Hell, Incorporated

By Jeff Folschinsky

It's Max's first day on the job, and let me tell you, he's having one heck of a day. It's not so much his boss can't remember his name or mysterious people in black robes want to kill him. No, what really got him concerned was when he found out he was working for Hell. Not only that, but the world could be coming to an end if he and his boss don't find out what happened to a demon who disappeared after an unconventional exorcism. First days at work are always hell, but who knew that could be taken literally?

Jump into the second book of the Mystery Spot Museum and Burrito Emporium universe in this sort of but not really sequel to Mr. Jacobs vs. The Demonic Clowns from the Great Beyond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Evil Cookie Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230825579

Jeff Folschinsky

Jeff Folschinsky is a fan of horror, science fiction, and offbeat humor. He is the author of Mr. Jacobs vs. The Demonic Clowns From The Great Beyond, Hell, Incorporated and the Tales From Little Lump book series. He wrote the story and co-wrote the script for the film Revenge of the Bimbot Zombie Killers. He is also a playwright, with his shows being produced in theaters nationwide.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Like most great, semi-great, or just mildly amusing tales, our story starts with a young lady who finds herself in a bit of a pickle. Yes, it’s an old trope, true, but it works, so get off your high horse.

Anyway, this young lady, Lily Underwood, had fallen in with what her parents told her would be the wrong crowd. She recently had come home to regretfully prove them correct as she revealed herself to be in a bad way.

What bad way, you might but probably weren’t asking yourself. Drugs? Pregnancy? Amway? No, she came home with that certain someone all parents in suburbia feared their daughters would come home with. That’s right, Satan.

Well, not Satan himself per se, but an unholy demon that had taken possession of her body. Yes, we can all agree that Satan would have been more impressive, but Satan’s a busy deity of the underworld. He can’t just hang around, possessing young ladies to meet your expectations. I mean, really, who in his hell do you think you are?

Anyway, the young lady’s condition, as her parents, Ron and Janice, called it, was a source of great shame. Like never being able to show their faces at the country club again because the O’Reilly’s know about it, and if they know about it, it means everyone knows about it type of shame, which would not do.

No matter the cost, the O’Reilly’s must not know, so it came as a great surprise to them when they looked online and found an advertisement for discreet exorcisms, which read, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell Budget Exorcism. Our Rates Are Unholy.

Although the ad was a little colorful for their taste and didn’t seem to have any religious affiliation whatsoever, they found themselves calling the number. It wasn’t like them to throw caution to the wind like this, but fear pushed along their decision. Fear of what their daughter was becoming, fear of the unknown that was slowly taking over their lives, fear of the O’Reilly’s. Oh, those damn self-righteous, seemingly perfect O’Reilly’s, with their flawless skin and incredible singing voices. Oh, how they would be the end of them, but hopefully, if everything worked out, they would be none the wiser.

They called the number, and a recorded message said someone would be with them shortly. An hour later, someone was at their door. Which was impressive since they hadn’t left their address, only a number to call back. When questioned about this, the strange man at the door commented about the wonders of technology and warned that time was of the essence in these cases, so the usual formalities would have to be ignored.

Surprisingly, this seemed to make sense to them, even though he was dressed in an ominous-looking black robe and smelled of Oregano when he spoke, which oddly caused the two of them to swoon slightly. They were just desperate enough to overlook these things, hoping that this nightmare would soon be a distant memory.

Even better, the strange man didn’t want payment. He wanted something that their daughter’s condition produced. Something that the exorcism would bring out of her. He attempted to explain metaphysical energy and its benefits, but all they heard was free and discreet. The latter was most important to them, and they stressed this to the stranger, who assured them that their service was very discreet.

A deal was made, and before the Underwoods knew what was going on, the strange man in the black robe’s associates had invaded their home and was in their daughter’s room chanting as they hung crystal pendants around her bed.

As their daughter shouted profanities at them. Mrs. Underwood couldn’t help but wonder, Dear lord, where did she learn such language? Conveniently forgetting the paper-thin walls of their home and the colorful language she and her husband used in bed after their numerous alcohol-fueled date nights.

The colorful commentary didn’t seem to affect anyone present though, almost as if they were used to it—a background soundtrack that they tuned out as they went about their business.

This, of course, enraged Lily’s possessor. These little insignificant peons would not ignore him. Even if he weren’t the Satan, which, yes, everyone would have agreed would have been more impressive, still, he was Cruedus, servant of Aileon, the third cousin of Abaddon, who sat at the high court of hell, so yeah, in his mind, he was a big deal and would not be disrespected like this.

The little whore is mine! he yelled at the top of the young lady’s lungs. Ugh, is this what I’ve been reduced to? Cruedus thought to himself. This was supposed to be fun.

Indeed, the parents, obsession with these people, known as the O’Reilly’s, and keeping their daughter’s condition from them, plus the arrival of these strange men instead of the Catholic church, had taken Cruedus entirely off guard.

This was supposed to be a joy ride, a metaphysical walk in the park that generally went off like clockwork. Instead, he was reduced to yelling out childish taunts and insulting the character of the body he currently inhabited. I’m better than this, he thought to himself, but he had fallen so far down this rabbit hole that he felt obligated to follow through.

The sow is mine! he yelled out. Again, feeling disgusted with himself for the depths he had fallen. This time, though, one of these black-robed men took notice of him. At last, progress is being made, he thought.

My, what an excellent day for an exorcism. Yes, Cruedus knew this was a line from The Exorcist, but he had become so flustered by the events surrounding this possession that he found himself clinging to a familiar movie quote he thought these people would respond to.

This, unfortunately, did nothing, as the black-robed man who seemed to notice him before went back to just tuning him out.

Sonofabitch, Cruedus thought. What in the seven hells is going on? Have all these people been given