The Devil's End

by D A Fowler

  She heard a creak at the end of the hall, where the master bedroom and Rick’s rooms were located. Marla was apparently in her brother’s room; borrowing something, Pamela supposed. The kids were constantly accusing one another of borrowing things without asking.

  Weaving her way down the hall, past the empty bathroom on her right, she said sternly, “Marla, you’re going to be late for school. Are you dressed already? Marla?” Rick’s bedroom door was shut. A poster taped to it warned: Enter at Your Own Risk! Quite appropriate, Pamela thought with dismay. Stepping through her son’s room was like walking through a minefield. One wrong move and you’ve got a jackknife poking through your foot, or you’re falling over a football, or slipping on the pages of an open Penthouse magazine. Marla’s was often the same way, only not quite so dangerous, unless you got tangled up in a pile of clothes. Pamela was getting a little sick of playing maid to her two lazy offspring. They were certainly capable of cleaning up their own rooms. Like she’d told them a thousand times.

  She snarled at the poster and, fully aware of her mortal danger, opened the door. The room was a disaster area, as usual. But Marla was nowhere in sight. Through the fog in her mind, Pamela became aware that there was someone behind her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She whirled around.

  Marla stood in the hallway, having apparently just emerged from the master bedroom. In the shadows, her eyes glowed like sapphires. They bored into Pamela’s. “Looking for me, Mother?”

  Pamela let out her breath; she’d been unaware until then that she’d been holding it. She nodded, wondering at the strange odor she smelled. “I was afraid you were going to be late for school…by the way, what were you doing in my bedroom? Borrowing my earrings again?”

  White lips turned up in a smile. “Just wondering.”

  “Just wondering what?” Pamela asked irritably.

  “Wondering how many times you’ve fucked Roger Snell on that bed in there.”

  Pamela was sure she was going to faint. She felt her cheeks burn, her brain turn into a helium balloon. But she couldn’t deny. She could only stand there and admit her guilt with an open mouth and bloodshot, stricken eyes.

  “What’s the matter, Mother? Was it supposed to be a secret? Yes…I can see that you wouldn’t want Daddy to find out, not to mention your old chum Beth. Or me, you fucking hypocrite.” The sapphires narrowed. “Look at you…you’re disgusting. A secret lush with a secret lover. Looks like your mother lost her soul for nothing. Well, guess I’d better be on my way. See you soon.”

  Pamela melted unconscious to the floor.

  Spiro closed the gap in the curtains and turned to face his mother’s rancid mound of flesh, now heaped at an odd angle on the couch. “Mama, do I have to go to school today?”

  “No, son. Stay here with me. You can draw pictures all day long.”

  “Lana just went away in that pickup truck with that boy, Mama. She’s always with him. I want to be him.”

  “No, son, you just want to look like him. And you can, son, you can.”

  Spiro scrambled over to the couch and sank to his knees. With a gesture of supplication, he pleaded, “Please tell me, Mama. Tell me how.”

  The dull eye caressed him with affection. “It’s very simple, boy. Just put on his mask.”

  Greer jerked up the phone and punched the correct extension button. “Hello? Dale?”

  Dale was his brother, a judge for fifteen years. Surely he had some connections, could pull some strings, get something done. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. Had to go to Pierre. So, what’s up?”

  Richard Greer felt beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. He found himself searching for the right words to say, although he had rehearsed his little speech at least two hundred times, and all night in his dreams. It was going to be much harder than he thought.

  “Dale, you’ve known me all my life; you know I’m not crazy, right?”

  His brother cleared his throat. “Well now, I don’t know that I’d swear to that under oath…”

  “Come on, Dale, I’m serious. If I told you that I’d seen, with my own eyes, a UFO land in my backyard, would you believe me, or would you think I’ve gone off my rocker?”

  The voice came back incredulous. “You’re telling me you saw a spaceship? In your backyard?”

  Richard wiped his brow with his sleeve. “No, that’s not what I’m telling you. But what I do have to say is going to sound just as incredible. Are you going to listen to me?”

  “I think I’d better hear it first, Bubba.”

  Greer winced at the childhood nickname. He’d hated it then and he hated it more now. At times he wanted to shove it back down his brother’s throat with his fist. A difficult feat to accomplish over the phone. He said evenly, “You remember what I told you when I got back from Haiti?”

  Silence. Then, “You mean about the voodoo?”

  “That’s what they call it, yes. There’s another name for it over here. Doesn’t matter what it’s called. The same things do the dirty work.”

  “Right. Demons, or evil departed souls.” A slight cough.

  Richard could picture the expression on his brother’s face. Amusement. Disbelief. He wore it often on the bench. “Whatever. I don’t know what they are, but I know they’re real. I came face to face with one—”

  “I know, I remember. So get on with it; I need to be at the courthouse in half an hour, and I haven’t shaved yet. Get to the point.”

  Richard swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen another one…recently. Here. One of the teachers.”

  “Very interesting, Richard. Well, I’d better be going. Why don’t you and Lila plan on coming over for dinner tomorrow night? We can tell your little story to the trick-or-treaters; I’m sure they would enjoy it. And you know how Barbara is about things like that; she’d certainly be in the limelight at her next tea.”

