The Demon and Father Gregory Koch

Don't believe everything you hear. Most of what you hear are nothing but little lies, told by storytellers. Remember that. No matter how congenial or convincing the liar is, she works mainly with the not to be believed, flexing the brain muscle of her imagination, making up stuff. Some times she just repeats what she's heard. She might give the tale a twist, stretch it here, clip it there, wrap it in lace or silk, and seal it with chimney soot. Often times she doesn't expect to be believed. She's just kicking a ball of dust through the dark woods to get a rise out of the devil.

Be that as it may, this person, Father Gregory Koch, I hadn't heard of him until he was dead. Then I heard all these stories about him that nobody wants to believe. So it doesn't matter that they are told. The story is going around that I was one of those who met Father Koch after he was dead. Don't believe it. I never was. I am.

When I was little, no taller than my mamma's knees, they used to scare us with tales about dark magic. They told us, children, all kinds of stories about dark magic, and witches, and demons. Ghost stories, they told the most. My brother liked to pull the bed sheet over his head and go: boo! Some times grown up men would dress up in sheets and come around trying to scare people. They were the Klan. I do remember those men were worse than any ghost.

I read this story a lady wrote about Father Koch. I'll read some of the passages to you.

Quote -- "Early in the third decade of the twentieth century there lived a man named Gregory Koch. He woke one morning smelling piss, not his own, and not the smell of fresh urine, but the foul strong, smell of old, infectious piss. His nostrils were stinging with pain. Everywhere his head turned, he smelt the stench of piss. He was surrounded by the stinking, choking odor that nearly put him under. Like a man in the gas chamber of a death house, he struggled for the very air that he dared not breathe. He held his breath. The pungent, poisonous odor was a threat to his lungs. He feared that his insides were going to burn. Snot ran from his nose. Mucus clogged his throat. His head hurt so bad, his eyes too. that he could not see. For a long three seconds that seemed like a very long time, he could not think. When he could, his thoughts jumbled together, and all he could do was to babble for -- 'Air, air, air.But there was no urine."

Okay. This was in 1925, before everybody had electric light, and getting up in the night often meant stumbling in the dark, and most people had out houses in those days, or kept a handy pee pot right off the foot of the bed. The houses were not as good as they are now, and it was hard to keep a room warm after dark. People got dreams like this, when their brains were telling them to get up and go, and their bodies were telling them that it's too cold to get out of bed. Their brains dogged them with dreams of that they had to pee.

After I learned about Father Koch, I did get to go with the new sheriff to see where he lived. I don't remember if he had electric light. He had an out house. The new sheriff said that it seemed that Father Koch spent some time in that outhouse.

"I don't know if it was because he was constipated or that he needed a quiet place for contemplation, " said the sheriff.

There were scriptures written on the walls, Enough verses written in Latin to teach a person the language. So much was accumulated there. The Catholic church had the words painted over.

Let me read you this from that lady's book -- "On this important morning in the life of Father Gregory Koch, he woke and saw darkness. This was a blind darkness, nothing but darkness. His eyes hurt. He strained them, trying to see. His eye balls ached in their sockets. Then, he felt heat rising from his feet, and going all around him. Sweat and the odor of sweat joined with the odor of the phantom urine. A foulness, that could have suffocated maggots, sucked the oxygen from his mouth. His body twisted and turned, violently. He rolled off the bed, from the sheets, which were soggy from his sweat, and he fell on to the floor. Fully awake, he got off the floor. He had a bump, the size of a bumble bee, on his backside. The room had a closed smell that wasn't so bad. He saw that the bed sheets were dry, except for his sweat. 'Jesus,' he mumbled.

Okay. So I wrote the book. You've found me out. Will you let me read more from my own book? Please?

From my own book, published in October, 1949, by the Baltimore Publishing Company, of Baltimore, Maryland, USA, pen name, Edwina P. Allan -- "Beside the bed was a pitcher of holy water, blessed by his bishop. He took a drink, right out of the pitcher. The blessed water went down cool, helped his head cool, and with the blessings inside of him, helped him to regain his balance. He let out a yawn, opened his lungs wide, hoping to get a chest full of fresh morning air. He closed his mouth. The air stank? Why? Because the window was closed, and the door, and there was no circulating air. He opened the window, and prayed for the air to circulate into the room. He poked his head out the window and took a deep breath of the outside air."

Did you notice that in the book I wrote, Father Koch had a pitcher of holy water and took a drink of water right out of the pitcher? Don't get me start lying, but I believe, Catholics sprinkle water during their ceremonies as part of a purification rite. There is a superstition that if a person drinks holy water, it will not only purify him, but will make him invincible to colds, to any aliments and to possession attacks from demons.

Now, Catholic priests are known to fight demons. Catholics are sensitive and will let you know that they resent anybody who says anything, which might seem to ridicule their beliefs in any way. I am always careful not to criticize anybody's religion. I had an old aunt who told me that holy water did nothing but tickle demons. She said a person should avoid any dealings with demons, but if one ran across one, the demon had to be handled very carefully. She said, drinking holy water is not going to stop a demon. It will only make him mock you, disrespect you in every way. Of course, my old aunt wasn't as educated as Father Koch, and when she spoke of demons and told stories of witches and ghosts, it was to entertain and to scare us children into being good, so that nothing would come and get us while we slept. She also told ghost and demons tales for the amusement of the adults, She worked the carnivals, for forty years, telling people's fortunes for a quarter.

My mama always told me: "Never take what auntie says, seriously."

Yes? Well ...

Let me state this: Although my aunt has passed on doesn't mean that she has stopped talking to me. But, anyhow, it's hard to believe that holy water is going to protect a person.

