by Amy Cross
“You must think I'm a foolish old man,” he replies, turning and smiling at her from the other side of the bars. “It's just that since Elizabeth died, I just don't have very much to do with my time except come here and tend to her grave.”
“I don't think you're foolish,” she tells him. “I think...” Checking her watch, she sees that it's already quarter past eight, which means she's running behind time. “I think it's sweet,” she adds with a faint smile. “When you miss someone, you have to mark their passing somehow. Just because people are gone, we can still think about them.”
“You do a wonderful job here,” he continues. “Don't think that the people of Rippon fail to appreciate you, Samantha. The way of the town is for everyone to be rather quiet and withdrawn, but I hope you never feel unappreciated. Everyone has been so busy since that infernal circus tent burned to the ground, but...” He pauses. “You're the best gardener Rippon has ever had, and don't you ever forget that. The best by far.”
“Thank you,” she replies, watching as he turns and makes his way down the hill.
After a suitable pause, she checks her watch again.
“I'm late,” she mutters, before racing across the grass and crashing through the cottage door. After flicking the kettle on to boil some water, she hurries into the bedroom and starts getting changed. Every night for the past two weeks she has gone through the same routine as soon as the cemetery is closed: tea, change of clothes, check the contents of the backpack and take a moment to calm down before setting off for the night-shift. It's tough, frantic work that allows for only a couple of hours' sleep each night, but she knows that she's the only person who has a chance of succeeding. The whole process of getting ready only takes her a couple of minutes and finally she returns to the kitchen just as the kettle finishes boiling. She pours herself some tea, and then she goes through to check her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Wearing jeans and a padded, heavily-pocketed bomber jacket, with a backpack over her shoulders containing various items that she figures (or at least hopes) might be useful, she's ready. The knife is still sticking out of her head, but she figures that just makes her look like more of a bad-ass, so she decides that she won't bother wearing any kind of hat.
“Day fourteen of the Rippon Devil Hunt,” she says firmly, trying to psych herself up. “Please, let tonight be the night I find him. Come on, he's out there, just waiting to be nabbed.”
Heading back to the kitchen, she sips at her tea and finds that the temperature is just right. As she continues to drink, she unfolds a letter from her pocket. It has been a few days since the letter arrived, postmarked from Kansas in the United States, but she likes to read it occasionally, to remind herself that sometimes things work out okay:
Hey Sam,
So this is just a quick note to say that I made it home safe and sound. I'm sitting here with my wife and kid and I just wanted to thank you for helping me out. I guess Charles Raven wasn't quite the stand-up guy I thought he was. I've got a job closer to home now, so I can be around more. It counts for a lot. I hope you get the same peace and satisfaction some time. One day I'll bring the family over to visit England and we'll stop by Rippon, but until then, keep fighting the good fight. I hope you get your own family reunion eventually.
Andy.
Smiling, she folds the letter back up and slips it into her pocket again, before sipping from her cup of tea as she looks out the window. The sun has well and truly set now, leaving the streets of Rippon in darkness. She knows that the Devil is still out there somewhere, even though he seemingly hasn't killed anyone for almost a fortnight. Deep in her soul, she can feel that this is going to be the night when she finally tracks him down, although to be fair she's had that same feeling every night for the past week and so far it hasn't gotten her very far.
“Okay,” she whispers to herself. “Time to hit the road. You can do this. You can do this. You're not going to let that horned asshole get away with -”
“I think I might go and see Scott,” Anna says suddenly.
“What the hell?” Sam shouts, spinning around with such force that her backpack knocks an entire drier-full of plates and cups off the side, sending them smashing to the floor.
“Hiya,” Anna says with a smile, her entire body shimmering a little, almost as if she's transparent. “Wow, you're really jumpy, aren't you? Oh, and the Devil doesn't have horns. Well, he didn't last time I saw him, anyway.”
“Wh... wh...”
