Enter the Exorcists

-- Father Andre, January 1st 2026 (afternoon, during Beth's meeting with Otto)--

You know how in A Christmas Carol, Scrooge gets so fucking excited after his epiphany that he has to run out and start yelling it to everybody, despite the cold, despite his status, despite sounding like some kind of lunatic?

Well, I've got more dignity than that. The supernatural happenings I'd seen take place with my own eyes in Otto's rank-ass fish shack had me wanting to do it, but I wasn't going to do it. Instead, I was going to handle this confirmation of my beliefs with all of the dignity of the only ordained priest South Patch had to its name. I returned to my church...

... and I took another fuck off that fine-ass girl I picked up at the night club a few days ago, the out-of-towner who'd been staying with me.

In general, my philosophy is don't shit where you eat. I don't fuck those within my congregation. But I do fuck. For me to not fuck would be a crime against all women, I feel, and surely God can't want that, right? So I head up to the night club from time to time and put the moves on the out-of-towners. It ain't hard, trust me. Hell, I'm a gentlemen with the ladies, and even if I wasn't, I still don't think it would be hard.

I'm so gentlemanly that I've been letting this particular out-of-towner, fine-ass lady who goes by Trish, sleep in the study, going on three days now. Doesn't hurt that she and I are making communion in the eyes of the Lord twice or thrice every single day. I took a deep drag of my cigarette and marveled again at the wonders that our God above can produce on this earth. Big, black tits? Huuuge black booty? Top it all off with the biggest afro I think anybody's rocked in South Patch since the 80s? If she'd been harder to get back here, I probably would have actually put some effort in for once and switched strategies to seal the deal. Sorry South Patch-- this out-of-towner has got to be from some far off Sex Planet, because she is not of this earth, when it comes to sheer fucking talent and fuckability. When she got on all fours on that sofa and let me hit it from behind, both hands clapped onto all that ass meat and all of that jiggling as her body rocked it back and forth, she really was some kind of sexual alien. South Patch women... no, human women, they just didn't compare.

Plus, she was smart, too. Smart in the ways that matter. That was important today, because I wanted her to be the first person besides fucking Otto Sugar that I laid out all my bullshit in front of. While she lay on that long, red sofa I kept in the study-- the one doubling as her bed these days-- I spelled it all out for her. Trish was wearing a foxy panty set, white-and-black with tiger stripes like a Siberian, without the bra that normally went with it, so I could put my eyes on that great pair of hers whenever I needed to cool down a bit. I was wearing nothing at all, because that was the way she seemed to like it.

Actually, she was wearing one more thing, now that I think on it: a pendant in the shape of a silver cross atop a circle. Either way, point I want to make: she was still looking fine as hell in the afterglow of our body slapping. I liked to think I was too, especially since I needed to be to sell her on this maniacal theory I'd been working on.

"So that's it, Trish. Ghosts are real and I've known it since I was a kid and my brother became one. He vanished one day and that's when I learned, my 'babysitter' wasn't a sitter at all, she was a sister. That bitch was an exorcist, sent by the Vatican themselves to erase any trace of my brother, including the boy himself, in some exorcist ritual. Church has been covering 'em up, ghosts all over the world. The exorcists are all women and they come in two flavors: red habit and white habit. The red habit you'll see all over the place. They're the more public face of the exorcists and they're sort of like the first brush. If they fail, that's when the white ones come in. My babysitter was one of the reds... didn't wear the habit most of the time, but I saw it in her bag once. The white ones, they stay away from cameras mostly, but they are out there. There's proof, online, if you know where to look. They're modern day ninjas, more or less, and they're the A team when the red ones fail."

I passed her my cigarette and she took another long puff, before putting it out at the ash tray by the couch. "Baby, I think you've been working too hard. 'Only priest in South Patch' works you harder than you think it does," she suggested. "You told me that story before and I didn't believe it. Now I think you and some bozo left your flies down and mistook that as some kind of miracle."