Okay, back to what I wrote in that book about Father Koch -- "His head cleared all at once. He scanned the world outside the window. His eyes searched over the dark roof tops for sunshine. For the past month there had been precious little sun. On days that the sun showed, the sun got no bigger than a golf ball. He mumbled about the sun and asked his gods. Yup, Gods! Catholic priest that he was! He made his living preaching of the One, Holy and Almighty God. Why did he consult gods? Because he wanted to know why the sun wouldn't be itself for a long time. His gods answered. The gods of whom he worshiped above all others, were gods of whom he had learned in books of science. He remembered what he'd been told in a classroom. In this case, these gods of his, the lord gods of science, were right about one thing. The sun wouldn't be itself for a long time. It was the weather. Yup, the weather patterns. And yup, they had been changed, but he didn't know that. The learned scientists, his gods, didn't know why.

And one more thing, about that important morning in the life of Father Gregory Koch, he wouldn't forget his nightmare. He couldn't forget it. For a long time, he worried about what the dream of a man peeing in the bed meant. He was nervous. And then the church clock began to chime and he thought of his schedule, and of how he could get out of most of it. Get the most done.

He gasped, 'Mrs. Miller, oh! Mrs. Miller at nine o'clock!'"

I'll take the story from there, and tell you what happened, based on my book, on what I learned, and couldn't published, back in 1949 because the world wasn't ready for the full truth.

I.

A story below, a few feet away, stood Milly, one hundred and ten pounds and a few ounces of her, less than five feet, and to Father Koch, she was as big as an ogre, a really big one, the sort that waits under a bridge to grab an unsuspecting passer-by. Milly was my best and closest friend.

She spotted him. "Father Koch!" She pointed and waved.

And he, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fake illness, smiled. "Mrs. Miller."

"Since I've seen you last, we've been having a bit of weather. Trying weather. Too cold for spring. There's been a lot of sickness, " she said.

"I know, Mrs. Miller. You look good, fit as a peach."

"Me, Father Koch? No one has called me a peach in thirty years. I am an old plum. I should thank God I am on my feet. There has been so much pneumonia, the likes of which I haven't seen. Nearly everybody has a cold."

Father Koch coughed.

"You have a cold too?"

Father Koch coughed again.

"But that's not too bad. The flu going around is like no other. It is more like that darn plague from the Dark Ages. Father Koch, you know the name of that plague?"

"The bubonic plague," Father Koch answered.

"Yeah, the Black Death. Those who got it died and a lot of them turned black when they died. A lot of those I've seen dead with this flu turned black, just like the people were said to have turned in the bubonic plague back then."

"Yes, right, Mrs. Miller." Koch made a faint smile. "Everyone at the hospital say you are a peach. You are magnificent, an angel of mercy, comforting the dying. Do come inside. I have to dress, but my housekeeper will --"

"Excuse me, Father Koch. This is the first day of sun this week. I rather wait for you here."

"But there is no place for you to sit."

"I am not that old, Father Koch. I can stand a few minutes."

"A few minutes? I have to bathe. It's what?"

"Nine o'clock, Father Koch."

"Mercy! I'm running late."

"I hope you can come with me to the Cooper house?"

"Coopers?" Father Koch asked. "The Coopers? Aren't they Episcopalian?"

"In these times, with fevers raging all around us, folks turn to wherever they can find comfort. Last week to the Baptist preacher."

"Of course, you are right. Has Mrs. Cooper been stricken?"

"Her daughter, Emily."

"She's at home? We will find room in the Catholic hospital for young Miss. Emily Cooper."

"It is not the flu. What she has is a lot worse. I heard it goes down inside people, and wraps around and chokes the soul, until the soul turns dark, then it eats at a persons mind and feeds off her heart like fleas feed off dogs."

Father Koch wanted to shake his head and say to Milly, "there you go again, you old crow," but he thought it prudent to humor her.

II.

The Cooper family were people of quality. And as far as the memory goes back, and that is for generations -- Generations of Coopers were listed among the state's august. When Mrs.Cooper's husband was alive, he was called a gentleman. He spoke well to, and well of, everybody, and he treated everybody well. The Cooper house was grand, among the grandest in the country. The rooms were decorated with some of the finest furnishing from Europe. Green plants hung from the balconies. Servants placed fresh flowers in every room, every day. The Coopers entertained well. Many evenings ladies in ball gowns, and with white tissue paper under their arms, strolled the grounds of the Cooper plantation.

Shall I digress a second here? There is a story going around, which is completely false. Maybe I shouldn't repeat it here, but it isn't fading away? Maybe it won't die until I set the record straight?

Mr. Cooper was a gentleman who I liked and respected. Some people think that I had it in for Mr. Cooper. Some people think I am a witch and refused to give me the respect that a fellow Christian deserves. Few people come out to my place. They are afraid that there are snakes in the weed swamp, and they make up stories about me, because I love my freedom, my freedom to be alone and live clear of people who gossip.

This man I was seeing -- Yes, I was sweet on a man -- I thought he was the world, the moon, the sun and the stars, until I found out he had a wife and kids in Memphis. Anyway, one night he came a-calling and he made for poor conversation. All he wanted to talk about was that Mr. Cooper had cheated him. Mr. Cooper had a good reputation, but this man, I won't mention his dirty name, said that Mr Cooper had crooked him out of some money. Well, I said to him, "C'mon, honey. Let the Lord take care of Mr. Cooper."

