Goodbye Lucifer

by John Harold McCoy

  * * *

  Dread stopped laughing. From where he stood at the back corner of Aubrey’s house, he could see the big black Hummer coming across the bridge. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew exactly who was in it. He could feel Lucifer’s presence even from that distance. Panic gripped him. Being out of Underworld was bad enough, but if Lucy caught him out here among humans—I’m going to get boiled in oil for sure, this time, he thought.

  What to do? …Run? Run where?

  Quackrak, wiping dirt off his face from his tumble across the yard, had sensed Lucifer too. He knew there would be hell to pay—another of his favorite puns—but his relief at Lucy’s return outweighed his fear of being caught. Lucy would fix everything. They could all go home: him safe and sound counting souls in his cubicle, the maintenance demons sweeping floors and running errands, and Dread—? Quackrak wondered if he could talk Lucy into welding the door to Underworld shut.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  “THERE HE IS!” David blurted out, pointing up Stillman Road towards the bridge. He and Jilly were standing out by the intersection hoping to see where the red-crayon drooling demon had run off to. Jilly looked where David was pointing. She spotted the little demon pushing Mrs. Hinkle’s wheelchair towards them.

  “Now, that’s just too weird,” she said, giggling at the sight.

  “Yeah, that’s just too weird,” David echoed Jilly’s observation. He wasn’t sure what was weird about it, but if his sister thought it was weird it probably was.

  In less than a minute, Mrs. Hinkle’s demon-powered wheelchair rolled up to where they stood.

  Mrs. Hinkle raised her hand, and said over her shoulder, “Stop here.” The demon stopped pushing and stood behind the chair as though waiting for further instructions. Getting weirder by the minute, thought Jilly

  Mrs. Hinkle said, “I was just coming to see your Aunt Claudia. Oh, and this…” she gestured at the demon, “wouldn’t happen to belong to you, would it?”

  Jilly wasn’t sure how to react. She didn’t know if she should admit knowing anything about the demon, or not. David decided for her.

  “Yeah, and he ran off, and if mom finds out—” He stopped in mid-sentence as something new caught his attention. “Wow! Look at that neat car!” His gaze locked onto the big black Hummer that had just come across the bridge.

  The big SUV rolled up to them and stopped in the middle of the road. Sarah Crumb stuck her head out the window. “Hi, Myra…uh, Jilly. Hey David.” She looked nervous at seeing the children. “Whatcha got there, Myra?” she asked with an uncomfortable nod towards the demon.

  Mrs. Hinkle smiled a humorless smile and answered with obvious sarcasm. “Well, Sarah, this here’s my new house boy. Just hired him. Found him walkin’ down the road the other side of the bridge and figured he might need a job.” Her humorless smiled turned to an angry frown as she continued, “Of course, if that feller sittin’ in that monstrosity of a car with you is who I think it is—and it is!—then you know damn well what I got here, don’tcha. Question is, what’s it doing traipsin’ around all over town? And while we’re at it…” she straightened up as tall as she could in the wheelchair and peered into the Hummer. “Hello there, Harry,” she shouted. “Mind if I ask what the hell you’re doing traipsin’ around where you ain’t supposed to be—that is, while we’re at it?”

  The Big SUV was too high for her to see through to the passenger side, but she could hear Harry’s rather timid response. “Uh, hi, Myra…uh, nice to see you, again.”

  “Yeah, I bet it is,” Myra grunted.

  Sarah turned to Harry with a suspicious frown. “Harry?”

  “What?” he replied, defensively?

  “Harry, what’s going on here?” Her suspicion lent an edge to her voice. “You’ve been acting funny ever since you saw—” She glanced out at Myra, then back at Harry, it suddenly dawning on her. She gasped, “Harry, did you…were you and Myra…?”

  “No…no! Nothing!” Harry shrugged innocently, then added, “Well…not really.”

  “Harry, you son-of-a-bitch!” Sarah exploded.

  Harry raised his hands in front of him, warding off her anger. “Please, Sarah, it wasn’t like that…not at all,” he protested. “Just flirting…playing around.”

  Sarah snapped back, “With naked women dancing around a fire?”

  Myra Hinkle was enjoying the show. She said, laughing, “Oh, Sarah, don’t get your panties in an uproar. That was sixty years ago, and wasn’t nothin’ anyway.”

  Sarah was still fuming. “We’re gonna talk about this later, Harry,” she declared, venomously.

  SEVENTY-NINE

  THE RETURN OF AUBREY’S POWERS coincided with the momentum from the last swing of her broom. Surprised, and a little stunned, she let go of the broom, stumbling a few steps, following the direction of her swing to keep from falling flat on her face. Recovering her balance, she shook the dizziness from her head and stared at the monster. It was laughing—a grotesque parody of a laugh. At her? she wondered. Let’s see how it laughs when I turn it into a dog turd? Joe and Wiley were huddled together on the ground like two scared kids. The sight of that would have made her laugh too, if it wasn’t for—

  The monster’s laugh ended, abruptly. It took a step forward, then stopped. It glanced around this way and that, furtively, seeming unsure what to do. Aubrey got the impression it was about to run off. With her powers back, she projected to all the other women—wherever they were. You better get over here and collect your monster before I turn it into a pile of ashes!

  The response from Melanie was immediate. Oh, good, you found them. Can you bring them back over here—round back through the patio door?

  Baked, or broiled, replied Aubrey.

  Please, Aubrey, before anyone sees them.

  I’ve got a better idea, Aubrey said. I’ll just send them over. She closed her eyes and gave Dread and Quackrak a hard mental push.

  No, Aubrey! No! Melanie projected frantically. The kids are down there. If you send them and they pop up in the same space as David and Jilly—

  Too late, came from Aubrey. Dread and Quackrak disappeared, and due to a slight miscalculation on Aubrey’s part, so did Joe and Wiley.

  “Oops,” Aubrey muttered, looking at the ground where Joe and Wiley had been. She shrugged. “Serves ’em right,”—and went back into the house to finish her dusting.

  Melanie hurried down the basement steps. She knew Aubrey was competent enough to make sure the space where she sent Dread and Quackrak wasn’t occupied by anyone or anything, but still, as a mother it was her duty to freak out. She reached the bottom of the stairs just as Jilly and David came in through the patio door leading their wayward demon between them.

  Seeing her mom, Jilly said, “This one got out too. Wait’ll I tell you where we found him.”

  David piped up, “It was pushing an old lady around in a chair with wheels.”

  Jilly spotted Dread and Quackrak standing in the middle of the room, their heads darting this way and that, obviously wondering where they were and how they got there. Joe Paul and Wiley Curtis sat on the floor looking stunned. “Hey, they’re back,” she said, surprised. “Oh, and Mr. Paul, and Mr. Curtis…uh, I didn’t know you were here.”

  Quackrak quacked a few times, puzzled, then said, What! What happened?

  Dread raised his head high and roared, That’s it! I’m killing everybody.

  Oh, no you’re not! yelled Melanie, angrily. A wave of her hand, and Dread was flat on the floor unable to move.

  “Joe, what are you guys doing here?” she demanded.

  “We were…we were…we were,” Joe was having trouble getting it out. His face was slack, and he looked in shock. “That thing attacked us!” he finally managed, pointing at Dread.

