Ozark Banshee

By Malachi Stone

OZARK BANSHEE is the story of “Pastor Mike,” a phony would-be exorcist who plans to make a killing from those he disdains as ignorant rubes in rural Missouri. Traveling with his girlfriend, Mike soon encounters Jeb and his family, latter-day pioneers who live off the land. Or are they ghosts from a bygone era? In any event, there’s a “haint” on Jeb’s old homestead, a familiar spirit or demon known as a banshee who holds the family in thrall. Jeb says he’s counting on Pastor Mike to free him and his brood from the banshee’s spell, but Mike seems more interested in selling out to the powers of darkness. A dramatic series of terrifying events convinces Mike to repent of his evil intentions and sinful deeds and to rescue Jeb and the others. But is Mike’s redemption complete enough and sincere enough to protect him during the final exorcism? Or will the forces of evil destroy him and those he loves before he can cast out the demon?
When I was a little kid my parents took me to the movies to see a Disney picture, Darby O’Gill and the Little People. That motion picture bears the dubious distinction of being Sean Connery’s first singing screen appearance, in which he croons his best in a duet with Janet Munro, a sappy tune called Pretty Irish Girl. (His second and last singing appearance onscreen to my knowledge was in Dr. No, in which he voices part of Under the Mango Tree.) I remember having a crush on Janet Munro, as nine-year-old boys will, and it was with great sadness I learned that she had died decades ago at the tragically young age of thirty-eight.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, later research has revealed to me that the movie was loosely based on a book of short stories entitled Darby O’Gill and the Good People penned by Herminie Templeton Kavanagh, née McGibney. The stories were written circa 1903 and initially serialized in McClure magazine two years before the author’s marriage to a Cook County, Illinois judge in the Hinky Dink Kenna and Bathhouse John Coughlin era. Today you can purchase the book for 99¢ from Amazon Kindle in a process more magical than even H.T. herself could have foreseen. Better yet, log onto Google Books and it won’t cost you a red cent to read. Don’t worry about chiseling the author out of royalties; the good woman went to her reward back in 1933 and besides, the book is in the public domain. For what it’s worth, I highly recommend it. I fell in love with the book as soon as I read the epigraph, an excerpt from a William Allingham poem called The Fairies, that draws us in like a magic spell:

Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk
Trooping altogether;
Green jacket, red cap
And white owl’s feather.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years’ long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.

I mention Darby O’Gill for two reasons. No, make that three.
Number one, whereas today the movie may seem whimsical and rather sweet, even by Walt Disney standards, to a young child of the sensitive variety back in 1959 the spooky scenes, especially the ones with the bewitched horse, the Cóiste Bodhar (death coach) and the Banshee herself scared the hell out of me. Did the abject fear that seized me by the tender young throat that fateful evening in the State Theater in Mendota Illinois go deep underground in my psyche, only to emerge years later as the inspiration for my latest novel OZARK BANSHEE?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Malachi Stone
• Release date: Dec 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005752248

Malachi Stone

Marlon Brando on Larry King Live quoted an unknown Louisiana woman who said, "Anybody who shows his face in public is an ass." (1) Mindful of those wise words, I created the pseudonym Malachi Stone to author my novels and short stories because, as a practicing attorney in a conservative community, my natural inclination was and still is to avoid notoriety and controversy wherever and whenever possible. That being said, my secret identity affords me a perverse Zorro-like gratification. I've been writing for more than twenty years. For a three-year period I was represented by a fine literary agent (2) in Manhattan, who tried valiantly but without success to place my novels in traditional publishing. Allegedly, objections were raised to negative protagonists and explicit sex. While I am convinced those objections are groundless, I am weary of arguing the point. I'll simply let you, the readers, decide for yourselves. I have garnered many good reviews over the years. See, for example, Elizabeth White (3). Interviews of me may be found on the web, for instance, Steve Weddle, Fiona "McDroll" Johnson, Paul D. Brazill and Ian Ayres (4-7). Please feel free to post reviews of my work, good, bad, or indifferent. Only be sure to remember that most of my books, especially the later ones, are self-published without the dubious benefit of copyediting, content editing or censorship of any kind. So if you post reviews carping about bad language or finding flaws in punctuation, paragraphing or font, I frankly don't care. I'm putting these books out there for the sole reason I wrote them in the first place - to be enjoyed by readers. As my law practice has become more active recently, I have taken a sabbatical from writing but hope to resume soon. My personal and private email is: [e-mail]. I'd be delighted to hear from you!1. http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0308/02/lklw.00.html2. http://variety.com/exec/stacia-decker/3. http://www.elizabethawhite.com/tag/malachi-stone/4. http://www.spinetinglermag.com/2011/04/20/conversations-with-the-bookless-malachi-stone/5. http://imeanttoreadthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/american-banshee-by-malachi-stone.html#!/2012/01/american-banshee-by-malachi-stone.html6. https://pauldbrazill.com/2012/01/19/short-sharp-interview-malachi-stone/7. http://nigelpbird.blogspot.com/2010/09/dancing-with-myself-malachi-stone.html

