The End is Now (39 page)

It has to keep me inside.

Once all the deadbolts and latches are in place, I stop this guy named Rick who lives just down the hall from me. We never
really talk but I see him all the time. He’s always wearing a track jacket and running shoes, but I’ve never seen him looking
all sweaty like he’s just returned from a jog or anything — come to think of it, I have no idea what Rick does. But that doesn’t
stop me from asking him a favor.

“Rick,” I say. He’s trying not to stare at my destroyed front door.

“Jonah.” I’m amazed he even knows my name.

“Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Uh — ” Rick says, all awkward and condescending as he inspects my door — “you screwed those in backwards.”

“No, I did that on purpose.”

“On purpose?”

“Yeah, I’m going to shut the door. Then I need you to lock it behind me. All seven locks. Just bolt them shut.”

“You know you’re going to be locked inside if I do that,” Rick says.

I’m suddenly very glad I’ve never tried to become friends with Rick. “Yeah, I know, it’s just, I’m doing this thing, it’s
nothing weird, it’s for my own safety really, so if you locked the door behind me it would really help me out.” Here I am
trying to explain myself to Rick, the guy with the running shoes who never runs, and it makes me think to myself, wow, how
low have you sunk?

“Yeah, sure, I can lock the door,” Rick says.

“All the locks.”

“Yeah, all the locks.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate this,” I say right as I close the door.

Then I listen. I hear the latches start to fasten. I count each latch as he finishes up — four, five, six, and then there
it is, number seven. I’m locked in now.

That was kind of Rick, I admit. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. Even if I was only hard on him in my thoughts. Of course
it might not have been me who was mocking his wardrobe, his lifestyle, and his haircut. Did I mention Rick’s hair? It’s also
pretty hideous and embarrassing. It’s oily and long in the places it should be short and short in the places it should be
long. But you see, it might not have been me who thought all of this, it might have been —

How do I say this?

I guess there’s no beating around the bush. You’re going to find out sooner or later so I might as well just come out with
it: I’m demon possessed. I have been for much of my life, but then I was free and on the wagon and now I’ve relapsed. That’s
the worst part. I’d beaten my inner demon (and just so we’re clear by “inner demon” I don’t mean some sort of tough feeling
or really hard struggle. No, I mean an
actual
demon that can turn my eyes into glowing emeralds and speak through me) and now he seems to be back and worse than ever.

So about an hour ago I called Pastor Martin. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who knows how to deal with my demon. Pastor
Martin told me he was in his car and on his way, but it’s a six-hour drive from Tempe to Los Angeles. So he told me, until
then, stay tight — and lock myself in. Hence the Kingston series outside my door. On my way to Home Depot I gave him another
call and told him I didn’t know how much longer I could stay in control. He said something else but his voice was garbled
like he was losing service. I didn’t know how much longer I’d have him on the line.

“I can’t do this,” I said.

“Jonah, you can. Center your thoughts.”

“How?”

“Maybe you should write your story.”

“My story?”

“Yeah. Write it down. It will take you awhile and it’ll keep you focused on something other than — ” and the line went dead.

Now I have no one else to talk to except you. I’m talking to you because I can’t actually write my story down. I type like
an eighth grader and my hand will cramp into a deformed E.T. shape if I try to write down everything that happened. Which
is why after I left Home Depot I stopped by Wal-Mart to get a hand-held voice recorder. It’s like one of those old tape recorders
that private detectives and news reporters used in seventies movies. You know, the type where the reporter would always click
it and say, “Note to Self,” followed by some sort of witty or interesting or insightful comment. This is what I’ll use to
tell my story, and maybe along the way I can explain myself to anyone who will listen, and especially to everyone I’ve hurt
along the way. Pastor Martin told me that if I was going to tell this story I should begin at the beginning. Sounds kind of
overly simplistic to me. But maybe it’s good, sound advice. I’ve never been much of one to listen to good, sound advice, but
I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

This is Jonah Adams’ story of how I used my demon and how he used me. Y

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