  Oh, he did not, protested Quackrak. He was just looking at their souls, he explained to Melanie. Please let him up. He isn’t going to kill anybody. He looked down at the beast. Are you, Dread? It was a statement rather
than a question.

  Dread, totally immobilized, managed to make a “huh uh” sound.

  Melanie hesitated a moment, then said, All right, but if I hear one more threat from him, he’s toast. Another wave of her hand, and Dread was able to sit up.

  Quackrak said to Melanie, Lucy is back. We’re all going home now, right?

  What? Where? Where is he?

  I don’t know, but he was in a big black thing, and it was very close, answered Quackrak.

  Black thing?…like a car?

  What’s a car?

  Never mind, said Melanie. Probably a car, and if he’s around here he’ll show up, eventually. Just stay put, and keep him out of trouble. She nodded towards Dread. Right now there are people upstairs I have to attend to, but I promise you’ll be going home soon. “Joe, you and Wiley stay here too. I’ll be back down in a little while to explain.”

  She turned, and started back up the stairs. Halfway up, she stopped and turned back with a curious look at David.

  “…Old lady in a chair with wheels?”

  EIGHTY

  IT WAS TRUE. John Simmons did have a sister who lived in Bluefield, and he did drive down from Charleston to visit her and her family rather often. The part he’d related about there being a small branch office of the Parks Department in Bluefield, and the nature of his job making it not really matter which office he worked out of was also true. The rest was a lie. Not a bad lie; just one of those innocent little lies people inject into conversation to hide embarrassing motives.

  He was saying, “…and with no real family left in Charleston, well, I’ve thought of moving to Bluefield, or somewhere down in this area, for quite some time.” The truth was, it had never occurred to him till just this moment while sitting there in Melanie’s antique chair, and if Simmons thought he was fooling anyone, he was mistaken.

  Jack was sitting in the other of the two matching chairs, and Louis was on the couch facing them. Both knew exactly why John Simmons had developed such a sudden attraction to their part of the country, and from the grins on the two men’s faces, Simmons could tell he’d gotten caught. He tried to save it with, “…uh, it would be nice to be around family.”

  Jack and Louis glanced at each other knowingly then looked back at Simmons. They both sat there deliberately silent, waiting for John to dig a deeper hole.

  Simmons grimaced, embarrassed by their smirking scrutiny, then laughing out loud, gave it up. “All right, you guys. Come on, now.”

  Jack’s grin widened as he ribbed Simmons, “Let’s see, ‘quite some time’—that would be about three days since you met her, huh?”

  Louis held in a laugh. “Well, Jack, ya gotta admit; it is beautiful her.” He winked at Jack, then, “Uh, I mean here.”

  Jack threw in, “Oh yeah, beautiful trees and stuff. Right John?”

  Simmons leaned back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “Jeez, gemme a break, guys,” he groaned with a smile. Jack and Louis cracked up.

  A knock at the front door gave Simmons the break he was looking for. Louis stood and went out to answer the door, giving Simmons a good-natured slap on the back on the way by. A moment later he returned to the living room followed by Albert Morgan.

  To Simmons, he said, “John, I’d like you to meet our very esteemed Reverend Albert Morgan.”

  He motioned towards Simmons, “Reverend, this is John Simmons. He’s down from Charleston doing surveys for the Parks Department. Right now he’s surveying my daughter.” Louis and Jack cracked up, again.

  Simmons stood up and offered a hand to Albert. “Just ignore these two jokers,” he said. “…seems they’ve got nothing better to do than rag on poor defenseless strangers.” He shook Albert’s hand and added, “It’s very nice to meet you, Reverend.”

  “Same here,” returned Albert.

  Jack spoke up, “Albert. Good to see you again, buddy. Been a while.”

  The Reverend looked around Simmons to where Jack was sitting. “Oh, hi Jack. Yeah, it has.”

  Louis said, “Come on, sit down, Reverend. Claudia and Melanie are in the kitchen with Amanda doing whatever it is women do in the kitchen. Sorry about all the silliness. We were just giving John, here, a hard time.”

  Claudia appeared at the dining room entrance holding two coffee cups. Noticing Albert, she exclaimed, “Reverend! How nice.” She looked at the two cups in her hand. “Well, this won’t do, will it? Wait. Hold on just a sec, Reverend. I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked back into the dining room towards the kitchen.

  “Look out, guys,” warned Louis. “She’ll probably be back with that cart of hers stacked with God know what. Might as well sit back and get prepared.”

  Louis was right. A few minutes later Claudia, and her serving cart, came clattering through the dining room door. “Coffee cakes and everything,” Claudia declared, proudly. “All nice and formal. How’s that?”

  Melanie and Amanda came in behind her. “Reverend. So glad you came by,” Melanie greeted Albert warmly.

  Amanda said, “Reverend, I’ve been concerned about you. You seemed upset the other day when you were over.”

  Albert, feeling it best not to elaborate, said, “Oh no, it was nothing. I’ve been meaning to come by and apologize. So,” He smiled. “I apologize.”

  Amanda returned the smile. “Apology accepted.” Then, pointing at Claudia’s cart, said, “Now let’s have some goodies.” She started to help Claudia serve.

  Claudia protested, “Sit down, kid. You’re in my way.”

  Amanda and Melanie sat down on the couch beside Louis while Claudia bent over the cart.

  Again, there came a knock at the front door. Claudia straighten up, chuckled, and said, “Gonna need more chairs.”

  “I’ll get the door,” said Amanda, getting up and going out to the foyer.

  The sound of the door opening, a few muffled greetings, and she emerged from the foyer wearing a huge smile. “Hey, everybody. Look who’s here,” she announced, delighted at the prospect of watching Melanie and Claudia squirm as they introduced Louis, Jack, John Simmons, and the Reverend Albert Morgan—to the devil.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT,” Jilly warned. She’d caught Dread eying the patio door. “Mom will skin you alive.”

  Dread scowled and flopped down in Claudia’s recliner. Being skinned alive didn’t sound very pleasant, but neither did being boiled in oil—which is probably what would happen when Lucy caught him out of Underworld. Not much of a choice. He sat back and sulked.

  It should have been so simple: a scoop or two of delicious cherry-vanilla ice cream, a quick dash back to Underworld, and no one would have been the wiser. If only he hadn’t been so damn curious about that stupid door in Lucy’s office. Dread cringed just thinking about it—agonizing sunlight and freezing water, run over by a crappy pickup truck, banged around, kicked in the balls and glued to the floor. He decided to sit right where he was and wait for Lucy to come and get him. No use adding “skinned alive” to the list.

  Joe Paul had figured out where he was. He recognized the Meljacs’ basement from the hot summer days when he mowed the lawn, and Miz Claudia would sit with him by the patio door for a spell while he cooled off with a glass of lemonade. He was also pretty sure how he got here, and it was what he had been telling Wiley all along—witch work, pure and simple. You don’t just pop out of somebody’s backyard into somebody else’s basement unless it’s witch work.

  Wiley’s voice was almost a whisper, “I shoulda known better’n to go along with your bullshit. Look what you got us into. What’re we gonna do now?”