Book preview

OZARK BANSHEE

A Novel by

Malachi Stone

©2023 by Malachi Stone

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 as amended, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author of this work at [e-mail]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All characters in this book are over eighteen years of age.

Cover image (c) Stas Vulkanov

Cover design courtesy Fayefayedesigns

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTERTWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CONNECT WITH ME ONLINE

For my dear wife Maria, who loves a good ghost story—or even a bad one.

And when they were come to the multitude, there came to him a certain man, kneeling down to him, and saying,

15. Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and oft into the water.

16. And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not cure him.

17. Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I suffer you? Bring him hither to me.

18. And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him: and the child was cured from that very hour.

19. Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out?

20. And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, if ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.

21. Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.

Matthew 17: 14-21, King James Version.

11. And God wrought special miracles by the hands of Paul:

12. So that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out of them.

13. Then certain of the vagabond Jews, exorcists, took upon them to call over them which had evil spirits the name of the LORD Jesus, saying, We adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preacheth.

14. And there were seven sons of one Sceva, a Jew, and chief of the priests, which did so.

15. And the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?

16. And the man in whom the evil spirit was leaped on them, and overcame them, and prevailed against them, so that they fled out of that house naked and wounded.

Acts 19: 11-16, King James Version

Do you know (said Byron) that when I have looked on some face that I love, imagination has often figured the changes that death must one day produce on it—the worm rioting on lips now smiling, the features and hues of health changed to the livid and ghastly tints of putrefaction; and the image conjured up by my fancy, but which is as true as it is a fearful anticipation of what must arrive, has left an impression for hours that the actual presence of the object, in all the bloom of health, has not been able to banish: this is one of my pleasures of imagination.

Conversations of Lord Byron with the Countess of Blessington

CHAPTER ONE

There's some serious money to be made in deliverance ministries.

I thought you were an exorcist.

Best damn exorcist you'll ever meet. Exorcism. Deliverance. New name, new game.

A rose is a rose is a rose, Mag said. That's Shakespeare, isn't it?

How the hell should I know? The way to do it is, you find yourself a local congregation and get them to invite you in. Have them call a special meeting to meet the nice visiting pastor who's anointed with a special gift of deliverance, see? Wednesday nights are good. Make sure to build up a little advance publicity a week or two ahead of time. Gets them all stirred up and antsy, to where they can't help wondering whether Aunt Ethel or Little Earl might be possessed by a demon.

What kind of advance publicity are you talking about, Mike? It's not like we have any money or anything.

Who said anything about money? A free demonstration. Like the Good Book says, seedtime and harvest. Works like a charm, but you have to watch for every opportunity and act fast if you want to plant the seed in these hayseeds. Before you know it, it's the night of your special meeting. By eight PM or so, you're steady working your Missouri hoodoo and popping demons out of the faithful like a teenager popping his zits in the bathroom mirror. That's when you pass the plate a couple times, set up a table to sell literature—no, a coupla tables—and start stacking the money. Hey, did I ever tell you about vaskania? The evil eye? You ever find yourself stranded in a town with a lot of Greeks you can make some money casting out the evil Eye. I can teach you. It's easy. Technically it's supposed to be performed by an old woman, but hey.

