Snake Eyes

by Joseph D'lacey

  “Hurry, Leopold, let us in. The demon’s body has gone missing and we must make sure the head is still secure.”

  I pushed past him not waiting for an invitation. The rest followed.

  “Wait a moment. Hold on, now. Who said you could— oow!”

  Someone stepped on his toe.

  “Don’t you have a lamp, Leopold?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why I should—”

  “Fetch it now, man! There’s no time!”

  Containing his anger and still half asleep, Prattle brought a lamp and turned it as bright as it would go. I held it out towards the two chairs on top of the table in the courtyard and it lit up the demon’s head. I suppose we ought to have been grateful that the body hadn’t broken in and stolen the head back, otherwise all would have been lost. Instead, we still had the head.

  But it wasn’t sleeping.

  Nor was its face a mask of blankness.

  Bathed in the ivory glow from the lamp its face shifted from one expression of ecstasy to another. First it closed its eyes and pursed its lips as if appreciating some kind of sensual caress, then its eyes sprang open, wide and staring and its mouth stretched into the black hole of a silent roar of pleasure, its teeth bared, lips drawn back. Next the eyes closed again and a silent sigh. Then the face was laughing, delighting in some devious thrill. Most of the men folk didn’t understand it straight away, but I did and, curiously, so did Prattle.

  “Great Father,” he said, “The housekeepers. That’s why no one answered the door.”

  “Follow me,” I shouted, “We can’t waste a moment. And I suggest you arm yourself if you haven’t already.”

  I didn’t wait. I sprinted from the priest’s lodge back to the square as fast as I could, my headache and residual drunkenness forgotten for the moment. I followed the demon’s footprints. They were easy to see even in the dark because they were so big. On either side of the prints were many others; those of the bare feet of some of the Long Lofting women. The tracks led into the woods beyond Cleaver’s abattoir. Not checking to see if anyone had kept up with me, I hurtled along the path between the great oak trees, on the verge of uttering petitioning prayers to the Great Father.

  I reached the clearing first. It had been the site of countless village festivals. We Long Loftingers even had our own fertility rituals which we combined with worship of the Great Father, performing them to ensure healthy crops and bounteous harvests. Nevertheless, the clearing had never seen such a sight as this.

  Several oil lamps formed a ring of dusky golden light. Within it, the womenfolk—and there were many of them— each imbued with some admixture of wantonness, temptation and curiosity, danced in a circle around the supine demon’s body. In the centre of the circle one of the women straddled the demon, impaling herself on its most evil horn. I recognised the look of pleasure on her face, although there was an utter abandonment there I’d never seen before. As the other village men arrived beside me and stopped in shock at the sight before them, Velvet let out a carnal scream of pleasure and collapsed sideways off the creature’s knobbly totem. Another of the women pulled her away by the hair and squatted to take her place.

  Prattle was standing right beside me when he muttered,

  “Dear Father above, she was a sweet one. Now look what filth she’s become.”

  Velvet’s comment from the previous day, about seeing Prattle for spiritual guidance, suddenly took on greater meaning. There wasn’t time to enquire about the details, however.

  Wiggery asked,

  “What the Hell are we going to do to stop it?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” said I. “Two of you go back and bring the demon’s head to me. And mind your fingers.”

  “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” asked Prattle.

  “Yes, very. But we have to do it. The demon has to see what I’m going to do. We’re going to make a deal with it.”

  “A deal with a demon? Do you want to spend the rest of eternity in Hell?”

  “No, I certainly don’t. That’s why we’re doing this. Who’s going to get the head?”

  “I will,” said Puff Wiggery, a nervous eye cast towards his still dancing wife.

  “Me too,” said Rickett, uncertain whether his wife had had her turn by then or not.

  “Make it quick.” They ran off into the night. “The rest of you get down and keep as quiet as you can. We don’t want to do anything to disturb them too early.”

  I watched the orgy progress. Velvet had recovered and was dancing in the circle again. I assumed that meant she was planning to have another bite of the fiendish cherry. It didn’t matter to me; the damage was already done. The important factor was that the dancing women’s trance was so strong they had no inkling of our arrival.

  “What is this plan you’ve got?” asked Prattle as we crouched in the dry undergrowth.

  “We’re going to cut the demon’s tail off.”

  “What? Its tickle tail?”

  “No. Its demon tail. That’s the thing that demons fear most and a demon with no tail has no power over humans. If we can get its tail, we’ll have all the bargaining power we need.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “I’m only going to do this once, Leopold, so enjoy the experience.” I passed him the Ledger. “Read it and you’ll see.”

  “I can’t read this. It’s an arcane book of occult nonsense.”

  “Read it. Then give it right back to me.”

  So he read, the pages an inch or two from his face but glowing very faintly in the night, enough that he could see the words. When he was finished he handed the book back to me without saying a word.

  Moments later Wiggery and Rickett returned with the head of the demon.

  “Keep it facing away for the moment,” I said. “Now then, any volunteers for the next part?”

  No one spoke.

  “There’s no shame in that. It’s a dangerous job. You could die a horrible death and go to Hell, so I understand. Last chance,” said I. “Anyone.”