  Joe turned to Jilly with an inquiring look, and since he’d heard her back-talking the monster, his tone held a little more respect than he would have offered the average sixteen-year-old. “Miss Jilly, do you think it’d be awright with your momma if we just headed on out, now?” Since Melanie had told them to stay till she returned, he figured it would be a good idea to get some kind of permission before
they took off.

  Jilly hesitated before answering. She wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh, I don’t know, Mr. Paul. I guess so—I don’t know.”

  Joe pushed it while he had the chance. “Well, you just tell your momma she don’t have to do no explaining. Me and Wiley, here, we figure we know all we need to know ’bout what’s going on. Ain’t none of our business, anyway.” He motioned to Wiley. “Come on Wiley; best we be on our way.” He started towards the patio door, Wiley following close behind.

  Jilly said, “Mr. Paul, maybe you better wait till mom—”

  “Oh, don’t you worry yourself, Miz Jilly,” Joe reassured her. “We’re just fine. No reason to be bother’n yer momma no more.”

  Joe and Wiley made it out the door, across the patio and around the house before Jilly could protest further.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  MYRA WATCHED as Sarah pulled the big black Hummer around the corner to the front of the Meljac house. Jilly, little David, and the demon Myra had found wandering on the other side of the bridge, had walked to the house and around the side to the back patio.

  Myra could see the patrol car that belonged to the Harris boy from over in Stillman parked out in front of the house. It looked like the place was full of people, or would be once Sarah Crumb and her passenger went inside. Harry Deville, Sarah had said it was. Harry Deville indeed! Mr. Lucifer the Troublemaker was more like it. Lucifer the Liar. Myra could think of a few other things more imaginative than Harry Deville to pin on the old bastard. She hoped Claudia would have enough sense to set things straight now…send Mr. Smooth Talker back where he belonged—and where he wouldn’t be tellin’ his sweet drippin’ lies to… Her mind drifted back sixty years for just an instant.

  “Harrumph,” she grunted, shaking off cobwebbed memories.

  Myra turned her chair around and pointed it up Stillman Road towards home. No sense going in and getting mixed up with a bunch of people. Too much explaining to do. Too many “hellos” and “how are yous”—all that nonsense. Just go home, and hope things get back to normal.

  She reached down and brushed her fingertips across the rollers of the chair—that’s all it took now that her powers, as feeble as they were, were back. The chair started rolling up the road as if it had a life of its own. She’d gone only a few yards, just into the intersection far enough to see around in front of Walker’s Drug Store, when she stopped the chair. Wasn’t that Joe Paul’s wife?—what was her name? Emma—that was it—standing in front of the Drug store with a shotgun slung over her shoulder lookin’ like some bird hunter about to stroll across a field.

  “Emma…Emma Paul,” Myra shouted across the road, “s’that you, girl?”

  Emma waved absently with her free hand. Her voice came; a listless whine. “Oh, hey there, Miz Hinkle. Yeah, it’s me.”

  Myra rolled across the street and stopped at the curb in front of the drug store. “Had any luck?” she inquired.

  “Luck?” Emma looked puzzled

  Myra pointed at the shotgun and grinned, “Just joshin’ ya, girl.”

  Emma caught the joke. “Oh, this,” she said, indicating the gun on her shoulder. “I’m just…just…” her nose wrinkled like someone trying to think of an excuse for something.

  “Personal, huh?” Myra offered. “Just walkin’ around downtown in broad daylight with a shotgun for personal reasons?” Emma’s nose was still wrinkling for an excuse.

  Somethin’ way off kilter, here, Myra was thinking. You never saw Emma Paul out and about unless it was at the market over in Stillman, or maybe the Post Office. Even then, that worthless husband of hers would be sittin’ outside in his crappy old pickup truck waitin’ for her. So standin’ on the corner of Brandell Boulevard and Stillman Road with a 12-gauge shotgun propped on her shoulder and a casual, Yeah, it’s me.…nope, not the Emma Paul Myra knew.

  Emma’s nose stopped twitching. “Miz Hinkle, you seen Joe ’round here anywhere?” Her voice sounded small, a little confused.

  “Come over here, Emma.” It was a gentle command. Emma hesitated, then crossed the few feet to the curb. Myra reached out, took Emma’s free hand: a maternal gesture.

  “Now, girl, tell me what you’re up to out here with that cannon you got over your shoulder.”

  The truth was, Emma Paul wasn’t really sure what she was doing on the corner of Brandell Boulevard and Stillman Road with a shotgun slung over her shoulder. A few minutes ago she’d found herself standing inside Walker’s Drug Store staring out the side window at a big black Hummer. Her memories of the last few days were more like a dream than real life, and parts of the dream were missing; notably, the parts pertaining to the shotgun. She vaguely remembered walking to town the night before, then spending the night at the Meljacs’ house. How she’d wound up in Mr. Walker’s store, and why the hell she was carrying Joe’s shotgun was a mystery.

  Sleepwalking!

  Could she have been sleepwalking? She’d heard tell of people walking all over the place and doing all kinds of crazy things in their sleep. Maybe that was it. She had just got right up in her sleep, gone and got Joe’s shotgun, and sleepwalked right into Mr. Walker’s store with it. No other explanation; ’cept maybe going slap crazy. Could be, after all these years, old asshole Joe had finally drove her slap crazy. Could be she was gonna take that big ole shotgun, put it in her mouth, and just put herself out of her misery. Could be. But then again, there seemed to be something else about the shotgun that just kinda nagged at her in some way.

  “Well, girl, you gonna tell old Myra what you seem so troubled about, or you gonna keep it bottled up inside till you bust?”

  Emma figured she could get away with a bit of lying as long as she didn’t make it too fancy. “Oh, I ain’t troubled or nothing. It’s just that Joe told me to bring the gun down here to Mr. Walker. Maybe he’s going huntin’ or something. But Mr. Walker ain’t around nowhere so I guess I’ll just take it on back home. I’m just hopin’ Joe won’t be mad or nothin’ cause I didn’t find Mr. Walker.”

  Myra grunted and spit in the gutter; not much spit, more a gesture of contempt than a good spit. “If that worthless husband of yours gives you any grief you just come an tell old Myra. I’ll hex him up good. That’ll fix his wagon.”

  Emma remembered her momma once telling her about old Mrs. Hinkle. Seems the old lady was one of “them” way back when. That being the case, it probably wouldn’t hurt to do a little complaining—maybe get Joe all hexed up. Maybe he’d keel over and die or something. Wouldn’t life be sweet then.

  “Well, he probably ain’t home, anyway,” she said. “Probably over to the Stillman Bar gettin’ all liquored up with that bunch over there. Won’t even remember ’bout the gun when he finally comes home.”

  Curiously, when she’d thought of Joe dying, the shotgun had felt suddenly warm and comfortable; tingly in her hands, and something had begun gnawing at her…something about what she was doing before she saw the big black hummer from the side window of Louis’ store…something…

  Myra Hinkle had turned slightly in her chair and was looking over her shoulder, her eyes squinting. She said, “Ain’t that him and his drunken buddy comin’ ’round the side of the Meljac place cross the street over there?”

  Emma glanced up, spotted Joe—and remembered everything.