That rules me out. Doubt there's that many Greeks around here anyway. Where did you ever pick up all this creepy stuff, Mike?

From paying attention. 'From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.' Quick: what's that from?

What's what from?

See? You're not paying attention. You gotta know these things cold, Mag. These people we'll be dealing with? They may be ignorant in many ways, and not smell so good, some of them—okay, all of them—but they know their Bible. They can spot a backslider at forty paces. Now tell me who it was that said, 'From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.'

I don't know. Marco Polo?

I'm telling you, Mag, you go handing flip answers to these hillbillies, they'll flag you as a poseur and run us both out of town on a rail.

So who said it?

Our ancient enemy, that's who. Old Scratch. Captain Howdy. Lou Cypher himself.

Quit it, Mike. You're giving me a headache.

Book of Job, first chapter. The sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan was also among them. You know what's interesting? Some versions leave out the ‘also’. What do you think of that, Mag?

I think a hamburger and fries would hit the spot right about now. It must be over three hours since I've seen so much as a McDonald's along this godforsaken county road. Are we there yet?

You're looking at it. The Ozark foothills. God's country.

He can have it. They passed a road sign that said Reynolds County. The face of the sign was pockmarked with buckshot, rust running down from the buckshot holes like tears tinged with blood.

Don't you want to hear the rest of it? So anyway, the Lord asks Satan, 'Whence comest thou?' They talked like that back in Bible days. And Satan comes back with the quote I just gave you. Cool, huh?

We've been driving for hours and you still come off like a coffee'd up spaz. What's with you tonight, man?

Filled with the Holy Spirit, I guess.

Don't blaspheme, for Christ's sake. Especially about that.

This from an erstwhile riverboat casino dealer. What are you, getting religious on me all of a sudden?

That sixty grand a year plus tips came in handy while you were 'building your ministry,' as I recall. If hanging around my apartment watching Christian television all day while you drank me out of Red Bull at two bucks a pop is 'building your ministry.'

You want to know what I was doing day after day, Mag? Are you the least bit interested? I was on my knees praying for inspiration, that's what. They say Saint James spent so much time kneeling, back in the day, his knees looked like a camel's. I know what they meant. Take a look at my knees some time, Mag. Here, reach out and touch, if you don’t believe me, Doubting Thomasina. Mike rolled up his pant leg and offered his right knee for her inspection, taking his foot off the accelerator.

Eew! Don't show me that. Mike's knee was rough and darkened with healed carpet burns. Mag turned to look out the passenger window at the wooded landscape speeding by. She cracked the window and the cold night air rushed in.

And I'll tell you something else, Mag: inspiration came. God took his own good time with me, but inspiration came.

This is me, Mike, remember? Magdalene Murphy from Bridgeport, not one of your Hills Have Eyes hayseeds. And quit screwing around slowing down like that. We're liable to get ass-ended out here in the ass end of—

The crash sounded like a bomb going off. The car lurched over a deep ditch, took to the air and slammed into a dead tree on the other side. Steam hissed from under the hood and seeped through the dash.

Mike groaned once after he came to. He looked over at Mag. Her head lolled.

Mag, you all right? Baby? You all right? She made no answer other than a deep moan like one refusing to be roused from sleep.

Oh, Christ! Mag! Say something!

A heavyset man appeared at Mag's window from out of nowhere. He looked to be around forty, with a ruddy beard but no mustache. His face was pasty and he breathed through his mouth. He wore a broadbrim caved-in hat that shaded his broad moon face from the moonlight and the reflected glare of the headlight against the tree trunk. Don't try and move 'er yet, he cautioned. Best wait on the amblance.

Have you called 911?

Awready done called the 911 emergency. They went and stuck me on hold. Don't that put the onions in yer grits? He held up a Walmart cell phone as though in confirmation, flipping it open like a badge. You folks ain't from around these parts, he added confidently.

What was your first clue?

Them Illinois licen' plates for one thing, he said, sounding the s in Illinois.

Are you the guy that hit us?

Shoot, no, I'm the good Samaritan that pulled over to hep y'all, seein's how it's my Christian duty n'at. Name's Jeb.

You go to church, Jeb? It had come to be Mike's standard opening gambit since having become a self-ordained minister.

