Goodbye Lucifer

by John Harold McCoy

  * * *

  At closing time Finny Fowler came out of Papa’s Bar and walked the half block down the sidewalk to where he’d parked his car. He was just a little drunk. As he bent down to stick his key in the car door he happened to glance up.

  That’s strange, he thought. A few seconds ago he’d noticed a young girl come out of the apartments across the street. She was a cute little thing, late teens, bouncy curls. She got into a black Hummer. As the Hummer pulled away, it passed by him and he could see the driver more clearly. Short, washed out brown hair, middle aged, and dumpy—certainly not a cute young girl with bouncy curls. Finny was puzzled, but didn’t much care. He got in his car and drove away.

  Sarah Crumb aimed the Hummer up the beach road towards the hotel where she was staying. Even at this hour the streets were brilliant with headlights, Spring Break being non-stop twenty-four hours a day. She drove fast, weaving the powerful machine through traffic, heedless of the speed limit and without regard for any lurking police unlucky enough to spot her and give chase, which would be unfortunate…for them.

  She reached her hotel and pulled in, driving around to the back and finding a parking space that overlooked the beach and the ocean beyond. Sarah turned off the car and sat for a moment watching the moonlit whitecaps rolling up onto the sand. Finally, she reached over to her purse on the seat beside her. She pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and dialed. It rang a few times on the other end. There was a click and a few seconds of silence; then…

  “So?” asked Aubrey Crumb.

  “Piece a cake,” said Sarah. “Typical man, devil or not.”

  “Good. Now bring him back,” demanded Aubrey.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  LOUIS BROUGHT EMMA INSIDE. He put the shotgun behind the counter—then sat Emma down with the others. She still seemed a little dazed.

  Claudia took her hand, comfortingly, and asked, “Where are your children, Emma?”

  Emma was looking down at her lap. She answered in a childlike voice. “With their grandma. I took them there this morning, before…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What, Emma? Before what?” Louis asked gently.

  “Before I—” she stopped, cocked her head, her brow wrinkled in thought. Suddenly, she straightened up, seeming to come around. “Oh no! Before I…” she gasped, startled at a realization. “Oh, my goodness.” She looked at Louis, shocked.

  “What?” Louis prompted.

  Emma blurted out, “Before I decided to kill Joe!”

  “Gawgh!” Amanda choked out the sound, spitting a little coffee along with it. “Here we go again!” she sputtered, grabbing for a napkin to wipe her mouth.

  “Christ, Emma! Where’d you get an idea like that?” Louis asked, stunned.

  Emma was shaking her head, almost in tears. “I don’t know…I can’t…I don’t know. I just started to think I should get rid of him, and I got the shotgun…” She looked like she’d just awakened from a dream. She turned to Claudia, pleadingly, eyes wide. “I must be crazy, or something.” She was sobbing, “Am I crazy, Claudia?”

  Claudia pulled a napkin from the holder on the table and dabbed at the tears on Emma’s face. “It’s okay, Emma. Its okay,” she soothed. “Everything’s a little crazy, today.” She put her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right, darlin’.”

  Claudia looked at Melanie and said, “I think Emma should stay with us, tonight.”

  Melanie nodded in agreement. “Good idea, and I think everyone’s had enough for one day; too much, in fact.” She got up and turned towards the office. “I’m gonna get David.” She took a few steps then stopped, tuning back to Simmons. “Mr. Simmons…uh, John,” she smiled. “I hope you don’t think we’re all lunatics.”

  Simmons smiled back. “No, no, not at all.” His smile turned playful. “Uh, interesting, yes.”

  Melanie laughed. “Yep. That’s us, all right—interesting.” Her laugh lightened back into a smile. “But no, really, John, we’re a nice little town here. Some days we even try to act like normal people.”

  Simmons chided, “Hey, don’t change for me. I’m getting to like ‘interesting’.” Then, as though just thinking of something, he said, “You know, I have to be here for a few more days, finishing up and all. Perhaps someone could show me around the springs area and the—”

  Melanie broke in too quickly. “Oh, I’d be happy to show—” she stopped, abruptly, blushing at the smirks on Amanda and Louis’ faces.

