Camp Damascus

by Chuck Tingle

“What about you?” I retort. “You’re not a success. I’m not a success!” Saul returns with a thick, leather-bound tome in hand. “We’re not successful conversions? Really?” he retorts with a laugh. “I’m certainly not living the gay lifestyle I envisioned.”

I stare at my host awkwardly. “Wait, after all this, you still believe in prayer? You believe in God?” “You don’t?” Saul counters with a laugh. “There’s a demon attached to you, Darling! Are you really saying the devil is out there doing his wicked work, but now God is a bridge too far?”

I’ve been so wrapped up in my disillusionment with the church itself that I didn’t even see what was sitting right in front of me, the mountains of evidence that something else is out there. Of course, it’s difficult to tell what that something is, but throwing out the whole cosmic realm might not be the most logical course of action.

“That doesn’t mean hell’s not real, or that God’s not real,” I continue. “It’s just a shift in our understanding of what that means. We’re so used to looking at these things like they’re outside the realm of science, but maybe they’re just parts of the universe science hasn’t gotten around to yet.”

We haven’t been blessed by some incredible superpower from the great beyond, we’re just curious. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

“You look nervous,” Saul says through a single wireless headphone in my right ear. “Don’t worry. It’s just a demon from the depths of hell here to keep you from being too gay.”

Slowly, the tip of the strange organism begins to expand, opening to reveal a dark, four-fanged mouth that stretches into a distinctly square orifice. The maw is dripping with thick, glistening mucus. “Oh wow” is all I can think to say, the inquisitive part of my mind fully overriding any good sense I might otherwise harness to pull away.