by Jaron Summers
eBook release: September 2010
“The Devil is inside me!” Hollar Nimbell screamed and leapt out of bed. Satan’s cloven hooves and spiked tail threshed devilishly within Hollar Nimbell’s body as he staggered into the bathroom and tore off his pajama top and in the full-length mirror peered terrified at his naked back.His wife, startled awake, cried, “Hollar, what are you doing?”"He has me!” her husband said, his eyes fixed on his back.”Who has you?” she asked.”Can’t you see him?” he said.”See who? What!”He did not reply. He could not. Satan had seized his voice. What he expected his wife to see was the bulge in his shoulders where the devil clung.No bulge, but the devil was there. Hollar Nimbell could sense him, the horned head twitching up inside Hollar Nimbell’s neck and into his brain, shouting dirty, filthy words. Hollar Nimbell smashed his own head against the mirror to jar the devil out. The devil held fast.Sixty year old Hollar Nimbell was an apostle in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one of twelve men who in this year of our Lord, 1952, directed the affairs of two million Mormons world-wide. Now, on a stormy April night, Apostle Nimbell himself had been summoned for testing. He was equal to the task.He pressed the bloody gash in his forehead against the mirror and fell to his knees and raised his right hand to the square. “Satan, get thee behind me! By the power of the Melchizedick priesthood I command you to leave my body!”
Apostle Nimbell felt the power of the Holy Ghost whirling within him. A searing desert wind blasted through the apostle’s entire being and blew the devil back to hell. Soon afterward, in church and in public, the apostle described his Beelzebub Battle. All, Mormon and non-Mormon, who heard the apostle acknowledged the apostle’s courage. (Some non-believers and, regrettably, a few believers, joked about Apostle Nimbell being too nimble for even the devil to catch.)
Ten years passed. Now seventy, his appearance was that of a much older man. Beyond possession, the devil had attacked Apostle Nimbell with ailments ranging from typhoid fever to near-drowning, had taken his mother when the apostle was eleven. Had even taken his four sisters before their adolescence. Lesser men would have crumpled.
In addition to thwarting The Devil, Apostle Nimbell had beaten throat cancer, vanquished depression, and overcome facial ticks. Surely Father in Heaven would allot him a few more years to complete unfinished work. If ever there was a time for an apostle, a servant of the Lord, to counter The Prince of Darkness, this was that time. It was not easy. Part of his voice box had been destroyed by the surgeon’s scalpel and radiation. Apostle Nimbell’s voice now sounded more like a rattle. Some of the kids in church giggled when he preached. He ignored them. The youth of Zion simply did not understand Satan’s evil.
In June of 1962 Apostle Nimbell was considered the prime candidate for the church’s next president. Gasoline was twenty-five cents a gallon. Elvis Presley and The Beach Boys were on top of the charts. To Kill a Mocking Bird was a bestseller.
Gas and literature did not concern the apostle. Presley and the Beach Boys did. The youth of the church were all too vulnerable to Lucifer’s relentless efforts to destroy them. The Devil knew that without the youth the church would perish. But Father in Heaven also knew this. And God favored the LDS church.
The apostle glanced outside at Moroni, the golden angel with trumpet to lips perched high atop the Mormon temple in the center of Salt Lake City. A seagull alighted on Moroni, slipped, then scrambled onto the granite ledge in front of Apostle Nimbell. A celestial sign? Was the devil wearing feathers today?
A secretary now ushered Jerry Wonder into the office. Jerry, nineteen, had traveled by bus from his home in South Dakota to meet with the apostle to determine the boy’s worthiness to serve a mission for the church.
Accordingly, the apostle’s first words to the young novitiate were, “Do you accept me as a prophet, seer, and revelator?”
“Yes sir, I do,” said Jerry.
The apostle nodded approvingly, gestured Jerry to be seated, whereupon he selected a book from a nearby stack of similar books. He opened the book, signed it, and presented it to Jerry. “In its sixth printing. Consider it a gift from me to you.”
“That’s very nice of you, Apostle Nimbell,” Jerry said, which sounded like the right thing to say. The dust jacket consisted of a flattering portrait of the apostle, and was entitled, Get Thee Behind Me, Satan! by Apostle Hollar Nimbell.
After a short prayer, the interview began. Routine questions until:
“You’re from a farming community so I have to ask you about sex with barnyard animals. You ever get into that kind of mischief?”
“Ever had sex with a cow, a sheep or any of the other common barnyard animals?”
What, Jerry wondered, what the heck was this all about? But he replied with a respectful, “No, sir, never.”
“I realize these questions may seem strange to you but I bare you my testimony that Father in Heaven says I must ask them. A testimony, as you know, is an absolute conviction that our church is true, having been restored by heavenly messengers in 1830. Further, a person with a testimony knows that the head of the church and its twelve modern day apostles are in direct contact with God.”
“I understand,” said Jerry.
“Jerry, some of our young men who have lived in farming communities have placed their penises into the bums of chickens.”
“They have?” said Jerry, who not even in his wildest erotic fantasies, could imagine placing his penis into a chicken’s ass.
“The question is, have you?”
“Sir, I have never placed my penis into anything.”
“Not into your special sweetheart, Susan Cunningham?”
Jerry could not have been more surprised — not to mention frightened — had the apostle struck him over the head with one of the Get Thee Behind Me, Satan! books.On his part, the apostle felt the power of The Holy Ghost flowing through him. He was on the right track. “Her father and I served on a mission together. I’ve never met the young lady but I’m sure she is a worthy sister and will make an ideal wife for you. Ever bared your penis to her?”
“But you have, of course, petted?”
Now how do you answer that one? Well, of course, with the truth: “A little bit.”
“Did you ever touch her titties?”
“I didn’t feel too good about it.” Giving what he thought was the right answer.
“That’s the devil for you. What about her private dank area, down low. Penetration?”
“Not with my penis, sir.” Another right answer.
Earning him another nod of approval. “And you’re sorry about what you did and you won’t do it again, yes?”
“Yes, Apostle Nimbell.”
Their eyes locked — callow youth and venerated apostle. The apostle stared into Jerry’s soul. “Never touch a woman in those ways again until you are sealed to her in the Temple. You understand?” The patriarch leaned forward, weighing the boy’s faltering reply.
“Y-yes,” said Jerry.
“Do not discuss what we have talked about with anyone. Let it remain a conversation between you and a Servant of the Lord.”
“It will be our secret.”
“Not secret, sacred. Sacred, Elder, like the ordinances in our temple. Return in safety to the Black Hills of South Dakota and stay close to the Lord. Wait with your loved ones while the brethren decide if you will be chosen to serve as a missionary for Father in Heaven. Guard against Satan’s attacks. They could easily present themselves to you through sexual temptation.”
“Lets chat about exactly how far you went with Susan.”
Jerry sank back into his chair.
The apostle felt a comforting surge of inspiration for he was doing what God had chosen him to accomplish in these, the last days. His experience and knowledge told him that much was left to cleanse from the young elder. The apostle also sensed that the young man was not that certain about the absolute divinity of the church.
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“A humorous irreverent testimony of Mormonism. This is the Book of Mormon you want to read.” – Danny Mister
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