  “Gottcha now, you bastard!” she exclaimed.

  EIGHTY-THREE

  IT WAS ALL LOUIS COULD DO to keep from wringing Amanda’s neck. He could tell the mischievous little vixen was loving every second of it. Louis had put two and two together the minute Amanda introduced the pleasant looking gentleman she’d escorted into the living room along with Sarah Crumb. He didn’t know whether to be scared, mad, or simply astounded at finding himself face to face with the one person he hoped he never deserved to meet—if “person” was the right word to use for the… Louis shivered just thinking about it.

  The Reverend Alfred Morgan, oblivious to the ludicrousness of the whole affair, and wearing an innocent smi
le, was shaking Harry Deville’s hand. “Same here,” he replied to Harry’s “very nice to meet you.”

  Louis felt like jumping between the two men; shouting, “No, no, you can’t.” But…can’t what? Can’t meet and greet like two ordinary people?—the Reverend and the devil?—and a cordial, nice to meet you…same here? Unbidden, a part of him found the humor, sardonic as it was. Gee, Louis, just two happy fellas making new friends. Right? He glanced at Claudia, looking for something in her face…something…anything. Surely she wouldn’t let it go on if it were really as obscene as it seemed to him. But she was smiling—more cordiality—like everything was just peachy. Louis wondered how peachy everything would be if a crowd of demons spewed up from the basement and started frolicking and quacking around the living room. Hey, Reverend, never mind them. They’re just demons. Oh, and the big scary one is…what was his name again?…oh yeah, Dread! They belong to the guy you’re shaking hands with. Have another croissant.

  Amanda was saying to John Simmons, “You two have something in common. Harry is interested in the springs too.”

  Melanie almost choked. She shot out, silently, “Good God, Amanda. This is awkward enough. Knock it off.”

  “Oh, really?” said Simmons, “Are you with the state too?”

  “Uh…no, uh,” Harry stuttered, caught off balance by Amanda mischievousness. “Just as a tourist,” he recovered. “So, you’re with the state?” he smiled at Simmons, joking. “Not gonna plug it up, are you?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that,” Simmons smiled back. “Just a statistical study.” He gave the short version of his work with the Parks Department.

  When he finished, the Reverend spoke up, “Mr. Simmons,” he glanced at Harry to include him, “Mr. Deville, I hope you gentlemen will be with us for a while. I’d love to see you both at services this Sunday.”

  John Simmons, not noticing the odd silence that suddenly filled the room, or the fact that Louis almost spilled his coffee in his lap, said, “Thanks for the invitation, Reverend. I look forward to it. I’m not sure I’ll be here this Sunday, but I certainly plan to be back in the near future.”

  Amanda decided she’d caused enough mayhem, and as the Reverend turned to Harry for his response, she quickly jumped in. “I don’t think Harry will be around very long.” She added, with a slight emphasis, “Will you, Harry.”

  “I, uh…” Harry sensed the tension in the room, but was at a loss as to why everyone was so uptight. The fact that he was having a conversation with an ecclesiastic didn’t seem so strange to him. After all, he and the Reverend were in the same business, so to speak. Although, he wasn’t sure the Reverend would see it that way.

  “Right,” he answered. “Just dropped by to say hi,” and not being able to resist a little dig of his own, “on my way south.”

  Aside from the initial cordialities, Sarah hadn’t spoken since she and Harry arrived. She wasn’t sure how much Louis, or Jack Harris knew about Harry, but was positive the newcomer, Simmons, and of course the Reverend, had no idea whose company they were enjoying. One thing she was certain of, Harry’s cavalier attitude would eventually turn things weird if she let him keep talking.

  She said, “Claudia, we just came by to pick up those things from downstairs. Do you mind?” She had sensed the presence of the demons in the basement.

  “What things?” It took Claudia a second to catch on. “Oh, right. That…uh, stuff.”

  Sarah had stood up, motioning with an almost imperceptible frown for Harry to do the same.

  No one heard Emma Paul exclaim from across the street, “Gottcha now, you bastard!” But, they heard what Emma did next. Louis jumped up, and rushed towards the front door.

  “Damn that girl. She’s gonna kill somebody with that thing!”

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  JOE AND WILEY DUCKED. “Shit, Joe! Your wife’s gone crazy as hell!”

  Joe raised up, cautiously. “Emma!” he shouted across the intersection. “It’s me, darlin’!”

  The next shot came so close he felt the breeze as the double-aught buckshot whizzed by. Emma’s aim had improved, somewhat. Both men got the hint and dove into the azaleas beside the house.

  Huddling in the bushes, Wiley observed, wryly, “You know what, Joe? From the looks of things, I’m thinkin’ she knows damn well it’s you. Maybe she done had enough of yer bullshit and decided to blast some buckshot up yer sorry ass.”

  “That ain’t it, Wiley. Poor girl’s just confused, that’s all.”

  On the other side of the intersection, Myra Hinkle sat slumped down in her wheelchair, hands clasped over her ears. Emma had let loose with the two blasts from the big 12-gauge right over the top of Myra’s head.

  “Emma Paul!” She shouted. “Girl, what the hell are you tryin’ to do? You almost blew my head off with that thing.”

  Emma was busy reloading her shotgun, mumbling, “Joe… Wiley…” as she inserted the two shells into the breach.

  As Emma raised the gun towards the general direction of the Meljac house, Myra scrunched back down into her chair and covered her ears again. She barely heard Joe Paul yelling.

  “Emma, them monsters is gone now, darlin’. Ain’t no reason to be shootin’ that thing no more.”

  Whammmm!

  The concussion from the blast so close to Myra’s head almost shook her dentures right out of her mouth. She shouted, “Thop id, Eeba!” She gummed her false teeth back in place and tried again more clearly. “Stop it. Emma!”

  Emma’s shot had missed its mark by a good ten feet. She was lining up for a better one with the second barrel. Peering down the sights, she said, casually, “Sorry ’bout that, Miz Hinkle. Maybe you ought to kinda move off to the side a bit till I finish up here.” She didn’t wait for Myra to move.

  Whammmm!

  From the other side of the intersection came, “Owww! Oh shit! God damn it, Emma. You hit me.”

  As Emma broke open the breach of the shotgun to reload, Joe popped up out of the azalea bushes vigorously shaking his hand where a pellet from Emma’s last shot had nicked his thumb.

  He held the hand up so Emma could see from across the road, and with a whiny shout, “Lookee what you done, girl.”

  Myra didn’t hear Joe’s complaint. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears, and the muffled sound of Emma Paul humming a happy tune.

  Joe, taking advantage of the time it would take Emma to reload, scrambled from the azaleas and sprinted across the intersection, hoping to get to Emma before she had time for another shot. He didn’t quite make it. With less than ten feet to go, he watched in horror as Emma slammed shut the breach, raised the barrel of the big 12-gauge and pulled the trigger. The blast from the business end of the shotgun was deafening as the gout of flame and gun smoke belched forth point blank into his chest.