Anyway, Mr Cooper started having all kinds of problems. He lived in that nice big plantation house. It roof sprung a dozen leaks. One day just at dawn, a tornado came by and missed everybody's farm but his. It destroyed his barn and every place else were his animals were sleeping. It spared his main house but blew out all the windows on the first floor. Salt water was discovered in his well. His favorite mule died. Worst of all, a calf with a pig's snout was born on his farm.

Mr Cooper asked around and learned that this no-count man, who I was seeing, was the man who accused him of cheating him and who swore that he would get even. Mr. Cooper had laughed at him, challenged him, a colored man, who was new in the county.

'What can you do to me?" Mr Cooper taunted. Mr. Cooper was the most respected white man in the county.

Well, Mr. Cooper had heard those scandalous stories about me. He came around my place, He said, "Miss Tilly, I know this doing is your mischief. You better stop it, or I'm going to put a silver bullet in your head."

I said, "Stop what?"

Then he told me of the calamity which had fallen on him, then he told me why he suspected me, then he told me about what the detective he hired had learned about that no-count man who I was seeing --- about the rascal's wife and kids in Memphis.

I said, "I didn't put no spell on you. My young cousin is working for your wife, do you think I would jeopardize her job?" And I asked him, "What kind of Christian woman do you think I am?"

"You're keeping company with a married man, " he said.

Of course, I didn't know that the no-count man was married. He told me that if he had any more trouble, he would be back to see me, and that he was keeping two silver bullets. One for my forehead and the other one for my left eye. He said he was gonna kick his right boot up the hind end of that no-count man whom I was seeing, and give his rear a wider split.

I wasn't afraid of Mr. Cooper. I've faced devils. He was angry, but that man was a saint. But he had no more trouble. And I don't think I should tell you why just now. I don't want to digress too far.

Any way, now, Mr. Cooper was dead eight years. He left his family nearly penniless, with no property to speak of, except for the house. Mrs. Cooper lost the gardeners and the maids. She couldn't afford paint. The once grand white house now looked dingy white. The roof leaked. The family employed only one servant, a fat dark skinned colored woman, a distant cousin of my late husband, My late husband's cousin cooked and looked after Mrs. Cooper and her two daughters.

Yes, I'm calling her my late husband's distant cousin. Earlier I referred to her as my young cousin. You think that is an inconsistency? So?

The Cooper's colored servant -- Why am I calling her that? Her name was Bernardine. She showed Father Koch and Milly to the parlor. The room was dimly lit. The curtains were drawn. The odors of staleness hung in the air, not because my cousin was a bad housekeeper, but because she believed in keeping the windows closed. The air outside was full of the flu. The house smelled of medicines, store brought ones and ones prepared by a root specialist. Bernardine drew open one of the curtains, letting in enough light so that Father Koch could see where to sit.

Father Gregory Koch eyes were accustomed to the surroundings that he found inside the Cooper's house. Three Catholic families in the parish were in a similar financial situation. But in those families the breadwinners hadn't died, and the women had hope and faith that better times would come. Father Koch felt bad for the Coopers. Mrs. Cooper had gone through so much trauma since her husband's death. Father Koch wanted to bring the family comfort.

"Make yourselves comfortable, I shall get Miss Emily, " Bernardine said and left.

Father Koch took a seat. Milly continued to stand. Bernardine returned and engaged Milly in conversation. The two women seemed to have a special rapport that surprised and amused Father Koch. The women and their eyes spoke not like a black to a white, but like sister to sister.

Let me stop here a minute and tell you this. Milly dealt with the herbs and the roots. There was no harm in bringing comfort to those who were feeling like poor old creatures, whether they were rich or young, or old and poor. By God's Truth, she lived the life of a good person. I never heard her speak in anger against another or swear. I was with her on the day she died, many years after the events I am now describing. She had a broad smile on her face. She was happy. She knew she was going home.

Her last words were: "Tilly, I hear the trumpet."

I waved goodbye.

On that day, Bernardine said to Milly, "People are scared everywhere. I made bags up just like you said, and I passed them out at church. Everybody is so pleased. They thank you. I'm wearing mine. I thank you?"

"Be still, Bernardine, and thank yourself. It was your idea to make up something that looked and smelled like moth balls," said Milly.

Bernardine glanced at Father Koch's neck. "He's not wearing one."

"Father Koch is a Catholic priest. He has his own bag of magic."

"Moth balls? Magic?"

Only just then did Father Koch smell the moth balls. Milly and Bernardine had a faint odor of moth balls. He noticed the silver chains around their necks and the outline of a small pouch on the chest area of their blouses. Father Koch ignored the content of Bernardine and Milly's conversation until the women made reference to him as a priest. He was an educated white man, with much of his education taking place overseas. He studied in Rome. It was not difficult for him to ignore what he called "heathen superstition." Often he boasted that he had years of the skillful practice of ignoring "the utterances of the uneducated," and that more important matters occupied his time. But once the nature of his professional calling was questioned, he had to answer the women. He was a priest on a house call, a catholic, whose hands had not only been blessed by an archbishop, but his foreheadhad been touched by a pope. To him the women were discussing unchristian beliefs and devilish practices, and worse were besmirching the one and true faith.

"That is heathen and will not prevent the flu," he said, referring to the root medicine.

Bernardine and Milly did not answer.

Mrs. Cooper entered. She walked sluggishly. She wore a chain and wore one of those pouches under her blouse too. She was plumb, fat, bloated, drunk.

Father Koch rose to his feet. The custom for a gentleman greeting one of the town's most important ladies. "Mrs. Cooper." He almost bowed.

"You don't like our charms," she said smiling. She stood at the door.

Since she did not sit, Father Koch could not sit. He listened patiently as she slurred her words.