  “You’ve got to do something!” Richard hissed, gripping the phone. “Set up a bust—get the thing behind bars. I don’t know if that would do any good or not, but—”

  “Whoa, hang on there. You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know what kind of shows you’ve been watching on television, but we don’t do that kind of thing around here. No way. Maybe you should be telling all this to Dr. Shearer, Bub.” Shearer was a psychologist. Richard angrily slammed down the receiver.

  Lana turned to Bruce in the cab of his pickup. They were at the drive-in eating a breakfast of hash browns and Cokes. “Do you ever think about death?”

  He shook his head. “Never. I don’t even think about getting sick. Why worry about it? It’s not like you can do anything about it. Me, I just party when I can, try to keep a positive attitude in this stinking jungle, and make out with pretty girls like you.”

  Lana gave Bruce a light pinch on his inner thigh. “Not at the drive-in, unless you wanna go around an’ charge admission. No sense puttin’ on a free show.”

  “How much you think we could get?”

  “About five cents.” What she meant was that so far, the physical part of their romance was G-rated—which was fine—but the words had come out sounding like a complaint.

  Bruce donned an expression of despair. “Five cents?”

  She gave him a quick, consoling peck on the cheek. “Oh, you know what I meant. They wanna see some real action, an’ we’re not that kind of movie.”

  Bruce surprised himself by saying, “I wish we were.”

  Time was suspended for what seemed like a small eternity. Lana felt her body grow warm. The time was right, she finally concluded. Not here at the drive-in, of course, but in the privacy of her bedroom…“You wanna skip school today?” she asked, her eyes lowered. Saying the words sent goosebumps up her arms and shoulders.

  Bruce’s crotch stirred slightly. “You really mean it?”

  “Nobody’s home at my house. We could…�
�

  Bruce’s mind reeled. She was actually inviting him to make love to her. He felt his penis shrink to the size of a pencil stub. She was so pretty, and he was so…nothing. What a mind-blow. A wavering smile touched his lips. “I guess it would be okay.”

  “Okay?” Lana crossed her arms in a huff. “Well, if that’s all the enthusiasm you have about it—”

  “Oh dear, is there trouble in Paradise?”

  Bruce and Lana jerked their heads toward the passenger window to see who had spoken. At first glance Lana thought someone was wearing his Halloween mask early. When she realized she was staring at a real face, she thought she might well blow her breakfast.

  Jay (or the thing they thought was Jay) leaned in through the open window, smelling strangely of burned electrical wires. “Hey kids, what’s the matter? Do I look that bad?”

  Bruce nodded. “You really do, man. Maybe you should go back to the hospital.”

  “What? And miss our little party tomorrow night? Look at it this way—now I won’t have to worry about a costume.” The malicious creature in Jay’s body grinned obscenely. There was not a square millimeter on its face and throat that wasn’t oozing pus. Lana couldn’t stand to look. She turned her attention to the activities of the carhops.

  Bruce couldn’t handle it either. Pretending to study his fingernails, he said, “This the private party you’re talking about, you and Nancy, me and Lana?”

  “The same. You two are still planning to come, aren’t you? Don’t break my heart.”

  “Nancy was s’posed to call me to talk about it,” Lana mumbled, wishing Jay would go away and gross out someone else. “But she never did. We hadn’t really made up our minds. What were we all gonna do anyway?”

  She could feel the intense heat of the demon’s stare upon her when it replied, “Oh, something fun, I promise. But it’s a surprise; I can’t tell you.”

  Lana wasn’t very fond of surprises; nice ones, yes, but not any being offered by the creature from the black lagoon. She looked up at Bruce with an expression she hoped conveyed the message: Get us out of this. For some reason, she couldn’t decline the invitation herself.

  Bruce either misinterpreted the signal, or else couldn’t bring himself to say no either. He nodded compliantly. “Sure, whatever. So what time and all that?”

  “We’ll pick you up at eight-thirty. Just say where.” Lana sighed. “My house, I guess.” She gave him the address.

  The demon Azrahoth gave them a mocking salute. “Until then, my little beauties. You can go on with your discussion about whether or not to play hookey for nookie.” It laughed and strode off.

  Lana shuddered. “My God. He’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. If I looked like that, I’d sure as hell be in the hospital, or at least in a doctor’s office.”

  Bruce had no stomach for the subject, and quickly changed it. “When I said I wouldn’t mind, I was just trying to cover up the fact that I was…well, scared. I hope you don’t laugh, but…I’ve never, you know, done it before.”

  How did Jay know what they were talking about?

  The insidious, unwanted memory of Jay’s appearance melted from Lana’s awareness. She looked at Bruce tenderly. “You’re so sweet. Come on, let’s go to my house.”

  It seemed only just the next moment that they were standing in the cool dimness of Lana’s bedroom removing each other’s clothes. Bruce was obviously nervous, and so their actions had begun to seem awkward, mechanical. The suggestive talk, the longing glances were over, and the mystery would soon be. They were actually, really going to do it. All the way. Lana giggled nervously as she fumbled with the last button on his shirt. “Feels kind of weird, doesn’t it? The first time?”

