The Demon Conspiracy

by R. L. Gemmill

  ***

  I’d hate living with neat freaks. I’ve never had a lot of clothes and stuff, but I like to keep what I do have in its proper place on the floor. I’ve had dressers and bins and closets, but never used them. It probably seems odd, but hey, it’s my system.

  The first time I saw where Chris and Angie McCormick lived I figured they had to be neat freaks, and that could mean trouble. Their house was an ordinary two-story with a double-car garage. But they kept it in flawless, apple-pie order. The lawn and shrubs were trimmed like a golf course and the country-style front porch was so clean you could eat off the decking. Not that I would, of course. I prefer plates. Generally speaking, the place was so perfect I never saw a single cobweb in the house. When I showed up the very first time I just knew they’d yell at me for walking on the lawn, or dropping crumbs, or even sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch. I could almost hear them.

  Stay off the grass! Pick up your crumbs! Don’t rock, you’ll scratch the decking!

  Fortunately, Chris and Angie weren’t like that at all. They were neat, but not OCD. To prove it, all anyone had to do was look in their basement. It was jammed with boxes, old furniture and other junk all stacked from floor to ceiling. We couldn’t even find space to play down there. I guess everybody needs at least one junky looking room. Of course, after I moved in they had two.

  I think somebody ought to do a case study on Angie and Chris about opposites attracting. They’re both forty, but Angie seemed way younger and looked it, too. Maybe if Chris had more hair and lost a little weight it wouldn’t have been so obvious. Yet as different as they were, I knew their love for each other was true. They sort of reminded me of my real parents. I could tell they were in love.

  Chris taught English at Chantilly High School, the same school where Jon had started his junior year. Chris was your typical guy—average height, build, paunch and receding hairline. He wanted everyone to think he was laid back and easy-going, but I knew he was a worrier. That man worried about everything from the economy to whether he should become a vegetarian to the possibility of UFOs existing. He even had a deep down fear of becoming a zombie, which might be why he’d lost so much of his hair. But there wasn’t a cruel bone in his body and he got along with kids. I liked him a lot.

  And Angie? Well, Angie was special. She was so pretty with her slim body and short cut, auburn hair. Her large, dark eyes could stare a sarcastic hole right through somebody when she was annoyed with them. She did it often with Chris, but I figure he probably liked the attention. It took a lot to get that woman bothered; she had a sort of philosophy of calm. In her own words, “Why worry? Action beats fear almost every time.” I liked that.

  Angie worked out a lot too. She did yoga, lifted weights and walked for miles and miles, but nobody ever walked with her. Anyone who did would have to run to keep up. She was a fitness freak.

  Since living with them I’d even heard the A-word pop into their thoughts every so often. Adoption. The McCormicks hadn’t spoken to each other about it yet, but the possibility was on both their minds. I tried not to think about it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up for nothing.

  Like I said, the McCormicks kept a neat place, but unfortunately the house next door to them was a real dump. It was vacant and no wonder with a sagging front porch, broken windows, and a desperate need for paint. Both houses were settled side by side in a quiet cul-de-sac with the next nearest place over a mile away. Talk about privacy! There wasn’t even traffic noise. Everything around them was just trees, lots of trees.

  When I got off the school bus that day I took my usual detour up the driveway between Chris’ Mustang and Angie’s minivan. I cut across the yard and dragged my fingertips over the bark of the huge oak tree out front. Call me weird, but I just love touching tree bark. It feels so, I don’t know, rough? I dashed into the house.

  I tracked down Angie in the family room. She was looking out the sliding glass door by the deck. “Hey Angie!”

  “Hi, Kelly. How was school?”

  “Good. I have a new friend. Her name’s Melissa and she’s real good at math and she’s way cool and she saved my life today and we wanna go to the mall this weekend.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell her Saturday. The cave trip should take up most of the day.”

  “No way. I’m not missing the cave trip for anything. Oh, and she gave me this.” I dug the chess tournament brochure out of my backpack and passed it to Angie. She looked it over.

  “Do you want to do this?”

  “I want to see if I’m any good, you know?”

  “Chris thinks you are. I mean, you beat him pretty bad every time you play and he was on the chess team in high school. Let’s see, it’s on Halloween weekend, two weeks away. Okay, I’ll enter you.”

  “Thanks, Angie! What’re you looking at?”

  Angie pointed out back. “I’m watching Jon practice with his swords. He’s really good. I wish we could afford to get him into a class, or something. You wouldn’t happen to know the name of his old instructor, would you?”

  I looked out the door. Jon had no idea we were spying on him and it was probably a good thing, too. The fifteen-inch knives he twirled—one in each hand—were razor sharp. As he stabbed and sliced the air his moves were fluid, graceful and incredibly dangerous looking. The mastery he showed with the long knives took my breath away.

  “The only weapons instructor he ever had was Mr. Riker. When our parents died we moved around and Jon stayed with the Rikers for like three years. Mr. Riker was in the army. He was a black belt in karate and taught self-defense to soldiers. Jon was already pretty good at karate, but Mr. Riker taught him all kinds of new stuff, especially with weapons.”

  “Where’s Mr. Riker now?”

  “Dead. He got blown up.” Angie got quiet so I finished the story. “Afghanistan. Mrs. Riker really liked Jon, but after her husband died she fell apart and sent Jon back to the children’s home. Since then he hasn’t had a weapons teacher, or a karate teacher either. He pretty much learns everything now from the Internet.”