  “Yeah, she’d be happy to,” Amanda said, grinning.

  Damn her, thought Melanie, the blush deepening.

  Simmons saved her. “Well, yes. That’s what I meant. Could you? Say, tomorrow morning?”

  Melanie made a mental note to kill her best friend and then, trying to sound casual, said to Simmons, “No problem. Dad opens the store at seven. Wanna just meet here?”

  “Sounds fine,” Simmons agreed. “It should be very helpful.”

  Amanda was still smirking. “Oh, yeah, Melanie’s very helpful.”

  Melanie shot out the thought, You’re so dead.

  Amanda flinched, but didn’t stop grinning. She shot back, Payback’s Hell, ain’t it?

  Inwardly steaming at Amanda, Melanie smiled at Simmons. “Okay. See ya then.”

  She turned and walked towards the office. She was praying that there wasn’t an unconscious wiggle in her walk.

  Louis closed the store and went home to the house on Stillman Road. John Simmons drove back over the mountain to his motel room in Stillman Township. Amanda and Patty were on their way home, and Melanie, Claudia, Emma, Jilly and David were stepping up onto the veranda of the big rock house on Meljac Lane.

  As they approached the mullioned doors, Emma stopped. “Oh, I forgot,” she said, still listless and looking worn out.

  “Forgot what?” Claudia asked.

  Emma answered matter-of-factly. “About the demons.”

  Melanie stopped in her tracks. “Oh, great!” she muttered.

  David grabbed Emma’s arm, and exploded, “Demons? Really, Ms. Paul? Demons? Did you see ’em? Where?”

  Claudia pulled David away from Emma. “Calm down, David,” she scolded. She looked back at Emma, and tried sounding casual. “What demons, Emma?”

  Emma raised her arm and pointed a finger towards the group of trembling shadows huddled in the corner of the veranda. “Those,” she said.

  David’s gaze followed the line of Emma’s pointing finger. He shouted, “Wow! Oh, Wow, Mom. Look at ’em! Wow!” At which the terrified demons began whimpering fearfully, crawling all over one another trying to bury themselves as far back in the dark corner of the veranda as possible—all except for Quackrak, of course, who had to maintain his composure, him being in charge and all. Besides, he already knew all about noisy people, although he was surprised that this new, smaller one was even noisier than the others.

  Sighing at the inevitable, Quackrak gathered his courage and huffed himself up to his full four and a half feet. He stepped forward, bravely. Facing the people, he said, “Sorry to bother you again, but I’m forced to request that you aid us in getting back to Hell, hopefully, a little more gently than last time. That is, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  David’s mouth dropped open at the quacking sounds. He turned to his mother, and made a disgusted face.

  “Mom, that’s not a demon. It sounds like a duck or something. Demons are supposed to sound like demons.” Then to Emma, with obvious disappointment, “Ms. Paul, are you sure those are demons?”

  Emma was getting groggy. Without looking at David or the demons, she answered, her voice small and quiet, uninterested, “I guess…yeah.”

  Melanie gathered her wits, grabbing hold of the situation. “Jilly, go get Amanda back here. Claudia, please take Emma and David upstairs, then come back down and help me get these things to the basement.”

  David cried, “Mom! I wanna help…cause if they’re really demons…”

  Melanie snapped, “David, just go with
Aunt Claudia.” David started to protest further. Claudia took his arm and pulled him inside the house.

  With Claudia, Emma, and David inside the house, and Jilly gone to fetch Amanda, Melanie stood alone on the dimly lit veranda looking down at the bedraggled little demon standing before her. What, she wondered, was it doing here? How had those others got here? She chuckled to herself. Maybe it just liked her, and had brought its friends back to make her acquaintance. Hey, she was a likable person, right? She snickered at the thought.

  She tended to agree with the girls that the quack-like sounds it made was talking, of a sort. She could almost recognize the body language and attitude that went with the sounds. A few minutes ago, when it approached them and had “spoken,” she had the impression that it was asking a question, or asking for something.

