a·bys·mal

tell me in the name of all that’s holy tell me you’re fucking kidding

charlie danworth grudging exorcist  think constatine  without the lung cancer 

location: boston . washington . baltimore  eastern seaboard 

occupation: freelancer for the church the catholic church the big one the bad boy of religion exorcist 

that’s what they say but then again they said that morphine was medicine  and women belonged in the home

so maybe what they say  isn’t worth shit.

he grew up, south boston.

thick accent, strong father who smoked too much  and talked too little. thin mother, bones about coming out of her skin  with a smile that made up for the bite of her narrow embrace.

church saturday mornings sunday afternoons. god on the lips before dinner jesus on the wall before bed.

wasn’t until he was twelve that he took notice of it all

wasn’t until he started hearing things through the walls through his palms pressed against his ears through the yelling he threw to try and drown it out.

it just happened, one day. he could hear them could see them too - clearer than day. 

dead things. demon things.

things that made your stomach turn  and your blood ache to hide deeper  than your veins will let it.