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  PATTY CLARK took the short way home from school. There was no way to shorten the walk up the Stillman side of Brandell Mountain, but once you reached the top you could get creative. If you were careful, and brave enough, you could almost run straight down the nearly vertical side of the mountain and right down into Brandell—or more like slide down, swinging from sapling to sapling like a monkey swinging through the trees. Once at the bottom, you could run along the side of the river a short ways to the bridge, scramble up the bank, and you’re there. A little scruffy on shoes and clothes, but a lot shorter than the winding road from the top of the mountain—more fun, too. She and Jilly had done it a hundred times; of course, not when David was with them. The little creep would probably loose it, roll down the mountain, and break his neck.

  But this time it wasn’t fun that spurred Patty to get down the mountain and across the bridge as fast as she could; it was what sounded like gunshots coming from somewhere in town. It never occurred to her that running towards the sound of gunshots might not be the best idea.

  Patty made the last swing from the last sapling without mishap. She ran along the sloping bank of the river, reached
the bridge, and climbed up the bank to the road. As she turned to jog across the bridge, the scene on the Brandell side of the river, framed by the structure of the old bridge, caused her to stop. Her gaze followed the road across the bridge past Mr. Walker’s drug store and to the intersection of the Boulevard and Stillman Road where…was that old Mrs. Hinkle in her wheelchair…with her hands covering her ears…and Emma Paul with a shotgun? No way! Mrs. Paul wouldn’t be shooting a shotgun in town, would she?

  That was the moment Joe Paul decided to be a hero. From where she stood, two hundred feet away, Patty watched, aghast, as Joe sprang from the bushes beside the Meljac house and rushed across the intersection, his arms reaching out in front of him as Emma Paul slowly, deliberately, raised the barrel of the big black shotgun and loosed a hellish burst of red flame directly into her husband’s chest.

  EIGHTY-SIX

  LOUIS JERKED OPEN THE FRONT DOOR and rushed out onto the porch. Spotting Emma Paul at the far corner of the intersection with a shotgun pointed towards the house, he uttered a startled, “Whoa,” did a quick about face and jumped back through the door, colliding with everyone else who had crowded into the foyer to see what was going on.

  “Jesus, she’s at it again,” he declared, turning back for a more cautious peek outside.

  From behind him came Claudia’s voice, “For God’s sakes, Louis, be careful. What’s going on out there?”

  “I don’t know. Wait a minute,” Louis answered, poking his head out for a quick look.

  Jack Harris spoke up. “Lewis, I need you to come inside and let me handle this. Please just shut the door. I’ll go out the back way and check it out.”

  Simmons said, “You want me to go with you, Jack? Maybe I can help distract her.”

  Jack had already turned to go. Over his shoulder he said, “I don’t think so. I’d better keep it professional. If I let a civilian get shot I’ll be cleaning toilets at the station house for the next ten years.”

  Amanda had rushed back into the living room and was looking out the window. She said, “Jack’s right, guys. You’d better let him handle it. I can see Emma from here, and she’s pointing that thing right at the house.”

  Except for Jack, who was headed towards the kitchen and the back door, everyone came back to the living room and joined Amanda at the front window. Amanda wasn’t too happy about Jack going outside while Emma was waving her shotgun around. She covered her concern with a joke.

  “Hey Jack, toss me your gun. I think I can pick her off from here.” But Jack had already reached the kitchen, and didn’t hear the nervousness in her voice.

  Louis stepped back from the window. “The veranda,” he said, nodding towards the dining room. He, and John Simmons, headed for the dining room for a look out the veranda’s glass doors. Amanda, Claudia, and Reverend Morgan stayed by the living room window. Melanie was nowhere in sight. At hearing the first gunshot from outside, she had hurried to the basement to check on the kids. In all the excitement, no one had noticed that Harry Deville and Sarah Crumb had followed her.

  Amanda was leaning towards the window for a better look. Suddenly, she straightened up. “Patty!” she cried. “…from school!” Her voice was frantic. “Patty’s out there…coming over the bridge!”

  Across Meljac Lane, beyond the Stillman Road side of the Crumb house, the far end of the Brandell Bridge could just barely be seen from the window. Amanda was freaking out.

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  WHEN JACK SAID he would go out the back way everyone assumed he would go through the rear door of the kitchen and down the outside stairs to the patio. From the edge of the patio you could cross the few feet of lawn and walk up the bank to the road. Since Emma’s attention, and her shotgun, seemed to be focused towards Meljac Lane and the front of the Meljac house, Jack could approach the intersection—and Emma—from Stillman Road instead of head on.

  But that’s not what Officer Jack Harris did. Noticing the door to the basement stairs was ajar, he decided it might be a good idea to take that route instead. Melanie and the kids were in the basement, and on his way out he could advise them to stay inside. With that in mind, he rushed through the door and hurried down the stairs. Most Police Manuals don’t list procedures for dealing with Keepers of Unspeakable Archives, or even your average garden-variety demon for that matter. So when Jack reached the bottom of the stairs and came face to face with Dread, Quackrak, and the crew from Hell he was forced to improvise.

  In the basement, Harry was about to blow a gasket. He stood in the middle of the floor ranting at Dread and the demons. “Idiots!” he shouted. “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea what could happen if people—”

  Sarah Crumb interrupted his tirade. “Oh, calm down, Harry. You’re gonna give yourself a heart—” she stopped, then sniggered. “Do you even have a heart, Harry?”

  Dread, his fear of being boiled in oil dampening his menacing appearance considerably, stood behind Melanie using her as a buffer between himself and Harry’s anger. He said to her, pleading, Please, just tell him we haven’t done anything wrong. At least I haven’t. I can’t speak for those freaks. He indicated Quackrak and the others, disdainfully.

  Melanie wasn’t sympathetic. You call picking people up by the neck and dangling them off the ground, nothing? she said.

  Quackrak, watching the exchange, chuckled, enjoying Dread’s discomfort; though his own predicament wasn’t much better. Everyone turned at the astonished cry from the bottom of the stairs where Jack Harris had just caught sight of what was going on in the basement.

  “Jesus H Christ!” The big cop stood there dumbstruck, his face pale, a chalk-white contrast to his dark blue uniform. Like Louis, and everyone else in the valley, he was seldom surprised at the occasional oddness where the women were concerned—but he was now. Instinctively, his hand went to his gun.

  Dread tensed, threateningly. Melanie gave him a warning look, and growled, Don’t!

  To Jack she said, “It’s okay. Don’t freak out, Jack.” She wanted to laugh at the expression on his face, but didn’t think he would appreciate it in his present state. She glanced back at Dread. Go sit down. Dread scowled, but not wanting to antagonize Melanie—he still hoped she would intervene with Lucifer on his behalf—he flopped down in the recliner, grumbling to himself and eyeing Jack, suspiciously.

  Harry frowned, saying with a disgusted tone, “Oh, that’s just great. You’ve got more control over him than I do.”

  Aside from Jilly, sitting in a chair watching expectantly and wondering what was going to happen next, the only ones in the room taking everything in stride were David and the little red-crayon drooling demon. They were on the floor huddled over a new drawing.

  David looked up at Melanie, his voice all innocence. “Mom, when they go home can I keep this one?” He nodded towards his new friend.