Ever'body goes to church 'round these parts, Mister. Lucky for you, you happened to wreck smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt.

Yeah, lucky us. How far are we away from Pfisterville?

Pfisterville? Why, it ain't no more'n a hog holler down this here stretch a road. You all got business in Phisterville, Mister? Don't mean to keep calling you 'Mister' but I don't rightly recollect havin' caught your name.

Don't recollect havin' thrown it, beggin' your pardon, Jeb. Name's Mike. Folks call me Pastor Mike. Fact is, I’ve been invited as guest pastor by a congregation just outside Phisterville. They’ve asked me to conduct a deliverance service there next Wednesday night. Mike, having put on a cornpone accent, chameleonlike to match his new friend's, extended his hand toward the window across Mag's unconscious form.

Say, maybe I'd best try that 911 emergency number again, Jeb said. She's been out a powerful long time. Jeb turned aside to place the call. He hissed with impatience, shook his head and snapped the phone shut again. Busy, he said.

Mag stirred, so subtly that only Mike could hear. Something, the same sense that showed him the next card, had already tipped him off that she was alive and waiting. Waiting, listening and holding her breath until she knew the shot. Seedtime and harvest. Mag was one smart chick. Mike pretended to take her pulse, pressing against her jugular with his right index and middle fingers.

How she doin'? Jeb asked.

Mike stared at Jeb and said, She is sleeping, drawing out the words for effect.

I took me one a them Red Cross CPR courses back when I'se in high school? Jeb said. And one a the things they teach is you gotta look out 'cause sometimes when it seems like they're asleep it's 'cause they got them a danged closed head injury.

Jeb, Mike said softly, when I said she is sleeping, I meant it the way Our Lord did when he addressed the crowds before He resurrected Jairus's daughter. You know that story from your Bible, don't you?

Jeb's eyes widened. What're you tellin' me? You mean she's …you're sayin' she's …dead?

She's dead, Jeb. There's no pulse. Feel for yourself if you like.

Jeb shrank away. Opening his cell phone again, he said, Best call the sheriff, then.

What say you save on your minutes and hold off on that call, Jeb? You see, the simple fact is, I'm not only a deliverance minister but a healer as well. Maybe we won't be having to roust the sheriff out of bed after all. What do you think about that? Mike unfastened his seat belt, crossed his hands reverently on Mag's forehead, tilted his face up toward the dome light and closed his eyes. Heavenly Father, he prayed in a loud yet breathy voice like the tremolo of a church organ, in Jesus' name we pray that You see fit to resurrect this woman, Your handmaiden and my helpmate, and to heal her of every injury, every disease and every infirmity. We humbly ask it, Father, in the all-holy name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, amen. Mike had picked up the trick of never pronouncing the h in humbly. He repeated the prayer two more times with ascending intensity.

He felt Mag stir. She was on board. They were like a dance team, instinctively knowing and anticipating each others' moves. In a louder voice he went on, Lord, resurrect and heal this woman Thy handmaiden. Restore her soul into her body, which has been broken. Breathe the breath of life into her nostrils once more, Heavenly Father. Fuse together all broken bones, cure all paralysis, reattach and repair all torn tendons and ligaments, refurbish all soft tissue throughout her body that may have been torn asunder in this terrible collision. Stanch all internal bleeding and take away her pain and suffering, in Thine All-Holy Name we pray, amen.

There was no sound other than the ticking of the cooling engine and the wind in the trees. Mike glanced at Jeb through one eyeslit. Jeb was praying silently, hat in hand, his lips moving.

Mag sat forward. Mike opened his eyes and met her beatific expression. I've been resurrected! she shouted. I've been healed, praise Jesus!

Mike took her hand in his and raised them upward in a gesture of thanksgiving, echoing, Praise Jesus! Only then did he look over again at Jeb, whose mouth hung open in awe.

I ain't never seen no miracle to match that in all my born days, he gasped. You done brought her back from the dead right before my eyes!

Only God can raise the dead, Mike said. Give God the praise.

Praise Jesus! Jeb shouted at the night sky. Praise his Holy Name! Startled crows flapped and cawed, taking flight from the sanctuary of a nearby oak tree.