  “Yeah, a little like falling off the Empire State Building.” He bent over and gave her a long, probing kiss. Lana’s breath quickened. Bruce guided her over to the bed, feeling too self-conscious about his skinny body to display it au naturel in a standing position in the middle of the room. That was too much like being on a stage with floodlights. He had already slipped out of his jeans, and Lana was down to her bra and panties. They were naked enough for now.

  Lying together on the bed, arms and legs entwined, lips joined in a passionate kiss, they both relaxed. The pencil stub began to extend.

  He whispered against her neck, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Lana.”

  The confession touched her deeply. She had imagined he would be making wisecracks, playing his typical clown role. She responded huskily, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  They quickly dispensed of their lower undergarments and rejoined in an embrace. Bruce positioned himself over her, but suddenly realized their lack of precaution. “I know this is probably a bad time to be asking, but are you…uh, on the pill or anything?”

  “You’re right. It’s a bad time to ask.”

  “You’re not? What if—”

  “I didn’t use anything with Greg,” she said with a trace of embarrassment, “and nothin’ happened. Besides, I’m sure it’s not that time of the month. It’ll be okay, I promise. Come on, you’re gonna ruin the mood.”

  But the mood was ruined by something else. They heard a noise at the window, and turned in time to see Spiro’s head duck beneath the windowsill. Lana bolted upright, enraged. “That creep! I oughta go out there an’ slap the hell out of ’im!”

  Bruce quickly lost his erection. “Shit.”

  “I wonder what he’s even doin’ around here; he should be at school by now. Well, I will go over to his house later an’ tell his mother what he was up to. He sure will get it from her!”

  “And so what if he tells her what he saw and she tells your mom that you and me were in bed together?”

  Lana doubled over, burying her head in her lap. “Damn. You’re right. I can’t do anything.”

  After several moments they got up and began to dress in strained silence, both feeling cheated. Afterward they went into the living room to watch television, though neither of them could recall later what they had seen.

  Twenty-Two

  Richard Greer pushed the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Marla Mingee wants to have a word with you, sir.” Greer let out a shaky breath. “All right, tell her to come in.”

  She was seated with the door closed before he looked up from his desk. “Don’t tell me you’ve slapped—” His voice faltered as his pulse began to race. “—someone else,” he finished weakly.

  Her eyes burned into his like hot pokers. “Oh no; the rumors don’t bother me at all anymore, and you should hear the new ones going around. You were right; it’s best to ignore them. But there is something I can’t ignore…”

  Greer’s eyes darted to the telephone. He licked his lips, which were suddenly bone dry. “What might that be?”

  “Oh, don’t play games with me, Mr. Greer.” She smiled as if remembering a lewd joke. “The phone call you made to your brother. Now, was that very nice?”

  “How…how did you know?” he asked, but he knew already, yes, he knew; he wasn’t talking to Marla Mingee. She had moved with no forwarding address. The thing sitting across from his desk was only renting the vacated premises. He wanted to pull his eyes away, but he was powerless to do so. He wanted to pick up the phone and scream for his secretary to run in and save him—and he was going to need saving, of that he was deadly certain—he wanted to bolt for the door. But he could do nothing but sit like a marble statue and wait.

  He was mesmerized by the third demon, Vikael, which Nancy had unwittingly summoned from the darkest realm of the spiritual universe. It said insincerely, “Too bad he didn’t take you seriously; that might have caused a bit of a problem. And we don’t want any problems, do we?”

  Greer shook his head slightly; sweat was pouring down his cheeks. “Why are you here?”

  “Why are you here
?” Vikael tossed Marla’s head back and uttered a low, raspy laugh. “That’s the biggie for your kind, isn’t it? Along with ‘Who Am I?’ and ‘Where Am I Going?’ Well, you might say I’m here in this capacity by accident, but as it turns out, were it not for the compliance of a certain fool—I’m speaking of Nancy—a couple of the Master’s faithful servants might have been very disappointed. I’m sure the Master himself would have been disappointed as well; Myrantha and Nathaniel have added many to our number. And the more the merrier, eh?” More grating laughter.

  Greer thought he was having a heart attack. He gripped the edge of his desk, his face becoming mottled. “That’s hardly an answer to my question.”

  “Well, it’s all the answer you need, Richard. By the way, I must thank you for being such a constant source of entertainment. Does your wife know you still jack-off with torrid magazines? You like the lesbian photos the best, don’t you?”

  Greer’s cheeks flamed crimson. “Do what you’re going to do. Get it over with.”

  “Oh my…I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I? How thoughtless of me. Just look at what I’ve done. You’re so upset you’re getting a nose bleed.”

  Greer felt a tickle above his upper lip. He touched it with his finger and looked, only then able to break the chilling eye contact. His finger was bloody.

  “I believe you’re beginning to have a brain hemorrhage,” Vikael said somberly. “I imagine you’ll be dead before the ambulance can get here. Well, it was nice chatting with you.”