  I looked across at Prattle.

  “You still have Cleaver’s knife, I take it?”

  He drew the blade out from his black robes and it gleamed even in the darkness. I leaned in close to him.

  “You know, doing this would be great for your reputation. And this is still a religious matter. I will stand aside for you if you want to take the job.”

  Prattle only shook his head and handed me the knife, handle first. I looked at the edge of the blade and the thickness of the steel behind it and hoped it was the right tool for the job. More than that, I prayed I had the strength to do what was required.

  “If this works, we give the demon back its head and keep the tail.”

  “What’s to stop it taking the tail away from us once it can see what it’s doing?”

  “You’ve read The Ledger, Prattle. A demon without its tail has no power.”

  Bargaining

  I wanted to see the expression on the demon’s face when I sliced off its most prized body part but that was going to be impossible. I couldn’t risk letting the head see what I was doing or it might warn its body and then I’d be the meat. I broke cover and crept out towards the ring of swaying women and their Hellish stud. I have to admit, it was distracting seeing all those females, gyrating in sheer erotic anticipation. Most of them were naked or half naked and they bounced and jiggled in a most engaging manner. True, many of them could not be considered great works of art and that might have explained their terrible yearning for the intimate attentions of a demon, but just as many were more than presentable and a few, Velvet among them, were delectable beauties I’d have been proud to bed in my younger days. Nowadays, I was beyond that sort of frivolity, of course, although the truncheon beneath my britches protested otherwise.

  The deep stupor the women had entered seemed to make them oblivious to my approach, yet it was still a struggle finding a gap in the constantly moving circle and slipping through it without a dangerous
amount of contact. A doughy breast slapped against my left ear and I had an eyeful of Mrs. Wiggery’s unkempt belly-hedge before I made it past the women and into the space where the demon lay.

  Carefully, I moved the lanterns that were dangerously near the demon away from its wings and limbs. I tried to ignore Blini Rickett’s wife as she skewered herself on the demon’s rough-hewn mast. She was kneeling on its upper thighs. Her hands clutched at the coarse red hairs on its stomach, her nails making no impression at all on the leathery surface. It was impossible to tell, even to my experienced ears, whether her cries were of pain or pleasure. I was thankful that she was facing his upper body—I didn’t want her to see me approach his nether regions with a knife. The spell might break and then she and all her coconspirators might turn that very knife on me.

  I crawled up behind her, between the legs of the demon and was there confronted by its huge, hessian rough scrotum. It resembled a travelling pouch with three skittle balls inside and it shook in time with Mrs. Rickett’s squats and thrusts and yells. The snag was that the tail was partially obscured by the demon’s triumvirate of testicles. I was going to have to lift them in order to access the root of the tail. I knelt as close to the conjunction of its legs as I could and was then in closer proximity to Mrs. Rickett’s behind than I would have ever have chosen to be. The handle of the knife was slick with sweat as I reached forward with my left hand to lift the demon’s bag of three giant marbles and expose his greatest weakness.

  I hesitated before I took hold of its adversarial gonads. What if it realised my hand wasn’t one of the women touching it? But it couldn’t know that, could it? Without its head, the only sense it had left was that of physical feeling. Convincing myself that this was logical, and knowing that there was, in truth, nothing logical about demons, I took a gentle grip on the trio of overgrown oysters and lifted. The demon’s legs twitched and stiffened. Mrs. Rickett gasped and continued her knee dance. Apparently, the extra stimulation had caused the demon’s club to swell even further. Beneath those infernal bollocks, I saw what I wanted to see. The cleft of its foul buttocks and behind that, the tail. The smell was shocking. It smelled like a chicken coop with a hundred dead goats in it on a hot day. Around me, the sounds of the entranced women with all their moaning and rustling through the dry grass, receded.

  There was just me. And the knife. And the tail.

  I watched my right hand point the tip of the knife at the ground beside the tail. I didn’t know if I had the strength but I had to make one single swift movement and the job had to be done. There would be no time for a second slice. I decided that a downward stroke with the force across the tail was the best way. There was hair around the base of the tail and that stopped the demon feeling the keenness of the blade. For all it knew it might have been the finger of a maiden ready with more stimulations. I took a deep breath in and mustered all my power and focus. I thrust the knife downward and towards the tail with every fibre of my strength and every atom of my will. With the other I kept a gentle hold on the tail. That was when I discovered, to my probably eternal relief that demons don’t have bones in their tails. The blade went through it as if I was cutting roast bison and the tail came away in my hand. I was so delighted I knelt there looking at the thing and smiling when I ought to have been running away.

  I think it’s accurate to say that the demon felt the bite of the blade. It sat up knocking Mrs. Rickett—a still not totally satisfied Mrs. Rickett—backwards. She grappled the beast’s chest hairs and managed to hang on. There was no sound of a scream from either the body or the head, but I did hear repeated bursts of air escaping its windpipe and it didn’t take much to imagine the level of noise it would have made if its head were still attached to its body. The tail writhed like a snake in my hand and I fell backwards just as two enormous, six-fingered, talon-tipped hands came my way. Trapped by a leg on each side, I rolled backwards, ending up in a heap, but out of reach, at the creature’s feet. I stood up, knife in one hand with not a drop of blood upon it and tail in the left gripping my wrist and flailing as if blessed with its own life.

