly and decisively, in a tone used to delivering orders. "Father Belmont, I will send for an exorcist right away. Please keep us apprised of your situation. Do not cause a panic by telling anyone else. If you determine the victim, or if any more significant activity occurs, it is likely we will have to quarantine your parish."

The Monsignor hung up abruptly. Susan looked at Father Michael. He shrugged helplessly. "He's sending for an exorcist. That's all we can hope for." Susan sighed.

A knock came at the door, and Father John stepped into the room. "Everything okay? You two look like someone ate the ice cream you'd been saving." Michael laughed weakly.

"Oh, yes, everything is fine now. Well, given our situation. Father John, we may have a demon problem. The Monsignor is sending for an exorcist. We should have a specialist here before long. Until then, don't let anyone know what's happened here. Don't talk about it outside. Don't mention it to anyone who doesn't need to hear about it." Michael was quite aware that the younger priest had likely been listening right outside the door.

Father John's brow furrowed in consternation. "A demon... what sort of demon? Is there anything else I should know, any safeguards we should be taking?" He seemed genuinely concerned. Michael realized how lucky he was to have a young colleague who cared so much about his job.

Michael shook his head. "No, no, we're safe here for now. Just don't tell anyone about what's happened until the exorcist arrives. There is no point in spreading panic or creating fear in the parish. I don't know what the Vatican exorcist is likely to ask of us, but I know you'll be willing to help at that point. Also..." He hesitated for a moment, glanced at Susan, then back at John. "If anything happens to me, or for instance if I'm called away... I trust the two of you to carry on." Susan nodded, while Father John remained silent, still frowning.

"I just want to make sure that the parish is well taken care of during this crisis. And please, do not try to act on your own. The Church knows what to do when it comes to demonic possession. Let them handle things from here." Father Michael began to straighten papers on his desk, nervously.

Susan stood up. "Father John, could you help me with the tablecloths for the children's hour snack time? I promised I'd set up for that."

John nodded, and the two of them left the office together, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.