"The last great, big flu took my husband. Unlike the rest of us, he refused to wear one of Miss. Milly's charms. He thought that drinking whiskey was the only way to prevent the flu. It helped him. He never knew how sick he was until just before he died, when he cried out for Miss. Milly to come, but it was too late."

Mrs. Cooper stumbled, she began to slur her words more.

Milly looked embarrassed. She thought Mrs. Cooper would fall. Milly had known Mrs. Cooper since Mrs. Cooper was a freckle-face kid in diapers who lived over a garage.

"Claire!" Milly spoke sharply to Mrs. Cooper.

Mrs. Cooper leaned against the wall, said, "Miss. Milly, I don't know what is coming over me. I took a few drinks, just a few, you know? I hardly felt them at all. I haven't been feeling good. I didn't think I could feel anything at all. I took a few more drinks than last time. Miss. Milly, two minutes ago I was feeling like I hadn't had a drink."

Milly took Mrs. Cooper's arm and helped her to a chair.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Cooper. She sat heavily in the chair. "This is worse than having the flu and being confined to bed." She said, touching her forehead, "I don't want any one to ever again give me whiskey to drink."

"Where is Emily?" Milly asked.

"Up in her room. She's getting her dress ready, her petticoats and her other clothes ready. The rake is coming for her this evening. He takes her to roadhouses! If Mr.Cooper was alive he would skin them both alive."

Mrs. Cooper looked as if she was ready to burst into tears. She expelled air with a loud "OOF!" She managed to keep the tears back somehow.

"Father Koch will talk to her," Milly said, nodding to Father Koch, who nodded back.

"Thank you, Father Koch, but you are probably here for nothing. That girl won't listen. She combs her hair. I talk to her severely, and she combs her hair. She puts bear grease on her hair! She wears pungent perfumes that we would not let anybody put on our body, even if we were dead. She smells cheap, like she's lacking a family."

Mrs. Coopers' eyes were red. She still held off the tears, but not the sniffles.

"Father Koch will speak to her," Milly said.

"I have a 14 year old daughter, you know, Rose? I do all in my power to help my girls see the finer things in life, to help them strive to better themselves. I can't have my 17 year old run around like a slut. I told her I was going to get the law on her. She has to mind me until she's 21, and grown, and is living out from my roof. She can not answer a question in a normal tone. Her younger sister observes this. I do not want Rose observing this unacceptable behavior. I might add, she would not have spoken to her father like this. "

Mrs. Cooper did not cry. Her face looked sad, like she was making tears.

Milly said to Mrs. Cooper, "Father Koch will go upstairs and talk to Emily now."

III.

Emily Cooper was her mother, just nineteen years younger and thinner. Her legs were slightly longer than her mother's. The door to her room was opened and she was bent over, looking on the floor, as if she was looking for something on the floor. Her backside, her ought to have been shameful behind, faced the door, and she wiggled a little, like a little frisky slut kitten in a nasty cat house. And her hind end was all that Father Koch first saw. Hers was a flapper's bottom, not completely under wraps. The dress that she wore wasn't very long, was cut sort of short, and the motion caused by the way she was bent, pulled the tail of her dress up, made the dress look even shorter. She was exposing a bit of her underwear.

I know what some of you are thinking. if Emily's mama had used a paddle, or better a belt, or at least a hickory stick, and used it often, then she would not have had this problem. But things are never that simple.

Father Gregory Koch was embarrassed. He coughed. He expected young Emily Cooper to jump and stand. She didn't. He coughed louder and louder. He coughed three times, each time expecting her to stand like a young lady of quality.

Emily Cooper was blonde, fair skinned, with a pretty face. So far, Father Koch had seen neither her hair, her skin or face, only her butt, and his face was getting red, and he was getting angry. He announced himself. He paused, waited for a reply. Silence. He imagined that he could hear her mind just clicking away, as she pretended not to hear him. He spoke louder. Soon he was announcing himself a third time, even louder than his second announcement, which came so fast and angry that he'd almost forgotten it. He shouted this third attempt to get her to stand up, lady-like, and to pay attention to an adult figure. He shouted so loudly that he was surprised that the ladies downstairs didn't come upstairs.

This time the girl stood. Her flapper dress rode up and she quickly pulled it back in place.

"I am Father Koch," he spoke in a normal tone of voice.

She answered him, her tone was short, to his ears disrespectful. "I have no time for you. Do you wish me to explain why? Go talk to my mother. A minute with her and that should convince you."

"Your Mother asked me to --"

"I have no time for priests."

"This priest has time for you."

"I have no time."

"Emily --"

"Go see my mother. I have no time. Will you leave my room?"

"Young Miss, you are a child, we will talk."

"Talk? Okay, talk. I am trying on dresses. I have a very serious date. You want to talk? Sit down. You walked in on me --- not a knock, like I don't have a door --"

"The door was and is open, and I did announce my presence."

"I am going to take off this dress and try on another. If you want to see me in my bloomers, sit down in a chair, not on my bed." She stared at him.

Father Koch thought that she was too obvious, that she was fresh mouth, rude little piece of naughtiness, and such a spoil child, and was saying things deliberately to shock him.

"I am here to counsel you. May I have this chair?" He pulled up one of the two chairs in the room and sat.

"You are a priest?" she made a little laugh. "Taking a seat to get a good look?" She grinned a big smile, all teeth. all white. She raised her arms, like she was going to pull off the dress, then she stopped, said, "My mother sent for you. She thinks that her darling eldest is possessed, has the devil in her. She tried to get the devil out of me by nagging. That doesn't work. Now she's called a priest."

"You don't have the devil in you, you're just a little rebellious spirit."