  “Oh, yes!” exclaimed Harry, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Yes! Of course you can keep that one. How about you, Sarah? You want one, too? And Melanie—no doubt you’ll want me to leave Dread with you, right? Hey, I got an idea. Everybody wait right here. I’ll run down to hell and bring back some more. There’s enough for everybody.” He ran out of steam and sighed dramatically.

  “Are you through, now, Harry?” Sarah was facing him, arms crossed on her chest, tapping her foot on the floor like a chastising schoolteacher.

  This time Harry’s sigh was apologetic rather than frustrated. “All right, I’m sorry.” He looked around the room. “Everybody, I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  “Yoo hoo…hello!” came loudly from an astonished Jack Harris who still stood frozen at the bottom of the stairway.

  “Oh…uh, Jack.” Melanie turned her attention back to Harris.

  “N…never mind,” Harris stuttered, “Just…never…mind.” His face had gained some color, but he still looked stunned. He began edging his way along the wall towards the patio door, his eyes not leaving Dread.

  Harry tried a lame attempt to help. “
Mr. Harris, these are,” He made a sweeping gesture at Dread and the demons. “…uh, mine. Exotic pets and—”

  Harris wasn’t buying it. “Never mind,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I gotta go…gotta tend to Emma and…gotta go.” He reached the door, and rushed outside.

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  NO WOLVES, OR BEARS, nothing dangerous like that, at least not that Myra could remember—not in Brandell Valley. But there were varmints galore and in the old days when just about everyone had a chicken coop behind the house it wasn’t uncommon to hear the sound of a shotgun in the middle of the night when a wild dog, or big ole raccoon, decided to dig its way under the wire for a midnight chicken dinner.

  Once, when Myra was twelve, she’d seen a mangy gray fox chasing one of old man Meljac’s turkeys right down the middle of Brandell Boulevard in broad daylight. Karol Meljac had come running down the road after them waving his shotgun and cussing the little gray fox for all he was worth. From the sidewalk someone had yelled, “Shoot the little bastard, Karol.” Of course Karol wasn’t about to fire off that big shotgun in the middle of town. Myra had the feeling he was waving it around more to impress the fox than anything else.

  So Myra knew about shotguns and the long red shells packed with gunpowder and double-aught buckshot. She was pretty sure Joe Paul did too. But watching him rush across the street headlong into the barrel of Emma’s 12-gauge—well, either he was just dumb or…or nothing, she thought, …he’s just dumb.

  Still, dumb or not, ole Joe didn’t deserve to have those nasty lead buckshot pellets blowing his guts out all over Stillman Road. So Myra hitched up her shoulders, gave the subject a little concentration and imagined that those pellets, rather than being in the red shell Emma had just loaded into to her shotgun, were safely tucked away in the pocket of her worn old cardigan. She felt the slight droop of her sweater pocket from the sudden weight of the lead pellets an instant before Emma pulled the trigger and unleashed a burst of fire, gun smoke, and paper wadding—but no buckshot—right into dumb Joe’s chest.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  “CHRIST, SHE SHOT HIM!” exclaimed Louis from where he stood watching through the glass panes of the veranda door.

  Startled cries came from the living room. Louis thought he heard the sound of the front door being flung opened. Beside him, John Simmons gasped, “My God! We should, uh—ambulance! Louis, where’s the phone?” He had already turned to go make the call.

  “Wait,” said Louis. “Wait a minute,” he repeated. “What the hell?” His voice rose in disbelief. “She missed him. How could she miss him? He was right in front of her.”

  Across the intersection, Joe Paul was hopping up and down in the middle of the street slapping at the front of his smoking shirt and screeching at the top of his lungs. “Damn…damn…damn… Emma!”

  Emma had dropped the shotgun and was standing on the curb with both hands covering her open mouth as though she’d just realized she’d done something awful—or was maybe just shocked that she’d missed.

  Louis opened the glass door and stepped out onto the veranda. Off to his right he could see Amanda out in the street. She had left the house and was running towards the bridge. She seemed focused on something other than Emma and Joe Paul.

  As Louis started across the veranda, Wiley Curtis popped up out of the azaleas beside the house. Surprised, Louis stopped short. “Wiley, what in God’s name are you—? Umph!” He grunted as John Simmons bumped into him from behind.

  “Oh, sorry, Louis,” Simmons apologized.

  Wiley was standing in the azaleas waving his arms up and down. “She shot him!” he ranted. “Did you see that? She shot him with that shotgun!”

  Louis said, “Calm down, Wiley. He doesn’t look like he’s hurt. What are you doing crawling around in the bushes, anyway?”

  Wiley pointed at Emma. “Hidin’—hidin’ from her.”

  Louis tried again, “Wiley, what the hell is going on? What are you guys doing around here? And why is Emma shooting at Joe?”

  “We weren’t doing nothin’,” proclaimed Wiley, innocently. “We was just walkin’ around, and Emma pops up and starts shootin’.”

  Louis glanced across the street. Joe Paul had finished slapping at his shirt, apparently satisfied that he hadn’t sustained any damage. He’d jumped up on the curb and was hugging Emma. Still under the impression that his wife was “just a little confused” from her confrontation with monsters, Joe patted her on the head and cooed, “It’s awright Emma, darlin’. Them monsters is gone, and old Joe’s here to take care of ya, now.” The fact that Emma hung rather disinterestedly in his arms seemed to have escaped his notice.

  Jack Harris, still a little dazed from his experience in the Meljacs’ basement, had finally reached the scene and was standing on the sidewalk beside Joe and Emma. Seeing that Joe had Emma under control, he retrieved the shotgun from where Emma had dropped it, and as a precaution, opened the breach and ejected the spent shells. For the moment, he just stood there on the sidewalk, unsure what to do about the situation. Arresting Emma Paul was the last thing he wanted to do, and from what he’d seen in the Meljacs’ basement, he thought he had a pretty good idea why Emma had flipped out.

  He said, “Joe, why don’t you take Emma home. I’ll do what I can to smooth all this over, that is if there aren’t any complaints from anyone. I’m going to hold onto this shotgun. When you want it back you can come over to the station in Stillman and pick it up.”

  “Yep,” said Joe, still cooing at Emma. “We just gonna go on home now, darlin’. You’ll feel better after you fix me some dinner before I go on over to the Stillman Bar.” Without commenting to Jack, he took Emma by the arm. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go,” he said, starting with her towards West Stillman Road. Emma didn’t object, but Jack thought he detected a reluctant frown on her face as they walked away.

  From where she sat in her wheelchair, Myra Hinkle said, with a wry smile, “Well, Jackie, boy, all’s well that ends well, right?”

  Jack looked down at her. “Are you all right, Mrs. Hinkle?”

  “Oh, I’m just hunky-dory,” Myra answered. “Just sittin’ here watchin’ all the excitement.”

  Jack said, “Let’s just be thankful it didn’t get any more exciting than it was. If that shotgun shell hadn’t been a dud, I’m afraid it would have been a little more than exciting.”

  “Funny how things work out, ain’t it,” Myra said, then added, “Here, I got somethin’ for ya. Gimme your hand.” Jack held out his hand while Myra dug around in her sweater pocket. With a satisfied grin, she reached out and dropped something into his palm.

  “There,” she said. “Well, see ya around, Jackie boy.” Myra grasped the rollers of her wheelchair and wheeled off up Stillman Road without another word.

