Only the Devil Is Here

by Stephen Michell

  “But you said you never eat,” Evan had said.

  “Yet here I am eating.”

  The meal had made them both full and warm and tired. The smell of wood smoke was like a blanket in the air. But the desire to lay down his head had not yet come to Evan. He was excited, happy even. He sat with his legs drawn up and his chin on his knees and looked at Rook.

  “Are you okay now?” Evan asked. “Does it still hurt?”

  “It’s getting better.”

  “That’s good.”

  Rook said nothing more. He was staring up at the ceiling. It was white swirling stucco. He thought of August and he was thankful for her hospitality but embarrassed for his imposition. He could picture her upstairs lying in bed, just as she had as a child, tracing the intricacies of the ceiling with her eyes, filled with questions and wondering, unwilling to sleep. It was their familiarity with the night that allowed her and Rook such a close bond. Ever since she had been a child, whenever Rook arrived at the house in the silent hours, it was always August who found him, as if she had been waiting.

  Rook wondered how different the young woman’s life would have been if she had never met him, if he had left her whole family alone from the start. Certainly better, he thought, certainly easier. And what more was he bringing into her life now? Who had he brought into her home, already?

  Rook drew a breath. “Evan,” he said. “We can’t stay here. We have to leave in the morning.”

  Still resting with his chin on his knuckles, Evan filled his cheeks with air and then blew them out with a pop.

  Rook asked, “Do you understand? We have to keep going. We have to go to the church.”

  Evan lifted his head. “Why?”

  “Because that’s where you’ll be safe.” The words were like rotten food he had to spit out. What a damn liar I am, he thought.

  “But I thought I was safe with you,” Evan said. “You said nothing in this world can—”

  “I can’t protect you anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “But why?”

  Rook sighed. “I just have to get you to the church and that’s it. Then we’re done. Then all of this is done.”

  Evan became very still. He uncrossed his legs and hugged his knees. The fire crackled. After a while he asked, “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “You have no choice.”

  “Yes I do.”

  Rook sat up, wincing a little in pain, but his face was severe. “You’re going to the church, boy.”

  “No. I don’t want to. I’m not going.”

  “You’ve known this all along. Why are you fighting me now?”

  “’Cause I don’t want to leave you!”

  Something heavy caught in Rook’s throat. He stared at Evan and breathed through his nose. Evan looked into the fire, his chin resting on his kneecaps. His eyes were rounded in the light.

  When he spoke, his voice was small but serious. “I used to have a dream about you,” he said. “Before all of this. Before I even met you. I had a dream that you came and found me. It was a scary dream at first and I never liked it. But then I did like it. And I’d wait for it. Like I knew it would come true.”

  Rook studied the fire. He didn’t want to hear this. He knew it would only make things harder. But he was speaking before he realized it. “What was the dream about?” he asked.

  Evan went on. “I’m running. It’s really dark and really cold, and there’s lots of streets, and I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what it is. I just know I have to find it. Like it’s something I lost and I have to get it back.

  “And all around me the dark parts of the streets keep changing and moving like they’re made of mud and worms and when I look over my shoulders behind me I see all the shadows coming after me, growing arms and legs in the shapes of people.

  “They’re all different. Some are these big monkeys and some look more like spiders, and they aren’t wearing any clothes, and they’re all hairy, and some of them are covered in poo, too, and they’re always touching each other and chasing me.”

  Rook shifted onto his other elbow and listened.

  Evan said, “And my heart’s going so fast in the dream. I can hear it. Booming in my head. And so I just run and run. I try to hide but they always find me. And nothing can stop them. These scary people, like hungry monsters. It always feels like they want to eat me or if they catch me they’ll rip me up. So I just run. And then finally I always come to a wall. A giant cement wall and there’s no windows in it and no more streets. Nowhere left to run. That’s the scariest part in the dream because I’m alone and I’m trapped. I always hate getting to that part.

  “But sometimes I make myself go that far. I try to hold on and stay asleep because that’s the part when you show up. I look up and I see this big, bright light. And all the shadows shrink away from it. And when I look in the light I see there’s someone inside it. A man. And he’s all made of fire. And then he comes down and picks me up in his arms and lifts me high above all the streets and we just stay there and look down and see the whole world stretching forever in the darkness.”

  Evan had been looking at his feet this whole time and at that moment he raised his head and looked Rook in the face. “You’re the man made of fire,” he said. “And you really came and took me away. And I didn’t see it at first, but now I do. Now I see it. I want to stay with you.”

  For a while Rook said nothing. He was looking into the fire, now burned low, and whatever he saw seemed far away. Absently, he placed another log onto the bright coals. Soon it was crackling and ablaze. Rook lay down again with his head again on the pillow. Neither of them spoke, but between them the fire crackled and burned.

  Evan slid across the floor until he was beside Rook and then he turned and lay down on his side and nuzzled against Rook’s left arm. When Rook felt Evan against him, he lifted his arm and held Evan close to his own warmth. Evan closed his eyes.