"Hello, Father, how's it going?" The girl tugged on the hem of her dress, reminded the priest of its short length by tugging on it a second time, pulling it toward her thighs. "How did thou like me, bent over with my half-clad buns, sticking up and out at thou's holy face?"

"Emily, I don't like that. I want you to change you tone, " replied Father Koch.

"You can't take a joke? Don't you know I'm just kidding?"

"Yes, I can take a joke, but that is not one."

Emily said, "You know old Auntie Milly is a witch? A real witch with boiling cauldrons?"

"Let's talk about you, " Father Koch replied.

"My mother doesn't want me to see him. She knows I am not a virgin. She still wants to protect me."

Father Koch's neck muscles tightened. This girl was testing him. "Emily, why are trying to shock me?"

"Shock you with this dress?" she wiggled around, shook her hips. "You think my dress is too short? This is what girls are wearing these days. This is not my mother's dress." She laughed. "I wear this for my beau, not for you. My beau likes to see me in dresses that show off my rear."

Father Koch's stomach clenched, "Emily --"

"I am no virgin!" Emily shouted.

"Emily!"

Emily ignored Father Koch. "I had my first fella at fifteen. If Mama knew that I started so young, a month younger than her, she would wrench her tits ..."

"Emily --"

"I saw this older boy. He was always so cheerful. I wanted him so bad. At first he paid me no special attention ..."

Father Koch decided to let Emily talk, to wait her out. She continued, not slowed by the patience-of-Job-attitude that she saw on his face.

"When the day came, we did it right here in this room. Rose was visiting the cousins. Miss. Bernardine had the day off. Mama was passed out drunk. Well, I almost had a hemorrhage, right here on my bed, with the picture of Jesus just above us..."

Father Koch looked, at the wall above the girl's bed, and saw a child's drawing of Jesus on the cross. He stared at the picture, while he waited for the girl to talk herself out of? breath?

"The boy took off for home. He almost died from fright, when he saw that I wouldn't stop bleeding. Yes, he left me. Thanks a lot Thomas Matthews, Jr! He left me just like that. 'A girl could bleed to death, ' I told him. But, he didn't think of anybody but himself. There is no hope for me here, not with the local boys. Giving myself to Thomas Matthews was a mistake. I shouldn't have spoken to him at all. He didn't behave like a gentleman. Once he knew that I hadn't bled to death he told other boys. That's the way it is with boys. Ruin a girl's reputation, so that she can't be the sweetheart of a boy from the best of families."

Emily stopped.

Father Koch looked from the child's drawing to the girl. In a quiet tone that he hope would have a positive effect, he began what Emily just knew could be a long lecture. He said that he realized how much pain Emily felt, and how much she needed for some one to help her. And then he heard a noise in Emily' s throat, the kind of noise which he had never before heard from a girl. A whole two seconds passed before he could identify the noise as words. And what words they were! He did not recognize them all. He was the fruit of a good Catholic family tree. He committed himself to the priesthood early. When he was a small child and his sainted mother asked him what he wanted to become, the answer always was a priest. As he grew older, he thought the title "Father Koch" would sound just grand. Of course, he certainly thought very much about what the job would entail and he of how he wanted very much to have it. He left the world for the seminary before he spent a night alone in the world.

The girl cursed. She shocked him. Her language was so coarse that it hurt his ears. His head rung with pain, like he had been smacked hard on his ears. He could have easily believed that she was possessed, and that she was an animal hanging on a tree branch, and not a young lady from one of the best families, that she was an animal, who could not climb down from the trees, and not a civilized human being. He braced himself to keep from his impulse to shout at the girl. He was determined to stay civil and in control. She was just as determined too, to show a wild side.

"Him whom my mama hates -- I dream about him and I sweat in my bed. I have to get up and change my night clothes twice a night. All I want to do is to kiss him. The first time I saw him, I went right up to him and I kissed him. I felt better straight away. I can't keep away from thinking of him when I am awake. Father, he is my Jesus. His love saved me." Emily sighed, swooned, finally stopped.

Father Koch took a deep breath of air then said,gently, "Emily, you are a confused little girl."

"Me? A little girl?" Emily laughed. "I've been possessed. He possessed my mouth, my pum, my back side!" She broke into hysterical laughter.

IV.

Emily screamed so loud that the sound almost seemed to rend the air. "I am coming to Jesus!" Groaning and moaning and more hysterical screams followed. "Yes, Jesus, I am coming! Glory Hallelujah!"

The door to Emily' s room was wide open. Bernardine was the first through the door. And what did she see? She saw what she thought she saw and she screamed, "No, god!"

"Glory to God!" Emily screamed as if answering her, but she was screaming into Father Koch's ears, "I am coming to Jesus!"

V.

"Come on, we are running late," the Monsignor called from outside the door. The "monsignor" was an Irish Catholic cleric with the manner of an Italian prince, thus Father Koch called him "the Monsignor."

"I'm coming," Father Koch yelled back. "I'm almost ready."

"The bishop hates to be kept waiting, " the monsignor warned.

Let me digress again. I had an interview with the Monsignor at his request. I was on the county's payroll as a consultant for the new sheriff. The Monsignor said that he wanted to discuss Father Koch. The sheriff's office was investigating events connected to Father Koch before and after his death. I had an appointment with the Monsignor the first thing that morning. He kept me waiting. I asked his assistant what was keeping his boss. The assistant, a young priest, said, "The Monsignor is praying."

The man was upstairs in his room, praying hard and harder, as if he'd hoped that the harder he prayed, the better chance he had that his prayers might work. I heard him. His voice was so loud that the sound carried through the floor. He called on the Almighty to come and show him the way.

