Soul Sucker

John Miller’s POV

Manhattan Apartment

Saturday, February 25, 2023

We cleared the furniture to the edges of the living area to give us room to train after breakfast. They helped me roll out the ten-by-ten-foot mat over the existing carpet. I couldn’t go to my dojo anymore, so my only workouts were with Mary and Heather on the weekends. They weren’t a challenge since they weren’t near my level, but it was better than nothing. I was more of a sensei than a partner here. “I want to do things a little differently today.”

“Is that why you have the foam dummy in the corner,” Heather asked.

I nodded at her with a smile. Amazon had delivered the half-torso used for self-defense practice with a few other training aids and protective equipment I’d need for these subjects. “You two have been taking classes and working hard for how long?”

Heather counted the months since August on her fingers. “A little over six months.”

“Do you feel like you could defend yourself and escape from an attacker with what you know?”

Both of them nodded. I looked down at my five-foot, maybe hundred-pound spitfire of a daughter. She had spirit but not humility. “Let’s find out.” I handed both of them boxing headgear and MMA gloves. I put on the same gear, plus a groin protector. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to play the part of an attacker. If I get you to the ground and establish control, you lose. If you break free and get off the mat, I lose. Any questions?”

Mary looked at me with wide eyes. “Rules?”

“No eye gouges or throat punches. We are only sparring, after all.”

“Me first!” Heather’s enthusiasm didn’t last long. I pretended to walk up behind her and grab her shoulder. She tried to establish control of my arm, but it didn’t work. I used my weight and strength to pull her off balance, wrapped her up, and slammed her to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and I had her wrapped and immobilized in about three seconds.

“Heather!” Mary rushed over as I let my daughter go. We rolled her to her back, and I lifted her by the belt to help her recover her breath. “You didn’t have to throw her down so hard,” she complained.

“I didn’t hold back, just like an attacker wouldn’t,” I replied. Once Heather was walking it off, I called Mary to the mat.

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” she said.

“All you have to do is make it five feet,” I told her.

I knew what I planned would upset both of them, but I was going to prove a point. When I came up behind Mary, I placed her in a rear choke and leaned back. She tried using her legs to attack my feet but couldn’t do anything while I held her off the ground like a rag doll. I drove her to the ground, using my body weight to keep her pinned. I used a free hand to reach under her gi, grab the waistband of her yoga pants, and yank them to her knees. It took me five seconds to have her bare ass pinned under my hips while I simulated penetration.

Mary screamed for help as I let her go. She scrambled away from me towards Heather, pulling her pants up as she looked at me with fear. I allowed her to escape, then sat on the center of the mat while she composed herself.

Both girls were looking at me the same way. I’d thoroughly shattered their confidence in their abilities, and they looked at me like the predator I was. “Take a break, get some water, and then we can talk.”

The two backed away from me as they retreated to the dining table. It was something they’d been trained on, to never turn your back on the enemy. Seeing them think of me this way hurt me, but it was necessary for their safety. I was sitting on the couch when they returned a few minutes later, and neither sat close. “You’re wondering why I was so rough on you,” I said.

“You hurt us,” Heather said with tears in her eyes.

“It felt like I was about to be raped,” Mary added.

“I know. I’m sorry about that, and I never intended to do you real harm, but I had to make the point.”

“What point is that,” Mary replied angrily. “That you’re a vicious brute?”

“The training you have gotten so far has given you the basics of self-defense. It isn’t real life. The sparring you do is under controlled conditions. Your opponents have skill levels and body sizes similar to your own. Heather, do you spar the men in the advanced classes?”

She shook her head. “We don’t even spar with the teens. I only grapple with an adult when the Sensei demonstrates on me.”

“Mary?”

“The same,” she replied. “I mostly spar with other women in my class, occasionally the smaller men.”

“And there is nothing wrong with that. If you got dominated in the beginner classes, you might give up. In real life, the predator selects his prey. A difference in size and strength that we avoid in the dojo is MORE likely on the street. A mugger or rapist selects victims he thinks he can overpower.”

It was starting to dawn on them. “How long until I can defend myself,” Mary asked.

“None of us are invulnerable,” I replied. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, but I’m still vulnerable to weapons, younger and stronger opponents, and multiple attackers. We all are.” I looked them in the eyes. “If someone my size came after you, do you think you could take them down now?”

Both shook their heads no. “I’m a kid,” Heather objected.

“Exactly. In a stand-up fight, you have no chance. I’ll teach you some things I’ve learned in Krav Maga classes. Your goal isn’t to win street fights. That’s not realistic, and anyone who makes you think their martial art allows you to win against someone like me is delusional. Your goal is to break free and escape. To do that, you need to do three things. Break contact, disable quickly, and create space. You’ve done some practice with breaking holds, and we will build on that. Today we are working on ways to disable attackers with whatever is available.”

“Like what?”

“Tell you what. I’ll give you one minute to find as many things as you can that you could use to disable someone. No digging around in drawers; the weapons must be in plain sight or carried in your purse or backpack. Go.” I’d left a few things out for them. I heard them rushing around while I carried the foam dummy onto the mat.

“Time,” I called out. “Bring them in.” Heather had the silverware from breakfast, a screwdriver, and a letter opener. Mary had her pepper spray and a paperweight. “Nice selection,” I said. “Let me add a few things.” I brought a few more items; a ballpoint pen, a magazine, and my key ring. “What do these objects have in common?”