  “Rook?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go to the church with you, if you want me to.”

  “How come?”

  “Because if we go together then that’s okay. Then afterwards, when it’s all over, I can come and live with you.”

  That same weight came again into Rook’s throat, only this time he was without the help of gravity to push it down. He shut his eyes tight.

  Evan asked, “Do you promise I can come back and live with you?”

  The fire crackled.

  “Rook, do you promise?”

  “I promise,” the man said.

  Evan nestled even closer to Rook.

  He whispered, “And maybe we can go down that river. Maybe we can get all the way to the ocean like you said? Could we do that, Rook?”

  “Okay, Evan. Okay.”

  Evan smiled as he welcomed sleep like one who has finally, at last, found a bed that’s his own.

  After a while, Rook felt a change in Evan’s breathing on his arm and he knew him to be fully asleep. He lay very still and held him. He stared at the spiralled stucco ceiling above. At the swirling patterns of its creation. In his peripheral vision, Rook’s shadow and the shadow of the boy in his arms flickered in the firelight across the wall. Rook considered this dark mirroring. He looked at it a long time. As the fire burned down, he watched that phantom vision fade and be subsumed into the real and ever encroaching darkness of the room and he knew then what he had to do.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

  Rook lifted his arm from around Evan and sat up and then carefully gathered Evan from the floor and stood. The pain in his abdomen was a dull ache.

  He carried Evan upstairs to the spare room that August had prepared and laid him down in the bed, covering him with the duvet up to his chin. Evan slept soundly and Rook went out and down the hall towards the room with the light on.

  In the hallway, he could smell cigarette smoke. It was dry and faintly sweet and it calmed
him as he approached. He knocked at August’s door.

  Rook pushed the door open and saw August sitting up in her bed. Her hair was down and it hung over her shoulders. She was waiting for him, like always. She had the ashtray on her lap over the blankets and a book laid open beside her. She tapped her cigarette once and smoked and watched Rook as he crossed to the foot of her bed.

  “How’s the kid?” she asked.

  “Asleep.”

  August smoked. “So, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to say thank you, and again, my apologies for the intrusion.”

  “Rook, this is your house more than mine.”

  Rook steadied his eyes on the foot of the bed. “Anyway, we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  “You can stay as long as you need, obviously.”

  “No. We should be going.” Rook paused, and then, “So I should say goodbye.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you mean goodbye forever?”

  Rook said nothing.

  “Does this have to do with the boy?”

  “Everything has to do with the boy now.”

  “Right.” August put out her cigarette with a hiss. “Rook, are you going to actually tell me what’s going on?”

  Rook walked to the end of the room and laid his hands on the edge of the dresser and hung his head. August watched him. She could see the muscles of his back through his shirt and she saw him draw a deep breath and then let it out with a shudder. She had known Rook her whole life and yet in that moment he seemed like a total stranger.

  “Rook?” she said, almost nervous.

  “I’ve never told you,” Rook started. “But you remind me a lot of the woman who first lived in this house. You always have.”

  “You mean Allison?”

  “Yes. She would have liked you. You have the same way of thinking about things. Not getting worked up, but allowing the possibility, accepting the possibility of something. You were like that right from the start. I remember. You always accepted that I was . . .”

  “Well it wasn’t like I really had a choice, Rook. I mean it wasn’t like some silly family legend. You were standing right in front of me, year after year. Never aging. Never changing. I’d say I had to accept it.”

  “No, everyone had to accept it, but you were the only one who truly did. You were the only one who was willing to believe it. I’m sorry, I’m trying to say thank you.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” she said.

  Rook swept his hair back and rubbed his face with both hands. Then he turned around. “What do I do?” he asked.

  August laughed. “My god, Rook. I don’t even know what your problem is.” She reached for her cigarette case and lighter.

  “The boy. That’s my problem. I thought this was simple. I find the kid, take him to the church, and I get to be with Allison. But if I take him to the church, they’re going to kill him.”

  “Who’s going to kill him?”

  “The one I met calls himself Gabriel, but he speaks of others. I don’t know what they are, but they aren’t human.”

  August was half-smiling as she lit the new cigarette and Rook recognized the look as one he’d seen on her face countless times, a little girl enthralled with shadows and spirits.

  “Why would they want to kill the boy?” she asked.

  “Evan isn’t a normal boy. He’s like me, but he’s more. I can hear his heartbeat in my head like it’s calling out to me, and it sounds like there are two hearts beating together. I think somehow Evan is the one that made me like this. The one that came to me the night Allison was killed. It said one day it would call to me, needing my help. And tonight I heard its voice again, out in the field. The same voice I heard years ago. The voice was coming from Evan. Somehow it’s bound to him.”

  “So what, you think he’s some kind of god?”

  “No,” Rook said. “I think he’s the Devil. Gabriel said they would meet their Adversary. I think they plan to kill him.”