  Just for the heck of it, and not really expecting anything, she very deliberately threw a thought at the little demon. What are you?

  Quackrak recoiled, astonished. The person had spoken to him. He recovered, and answered out loud, “I’m Quackrak.”

  Melanie was almost as shocked as Quackrak. She realized that he’d heard her, and had tried to answer. She tried again. I can’t understand your words. You have to talk to me without speaking out loud.

  Quackrak backed away from Melanie, suddenly frightened. The person wasn’t speaking after all. It was forcing words into his head.

  Melanie caught his feelings. Please don’t be afraid. Just think your words and I’ll understand them.

  Quackrak caught on. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, which was another of his favorite puns.

  Without speaking out loud, he said to Melanie, I got it, now. Like this, you mean.

  Melanie said, “Yes. Now, tell me what you are.”

  “I’m Quackrak.”

  “That’s your name. I mean what are you?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m Qua…I mean I’m a demon. You know…from Hell.”

  Quackrak told her the whole story; how Lucifer had gone, leaving him in charge…the door in Lucifer’s office, the whole thing.

  So, the others just followed you out. Melanie stated the obvious.

  Apparently, said Quackrak. Either that, or they were just messing around in the office and stumbled through. They’re all maintenance demons, and pretty stupid.

  At that moment, Amanda and Jilly came around the house, and up the veranda steps. Catching sight of the six demons, Amanda stopped short, gawked for a moment, then chuckled. “Oh goodie! We’re havin’ fun now. Got yourself a whole herd of ’em there, don’tcha, Mel?”

  Turning to the newcomers, Quackrak concentrated on Amanda, and tried out a thought on her. I’m Quackrak, he attempted.

  Amanda flinched, Whoa…I caught that. The little monster can project.

  Quackrak stiffened. Monster indeed! he huffed at Amanda.

  Oops, sorry, she apologized.

  Apology accepted, said Quackrak magnanimously. But I’m a demon, not a monster—big difference.

  Yeah, we kinda figured. Amanda waved it off.

  Jilly felt like she was missing something. She glanced at Quackrak, then at her mother, then at Amanda.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, puzzled. “How come you guys are making faces and stuff? Somebody say something.”

  “We are,” grinned Amanda.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re talking with your little friend, here.”

  Then it hit Jilly. “Oh, jeez, you’re doing that thing you and Mom do sometimes.”

  “Projecting,” offered Melanie.

  Jilly was surprised. “He can do that?”

  “Probably not on his own,” said Melanie. “Just with our help. You can too, sweetheart. Go ahead, try it,” she urged.

  Jilly shook her head, waving her hands in front of her, dismissing the idea. “No way! I can’t do that stuff,” she protested.

  “Stuff?” Melanie raised her eyebrows.

  “Weird stuff. You know…like you do.”

  Amanda laughed. “Yeah, Mel, you’re weird. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

  Melanie gave Amanda a warning look, but couldn’t help grinning. She turned back to Jilly, saying, “That’s what you said; you and Patty, both, about sending him back this morning, but you did.”

  Jilly sneered. “Come on, Mom! You and Mrs. Clark did that. It wasn’t really us.”

  “Yes, it was,” Melanie assured her. “You and Patty.”

  Jilly looked unsure for a moment, then ventured, “Really?”

  “Really,” confirmed her mother. “Now, talk to your little buddy, there.”

  Jilly looked at Quackrak, still unsure. Then she shrugged, and leaned close to the little demon’s face. She thought, loudly and deliberately, Can-You-Hear-Me-In-There?

  Quackrak stumbled back a step, startled. Yes, he blurted, silently. I can hear you. With a twinge of sarcasm, he added, In here.

  Jilly jumped. “Oh, Oh,” she stammered excitedly. “I heard him…and he said he heard me…and I heard him back again. This is so cool!” She jerked around towards her mother. “Mom! I really can do stuff, can’t I?”

  Amanda patted Jilly’s head. “Great, kid. Now whip me up a handsome millionaire.”

  Jilly giggled, “Oh, Mrs. Clark, you’re already a millionaire, aren’t you?”

