My gasoline bomb hit the big snake on the altar of the ruined church. Fire for the devil. I turned. The devil always has friends.
Tag: devil
Fiction: Darkening Doors
The lady of the house opened the white front door to her modest bungalow-style home. On the doorstep stood a middle-aged man in a plain suit. She recognized him from his signs.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “I am Alfred Samiel. I am visiting every home in the district which I hope to serve in the legislature. I would like to take just a few moments to tell you where I stand on the important issues we face.”
She scowled at him.
“I know your stands on the issues. I don’t know how you can say any of that crap. You’re disgusting. You’ll never get my vote. I hope to God you don’t get elected.”
She slammed the door on him, and he heard something fall from a shelf inside.
Samiel stared hatefully at the closed door, silently fuming. None of the well-intentioned warnings had prepared him for the fact of rejection. He poured out his anger and stepped down from the porch, moving on to the next house.
He reminded himself that it didn’t matter if he was not loved. All that mattered was making a good effort. When election day came, he was certain he would be elected – despite the woman’s prayer to the contrary: God wasn’t running a candidate for office.
Behind him, the white door now bore Samiel’s silhouette. The homeowner would later discover that paint would not adhere to it.
Fiction: The Devil You Know
Satan slouched on his throne, one leathery wing idly beating time to the off-key tune its owner hummed.
He watched the parade of souls stream by him. Some quailed and screamed at the sight of the overlord of evil; others, hoping to be spared a little misery, genuflected before the throne, not realizing that Satan fried every 417th person to do that.
As the endless line of wrecked humanity slunk past him, he would meditatively torture one in a particular fashion and another in a different way. For the better part of an hour, he drilled holes in various sordid souls so that he wasn’t the only one in Hell who was bored.
A flash of movement caught his eye; he turned his horned head to see one of his lieutenants rushing toward him. The demon bowed before his infernal lord.
“What?” Satan demanded.
“My prince, there is … something odd. Something new, and none of us in Admissions can explain it.”
Fiction: Souled Out
Darlan, an agent of Hell on Earth, sighed into his coffee. A good, strong cup of coffee was one of the few things that made up for being trapped in human form to do his infernal majesty’s will.
You couldn’t get any in Hell.
Today, though, even coffee wasn’t perking Darlan up. He was waiting for today’s mark to come along. Another soul to speed on its way to Hell.
Big deal, Darlan thought. The place is overrun with souls as it is, cluttering things up, screaming, pleading, whining — oh, the whining.
Three hundred years earlier, when Darlan was first given the job of infernal shepherd, it was exciting. He always exceeded his quota and liked to take on the tougher jobs. But any job begins to pale after three centuries, and Darlan was doing little more now than putting in his time. Other agents were showing him up, but he didn’t care.
Fiction: The Side of the Angels
“You’re … what?”
Lonnie had been sitting alone on the park bench, quietly minding his own business, soaking in a little late afternoon sun, and continuing to recover from the excesses of the previous night. He’d come to this part of the park to get away from the old busker playing his trumpet. Still, a few high notes would sometimes drift over. And he’d been alone until an absolutely nondescript middle-aged man came strolling along and sat down next to him. Even at that, the man was so utterly unremarkable that Lonnie didn’t notice him at first, or that he had a cloth bag. Then the man spoke.
“You heard me,” the man said. “I am Satan, and I want you to do a job for me.”
“Look, guy,” Lonnie said. “I had too much to drink last night, too. Go home and sleep it off. I’m not in the mood.”
“Your mood is not relevant to our conversation,” the bland man said. “I need someone killed and you can easily do the job. The target sold her soul to me and doesn’t wish to pay. She’s trying everything she can think of to avoid her fate, and I’m getting tired of it. Even though it will do her no good, she’s holed up in a church, and the priest is sympathetic to her. I want you to go in and kill her.”