“I found stabby things,” Heather said proudly.

“I carry pepper spray in my purse, and you could hit someone in the head with the paperweight,” Mary added. “I’m not sure about yours.”

“You can stab someone with keys or a pen,” I told them. Taking the key ring in my left hand, I extended one key between the index and middle finger. I picked up the pen with my right, the tip extending out the bottom of a closed fist. I did a quick left jab to the dummy’s throat, leaving the key embedded a few inches into the foam larynx. I stabbed the pen into the left shoulder, sticking it deeply into the nerve cluster above the collarbone. Both moves took less than a second. I kneed the dummy in the abdomen, knocking it onto the floor. I ran off the mat before it hit the ground. The girls looked at me with wide eyes. “Disable and escape using ANYTHING you can find. That’s what we are working on this weekend. Go check the dummy.”

The girls looked at how deeply I’d stuck the items. The dense foam simulated the density of flesh, and it took some pulling to get them back out. “That’s cool,” Heather said.

“Can she learn to do that?”

I took the pen from her. “The tip of a sharp object penetrates the skin because the force of the strike gets concentrated in a tiny area,” I replied. “You have to practice to get the strike right so it doesn’t break. Straight in and straight back out. If it is at an angle, it will bend or break instead.”

Heather looked at the pen. “Can I try?”

“Sure,” I replied. I showed my daughter how to grip the pen. “Bang the fist on his body like you are pounding on a table, and the grip will keep the pen straight.” I had her aim for the middle of the dummy’s back, knowing we’d be tearing up the front in practice. She left the pen two inches deep in the foam on her first try.

We stayed in the back, and I had them try the strikes with the other stabbing objects. The fork didn’t go so well. “The fork won’t do much unless you hit a vulnerable point like the eyes.”

An hour later, they were proficient at striking with household objects. I brought out two knives from the bedroom.

An hour later, they were proficient at striking with household objects. I brought out two knives from the bedroom. One was a Kershaw three-and-a-half-inch assisted-opening rescue folding knife in bright orange. The other was a Marine combat knife in a leather holder. “Let’s talk laws for a minute,” I said. “New York and New Jersey have stringent laws on carrying knives. A knife like this,” I held up the combat knife, “is illegal to carry outside the home. This folding knife is under the four-inch blade limit for carry in New York if concealed. If any part is visible, you can get a ticket. And in both states, carrying a knife for self-defense isn’t a lawful purpose. That’s why this is a ‘rescue’ knife used by EMTs and firefighters.”

“Then what good are they?”

“A knife in the home is better than nothing, and a small folder in your purse has other purposes.” I showed her the hard tip and small blade at the bottom, inside the handle. “This point is for breaking windshield glass, and this small blade is for cutting through seatbelts. You can open the knife with one hand.” I demonstrated holding it, then flicking the blade open with my thumb. I showed them how to unlock and close it, then had both try it a few times. I finished by having both stab the dummy in the kidneys using two grips. “Mary, you should keep this in your purse.” She glanced up, and I reassured her. “I have a few more.”

“Thank you.”

“Do I get one,” Heather asked.

“You and I are going to learn about knife safety before I get you anything, and you can’t EVER bring it to school,” I told her.

We spent the next hour going over the body’s vulnerable points. “There are only a few spots where you can incapacitate an attacker with one thrust. Temples, eyes, carotid artery under the left jaw, throat, groin, and kidney,” I told them. “Killing isn’t your purpose, though. Hitting a small target on a live human isn’t easy, and you only get ONE chance to strike. Eyes, throat, stomach, kidney, groin,” I said as I pointed to the dummy. “Don’t try for the heart because the ribs might block or break your blade. In and out, more than once, if you can. Break free and run to safety. Let’s try it.” They used the folding blade and punched a lot of holes.

The girls were exhausted by the time we broke for showers and lunch. We were having tomato soup and grilled cheese when Heather asked a question. “Daddy, can we try the knife in the drawer by the bed?”

“That’s not for practice. It’s a very old and special blade.”

“How special?”

I looked at Mary, and she nodded. “Do you remember when I told you about demons and how my great-great-grandfather was a Demon Hunter?” She nodded. “The dagger he carried isn’t just for protection. It can absorb and trap a demon that refuses to leave a body.”

“You stab the person?”

I nodded. “It doesn’t matter where you stab the person. The spiritual being gets sucked into the blade, and the person dies when the two are separated.”

Her eyes got wide. “The blade is full of demons?”

“Maybe. The journal talks about a purifying ceremony, but I don’t know how long ago it was done.”

“What would happen if you stabbed someone else with it? Would the demon escape into them?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, baby. That’s why I’ll never take it out unless it’s demon-hunting time.”

She sat back and thought about it. “Ugh. I don’t want to touch it now.”

“That’s for the best, honey,” Mary replied. She’d put her wedding rings back on after the spar and nervously played with the big diamond setting. We’d gotten married in January in a private ceremony in my apartment. We’d have a big celebration on Dad’s farm later.

“What are you going to do about this Ingrid woman,” Heather asked me.

“I can’t do anything with this on,” I said as I showed my ankle monitor. “I don’t know. I can’t go around stabbing people and claiming they have a demon inside. I’d never get out of jail.”

“Then why did God give you the sight,” she asked innocently.

It was a good question. I didn’t have a good answer.