I let a little scowl on my face, frustrated. This woman was supposed to be here as my guest, not as my mom. "Ain't no miracle, it's ghostly intervention. Why the hell would God want my Johnson out, huh? Think about who does have the motivation: Ichika. And I remind you, the fly went down twice. I zipped it up once on the doorstep and again when I entered the man's house." I smirked and spread my hands out to either side, basking in the knowledge of my truth. "If the zipper goes down twice, you must take my advice: ghosts are as real as you or me."

She pat the spot on the couch next to her with her palm and scooched her fine ass over, offering me a seat. When I took that spot, she slid in behind me, lying across the couch a bit and massaging my neck and shoulders and playing at my skin with her long fingernails. Damn, that felt nice... So nice I was about to forget I still had to make a believer out of her. "You know what I've seen since I've come to know you, Andre? A hard-working man who gives it all for his community. A scion of the people, respected in his community. Not to mention a sexual beast."

I gave a grunt of satisfaction, hoping that those fingers of hers were going to work her way downward at some point. I could feel myself getting stiff, ready for another round.

"But you're also obsessed. You've built up so much and it sounds to me like you're about to tear it all down, running out into the snow and telling people about how Casper the Friendly Ghost isn't a movie, it's facts. You hear how that sounds? Why don't you drop it, huh? Let's you and I stay in and make ourselves some hot chocolate. It's cold out there, isn't it?"

"Real fucking cold," I agreed.

"And it's warm in here, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah." I felt my cock throbbing.

"So baby, what do you need to go talking about ghosts and all that stuff for anyway? Why not just cuddle up with me and sleep the afternoon away, huh? Church is closed tomorrow too, right? When we wake up, we'll go all midnight." She purred, just like a cat. "You're a respected priest who gets to fuck whoever he likes in his study. Why mess all that up?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. It's more important than anything I've ever done for South Patch. The world needs to know what the Vatican's keeping from them. It's ****, Trish." There wasn't a moment's hesitation in my voice. I truly believed my shit.

"Oh, Andre... You're going to sleep today whether you like it or not."

I didn't quite catch her meaning. One of her hands had left the massage at some point and I became aware of the other one pushing down on the spot between the neck and the shoulder-- the traps, that's what they call that part. I let her. I softened up because I figured that missing hand was going toward the spot that made sense, preparing to massage either the hair between my naval and my groin if she was feeling flirty , or right onto my shaft if she was feeling direct.

I didn't get either. Instead, I felt a needle piercing the other side of my traps.

I stood up and swung my body around, seeing a couple of Trishes sitting there on the couch, each giving me a sorry smile as they waved in and out of view. I heard her saying something about how I really was a good priest. I opened my mouth to throw her some of my classic pillow talk, but the words wouldn't come to my brain, let alone my throat. I felt my jaw flap open and it all felt numb. Then, I collapsed forward towards her, falling into her outstretched, waiting arms, right onto that wonderful pillow of her bosom.

--Sister Katy-Marie, January 1st, 2026 (afternoon, same time)--

"I still don't understand why you sent Sister Patricia to deal with the priest. I could have handled him easily. She's taken too long-- the priest even had time to meet with our target! Who knows what the target's learned already?" I wasn't pouting about having been assigned to surveillance over the past three days since we arrived in South Patch-- I was stating a perfectly legitimate complaint. "I think there's a good chance she was seduced. She's lost her nerve! A disappearance mission shouldn't take three days!"

If I'd been assigned, I wouldn't have been seduced. I'm a Red Sister still, but I take my job very, very seriously, more so than Sister Patricia, even though there's talks she's about to be promoted from red to white. I could have done the injection in a matter of minutes.

My superior, an absurdly tall woman with pasty flesh and stupidly long black hair that hung all nasty from her white hood, frowned at me like I was the one with bad hygiene and poor supervising habits. "You're not the priest's taste. You're better for this mission. We'll deploy you when the time is right," she grunted back, then returned to looking at her phone. "Sit still for now. Don't you have games on your phone you can play while nothing's happening?"

I didn't get what Sister Superior Nell meant by that comment on tastes. How was I more his type? This rube was married to a big-bodied Asian woman with obscene breasts and a wide posterior region. I was just the opposite: petite, fair-skinned, with doll-like blond hair like a princess's. It was ridiculous to compare the two of us. "First off, I could have handled the mission of getting picked up by the priest, easily!"

