Dug the Demon Poet

This is the guy I’m supposed to possess, I confirm as I look at my fact sheet. Dwayne Gary, age 33, single, waiter at Chili’s. He sounds incredibly boring. One of my siblings would take Dwayne’s boring life as a challenge and turn it upside down causing as much chaos as possible if they were to take possession of him.

Me on the other hand, I don’t really want to possess him. I don’t even want to be a demon. I have always wanted to be a poet. I once showed some of my poems to my parents, but they said, “You were born a demon, and a demon you shall be.”

Whatever. I’ll be a demon but that doesn't mean I’ll be good at it or enjoy it for that matter.

Dwayne Gary… a guy with two first names, how lame. I wonder how he even got added into the Demon Possession Database. This guy appears to have such a mundane life, he can’t have done anything too awful to make the list.

This will be my first possession, so I am thinking back to my last year at the academy when we practiced this sort of thing. Latch onto his soul then infiltrate his mind. Sounds easy enough. Well, here goes nothing.

I’m in. I see the soul, there’s a small black spot on it, but I can’t see what it is. Into the mind now. Umm… not much here other than useless heavy metal song lyrics and Japanese anime playing card stats. I’m also supposed to squash any hopes and dreams I find, but I don’t see any of those here either.

Gary or Dwayne, or whatever his name is, was asleep when I entered, so I guess now it’s time to wake him up. Let’s see… open his eyes, spin his head 360 degrees, skin on fire, speak in my native tongue. Check on all those, I seem to be getting the hang of this.

“Ahh… what in the actual shit is going on?” Gary screamed. He put his hands up to his head to stop it from rotating with no luck. I start talking to him in my language through his own mouth but then realize he has no idea what I’m saying.

I pull my head and part of my torso out of him to talk to him in English. I stop his head from spinning so he can focus on me. His eyes get huge and I can feel him trying to get away from me, but I still have a firm hold onto him. “Uh, Gary, is it? Listen, your name has been entered into the Demon Possession Database or DPD as we call it for short. I’ve been assigned as your demon. My name is Dugalese Diabolos Deimos, but you can call me Dug for short.”

He just stared at me for a moment, then started to stutter. I think he’s trying to say something. “Cat got your tongue Gary?”

Finally, he spits out some words, “My name is Dwayne. Dwayne Gary. Are you sure you have the right person?”

“Geez, I think so,” I say as I pull out the info card again. “Says here, Dwayne Gary, you are single, 33 years old, and have worked as a waiter at Chili’s for the last 15 years. Is that you?”

“Well yeah, but I don’t understand why I am being possessed by a demon.”

“I’m not allowed to see those details. All I know is you’ve done something to get your name added to the DPD.” I said then sighed. “I don’t really want to possess you. I’m not really into this whole demon thing, but like Pa said, ‘I was born a demon and a demon I shall be’. Personally, I just want to be a poet.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he says. “I’ve done something to get myself into this DPD database thing, but you don’t know what it is. Now I’m to be possessed by you and there’s nothing I can do about it. Oh, and you would rather be a God damn poet.”

“Don’t say DPD database though, just DPD. The second ‘database’ is redundant. But yeah, that’s about right except my poems are not about damning God. I try to stay away from the politics of good vs. evil and all that.”

Gary shakes his head. “Is this permanent then? This whole possession thing?” he asks.

“Oh, not at all. I can leave as soon as you go insane, I’m exorcised, or you make amends for whatever got you in the database to begin with.”

“But I don’t know what I did to get me on the list”

“It usually happens when someone recently does something bad to another person. What have you done to hurt someone else Wayne?”

“First off Dug, my name is Dwayne with a D like yours. Gary is my last name. And I don’t remember doing anything all that bad to anyone.” Then he thought some more. “Brendan, a friend of mine from high school died the other day, but it wasn’t anything I did.”

“No? How did he die Dwayne?” I really emphasize the D in Dwayne.

“He was electrocuted on the job. He worked for his dad’s contracting business. He didn’t really want to be an electrician though.”

“Oh, what did he want to be?” I ask

“He wanted to be… a poet.” Dwayne says with sudden realization. “He would write poems in high school. One day he asked me to read some, so being the high school jerk I was, I read them out loud in the cafeteria with hundreds of kids listening. They all started laughing and making fun of him.”

“So, he didn’t pursue a career in poetry then?”

“No, I told him that was a stupid idea and not a legitimate career path.” Gary says with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Instead, he became an electrician, worked for his dad, and now he’s dead?” I ask rhetorically.

Dwayne’s eyes start tearing up. “I’m such an asshole. I mean how can a person make a living as poet. I thought I was helping steer him down a sensible path.” He closes his eyes and just shakes his head.

“You shattered his dream.” I point out, then add. “I’ve searched your mind and I saw you don’t have any hopes or dreams.”

Dwayne starts sobbing. “I didn’t mean to shatter his dream. I’m just practical when it comes to those things. I did have a dream once. I wanted to go to culinary school and become a chef. I started working at Chili’s so I could hopefully move into the kitchen and gain some experience before going to school. But after a while it was just easier to stay working as a waiter and now I get the best shifts because of my seniority.”

I reflect for a bit. All this talk about hopes and dreams and I’m not even following mine. How can I be too hard on Gary for what he did? I mean, I still have a job to do, and my performance review will be based on how well this possession goes.

After a bit Dwayne states, “It may be too late to make amends for what I did to Brendan, but maybe there is something I can do. It won’t be enough, but it would be something.”

“What is that?” I ask.

“I crushed Brendan’s dream, but I could help you with yours.” He says.

I don’t know how to respond. I just stare at him. I want more than anything to be a poet, but I have this job to do, and I don’t want to disappoint my parents.

“How could you help me?” I finally ask.

“Well, I could submit your poems for publication under a pen name, Dug or whatever you want. But you will have to limit the intensity of your possession though, so I don’t go insane.”

I think about that for moment then I look at Dwayne’s soul again. The black spot has faded a bit, but it’s still there. I’m still taken aback by the fact that he wants to help me. “Okay, we have a deal, but I have one further stipulation.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You start culinary school.”

I can feel a small dream start to grow inside his mind.

“Okay, it’s a deal,” he agrees.

Over the next few days, he registers for school and I help him pick his classes. Then I dictate a few of my poems to him. Dwayne searches for journals to submit my poems to. I try not to do too many crazy possession things to him, but just for fun, I do let a little bit of demon speak slip out while he’s taking customer orders at Chili’s.

Finally, after a few weeks, Dwayne calls me out to look at something on his computer screen. His browser is open to a webpage on the Chestnut Review website. On the page is my poem. My very first published poem.

A Name

A name. Sometimes memorable,

Sometimes soothing.

Could be confusing, could be amusing.

Sometimes sweet, sometimes rotten.

But when it comes to friends,

It should not be forgotten.

Dugalese Diabolos Deimos

If a demon could shed a tear, I would do so right now. Instead, I peer into Dwayne’s soul again. The black spot is gone. “It looks like I’m going to have to take my leave. Your soul is healed.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for you to leave yet,” Dwayne replies. “I think I still have more amends to make.”

“No, you’re ready.” I reassure him. “You have done so much for me, but it’s now time for me to go and face my parents and let them know I’m done being a demon.”

“How will they take that?” he asks.

“Probably not well. They are demons you know.”

We both just look at each other and start laughing.