I said to the young priest, "Tell him again, I'm here. Ask him to come down stairs, please?"

The young priest refused. So I started for the stairs. The young priest grabbed my arm. "In God's name, woman, have you taken leave of your senses? You can not go upstairs. You can not interrupt the Monsignor. You must not interrupt any man saying his prayers."

He was excited and ready to try to stop me with force. I told him to let go of my arm. I spoke low and without an edge in my voice. He held my arm tighter and tried to yank it back, and with it, me back to a seat to wait.

Yes, I pointed to a corner and told him to stand in that spot. Yes, the poor little thing walked to the corner. Yes. I went upstairs and interviewed the Monsignor. Yes, the young priest stood for three days, wouldn't sit, wouldn't eat. God help him.

Sometimes, they take into the priesthood some very troubled, guilt obsessed young people. Yes, after three days had passed, the new sheriff drove me to the Monsignor's house. He stood beside me, until I stood beside the young priest and talked to him, until he would sit and eat. No, that was not witchcraft. Nothing supernatural was involved. The priest was weak minded and I used hypnosis. He had it coming. Do you know he could have broken my arm? He was a strong young man, and even then, I was a weak, frail, old woman.

The day the Monsignor met with Father Koch and the monsignor warned Father Koch that the bishop hated to wait, Father Koch muttered, "More than that he hates scandal?"

I like the way I described this scene in my book about Father Koch. I quote from the book -- "Father Koch looked out of the room's single window. He remembered looking out of windows like this, of looking out of so many windows like this, back at the seminary, and in the lecture halls. He remembered the old priests there, and what the oldest priest said about a priest's backbone being made of steel. 'You start with iron to make steel.' Father Koch knew that all he had started with were dreams. He exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke that he didn't want to end. He smoked with his head poked out the tiny window. With each puff of smoke, he felt a little less guilt for not being better at his job. A month had passed since he went into Emily Cooper' s room. He'd been confined everyday since, at the isolated retreat for over-worked, and what have you, severely stressed-out priests. Mrs. Cooper had attacked him! "

The Monsignor told me about Father Koch's smoking and their conversation.

"Gregory, come on!" the Monsignor said.

"Alright! I'm coming." said Father Koch.

Father Koch snuffed out the cigarette, tossed the stub out the window. He grabbed a small suitcase, opened the door and left. He followed the monsignor to the car.

I interviewed Bernardine, Milly, Emily, from them I learned of Father Koch's alleged attack on Emily.

They said (Bernardine, Milly), that "he jiggled his pants buckle to make noise as he raped that girl." He kept "jiggling his pants buckle, " they (Bernardine, Milly) said, "to be heard in Hell."

But he saw her young man, (Emily said), a pale, skinny boy, with white hair, come out of her closet. The boy had been hiding behind Emily's dresses. The boy smiled at him. The boy slipped his hand around the girl's waist.

Father Koch stared at them for a second. He knew that he had been lecturing, preaching, to the girl to no effect. He decided for what it was worth to try the modern approach, used by the learned alienists. But then the boy let out a low growl. The next instant, the boy was at Father Koch's neck, nipping the skin, kissing him!

Father Koch cringed, said he shouted. Immediately, he knew the touch of evil. He pushed the boy away. The boy backed himself to a wall and hissed. Air left the boy's lips like hydrogen leaving a big sky balloon. The girl grabbed Father Koch! pulled HIM down with such strength that surprised him. She kissed him, then pressed his face against her hips, held her hand around his head and held him to herself, tight.

The Monsignor told me, the bishop was a boring, faceless man, a robe and a ring and nothing more, just a presence, who sat in a big chair.

The bishop sat in silence. Father Koch would have preferred if the man had screamed. The audience with the bishop lasted just a couple of seconds. A minute after it was over, Gregory Koch was back in the car with the monsignor. His priestly powers were suspended and he was on his way to another retreat. This one was out of state.

Alright. I spoke to Father Gregory Koch after he was dead. Like a diligent author, doing her due diligence, in the course of researching the subject for my book, I summoned the subject's spirit and recorded on tape over a hundred hours of interviews. The original tapes are in the National Archives in Washington, D.C., USA.

Father Koch remembered the look on Milly' s face, when she came into the girl's room. She looked at him like he had just murdered the Blessed Virgin Mary! His brain was scrambled. The reason for Milly' s look didn't registered. He had never seen anyone look at him like that. He tried to ask for an explanation. Then he was being hit! He realized, he was being plummeted. Somebody had been hitting him for a while. His body was bruising, hurting. "Stop," he stammered. "Why are you ..." He didn't finish the question. He saw all the women staring with icy glares. There were lumps on his back and knots in throat and gut. Tears streamed down Mrs. Cooper' s cheeks, she threatened him.

"Bernardine!" she screamed at her maid. "Run get the butcher knife, I'm going to cut off his meat!"

Bernardine didn't move.

Father Koch looked at the girl. She stared at him with an idiotic innocence. He said, "Please, say something. If you don't I'm going to scream."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears suddenly threatening to come. "Father Koch, why did you ravish me?"

"What?" was all he said.

He didn't know when he woke up. The old Sheriff was there. Father Koch learned that Mrs. Cooper crashed a chair against his head. The old Sheriff took him to the station and held him until the monsignor came.

"I'm not going to hang you. I know that gal is wild. But to do that in her mama' s house! If you don't leave town real soon, I am going to hang you." The old sheriff warned Father Koch, "You got until sundown."

The monsignor promised that the Catholic Church would be responsible for Father Koch.

VI.