“I'm a ghost!” she continues, giving her a twirl. “Can't you tell from the way I'm kinda glowing slightly? Turns out I shouldn't have been so worried about my body rotting away after all, 'cause that was just something that had to happen before my eternal spirit could rise up and...” She frowns. “Something like that. Rise up and... ascend to a new level of... something something blah blah blah. A load of fancy words. Anyway, say goodbye to Zombie Anna and hello to Ghost Anna.”
“But...”
“It was pretty much instant,” she adds. “I've been keeping a low profile, though, just getting used to things. I was invisible for two weeks, which was totally mental. Didn't you notice when I kept moving stuff around?”
“I thought I was just being forgetful,” Sam replies, still stunned by this latest development.
“Every time you put your cup down and looked away, I turned the handle to the other side.”
“I thought that was...” Sam pauses. “I thought I was losing my mind.”
“And the ectoplasm I deposited on the table?”
“I thought that was just... mold...” She pauses. “Why didn't you say something?”
“You seemed lonely,” Anna tells her. “I wasn't sure whether I should interrupt.”
“I wasn't lonely. I was focused.”
“Focused and lonely.”
“I was getting on with my job!”
“So you're not pleased to see me?”
“I'm...” Sam pauses, before stepping forward and trying to give Anna a hug, only for her arms to go straight through her friend.
“Sorry,” Anna replies. “I'm still working on corporeal materiality, or whatever it's called. I got a little help from the spirit world, but for the most part I'm flying solo here. I reckon there are plenty of tricks I can learn over time, but the only other ghost I've managed to speak to has been kinda grumpy. She cheered up when you buried her arms and legs with the rest of her body, though, so I think it'll be okay. Me and Ruth Havershot, we're slowly getting to know each other.”
“So you've been watching me?” Sam asks. “You've been just... invisibly watching me and letting me think you were gone forever?”
“I didn't watch you in the bathroom or anything gross like that. Or in the bedroom. I just loitered in the kitchen mostly and sometimes I went out into the cemetery and just, kinda, sat and thought. And even though you seemed lonely, you also seemed...” She pauses, as if she's trying to find the right word. “You seemed happy being lonely, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” Sam replies. “I'm still glad you're back though. If you are back, I mean.”
“Yeah, I'll be around,” she says with a barely-concealed grin. “I think I'm gonna go and give Scott a fright, though. He definitely wouldn't have wanted to be with me when I was a zombie, but now I'm a ghost so, I mean, what kinda guy wouldn't want to date a ghost? Of course, I'll have to learn to touch stuff again...”
“We need to talk about this properly,” Sam replies, checking her watch again, “but right now I have to get out there. I still haven't found the Devil, but I'll be back at dawn and then we can work out what the hell's going on with you, okay?”
“I'm fine,” Anna says with a grin. “I don't even need to sleep these days! Being dead gives you a whole new perspective. I think it's gonna be a lot of fun.”
“This is insane,” Sam says, before noticing a small cream envelope on the doormat, almost as if it has been slipped under the door at some point. Reaching down, she picks it up and finds her
own name written on the front.
“Yeah, I spotted that earlier,” Anna explains as Sam opens the envelope. “I didn't see who delivered it, but I thought maybe it was something important. It's not like we ever get a lot of mail here.”
“I don't see who would -” Sam starts to say, before suddenly several little pieces of cardboard fall from the envelope and land at her feet. She stoops down to pick them up, and when she sets them on the table and rearranges them she finds that they're pieces of a torn-up coaster from the cafe.
“Weird,” Anna mutters. “You got any idea what it means?”
Sam pauses for a moment, before turning to her.
“I think it means someone wants to meet me.”
***
“That took long enough,” he says as he finishes ripping up yet another coaster, adding the cardboard pieces to an increasingly large pile on the center of the table outside the cafe. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to stand me up. I'm not used to being kept waiting, so it was a new experience for me. I don't think I liked it very much.”