"Uh huh. I'm trying to imagine you in club-wear and I'm not seeing it at all." That infuriating Nell wasn't even looking in my direction.

"Secondly, I don't look a thing like the target's wife."

"He has an extremely wide strike zone. Hell, I could probably get him-- I look a lot more like his wife than you do, right? But you're well within his list of 'types' because that's almost every woman."

"Thirdly, why does this mission call for seduction in the first place?! It's a fresh haunting, right? The spirit probably isn't powerful at all yet. We should put up some containment candles around the outside of the house and be done with it."

"... Look, do you want to become a Sister Superior or not, huh?" Nell barked back, furrowing her brow and looking genuinely scary, like a brute, as her grayish eyes turned towards me. "You've got to do missions I assign you if you want that recommendation, whether they're humiliating or not. Plus, look at this guy's modus operandi: when he's not at his desk job, he spends all his time either fapping or entertaining his wife, which I think goes along pretty similar lines, according to the reports. Not to mention his new wife just died. If ever there was a target for seduction, it's him." She sighed, then looked back to her phone. "Plus, seduction is the **** way to do it. If he forgets about the ghost, she'll go away on her own, and he goes back to his normal life. No reason to break out the rough stuff."

I settled back into my seat with my binoculars, watching the house. Everything was going wrong here and the Sister Superior just didn't seem to get it. The priest had made contact. Sister Patricia's mission was stalled. On top of all of that, the local authorities were not cooperating with us. We'd delivered a letter to the town's sole police officer a moment ago and she seemed to have completely ignored the meet-up request we put in.

On top of that, our horn-dog of a target had just ordered himself a prostitute on a bicycle-- that had to be another perverse local custom for South Patch that I didn't approve of one bit. She'd shown up in a slutty dress, waited on the steps for a while, then **** her way inside. It was quite a vulgar scene. It also spoke to his strangely broad taste in women, I suppose.

"Oh shit!" Nell suddenly exclaimed, turning to face me. "Look, look!"

"What?!" I asked, leaning out the window with my binoculars for any change from the house's direction.

She grabbed my shoulder and spun me forcefully to look at the screen of her phone. There was wild, pointless excitement in her bleary eyes. "Looooook! I'm ranked top ten in the server! I'm going to get a custom avatar frame!"

I trembled with rage, then jammed by binoculars forward, thrusting them into her big breasts so that she could return them to the glove-box. "Aaaah!!" I screamed, not in a bratty way, but in justifiably upset way, a much more refined way than whatever you're imagining. "I can't take this any more! I'm going inside and you can't stop me, Nell! I'll offer him a scented candle, he'll light it, and the ghost will be repelled! It's that simple!"

Before the Sister Superior could stop me, I stormed outside, forgetting my coat and trudging out in my long, red habit and snow boots. I instantly regretted my decision. I'd grown up on the west coast where weather this cold just never hit. I felt like I was going to become an adorable snowman in the target's driveway before I could even reach his front door. Still, I heroically persevered, trudging through the snowstorm, which my superior will report had lightened up in the afternoon, but was actually a truly frightening flurry. I was too proud to turn back, even to get my coat. No, not proud-- too driven by my mission!

I then retrieved a containment candle from inside of my frock's breast pouch. These little candles are sold all around the world, but few understood their true purpose. Publicly, these are called consolation candles, intended as thoughtful gifts for soothing those with recently deceased. They release a gentle aroma when burnt, pleasing to most palettes, and give the room a nice scent and soft, candle-lit glow. Who could protest? And who could ever know that they're doing a lot of our work for us when they burn these candles, driving off ghosts before they have time to take root and learn the routine necessitated by their new appalling, unnatural forms?

These containment candles repel ghosts. When used by the masses-- or where we plant them-- they make it hard for ghosts to inhabit familiar areas. This, in turn, lessens the connection of the ghost to those they hold attachments to, eventually allowing their spirit to rest.