Now aren't you glad you listened to me and didn't make that call, Jeb? Mike asked. Only thing we'll be needin' tonight is a tow truck and not a hearse.

Only place with a tow truck ‘round here is shut down 'til morning, Jeb said, eyes bright with excitement, speech rapid. Don't fret none, though. I got me an International tractor that'll do the job. An I dowanna hear no argument, neither; y'all're gonna be stayin' the night with me and my old lady. After what I done seen here tonight, she'd plum nail my hide to the barn door if I let y'all go without her meetin' ya's. Both of us're Spirit-filled believers. My ol' lady's a strong believin’ woman. Name a Dorcas.

Dorcas, Mag remarked. Means gazelle.

There now, see how you are? Jeb said. It took a preacher's wife to know that there. You and my ol' lady're gonna get along right well, Ma'am. I can tell that awready. The two a ya's're bound to get along mighty fine.

Jeb had made his way up to the rim of the ditch and was fooling with the cell phone again. Mike climbed out of the car, circled around the tree he had hit and tried Mag's door. It's jammed, he told her. Slide over. You're going to have to get out on my side. Then under his breath: How're you doing?

Mag glared at him and hissed, My neck's killing me and my head feels like it's in a vise, but otherwise just peachy, thanks to you.

Mike warned her, Keep quiet about it. Remember, you've been healed.

How could I forget?

Listen, these people are believers, get it? You've just been raised from the dead. I couldn't have asked for a better break. We play this hand right—

Jeb ambled down into the ditch again, slapped Mike on the back and said, All set, Pastor Mike?

Ready as we'll ever be, thanks to your Christian hospitality, Jeb. I was just telling Magdalene here about your kind offer to tow our car and accommodate us for the night.

Ain't no kindness about it. The way I figger, y'all'd do the same for us if the tables was turned. Now ain't that right?

Thank you very kindly, Jeb, Mag said in her sweetest pastor's wife tone, smiling until it hurt. Just let me scoot my poor old body out of this poor old car and we'll join you. Mag was a quick study.

Door stuck? Jeb grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked on it. With a sound of wrenching steel, something gave and the door popped open. You jest gotta talk to it a little, Jeb said.

You're a strong one, Mag marveled. Like Samson.

My ol' lady says it's 'cause I got the strength of the Lord in me, but I dunno. My pappy, he was a strong 'un, workin' on the farm ever' day of he's life. My brothers and me, same thing.

They grow them big in your family, do they? Mag asked.

Yes, Ma'am they do.

Call me Magdalene, Jeb. Mag took his hand and gazed into his eyes.

Jeb pulled his hand away shyly and looked down. My ol' lady'll be gettin' worried about us. Best get you folks on home. Your husband can help you down the side a that ditch and up t'other, Ma’am.

Mike held Mag's arm and steadied her around the waist as they climbed out. She remembered to grab her huge vinyl satchel of a purse. Mag lost a shoe and Mike had to go back for it, slipping and sliding on the wet ground.

Muddy for November, Jeb remarked, extending Mike a hand when they had neared the top. Been stayin' warm all season. Trees still got all their leaves, you notice that? Downright unnatural for this late in the year, least around these here parts.

There was a white Ford F-350 pickup at least thirty years old and covered with dents parked on the shoulder, engine idling. To Mike it looked as big as a semi cab. Plenty a room in Old Betsy here, Jeb said. Climb on in and we'll head for home.

Guess there's no need to lock our car, Mike said.

She ain't a' goin' nowhere 'til I hitch her up to the tractor, that's a fact.

Our luggage is in the trunk, though.

Trunk'll come right along with the rest of her once I hitch up the drag chain and tow her out.

Jeb drove no more than a mile along the two-lane blacktop before turning down a dirt lane almost completely obscured by trees. You know, Mike said, We drove right past this lane a few minutes ago and never knew it was there. It'd sure be awful easy to miss. You ought to put up a mailbox or a reflector or something.

Don't got no mailbox, Jeb said. And don't git much company. Folks 'round these parts like their privacy. Makes for good neighbors.

The lane twisted and turned, headlights illuminating the leafy bower overhead, reflecting an unnatural verdancy