  “How ’bout a poor cabana boy, then,” Amanda suggested.

  “How about a poor cop from Stillman,” Melanie kidded.

  Amanda bristled. “How ’bout I turn you into a turtle, Miss Smarty-Pants.”

  Aunt Claudia’s voice came from the breakfast room door. “Now children, don’t squabble.”

  Melanie looked at Claudia, concerned. “Is David—”

  “Tied to the bed,” Claudia said, smiling. “No, he’s fine. Don’t worry. I had to promise him a fresh shiny demon first thing in the morning, though.”

  Claudia stepped out onto the veranda. “So, you’re going to put them in the basement?”

  Melanie said wearily, “Right. We’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

  What’s a basement? asked Quackrak.

  Jilly piped in. It’s not a real basement. It’s a rec room. It’s got floors and furniture and a TV, and a patio out back and all.

  Okay, agreed Quackrak, seeing he had no choice. But I have to get back soon because with Lucy gone, I’m in charge and—

  Who’s Lucy? asked Melanie.

  Lucifer, I mean, Quackrak went on. And I have to—

  You’re kidding, Melanie was snickering.

  Amanda went wide-eyed, then cracked up. Oh my Gawd! You call the devil Lucy? Quackrak looked back and forth at the two women, wondering what he’d said that was so funny.

  Aunt Claudia dampened the levity. Okay, you two, stop with the hysterics, and let Quack—she stopped in mid-thought, silent for the instant it took to stifle the urge to laugh, herself, …let Quackrak finish what he was trying to say.

  What I was trying to say, continued Quackrak, rather haughtily, is that I have to get back because Dread is the only one there.

  Dread? What’s Dread? asked Jilly.

  Quackrak shuddered. He’s the Keeper of the Unspeakable Archives. You know…in Underworld. Frightening fellow. I never go down there, myself. We don’t get along.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE CREATURE KNOWN AS DREAD, Keeper of the Unspeakable Archives, walked the dank dark corridors of Underworld. A foul stagnant mist swirled at his feet; stray wisps of malignant evil curled through the fetid air he breathed.

  Spawned by man’s first evil deed, Dread was neither man nor demon but the fleshing of both; a creation of necessity, doomed to spend eternity as the caretaker of souls shunned by Hell itself: souls whose malignant auras permeated the very walls of the vaults that imprisoned them; souls so vile that their presence, alone, would corrupt and poison even Lucifer’s domain.

  Here in this citadel of the grotesque were the spirits of history’s perpetrators of true horror: a man who had practiced genocide in Germany, a woma
n who had bathed in the blood of young girls in Hungary, a doctor who had butchered prostitutes on the streets of London—all of the world’s most evilly depraved tyrants and despots.

  Alone in his cavern of the macabre, where not even the demons of Hell ventured, Dread reigned supreme, custodian of abomination and malevolency.

  On the lighter side, Dread liked ice cream, good music and sitcoms—when he could get the TV to work. As for evil, it was just part of the job. He could take it or leave it. Of course, being immersed for several thousand years in a place where the essence of pure evil just seemed to soak right into your skin, he was a bit amoral to say the least.

  Dread reached the end of the corridor and stopped at the massive iron door that separated Underworld from Hell. He put his ear to the cold metal and listened. There didn’t seem to be any activity on the other side, so he took one of the rusty keys from his belt, and after a little fumbling managed to jam it into the grime encrusted door lock. He made a mental note to find some WD40 for that lock.

  Dread turned the key and cracked the door open just enough to peek out—nope, nobody out there. He pulled the door open wider, stepped out and tiptoed down the brightly lit hall towards Lucifer’s office and the little mini-fridge where Lucy kept his private store of cherry-vanilla ice cream.

  TWENTY-SIX

  MELANIE WAS TALKING, but Simmons was only half-listening. Sitting on the bench beside the old picnic table by the springs, he was much more interested in how the morning sunlight shone through the strands of Melanie’s ash-blonde hair.

  “Lovely,” he mused, distracted, hoping he hadn’t said it out loud.