  The circle of semi clad and unclad village ladies faltered in its rhythm. Some of the women looked around as if not knowing where they were and then, seeing each other as though for the first time and seeing me, they tried to cover themselves up with their hands. Most of them were far too well endowed for this approach to work. They merely looked more naked than ever. I ran past them to the sounds of Mrs. Rickett screaming, ‘NO, NO. Don’t stop. I haven’t finished yet!”

  Moments later, women were running past me into the night, into the forest, trying to get home. We let them go but the men looked downhearted. Some of them looked totally defeated by what they’d seen. No doubt they thought that if they’d been lacking before in the eyes of their wives, they now had no chance. It wasn’t the moment for a pep talk on the unimportance of size. Instead I tried to rally them.

  “Come along now, men folk. We have its tail. We have all the power.”

  In the clearing the demon was standing, swaying with both hands clasped over the place where its tail had so recently been. Its once intimidating erection drooped defeated towards the ground. Even without its head the demon’s posture was an utter advertisement of its feelings.

  It was humiliated, it was powerless, it was embarrassed.

  I checked the demon’s face, knowing it knew what had happened and saw there, so contrasted with all its expressions of menace and excess, such a look of debilitation and despair that I almost felt sorry for the thing.

  “Here, help me,” I said.

  Prattle bent and took hold of a horn. We started to swing the head.

  “One, two, THREE!”

  We let go and the head flew away from us into the clearing. Rolling the last few strides and coming to rest at the feet of its estranged body. Controlling its body with difficulty from such a wrong angle, the head directed the hands downward until they had a hold of it. They lifted it back into place and for the first time since the demon had landed in the field, we saw it standing up, alive and complete except for one small and essential detail. From the front, of course, it still looked fairly fierce and the men took a few nervous steps backwards.

  “Be bold, gentlemen. We are in control now,” said I.

  I don’t think they believed me and to be honest, neither did I. The demon advanced towards us in huge strides, shaking the ground enough to unnerve me. The tail tried to slither free of my hand and I squeezed it tight. Even when the demon had been hanging from the church bell tower, it hadn’t seemed this large. It loomed in front of us. Well, in front of me, I should say, and looked down. Staring back up into its glowering face hurt my neck. I could hear the snorts as it breathed and for the first time saw smoke curling up from its nostrils. Its voice was deeper than a distant rumble of summer thunder. My very bones shook to hear him speak.

  “Return that which you have stolen,” it said, pointing at my hand.

  I had to force myself not to hesitate and my own voice sounded puny to my ears when I replied.

  “I think not, demon.”

  “Return it or I will slaughter all of you and devour your souls.”

  Prattle tugged at my sleeve,

  “Perhaps you ought to do what it suggests.”

  I shook his hand away.

  “Sorry, demon. Can’t do it. If you want your tail back, you’ll have to take it.”

  I smiled a sweet smile and put my hands behind my back so that the tail was out of sight. The demon puffed himself up and spread his wings. He stretched his powerful arms out and uncurled his claw-tipped fingers. He raised himself up to his full height. He peeled his lips back to reveal his many teeth. He took a huge deep breath and his chest expanded to twice its normal size.

  “That’s enough posturing, demon. Now, the fact is that you’re the one who’s stolen something from us. A couple of things, actually. First, you’ve taken our contentment and second, you’ve thieved the purity of some of our
wives. We’d like both those things back, please. Or I’m very sorry, but it will be no more tail for Mr. Demon.”

  The demon pointed a long and deadly finger at me.

  “You will rue this disrespect, Delly Duke.”

  “Oh, so you know my name do you? I expect I’m rather famous in Hell.”

  “No, but we anticipate your imminent arrival. And the indignities I’ve suffered at the hands of you humans will be as nothing to those you’ll suffer at ours.”

  “Quite so, I’m sure, but you won’t be involved in any of the fun because you’ve lost your tail. You’re out of a job. Now, I’ve given you a chance to win it back by undoing your misdeeds, but you’ve ignored that, so now the price goes up. Come and see me tomorrow if you wish to negotiate some kind of exchange. Not too early, though, it’s been a long night already.” I turned my back on the creature and walked away down the path back to the village. The rest of the men turned and followed but I saw them all cast uneasy looks back over their shoulders as we left the demon behind. Scant moments passed before the ground was shaking once again just behind us.

  “I’ll return your contentment and the purity of your women. Just give me the tail. Now.”

  I stopped and faced the creature again.

  “I’m terribly sorry, demon. You must have misunderstood me the first time. You refused my offer and now the price has increased for the item you wish to purchase. Refuse the terms again and the price will increase yet again. It’s really very simple. Now do you want the tail back or don’t you?”

  It was as though I’d pricked a bubble. The demon deflated, its shoulders sagged and its head hung down in misery and defeat.

  “Yes,” it sighed.

  “Then you’ve got some questions to answer and some work to do. Let’s go back to the church and make a start, shall we?”

  “I don’t much like churches.”