  Jack stared at the little pile of buckshot in the palm of his hand. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself.

  NINETY

  CLAUDIA AND REVEREND MORGAN were waiting in the dining room when Louis and Simmons came in off the veranda.

  Louis said, “Can you believe it? It was a dud. Looked like it shook Joe up a bit, but he’s all right. Poor ole Jack’s out there trying to figure out how to handle it. I don’t think he wants to arrest Emma, but him being a cop, and Emma shooting off a gun in the middle of town—and at her husband for cryin’ out loud.” He chuckled at Jack’s predicament.

  “Well,” said Reverend Morgan, “With all that’s been going on—that freakish storm, and other things.” He remembered his own experiences of the last few days. “I’m surprised everyone in town’s not out shooting up the place.” He smiled to show he was joking.

  “Other things, indeed,” mumbled Louis under his breath. Out loud, he said, “I saw Amanda out in the street. She was running towards the bridge. What was that all about?”

  “Patty,” answered Claudia. “Amanda spotted Patty coming home from school and she freaked out—what with that shotgun blasting away and all. I’m sure Patty would h
ave known better than to walk into anything, but you know Amanda when it comes to her daughter. She took off out of here like the Calvary to the rescue.”

  “Can’t blame her,” said Louis. “If Jilly had been outside I’d have been having a fit too. Where is she, anyway?”

  “In the basement,” said Claudia, “with Melanie and Sarah and…uh, Mr. Deville.”

  “You know,” observed Reverend Morgan, “I almost didn’t recognize Sarah Crumb when she came in. Something is very different about her.”

  Claudia nodded agreement. “Yeah, I noticed that too. And come to think of it, what was Sarah doing with Harry? I didn’t even think to ask.”

  At that moment Amanda appeared at the veranda door, a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulder. Jack Harris followed them as they came into the dining room.

  Patty squirmed out from under her mother’s arm and said, “Where’s Jilly. She’s in the basement, ain’t she.”

  “Patty!” admonished Amanda.

  “I mean isn’t she.” Patty frowned, embarrassed. “Jeez, Mom, right in front of everybody.” She pulled away from her mother and hurried through the dining room towards the kitchen and the basement stairs.

  At mention of the basement, Jack tensed. He said to Amanda, “Should she be going down there with those…whatever they are?”

  Amanda was caught off guard. “Oh,” she uttered with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been down there?”

  Claudia caught where the conversation was going, and fearful that Simmons and the Reverend might get too curious, she jumped in. “Okay, gang, the excitement’s over. Let’s get back to my cart full of goodies.” She gave Louis a playful pat on the butt.

  Louis laughed. “Hey! Watch what you’re touching there you old hussy.”

  Claudia smiled and gave Louis a push towards the living room. “Just git. Go on, now.” Eye contact and the slightest little wrinkle of her forehead alerted Louis to what she was trying to do.

  “Right,” he said, taking the Reverend by the arm. “Let’s get to those croissants before the coffee gets cold.”

  As everyone started for the living room, Amanda hesitated. “You all go on in. I’d better go down and check on Patty. She seems all right, but I think she got quite a jolt seeing that gun go off right at Joe Paul.” She turned, and walked off towards the kitchen.

  NINETY-ONE

  “…FIVE, SIX,” Harry completed a quick demon head count.

  Frowning at Dread, he added “…and one errant Unspeakable Archive Keeper.”

  Melanie said, “They’re all here, thanks mostly to Quackrak. Although that little one,” she nodded towards the red-crayon drooling demon, “likes to wander around a bit too much.” She decided to give Dread a break, and not mention all the trouble he’d caused. No point to it since it was all about to be over, anyway.

  Amanda came down the stairs from the kitchen. Typically flippant, she asked “Well, is everybody ready to go to hell?”

  Sarah Crumb wasn’t amused. “Yeah,” she answered, looking at Harry, her voice sounding odd, tinged with irony. “They’re all ready to go back to hell, aren’t you, Harry?” Not waiting for a response, she turned away and walked out the door to the patio.

  Harry stared at the patio door, baffled. “I’d better…uh… I’ll be back in a minute.” He followed Sarah out onto the patio.

  Melanie, like the others, had noticed the change in Sarah and the peculiar way she acted with Harry. She couldn’t wait to get Sarah alone and find out what was going on.

  Jilly and Patty had been strangely silent, at least for them: no giggling, none of their usual excited comments about every little occurrence. Jilly spoke up, an uncharacteristic whine in her voice. “Mom, is this gonna be over now? Me and Patty don’t have to do anything, do we—like put ’em back—like we did with Quackrak that last time—or more weird stuff?”

  Melanie let the “Me and Patty” pass. She could see her daughter was upset—not a good time for correcting grammar. Jilly and Patty were sitting on an old wicker settee. Melanie sat down between them. Taking them both by the hand, she said, “Okay, girls, let’s have it. Spill.”

  Jilly sighed. “We just want things to be normal, Mom. I mean nothing’s really bad or anything. It’s just…it’s just…”

  Patty said, “Mrs. Meljac, it’s just that we don’t wanna be witches.” She glanced at her mom for a reaction.

  Amanda smiled. “Sweetheart, we’re not witches, we’re sorcerers.”

  Jilly said, “We don’t wanna be that, either, Mrs. Clark. We don’t wanna be anything. We just wanna be normal kids like other people.”

  Melanie sensed there was more going on than just bored griping. As soothingly as she could manage, she said, “Darling, you are normal, just as normal as anyone in the world. But you’re not the same as everyone in the world. No one is. Everyone is special and everyone has their own special gift, and in time, yours will be very special.”

  “But, everything is so crazy,” said Patty.

  Amanda knelt on the floor in front of her daughter. She reached out and cupped Patty’s chin, maternally. “Yes baby, it’s crazy now, but trust me, all this craziness can never happen again. After tonight things will be back to good old Brandell boring.

  Melanie said, “Tell ya what we’ll do. You girls just hang out down here for a while. Amanda and I will go upstairs and start clearing out all the company. When they’ve all left, you and Patty go over to Patty’s house for the night. Take David with you. And here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning when you wake up everything will be back to normal. How’s that?”

  Amanda reached out and pinched both girl’s noses. She said with a grin, “We’ll do the voodoo, and there’ll be no more ghoulies in Brandell Valley.”

  Jilly and Patty giggled.

  NINETY-TWO

  THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN, the glow of the streetlamps from Stillman Road offering the only light on the patio. Sarah was sitting on a low cement bench, her back to the house. As Harry approached, she raised a hand slightly, cautioning. Without turning to face him, she spoke in a quiet voice. “Don’t, Harry. Don’t say anything. Just let me talk.” Harry started to say something, decided against it then sat down beside her in silence.

  Sarah sat still for a moment, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes focused somewhere in the darkness beyond the edge of the flagstones.

  “Harry,” she began, “I—” She paused for a moment, then, “I just—” Another moment passed as she tried to gather her thoughts.

  Harry said, “Sarah, I think I know what you’re—”

  Suddenly, Sarah stood and turned to face him. “Harry, you really need to just shut the hell up and listen, ya hear! This is hard. This is really hard. You have no idea…” Her voice trailed off. She stood for a few seconds, her eyes closed, then sat back down on the bench. She studied the flagstones at her feet without speaking. A car went by on Stillman Road; the sound of its passing seemed loud in the quiet night.