  “—and it was Karol’s great grandfather who built the first house in the valley,” Melanie was saying, her head deliberately tilted to catch the sunlight in her hair. On an impulse, she raised her face to the sky and shouted, “Hey, Karol, you old dummy. Why didn’t you build the house up here by the springs? It’d be worth a fortune, now!”

  Simmons laughed at her sudden outburst, thinking it was endearing. He said, “Well, you could build one up here now, couldn’t you?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Melanie sighed. “It’s a designated wildlife sanctuary—no building. So that’s that. Anyway, I’m certainly not complaining. I wouldn’t trade the whole world for my house right where it is. I love…well, I love…everything here: the valley…Brandell…”

  Simmons nodded. “I can understand that, easily. Anybody would. It’s so peaceful…uh,” He laughed, again. “Except for last night.”

  Melanie gulped. “Oh boy! Right… Last night.” They both laughed, but Melanie was thinking of her basement full of demons, and you don’t know the half of it.

  “Anyway,” she said, “now you know the whole history of our little piece of paradise, at least as much as I do. So, I’m going to shut up. Your turn, now.” She smiled at Simmons. “Tell me the story about how John Simmons is going to enrich the lives of our poor, unfortunate, neighbors over in muddy little Sharpton Valley.”

  “Not that complicated, really,” said Simmons with a casual shrug. “Pretty much boils down to just digging a ditch. In other words, one reasonably deep straight path for the water flowing into the valley to follow, instead of dozens of shallow, meandering streams that dry up and reform every summer. The idea is that farmers will have consistent tillable areas instead of one place this year, and another place the next. As it is now, they can’t even get machinery from one planted area to another without it getting mired down.”

  Melanie said, “Ah ha, another paradise is born. Will there be palm trees?”

  “Of course!” said Simmons, grinning. “And an oasis with hula girls. What else would you like?”

  They both laughed, leaning close to each other unconsciously, their faces almost touching. Melanie pulled back, abruptly, a deliberate attempt to appear shy, demure. She decided, too late, that it just looked ridiculous, and covered it by standing up. She hoped Simmons hadn’t noticed the blunder. Simmons did notice. He added it to her list of endearing qualities.

  They walked, unhurriedly, down the trail towards town. With the warmth of the late morning sun, the cool spring breeze rustling through the trees on either side of the trail, the woman strolling beside him literally glistening with charm, Simmons imagined some cosmic cupid setting the perfect stage and jabbing at him with little arrows. As they walked, he resisted the urge to take her hand, wondering what she would do if he did.

  Melanie was trying to remember how to look animated and interesting without flouncing. Her natural girl skills had gotten rusty over the years from lack of use.

  She frowned mentally, embarrassed by her own thoughts. I’m acting like a teenager with a crush. She considered making him stumble into her, just to see what would happen, but dismissed it as unfair…then again, what the hell.

  Simmons stumbled slightly. He looked surprised, but kept walking.

  Damn, not enough, she thought.

  Amanda was sweeping her front porch. As Melanie and Simmons passed by, she called out. “Hey, the big oaf cop asked me out to dinner. Big deal. Lakeside Inn in Stillman—the discriminating diner’s delight and roach capitol of the world.” She pointed a finger down her throat and pretended to gag. “Anyway, you guys wanna come along? I hear their fried chicken is marginally digestible.”

  Simmons looked at Melanie. “Uh…okay with you?”

  “Great,” she answered, and taking his hand in hers, shouted back to Amanda, “Yep, I got another big spender over here, too. We’re on.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  NO LUCK. The mini-fridge in Lucifer’s office was empty. It wasn’t even turned on. Dread closed it, quietly, then glanced towards the door to make sure nobody was hanging around in the hall. He didn’t need some dumb demon peeking in and catching him rummaging around in Lucy’s office. He’d already been caught during an ice cream raid once before, and Lucifer had threatened to boil him in oil if he ever came out of Underworld again. He’d had nightmares about that.