  I watched Jon practice as we talked. As usual he wore school clothes—tan slacks and a snug fitting blue T-shirt that just showed the muscles in his arms. He stood nearly six feet tall now, with strands of dirty-blond hair dropping in and out of his eyes while he worked. I noticed his sword case was open on the steps. His other three weapons—a Marine Corps officer’s sword, a Roman gladius and a Scottish Claymore—glistened in the sun on a blanket spread across the deck.

  Jon finished, stepped back and bowed toward the woods behind the house. Then he twirled the fighting knives and slid them both into a pair of sheaths strapped under his shirt at the base of his neck. The move was slick and controlled.

  I was impressed. “Whoa! He’s way better. Last time I saw him do that move he almost cut his finger off. It bled so much!”

  Angie pulled me away from the door. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Come on, I cut up some fruit for a snack. You can tell me all about Melissa.”

  “Melissa’s so cool. She’s kinda weird, but I can tell we’re going to be great friends. She always wears black, you know.”

  As we entered the kitchen Chris McCormick came up the stairs from the basement, covered with cobwebs and dust bunnies. He looked like he’d been crawling under beds or something. He carried a baseball bat and a long steel pipe, one in each hand. “Angie, I don’t know what to do with these. I found them under the stairs.”

  “Take them back where you found them,” said Angie. “That’s what you can do with them.”

  Chris nodded. “Uh, right. So how was school, Miss Kelly?”

  “Fine. What’re you doing, Chris?”

  “Cleaning the basement. Well, I’m trying; it’s such a huge job I don’t know where to begin. I want to make a room down there and rent it to a college student so we can take in some extra cash, you know?”

  “Get Travis to help. He’s really good at keeping inventory and organizing stuff.�
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  “Oh yeah? I’ll talk to him when he gets home from school.”

  “Want a snack while you’re working?” asked Angie.

  “You bet.” Chris took a plate of cut up apples and headed back downstairs.

  About then the patio door opened and Jon came into the kitchen. He set his sword case on the floor, wiped his forehead on his sleeve and grinned at me. “What’s up, Kel?”

  “You’re all sweaty and gross is what’s up,” I said. He was, too. I was afraid he’d try to hug me and get me all slimy. Jon had been hugging Travis and me a lot since we’d moved in with the McCormicks. He’d really missed us and I knew he felt responsible for taking care of us. “Hey, you’ve gotten really good with those knife thingys. We were watching you.”

  “Thanks.” Jon blushed. His eyes became intense. “They’re Elvish fighting knives, like Legolas carried in the Lord of the Rings movies.”

  “You have amazing skill with them, Jon.” Angie passed him a plate of apple slices, neatly cut and skinned.

  “I’ve got a long way to go with the knives, but at least I’m not bleeding this time.” He grinned at me. “The Claymore, that’s my best weapon. But if I’m gonna be a stunt man in movies I’ve got to be good with lots of weapons.”

  “A stunt man?” Angie nodded like she thought it was a good idea. “That’d be really cool. Are you working tonight?”

  Jon glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove. “Gotta be there in an hour. I better get cleaned up. Can I eat this upstairs?”

  “Bring the plate back down before you leave.”

  “Thanks!” Jon hurried out of the kitchen with his sword case and the fruit. On the way up the stairs he yelled, “Trav’s home!”

  As soon as he said it I heard a school bus drive away. It’s funny how I never noticed that bus unless it was leaving. A moment later Travis came in the front door. As usual he stopped in the foyer and switched on the crystal chandelier. Travis had a thing about chandeliers and even the small ones amazed him no matter how many times he looked them over. He switched the light off, dropped his new backpack by the stairs and ran into the kitchen.

  “Fruit!” he cried. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He dug into the apple slices like he hadn’t eaten all week. One thing about Travis, he could eat and eat and never get fat.

  Why do you eat so much? I asked inside his head.

  Cuz I’m hungry! thought Travis back to me. I smiled. Travis almost always kept it simple.

  Travis’ white-blond hair stuck up wilder than usual. That kid had some crazy hair, for sure. He was pale, too. Except for his deep blue eyes he almost looked albino. Travis smiled while he ate, which made me feel pretty good inside. When he was younger he rarely smiled around us because he was too worried about the next time we’d be separated. But since we’d moved in with Angie and Chris, he smiled more and worried less. He had a great smile, too. He usually won people over the first time they met him. Everybody liked Travis.

  “Your turn to mark the calendar,” I said.

  Travis’ eyes got big as he munched on an apple slice. “Yeah!” He turned to the fridge and grabbed the black Sharpie that hung by a string on the door. He found today’s date and drew a big X through it. He must have scanned the rest of the month because he pointed to Halloween and looked back at me.

  “You’re in a chess tournament? For real?”

  I shrugged like it was no big deal. Chess was cool, of course. But right now for me, it was all about the cave.

  “You guys aren’t too excited about the cave trip, are you?” asked Angie.

  “I can’t wait,” I said. “Jon’s excited, too, but he doesn’t show it. How many caves has Chris been in?”

  “Chris doesn’t do caves. He’s more of a putt-putt golf kinda guy.” Angie paused to think. “I mean, the only cave he’s ever been in that I know of was Luray Caverns, but that’s got walkways and lights. This will be his first real cave exploration.”

  “Is he gonna lead us?” asked Travis.

  “Lord, no. A good friend of ours at the high school, Anton Edwards, will be leading. He knows all about caves, especially this one. Anton is Jon’s English teacher.”

  “Cool,” said Travis. “Does the cave have a name?”

  “Yes, Pandora’s Cave.”

  “Pandora’s Cave,” I repeated. “I like it.”

  Somebody had written Crystal Creek Park caving trip on the calendar for this coming Saturday. Travis made his usual count down.

  “Two more days ‘til we crawl through cave slime. Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”