In more severe cases, we will attempt to cage the ghost in with an arrangement of these containment candles. It is a bit harsher for the ghost, as they are **** to face the repellent on all sides and ultimately shrivel and die in place like a wadded up little bug, but understand, it is the humane thing to do for the sake of those who live.

Ah... I'm quite fond of the scent, actually. Perhaps I'll stay and watch the target light it. Just thinking about it is making me warmer, fortifying me against the cold. Indeed, by the time I reached the front porch, I wasn't thinking about the snowy weather at all. I was just thinking about my soul-fulfilling mission, the dignity of my duty, and the salvation of this poor man, who needed my services.

I raised my gloved fist to knock upon the door while wearing a serene smile upon my face. To all the world, I would look like a saint.

I was an adorable, holy maiden who anyone would surely invite inside their home.

I was totally innocent as well, just doing what God desired of me.

And I was... terrified!

Terrified as the door suddenly flung open and a man, only a little taller than myself with his hair in an unfashionable blond mop-top, came flying out with a panicked expression on his face. I raised the candle as though to defend myself-

--Otto, January 1st, 2026, late afternoon--

"Shit!"

I shouted the word, followed by a long series of "oooh" and "uwoooh" like one of the Wet Bandits from the Home Alone movies slipping on marbles, ice, or some combination of the two, as I barreled straight into the stranger outside my door. It all happened about as badly as it possibly could. I was going at full speed, the only way I figured I'd escape Beth's pursuit, and I wasn't looking where I was going. The ice on the porch increased my momentum even further and carried me along with the woman I just crashed into, down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. I couldn't keep track of what all was going on, but she'd been carrying a candle, and that ended up stuck inside of her mouth as she wore a mortified, angry expression on her otherwise pretty face, with shock flashing madly in her green eyes.

It was probably the worst first impression I'd made on anybody in my life, and you saw what just happened with Beth.

She couldn't protest or even speak as the two of us fell down together, skidding across the sidewalk and then burying her head-up in the snow. Miraculously, I was completely safe. She'd broken my fall and made a perfect sled. Judging by her outfit, she was some sort of door-to-door caroler or perhaps a missionary, and she was truly doing the work of God, protecting me from the fall just now.

Speaking of her outfit, I only knew that she was from a church from the brief look I'd gotten earlier, because it had become a complete mess. The frock she was wearing had slid up around her modest breasts, along with the chemise underneath it, to reveal a pair of plain black snow-boots and white, silk drawers. The drawers weren't particularly remarkable, about knee length down and reaching nearly up to the belly, but the fact that this was the type of thing a clergywoman just doesn't show anybody made it feel especially indecent and erotic to look down at. Her body was... I guess doll-like is how I'd describe it, with slender hips.

Whatever doll-like grace she would have had was totally ruined by her being KO'd and half buried in the snow during our fall. When I rushed to dig her out, she still had the candle sticking out of her mouth, pointed straight up with the wick hidden behind her lips. I tossed the candle aside onto the pile of consolation bouquets sitting on my front porch, then I began to lift her up, struggling to keep my footing on the ice.

Beth came out after me, but instead of chasing me, she stood awe-struck in the doorway. She was still crossing her arms across her chest to hide her bare breasts. Thankfully, that awkward running stance had slowed her down a bit. "Who is that? What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing- grk!" I retorted, before slipping and ending up burying my face in the woman's belly, with my chin against her drawers. My attempt to put her over my shoulder wasn't working.

"Do you want an honest answer? Because it's something that also goes onto your criminal record."

"N-No, I'm just lifting her to get her back inside!" I growled, trying to switch to a respectful princess carry instead. I couldn't manage to turn her sideways right and, still front facing, she dropped a bit. I felt her bottom go down against my very erect boner as she slipped in my grasp, all dead fish. Her body was so delicate and the momentary feeling of softness from the thin garment covering her buttocks was just right.

"For the love of- Stop before you rack up any other charges against yourself!" Beth pleaded, now switching to use just one arm while going to support me and the girl with the other one. I was distracted again as I watched her breasts bounced... the one arm coverage wasn't working at all. Never does! Us porn buffs know that the appeal of the one arm censorship is that it never quite hides everything, heh heh. "Otto Sugar, if you drop this girl onto your penis again while you're distracted looking at my chest, I swear-!"