  August tapped her ash and nodded gravely. “Wow,” she said. “So that would make this Gabriel guy, what, an angel or something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Rook if you actually believe this, maybe you should take him to the church. Let these people deal with him. What if he’s dangerous?”

  “That boy asleep in the other room is not evil. Am I supposed to take him to his death because one day he might turn out to be? In that case, drown every child the moment it’s born. I can’t do that. I will not.”

  August smoked. “Well, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” she said. “But I don’t see why you have to say goodbye.”

  Rook nodded and said, “There is one other thing.”

  The sound of voices woke him. They were hushed but still he heard the back and forth of conversation. Evan opened his eyes. It was dark and the bed was soft, fresh, and clean smelling and the duvet was warm around him. He rolled over and his face was wet on the pillow; he wiped the drool from his cheek with the back of his hand. He heard the voices again. At first, he just listened, as the sounds were far away and came mixed with his dreams, but the more he heard Rook’s voice the more he stirred.

  The door to his room was open and there was faint light in the hall. Half asleep, he slid from the bed and tiptoed across the floor. The hardwood was cold on his bare feet.

  He reached the door and stopped in the threshold against the frame and peered out. He could see down the hall to the top of the staircase. The light hit the curve of the wooden banister. At the end of the hall was the open door from which Rook’s voice sounded.

  Evan tiptoed out to the top of the stairs and crouched by the banister, holding onto the balusters, his face pressed between them. He listened.

  He could hear very little. Rook’s gruff voice did not carry well and August’s was a near whisper.

  “. . . Oath breaker . . . just a matter of time.”

  “. . . Rook . . . give them the boy . . .”

  There was silence after that. Evan turned his ear toward their voices.

  “. . . Where will you . . . ?”

  “. . . As far as we can . . .”

  The rest fell below his hearing. He shuffled forward, keeping hold of the balusters. He sat and listened again for Rook’s voice.

  “. . . August . . . your whole damn life . . . I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve never thought . . . apologetic type . . . please, don’t say anymore.”

  Once more there was silence. Evan’s knees were stiff and his feet were itchy and he shifted his weight against the banister. Then he heard the floor squeak and it sounded as if Rook were coming out into the hall.

  Evan dashed back to his room and jumped into the bed. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and closed his eyes. He lay very still.

  After a few minutes, he heard the door creak and felt Rook’s presence in the room. He lay very still and pretended to be asleep. He listened for the sound of Rook’s feet on the hardwood but they were silent. He thought he could hear Rook’s slow, tired breathing. It could have been the noise of the wind from outside. Finally, the door closed, hushing the room into darkness.

  Evan slept late. When he woke, the midmorning light had flooded the room and he heard the chirping of house sparrows. A crow cawed and it sounded like it was right outside the window. Evan sat up. The sky was bright blue.

  He stretched his arms above his head. His mouth was dry and he was thirsty. Across the room on a cushioned footstool, he saw his pants and socks and a sweater had been washed and laid folded there for him. All at once he wanted to get up and go find Rook. He was excited at the thought. He dressed and went downstairs. The house was bright and clean, the hardwood floor a rich amber, golden in the light.

  A hope came to Evan that maybe he would get to stay here and live with Rook.

  In the kitchen, August was drying her hands. When she turned and saw Evan, she gasped, clasping her hands to her breast.

  “Gosh, you startled me,” she said, and then laughed.
/>   “I’m sorry,” Evan said. “Can I have a glass of water?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where’s Rook?” Evan asked.

  “I’m not sure. But he’ll come back.”

  Evan went into the dining room and sat at the table. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and the deeper, richer scent of the fireplace. Rook’s pillow still lay on the floor. Evan wondered when Rook would be back.

  There was a smaller room off from the dining room, and where Evan sat at the table he could see in through the open door. The walls were lined with high bookcases, and there was a big wooden desk in the middle of the room.

  August came into the dining room with a glass of water and placed it on the table. Evan sat forward. The high wooden back of the dining-table chair arched above his head and he looked very small. August sat down across from him.

  “You just want the water?” she asked. “You don’t want milk or juice or something?”

  Evan shook his head and sipped the water. “Are those all your books?” he asked.

  August glanced to the open doorway of her office. “Yep, every one.”

  “Why do you have so many?”

  “Well, I read a lot, for starters. And others I use for work.”

  “Are you a librarian?”

  “No,” she said and half laughed. “I’m a writer.”

  “Oh. What do you write about?”

  “Well . . .” August drew the word out and sounded oddly reluctant. “I write about strange things. I write stories about the unknown, glimpses, encounters, mysteries.”

  “You mean about ghosts and stuff?”

  “Sometimes. The hidden world is much more than just ghosts. And since it’s all mostly made-up stories, I can do whatever I want.”

  Evan nodded, though he didn’t really understand what August had said. He sipped his glass of water. August opened her slim gold-rimmed case and slid out a cigarette and lit it with a match. The smoke trailed in the light of the window.