  Harry ventured, carefully, “Can I talk now?”

  Sarah sighed, then raised her head and looked at him with a sad smile. “Yeah, Harry. You can talk now.”

  Harry said, softly, “I started to say, I know how you feel, but I guess I don’t—not really. I don’t even know how I feel. I mean, just imagine, Sarah, in all eternity—I don’t mean in a normal lifetime; I mean in all eternity—I’ve never been in love with a woman. And now—”

  Sarah bristled. “And now, what, Harry? How about Myra Hinkle, huh?”

  Harry laughed, “Sarah, look at me.” She turned away in a huff.

  “Come on, Sarah, look at me,” he said, still a little laugh in his voice.

  Sarah refused to turn around. She mumbled, pouting, “You better stop that damned laughing before I turn you into a goat.”

  Harry took her by the shoulders and forced her around to face him. She offered only token resistance, then gave up and leaned into his arms. “Nothing, Sarah. It was nothing,” he said, tenderly. “Flirting…just fli
rting, playing…nothing.”

  Another car passed on Stillman Road. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. They sat for a while in each other’s arms, unspeaking. Then Sarah looked up into Harry’s face. A tear on her cheek sparkled in the glow of the streetlamps.

  “Harry,” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “In the coming years, when you pop out on your rock at the springs…” Another tear appeared on her cheek. “if I dance naked around a fire…will you flirt with me?”

  NINETY-THREE

  REVEREND MORGAN decided not to pursue his suspicions about the women being involved in the strange occurrences of the last few days. Except for Emma Paul’s adventures with a shotgun, everything seemed reasonably normal at the Meljac house. The gathering of friends was as common as any he’d ever attended, and he’d especially enjoyed meeting the newcomers, John Simmons and Harry Deville.

  Everyone was leaving, and Claudia was walking Albert to the front door. “Albert, I’ve got a big ole goose in the freezer. How about coming down for dinner after services, Sunday?”

  “Wonderful,” said Albert, then grinning he added, “Goose is good.”

  Claudia laughed. “Darn right it is. Okay, I’ll expect you.”

  On the front porch, Melanie and John Simmons were saying goodnight. As Albert emerged from the foyer, Simmons said, “It was nice meeting you Reverend. I should be back in a few weeks and I look forward to attending your services.”

  Albert smiled. “Great. I look forward to having you. Oh, and Melanie, please tell Mr. Deville that it was a pleasure to meet him.”

  “I will, Reverend. See you Sunday for dinner, right?”

  “Looking forward to it,” said Albert as he went down the steps to the walkway. At the sidewalk he passed by Amanda who was standing beside the sheriff’s car saying goodbye to Jack Harris.

  Amanda said, “Goodnight Reverend,” as he passed.

  Albert nodded. “Goodnight Amanda. You too, Jack.”

  Albert took his time walking home. It was a beautiful spring night and there was no doubt in his mind that his little town of Brandell, West Virginia was as normal as could be.

  In the basement of the Meljac house, everything was, under the circumstances, as normal as could be expected. Having cleared the house of company, Melanie, Claudia and Amanda had come downstairs and were preparing to send Harry and his crew back to where they belonged. Sarah had stayed on the patio. She had already said her goodbyes to Harry and didn’t want to face the reality of him leaving.

  “Whad’ya think, Harry?” said Claudia. “How do you want to do this? A simple abracadabra and a puff of smoke, or do you want us to all go traipsing up to the springs and make a big deal out of it?”

  “Quackrak looked at Harry, imploringly. “Can we please make it simple? I would really just like to go home.”

  “All right, no big deal then,” answered Harry. Then glancing at Claudia he chuckled. “And no puff of smoke needed.”

  Melanie said, “Well, Harry, I hope you’ve learned a lesson from all this. No more wandering off to Ft. Lauderdale, okay?”

  Amanda directed a frown towards Dread and the other demons and added, “And when you come out for your monthly visit, for God’s sake shut the door after you.”

  “Sorry about that,” Harry said with an embarrassed smile. He gestured for all the demons, and Dread, to gather ’round.

  “All right, guys, we’re outa here.”

  “See ya around, Harry,” said Claudia.

  “Bye, Harry,” from Melanie.

  “And don’t forget about closing that—” Amanda started to say, but realized she, Melanie and Claudia were alone in the basement.

  NINETY-FOUR

  LUCIFER STOOD IN THE BRIGHTLY LIT HALL in front of the door to Underworld. “No way,” he said. “I’m not coming in there. It stinks.”

  “Exactly!” exclaimed Dread from just inside the door. “And it’s dark, and damp,” he turned slightly and held up a hand indicating the interior of Underworld. “…just disgusting.”

  “Of course it is,” said Lucifer. “It’s Underworld, for cryin’ out loud. It’s supposed to be that way.”

  “Why?” demanded Dread. “Why do I have to live in these conditions? Quackrak doesn’t. I didn’t see anybody up there in the real world who does, and that’s where these nasty souls come from in the first place. So why am I gettin’ the raw end of the deal?”

  Lucifer gave Dread a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know, Dread. Look, just hang in there for a while and I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

  Dread begged, “Please. Just try to hurry it up. I can’t stand this much longer.”

  “I’ll get right on it. I promise,” Lucifer assured him, trying to make his smile a little more encouraging.

  After checking on Quackrak and grabbing a sandwich from the cafeteria, Lucifer went back to his office and sat down at his desk. The computer screen was flashing, “You’ve Got Mail.” He reached for the mouse, placed the pointer on the mail icon and clicked.

  From:sarahcrumb@adv.com

  Hi, Harry,

  Sorry it took so long for me to write, but it was literally hell trying to find your email address.

  Gee, I don’t know where to start. So much has happened since last year. I’m sure the others told you why I never came back to the springs during the full moons. I just couldn’t bear it. Besides, they don’t need me anymore now that you realize you can never really leave.

  Aubrey and I have bought a beautiful house on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale. It’s not too far from the Crystal Sands Hotel and those wonderful memories. You should see Aubrey. Wow, has she blossomed. I miss Brandell something terrible, but getting away from the mindset that Aubrey and I had there, well, it’s done wonders for both of us. Aubrey is actually dating someone. Can you believe it? As for me, I’m just not ready for that yet. I guess I’ve still got a little of the devil in me…haha.

  Anyway, enough about me. I was amazed to hear about Melanie and that guy from Charleston. Boy, that was fast. I only met the guy once, but knowing Melanie he must be really nice. I’m sure they will be very happy.

  Of course, the news about Jack Harris and Amanda was not at all surprising.

  That was a long time coming, but inevitable. Everyone knew they’d get together, eventually.

  I was so sorry to hear about Joe Paul. His wife must be devastated. I can’t imagine how he mistook rat poison for sugar.

  Oh, guess what. I bought that Hummer. I thought you’d get a kick out of that.

  Well, that’s all for now. I’ll write more often now that I’ve found your email address.

  Love, Sarah

  P.S. I miss you, Harry. You’ll never know how much.