At the Roadhouse out on Route 84, a colored boy played the trumpet so loud that it looked as if he might blow the roof clear off the place. That boy looked like he was almost as crazy about his music as Gregory Koch was crazy, from thinking about how he had been wrongly suspended from his religious order. This roadhouse was where white men and boys went to pay-to-play with girls. The colored boy was the only Negro in the five-piece band, and he was the only one who seemed to try his best at having fun with his music, but not with the black and white gals who worked in the roadhouse, and certainly not with the few white girls who came there with their beaus for fun.

Emily Cooper and her beau came to the roadhouse to dance the boogie woogie and to hear some real jazz. Her beau's flesh was pink now and not pale white. He looked strong, not weak. He drove a white roadster that he parked in the Roadhouse's manager's parking space to draw attention to himself. Emily had heard that the colored boy played a terrific horn and she had to hear him play.

While the couple went inside, Gregory Koch waited in the Roadhouse parking lot. He looked like a man nearing the end of his rope. He looked scuffy, his hair was uncombed, his clothes were wrinkled. He followed Emily Cooper and the strange boy to the Roadhouse. He'd been following them for the last two days, since he walked out of the out-of-state retreat, taking money from the chapel's poor box, and he scooted, borrowing a church-owned car from the retreat' s motor pool.

He followed Emily and her beau from place to place, working up the courage to confront them. They spotted him the first night.

After he followed them that night from a bar to her house, he went and rented a room in a flop hotel on the rough side of town. Here, the strangest thing happened.

He put down the holy water he was drinking. He didn't have much left. And, now that he was suspended, and now was on the run from the church authorities, he knew that it would be harder for him to get his supply replenished in the quantities he needed. He turned to whiskey. A half full bottle of whiskey sat on the bed stand. This was the second time this night that he needed a drink. He was too edgy to sleep without drinking more. He finished off the whiskey. Sometime in the night, he was waken by a knock. Emily and her beau stood at the door. They had smirky looks on their faces, and looked as if they were debating whether or not to enter.

Koch uttered, "Yes?"

They laughed. The boy said, "Oh, please. We don't mean to frighten you."

"You can't frighten me," Koch said.

The boy laughed. The girl laughed. The boy said, "You have nothing to fear from us. You have been drinking. I don't like alcohol mixed with blood." The boy laughed again.

"That is so," the girl said and she laughed again.

"My girl wants to know what is your purpose in following us?"

"That girl lied on me."

"And now you are ruined?" the boy said.

The girl laughed embraced the boy. He stood straight, relaxed, passive. She kissed the boy on the lips, a long deep kiss. She stopped a moment to say to the suspended priest, "You're still a virgin. My mother and those other women were all hypnotized. When you're hypnotized, you see what people tell you to see; when you're not, you see what you want to see. I am not hypnotize, though my mama thinks my beau has hypnotized me." She giggled, then she resumed her business with the boy. She rubbed her hand along the back of the boy's pants and squeezed his butt.

Koch shouted at them. "Why did you ruin me?"

They ignored him. He, using both hands tried to grab them. His purpose was to shake them, to make them listen to him. The boy, using little of his strength, grabbed one of the suspended priest' s arms, sprung him forty-five degrees, held him; using his other hand, he slapped the suspended priest' s face once, not hard, but like an adult would slap an unruly child. The boy said one word, "chastisement," and he tossed the suspended priest across the room and onto the bed, where the suspended priest fell, his heart beat rapidly, his lungs, out of breath.

The girl said to him, "Be a nice priest. We mean you no harm. I just wanted to torture Mother." Then she returned her attention to the boy, she inhaled deeply, enjoying his body scent. The boy offered no resistance and no assistance. He stood passive as she tore open his shirt and licked his chest as if she was trying to sup on his scent.

The suspended priest breathing heavily, catching his breath, demanded that the girl stop. She was underage. She was engaging in sin. She had wronged him, destroyed him. He shouted at her. She answered, taking her tongue from the boy's chest, she wagged it at the suspended priest. "Why don't you go on to your Jesus and sing Glory, Hallelujah?" She grinned. "I am with my Jesus." She said, "This is my Jesus." She put her tongue into the boy's mouth, kissed him. "This Jesus saved my soul," she laughed.

The boy added softly, "Amen."

"You will go to my bishop and tell him the truth!" Koch shouted at them.

"And petition God, and lead a righteous life?" the boy mocked.

"And turn away from the old sinful worldly ways?" the girl, joining in the mocking, giggled. She pushed -- The boy let her push him against the small room wall, and slam her body against his. The suspended priest shut his eyes. The girl moaned, "Yes, Jesus, I am going for Glory! Hallelujah! Amen!"

Then she and the boy started to happily dance around the room, clapping their hands and mocking the suspended priest.

Koch sat on the bed, folded his hands and began to pray.

"Glory Hallelujah! God save his soul," the girl mocked him.

Koch did not stop his prayer.

"Oh my soul, he's talking Latin now!" she said. "He's calling on the power of his lame religion to direct thunderbolts at die-hard sinners, like us."

"Come on, "the boy said. "This is getting boring."