Still wearing her Devil-hunting outfit, Sam stops as she reaches the table. She takes a deep breath, and even though she keeps telling herself that there's no way it could be this easy, she can't shake the feeling that after two weeks of searching, she might have finally found him.
All around, the town square is completely silent.
“I noticed you doing this,” he continues, his face mostly hidden in the shadows, “and I couldn't understand your reasoning. Wanton, willful destruction of something so ordinary... Once I started doing it myself, however, I found it strangely relaxing. I must thank you, Ms. Marker. You've given me a way to keep my hands busy while I'm thinking, and that's always useful.”
“Who are you?” she asks, her voice trembling with fear.
“Don't you remember me from our last conversation? Who do you think I am?”
Glancing back across the empty, dark town square, Sam realizes that they're completely alone. She turns to look at the door to the cafe, and she sees that for the first time since Mr. Hale's death, the sign has been changed to 'Open'. Her senses are tingling and she knows something is horribly wrong, but she can't quite put the pieces together yet.
“Take a seat,” the figure says, using one of his feet to push a chair out for her. “I took the liberty of preparing a glass of soda for you. I know how much you dislike alcohol these days. I suppose we all have to clean up our acts eventually, don't we?”
“Who are you?” Sam asks again.
“Please,” he replies, leaning forward so that she can finally see his face, “let's not play foolish games. You know who I am.”
Sam takes a deep breath as she realizes that the Devil is now fully healed. Whereas before he seemed burned and injured, now he has the appearance of a normal, dark-haired man with the brightest blue eyes she could ever imagine. With an alluring, faintly-amused smile on his face, he looks like a regular guy, albeit one who would easily turn heads anywhere he went. With a hint of reluctance, Sam has to admit that he's got the twenty-something good looks of the type of guy she used to drunkenly kiss at nightclubs in her old life.
“You were expecting horns and a tail?” he asks. “A smell of sulfur? I'm afraid my reputation has been somewhat built up over the years. Partly my own fault, of course. It's always good to make people fear you. The flip-side of that is that expectations can be somewhat exaggerated.”
“I... I wasn't expecting you to ask me out for a drink,” she replies, her mind racing as she tries to work out what to do next. The Shackle of San Shaheth is in her backpack, but she's not certain she can slip it out and get it onto him without a struggle.
“Don't,” he says suddenly.
“Don't what?”
“What you're planning. Don't do it.”
“How do you...” She pauses. “Get out of my head.”
“I wasn't in your head. I'm not a mind-reader. I just saw that look in your eyes. Anyone could have guessed that you were planning to pull something out of that backpack and attack me.”
“You don't know what I'm planning,” she says firmly. “Trust me.”
“I owe you a great deal,” he tells her. “Without you, and without your friend, I would most likely have been caught by Charles Raven, and by now I would be his slave. That would have been... most unfortunate.”
“Agreed,” Sam replies, “although... This isn't much better. I don't suppose you're interested in going back to your grave, are you?”
“I don't feel like a nap.”
“Then how about a nice, long sleep instead? Say, ten thousand years to start with?”
“Do you like my humble establishment?” he asks, changing the subject. “Seeing as I'm trapped here in Rippon, just like you, I felt I should try to integrate with the local community. Fortunately, I was able to lay my hands on some funds, so I bought the cafe from poor Mr. Hale's estate and now I seem to be a small-business owner. Honestly, I never saw this day coming. I have to make cakes for the morning. I've done many things in my lifetime, but I can assure you that the Devil has never made cakes before. I found a recipe, though, and some bags of frosting, so I think I'll spend the night working on...” He pauses. “Listen to me rabbiting on. Please, won't you join me? We have so many serious matters to talk about.”
“The only thing we need to discuss,” Sam says firmly, “is the timetable for your return to that tomb.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Oh, I'll make it happen.”