I shook my head rapidly to indicate that I wasn't going to make that mistake again. I worked with Beth to get the unknown girl inside and shut the door. We lay her down upon the couch and fixed her clothes to a more reasonable state.

Once we'd done that, she really was quite beautiful... she looked like she'd stepped straight out of those eroge RPGs I played sometimes, the ones where your party was all women and there was a warrior, a thief, and a healer that looks like her. I could only imagine that when she was operating at full capacity, she was quite demure and saintly, just like one would want from a woman of the cloth. It made me feel pretty bad for decking her like that. I stared at her face for a bit, trying to imagine her story... what had brought her here at such an unusual time? She was the third visitor to make it inside of my house today, despite my trying to shut everyone out.

"Otto, would you please control yourself?!"

"What? I didn't do anything! I'm being good now. I-"

I looked down. The girl's frock was up again, exposing the drawers, and the drawers were half slipped down from the girl's waist, revealing a very neat patch of blond pubic hair there. I was happy that my wife was growing in strength and still as frisky as ever, but she was too curious for her own good! Seeing an RPG cleric like this wander inside was probably driving her into an ero frenzy.

"I didn't do that..." I answered back weakly.

"Then who did? Hm?"

"... I-I think she just jostled herself a little," I answered, unsure if I wanted to tell Officer Beth the delusional-sounding story of how my wife was molesting girls, possibly for my perceived benefit, from the afterlife. "Rolling in her sleep and all that."

"Well, it is good that she's not injured too heavily. That was a nasty fall," Beth sighed, then fixed the girl's drawers and frock.

As she turned her attention back to me, I used one hand to try to hold down the edge of the sister's garment, which was constantly threatening to roll back up via mysterious forces. Beth had fixed her dress back, but predictably, that zipper was going back down too, evidenced by the jerky noise of metal on cloth I occasionally picked out. This was going to be my life until I managed to lay some ground rules with my new ghost wife.

Beth kept talking. "She has ID on her... It looks like her name is Katy-Marie. Cute name..."

"You said it, not me."

Beth coughed into her fist, putting on a more serious expression. "She's apparently normally residing in Italy, near Vatican City. Long way from home, huh?"

It finally struck me just then, as I had a very brief moment of not having a woman's tits or ass or pussy flashed at me: Father Andre had mentioned exorcists would be coming for Ichika. The appearance of this strange Catholic nun looking figure on my doorstep was no coincidence. She was one of the exorcists that was charged with taking care of Ichika! I may have actually just unintentionally bought myself some time by knocking her ****. That said, another unsettling thought had occurred to me.

"Huh? Where are you going? I'm not letting you run away. You're still under arrest!" Beth reminded me, standing up from the sofa again as I ran for the door. As she did, her dress fell down again, exposing her breasts and causing her to shout and cover them with both arms. "H-How?!" she cried in frustration, not understanding that my ghostly wife was behind it. "I'm going to arrest Sheryl for making me wear this!"

Thankfully for her, I wasn't actually trying to run away right now. I just had to confirm something important. I threw open the door...

... and saw what I suspected. The white van from earlier had vanished. Whoever was in it had taken off, knowing I'd come knocking or maybe get a plate number after discovering their exorcist. The exorcist in my living room had definitely come from that van... and that van had been watching my house most of the day, at least since Father Andre took off. They were already making their move, and Katy-Marie here wasn't the only one.

I turned back around slowly, wearing a serious expression as Officer Beth struggled to reach the zipper on her back while ineffectively tucking her breasts into that purposely skimpy tube dress. "Hey... do you still have those handcuffs?" I asked her, remembering the ones she'd pulled out to use on me earlier.

"Of course I do... and don't look! O-Or do look and come help me zip the back of my dress."

I took the latter option, approaching the red-faced officer without staring at her chest and zipping up her dress like a true gentleman would. I needed her to be in my good graces for my next proposition. "Do you think I could borrow those handcuffs?"

She looked back at me over her bare shoulder with one eyebrow raised quizzically.