"Yes," the girl said, kissing the boy's lips. "Boring. Let's go torture my mother." The girl squeezed the boy's buns, continued talking: "My mother does not mumble Latin. By now she is probably asleep dreaming of Hell. She is standing in the lake of fire. The poor soul is trying to escape the devil, trying to climb out of the fire." The girl sighed. She grabbed between the boy's legs. "Mother is birthday naked. The devil is leering at her. He has a long pitchfork between his legs. The terror of the dream is that devil looks a lot like daddy." The girl pressed herself hard to the boy's hips and kissed his face, his mouth, his nose, his eyes. She kissed him over and over again, as he stood there passive and pleased. The girl spoke between the kisses, said: "Many, many nights, I heard them, mommy and daddy. I was awakened by mommy' s screams. Their room was right next to mine. The rooms shared a wall. It was horrible. I was a little girl then. He beat her, said that he was spanking her. Mommy' s got to behave like little girls got to behave, he said. When I saw them, ran to him, asked him why was he hurting mommy. Mother thinks, I am the lost soul." She kisses the boy's hand and says, "It is all so silly the way she treats you, my beau. I know mother hurts and I tried mighty hard with her. But I am wrong and she is right. "

The suspended Father, Gregory Koch, continued his Latin prayer.

VII.

Emily and her beau ran out of the Roadhouse. They were inside only a minute. The boy's face was white and he was in a hurry. He and the girl ran to the roadster. Koch was alarmed. Why were they running! What frightened them?

By the time the black boy came running out, the girl was in the car and her beau was cranking up the engine.

Koch blocked the black boy. Why? He didn't know. But he mouthed questions: "Why are you chasing them? What did they do?"

"Get out of my way!" the black boy yelled at Koch.

What is a black boy doing chasing two white children? -- Koch demanded to know.

"What are you? Defending that!" the black boy was incensed. He tossed Koch aside. By now people poured out of the Roadhouse to see the reason for the commotion. Koch was on the ground yelling at the black boy. The white boy had the car running and Emily was screaming, "Somebody help us, please, that nigger wants to kill us!"

The crowd, nearly all of whom had just enjoyed the Negro's music and thought he was the coolest jazzman on earth, attacked him with fists and clubs, and feet, knocked him down, held him to the ground, stomped on him, while Emily and her beau got away. Emily laughed and giggled as the roadster sped off. The crowd was too busy plummeting the black boy to notice her demeanor, or to take in account that the white boy was leaving the scene. Emily' s beau did not stay to fight, to defend himself and the girl, or to join in, while the mob punished the black boy. He ran. Koch noticed this. Koch knew that something was very wrong, but when he realized this, it was too late to help the black boy. The black boy's body was busted up, his head was broken open, his body was bleeding, he was dead. The mob wouldn't step back, when Koch told them he was a priest and that the boy was dead.

One of the men said, "The nigger don't need no damn priest! "

Several of the men kept kicking the black boy's body, though they must have known that the boy was dead. Koch prayed for the boy's soul, anyway, and took a punch in his jaw and got pushed away. Koch stumbled to his car and he prayed in his car.

VIII.

Koch parked across the street from the Cooper house. He dared not go in, or be seen. He waited for Emily and her beau. His plan was to confront them and to make them tell him why the black boy chased them. Koch didn't have to wait long. The roadster pulled up beside him. Emily got out and went into the house. Koch yelled at her, told her not to run, said he wanted to talk. Her beau got out, said to Koch. "We will talk." He got in the car that Koch drove, said, "You have become a problem."

"You are a coward!" Koch replied. "You can't threaten me. I've seen how fast you run. I've seen the fear on your face."

Emily' s beau replied warily, "You know nothing. If you did, you would be so afraid of me."

"Yeah, like that Negro was afraid of you!"

"Don't mourn for it."

"A Negro is not an it, you, nut! I pity you and that girl you have corrupted."

"Pity yourself, you are in danger of Hell."

"Me? You are in danger, boy."

"I know I must kill you. But I liked you."

"Threatening me again? Are you going to get a mob to kill me too?"

"That thing that you saw as a human being, it again? You are not it. You are nothing. What it is, yes, is, would frighten the piss out of you."

"You are crazy."

"That thing is alive. It rose from the dead like your Jesus. But it wasn't truly dead. It is a damn hypnotist. It knows that you know me. I can't let you lead it to me."

"You are crazy. I see it now. Everything is clear, you and that girl are both insane."

"I shouldn't toy with you. I should have just snuffed you out. But Emily likes you, I like Emily. She wants me to talk to you. Well, I've talked. Get lost."

Later, as Gregory Koch lay in bed in the rented room considering what to do next, he noticed the bed bugs. One, then three, then a dozen. He jumped off the bed. Behind him was a wall of bugs, blood suckers all, hundreds of bed bugs, and he saw a dozen, crawling on the floor for him, more than fifty falling from the ceiling upon him.

The room door opened and the pale boy entered. He brought with him thousands of bugs, that ran into the room, barely leaving space for Father Koch to stand.

"I counted a hundred thousand, " said the boy. "One hundred thousand, all after your blood."

Father Koch looked toward the door.

"Don't, " said the boy. "Don't move or they will all be on you, and there are too many for you to kill."

Father Koch moved anyway, and bugs began to crawl up his legs, and they were in his hair and were biting into his neck.

The door closed and the bugs on the floor made a path for the pale boy to move within spitting distance of the priest.

"They will eat you alive, " the boy warned. "But you have a choice. Look at the bed."

The bugs were gone from the bed. A few were on Father Koch's clothes. The rest were waiting for the sign to devour the suspended priest. A woman, as naked as all the Orient, with a body formed to pleasure man, lay on the bed.

The boy offered the priest the woman. "What will it be? Your faith or your life?" the boy asked. "Will you keep your faith and be eaten by the bugs? Or will you choose life, and let the lady pleasure you? Decide quick for the time is short."

Well there it is, the beginning of the chapter, "The Ex-Priest's Choice?" That's all I'm going to tell. For more read my book, "The Life and Times of Father Gregory Koch, " published 1949, by the Baltimore Publishing Company.

{END?}