“With the Shackle of San Shaheth?” He pauses. “I imagine it's in your backpack right now, but I wouldn't rely on it if I were you. Charles Raven only had a chance of using that thing on me while I was weak. As you might have noticed, I'm fully healed now, so don't think for a moment that you can succeed where he failed. Just because I can't leave Rippon due to the field of perpetual grave, don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm harmless. I could burn this entire town to ash inside of a millisecond, but then what would I do with my time? I might as well keep everyone around to amuse me while I work on my next move.”
“And what would that be?”
With a smile, he puts a finger to his lips, as if to let her know that she has to wait and see.
“I'll never let you out of here,” she tells him.
“It's not up to you,” he says firmly, “and besides, your track record isn't so good, is it? Gardener for barely a year, and already I'm sitting here in the town square. Whatever will I achieve now that I'm out?”
“I was still learning the ropes.”
“God forbid you ever get the hang of things,” he continues. “Besides, I'm not the one to worry about. After all, I'm not the one who's going to destroy the world. You, Samantha Marker, are the real danger. Trust me, it's already written in the stars that one day you're going to be the individual who draws the veil of darkness over life on this planet. Just because I'm the Devil, don't fall into the trap of assuming that I'm the only one around here who can do bad things.”
“Right,” she replies. “So you want me to believe that I'll accidentally destroy everything?”
“Not accidentally. You'll do it on purpose, and willingly, no matter how much I beg you to stop. And I will beg, you know. I don't want the world to be destroyed. I have far too much fun down here, messing around with the lives of all the silly people who run around on its surface. And if I ever get bored of them, I can always go underground and spend time with the troll people.”
“Troll people?”
“A long story.”
She opens her mouth to argue with him, but at the last moment she realizes that there's a curious, satisfied smile on his lips.
“Please,” he continues, as he starts tearing up another coaster. “Won't you sit down and join me, Sam, at least for a minute or two? We have so much to talk about. After all that time in a coffin, I feel as if I've been given a new lease of life. Can you not indulge me by taking a seat and just having a casual conversa
tion? It doesn't even have to be about serious matters such as the end of all life and the destruction of the planet. We could talk about how you're feeling, or about your favorite type of shovel. Don't you think that maybe we could be friends?”
“Friends with the Devil?” She pauses. “I'm not going to be friends with you, I'm going to be watching you. I'm going to make sure that if you try anything, I'll... I'll...”
Her voice trails off.
“You'll do what, exactly?”
“Wait and see.”
“You're bluffing.”
She shakes her head.
“You're very obviously bluffing, and you're doing it badly.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I'm not.”
“Just admit it.”
“I can't admit it, because I'm not bluffing.” She pauses. “The Shackle of San Shaheth is one thing, but I've got something much more powerful in this backpack. Something that I could really use against you.”
“And what would that be?” he asks with a smile.
“You know.”
“I really don't.”
“I think you do. It's the one thing you never thought anyone could get hold of again, the one thing you thought was hidden forever.” Another pause as she tries to work out whether her bluff is working. “The one thing you fear more than anything else in the universe. Do you want me to try it right now? I haven't had a chance to work everything out yet, but I'm willing to run some experiments.”
She waits for a reply.
“Fine,” she continues, hauling the backpack over her shoulder, while trying to work out how to make the bluff more convincing. “I guess I'll just -”
“No,” he replies, with a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Let's save that for another time, shall we?”
“Whatever you say,” she tells him, relieved that she seems to have at least wrong-footed him from now. “Try to break out of Rippon, though, and the Shackle of San Shaheth is going to be the least of your problems.”
“I have no intention of trying to break out,” he tells her. “I imagine there'll be plenty of visitors coming along, and some of them might well be interested in meeting me. After all, Charles Raven was sent here by someone, and I think I have a fair idea who might be behind the whole thing. I think I'll just keep my little cafe open and let the dust settle, and wait to see what the next few days bring. Perhaps I'm being paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling that I'll be receiving some very interesting offers before too long.”
