an altrustic priest making a housecall for an exorcism, expecting to have to do some spiritual counselling and refer the afflicted to various health services as usual, but he always brings his full exorcism kit along, just in case. he arrives to find the only occupant of the isolated country home is the afflicted man, who welcomes him in most cordially. he seems fairly well and he's in good spirits, surprisingly good, though he does appear near feverish, flushed, erratically excited, and mumbles things under his breath the priest can't catch. the priest offers whatever help and solace he can provide, pledging his service. the afflicted is very grateful indeed.
as they talk over tea (the priest was too polite to refuse), the man seems far more interested in asking the priest about himself than in explaining his own woes, of which he was admittedly rather vague about in his beckoning letter. when the priest gently coaxes him to open up, he smiles, chuckling, and ushers him upstairs.
"it'll be easier to show than tell," he says.
the priest follows without a second thought. when they reach the bedroom, he doesn't realise what he's looking at until the afflicted closes the door behind. the priest swallows nervously.
"h-have you been using these restraints on yourself, trying to cope with the presence you feel?" the priest asks, words stumbling. the afllicted speaks next in two voices at once.
"no, father, we have not. they're new, in fact, but we're oh so eager to break them in. won't you help us, father? won't you relieve our burden?"
the priest's eyes go wide, flick to the door blocked by the man's form. his body seems to shift in the shadows of the bedroom, eyes flashing an unearthly light. frantically, the priest fumbles through his bag, searching for his bottle of holy water, only for it to boil in his hand when he pulls it out. he yelps and drops it to the ground with a crash and a splash, cradling his burnt and steaming hand as the man paces closer.
the afflicted voice splits.
"awh, look at him, he looks like a frightened church cat." "he looks like he's burnin' up, my love. should we help him out of those stuffy clothes?" "in due time, darling. all in due time."
when the priest begins reciting prayer after prayer, holding forth his rosary in a shaking hand, two voices overlap as they laugh, bouncing off the walls.
"we're afraid we misled you, father. we don't want you to do us part. but we do want to take you up on that offer of your services. what is it you said? 'whatever I can do to bring some relief?' hmhmhm. it feels like christmas. if you're going to keep praying, preacher, why don't you go ahead and get on your knees?"