  Even so, to Dread’s knowledge, the only place in the entire universe where ice cream could be found was Lucifer’s mini-fridge, and the prize outweighed the risk. Besides, he suspected that Lucy was only bluffing about the boiling in oil thing. Who would do that to somebody?

  So far the hall outside the office door looked clear. Apparently the ugly little freaks were off somewhere doing whatever it was they did. He probably had time to check through Lucy’s desk before sneaking back to Underworld. He’d once found some little chocolate raisin things in one of the drawers that had been pretty tasty.

  Keeping an eye on the hall, Dread crept across the room to Lucifer’s desk. He bent down and opened the top drawer—nothing. He tried another one, same thing—empty, not even a paper clip. That was odd. He closed the last drawer, straightened up, and looked around. Come to think of it, the whole room looked odd—too neat, everything in place. Except for that door over there…open a crack, must be a closet. He figured he might as well check it out.

  Dread had red eyes, ideally suited for peering around in the eternal gloom of Underworld. Although the bright lights in the halls of Hell weren’t much to his liking and hurt his eyes a bit, on his infrequent forays for ice cream he endured them as a necessary evil—so to speak. The brilliant noon sun of Blue Springs was a different story.

  Dread screamed as twin spears of fire pierced his eyes and burned into his brain. He cupped both hands over his face and fell to his knees, too close to the edge of the big flat rock. Scrambling blindly to escape whatever was happening, he tumbled into the cold water of the springs, gasping in shock as the frigid water closed over him. His mouth and throat filled with freezing liquid, choking him into panic.

  Dread flailed in terror, then his feet found the bottom, and in desperation, he thrust upward. His head broke the surface and he instinctively gasped for air. Lungs burning, eyes punished by the blazing noonday sun, Dread swayed in the current, trying to keep his balance in the neck deep freezing water. He coughed violen
tly, choking, spewing out gouts of water and sucking in air. Mercifully, after a few minutes his lungs began to clear and the panic and the burning in his chest subsided. He tried to calm himself enough to take stock of his situation.

  “Doors.” The word appeared in his mind along with the memory of the first time he had opened the big iron door between Underworld and Hell. For a thousand years he’d considered it just a large piece of metal on the wall of the only world he knew, the reason for its existence, unknown…till he figured it out.

  Doors between worlds. Apparently he’d blundered through another one…and into a world of…

  Stuck in a world of fire and ice and pain!

  At the thought, the fear and panic returned. He whirled around, frantic, his tortured eyes searching for the way back. His feet lost their purchase, and the current claimed him again, tumbling him towards the sandy bottom. Fear and panic won, and with a great convulsive gasp Dread’s lungs filled with water. Sanity fled, and as his helpless thrashing became weaker and weaker, consciousness followed.

  Dread’s limp body rolled with the current towards the edge of the springs basin where the water flowed over the rocks and into the shallow river.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  HARRY SAT UP. Something was strange—something besides the big gray and white pelican with its droopy bill rammed into the basket of food on the sand beside the beach blanket. Harry shooed at the pelican. It gave him an angry hiss and backed off, but didn’t fly away. The bird ruffled its feathers, flapped its wings a few times, and settled down on the hot sand, waiting for another chance at the goodies in the basket. Harry pulled the basket a little closer to him. The big bird blinked, its eyes following the goodies.

  Tamara lay asleep on the blanket beside him. Her tanned body glistened with oil and smelled of coconut. She stirred at his movements, but didn’t awake.

  Something felt different. Harry shook off the feeling. Nothing was wrong in paradise. Maybe too many oysters for lunch.

  He was hot and sweating. He thought of getting up and walking down to the water to cool off. The pelican stretched its neck towards the basket. The damn thing’s reading my mind. He shooed at it again. The bird stood up, took a few steps backwards, and pooped.

  “Gaaa,” Harry growled at it, disgusted. He dug his hand into the sand and flipped a handful at the rude bird. The pelican flapped furiously, and rose into the air, taking off in search of easier pickings.

  Harry wiped the sweat from his eyes and stood up. He looked down at Tamara, wondering if he should wake her. Deciding not to, he turned and walked down the sloping sand towards the gentle whitecaps of afternoon low tide.