Devil Entendre

by Lawson, John Edward

Asmodeus, the small hairy demon who was, in fact, a fallen Seriphim—the highest order of angels. Cross-referencing the name in The Book of Tobit and the Testament of Solomon only made the situation more grim. Supposedly, King Solomon was a great magician and enslaved the demon, forcing him to build Solomon’s Temple. Eventually Asmodeus tricked King Solomon, and his revenge was completed with the assistance of the queen of demons, who was equal in power to Asmodeus…Lilith.

  Normal, the hairy little fiend, and his sister “Lil.” Picard couldn’t bear to think of the possibility.

  The thought that the children should soon be reaching the authorities settled his nerves somewhat. Yes, whatever was amiss within the confines of Perpetual Mercy, he had at least ushered the children to safety. A good thing, too, because he was convinced of the need to burn the whole thing down to the ground. The dreadful coterie of nuns would have to be exterminated. He didn’t have the manpower on hand to go into protracted investigation and/or exorcism.

  Wait. Could he truly be conjuring such plans? Those old books had whipped up unnecessary speculation and doubts in the shadowy corners of his mind, made the impossible seem commonplace. He’d even gone so far as to prepare the charm described in The Book of Tobit as having the power to drive away the demon Asmodeus, taking the time to grind together burned fish hearts and livers with incense. All the while he chided himself for wasting the effort, yet he followed the task through to the end. His mantra had alternated between “This can’t be happening” to “I’m not losing it.”

  After reexamining the office he uncovered a peculiar section of wall. With some effort he eventually figured out how to remove the panel and found another room waiting to be explored. With some trepidation he stepped into the darkness. The air within these hidden walls enveloped him in a stale, dry embrace. Was he prepared to die for the Church?

  “Whosoever dwells within this room: make yourselves known to me now, or feel my wrath!” In the seconds that followed he felt rather satisfied with his command, and made a mental note to remember it for future confrontations.

  Groping in the darkness revealed to him a light switch. The red illumination of the bare bulb did little to assuage his tensions—in fact it had quite the opposite effect. It only served to make visible the makeshift ossuary he stood in, row after row of skulls staring their hollow accusations at him. The light itself was cast from a chandelier of the most gruesome variety, constructed of pelvic bones and vertebrae, delicate finger and toe bones. Where had they all come from? And what of the two children, housed in hanging cages?

  The metal-and-femur constructs loosely resembled birdcages, while the children loosely resembled people. They were emaciated, eyes sunken in dark sockets—those eyes were bright with fear.Their bent forms shuffled about in jittery, primal motions. Father Picard noticed that they both had recently suffered grievous injuries to their right hands. They were the brother and sister he’d been searching for the whole time.

  When he approached the cages to release them, the cadaverous girl and boy instinctively thrust themselves back, upsetting the balance of the cages. Cajole as he might, rage as he would, nothing he could say resulted in calming their frenzy. In the end he had to simply use brute force to steady each enclosure long enough to work the locks. Once free of their filth-ridden cages the children became far more reasonable. Painful as it was, they had to stand under their own power—he steadied them, loathe as he was to make contact with their sticky bodies. After a time they were able to fully extend their limbs. The confinement hadn’t bested them after all.

  There was no time to lose. These children needed to get away as quickly as possible, but couldn’t make the journey to town on foot—not without assistance, at least. He took them to the kitchen and hastily stuffed whatever food he could find into a sack. “Take this,” he urged them. “Hide out at the caretaker’s cabin and eat something. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.” The children were too petrified to move without him, though, infuriating him to no end. Who could say how long he had before the enemy returned? “Here,” he said haltingly. Against his better judgment he gave them the ward to defend against the demon should they encounter him on their escape.

  With that extra assurance they were finally able to uproot their feet and take flight. They carried with them a brief note to be delivered to a Father Durant should he not come for them in two hours time. In that event the children would be forced to find their own way back to town. As for Father Picard, he set off to check the garage, after which point he’d be done with this odious business.

  Sister Mary was exactly where he’d hoped to find her, sitting on the hood of an old Impala while staring off into space. She had previously suggested that she was the black sheep of the bunch and hardly dealt with the others at all. With that assertion in mind he had rushed to find her; not only did he want to save her from the impending threat posed by the others, but if anybody knew how to blow the place up it would be her. She was—as expected—not dressed in her habit, instead opting today for sweatpants and a baseball jersey. Her black hair was unkempt, perhaps a bit greasy, but that was probably a result of her long hours in the garage.

  “Mary, thank heaven you’re here. Look, I’m not sure how to explain this but—there’s trouble, terrible trouble.”

  She grinned. For some reason, Picard found it quite off, but couldn’t put his finger on why. “Tell me all about it.” She patted the spot next to her.

  He sat, taking note of the large metal file in her grasp. It was coated with white paste of some sort—probably a lubricant to keep friction heat to a minimum. “Mary, There’s no time to hesitate. We have to get out of here.”

  “Get out of here? I’m not halfway finished yet.”

  “I don’t mean here,” he stated, gesturing furiously at the surrounding garage. “I mean Perpetual Mercy itself! There’s evil afoot. Plain and simple.” She gave him a lopsided grin. So, that’s what it was: she was higher than a kite. With this realization he began to explain the situation in terms that were easy to understand, as one might do with a child.

  She laughed. “Right. There’s a coven of witches here. Or, possessed nuns. Or whatever. And they’re sacrificing children? And here I thought you didn’t smoke up. Or are you an acid eater?”

  “Well—” His grin froze. That’s what was wrong with Mary. Her teeth were all filed to points. The clumps of white goo on that metal file were all that remained of her enamel. “Um…that is…”

  “What’s the matter, doc?” She leaned in close, reaching across to thrust the tip of the file through the car’s hood on his other side, trapping him. With her free hand she raised the oil pan to her lips, never taking her eyes off him while chugging back its contents. After she was done she cast the pan aside, not caring that it sent a number of tools tumbling to the concrete. Mary’s head came to rest at an odd angle as she appraised him with dead eyes. Gritty sludge was smeared around her mouth.

  Father Picard had witnessed a number of baffling events in his time: people immolating themselves in ritual suicide, some visiting violence upon themselves and others when convinced they were possessed by demonic forces. Of course, that was all bunkum. Witches always turned out to be poisoners, or simply women gathering herbs in the forest, and the possession cases were merely people in need of psychiatric assistance. This petite woman, however…

  “That’s got to be one of the damnedest things I’ve ever seen,” Picard muttered. He poked the hood just to make sure it really was solid metal. The scene that had unfolded in the attic came knocking at his consciousness.

  She leaned in closer, so that their noses were touching. Only now did her deeply offensive odor wash over him. “How about a kiss, for old time’s sake.”

  “We never kissed before.”

  “Well then, we better make up for lost time.”

  Something clicked in Picard’s mind as he shove
d her away. “I know who you are, and what you’re trying to do. It won’t work.”

  Her response was a backhand blow that caused the lights to go out momentarily. After recovering a few seconds later he was disoriented. The garage spun crazily around him, and somewhere in the back of his mind was the knowledge that the side of his head head had cracked the windshield. He tried to remember the words, the invocations, anything prescribed to ward off the evil he hadn’t believed in. He came up empty-handed.

  Mary crept onto his prone form, studying his skin. His head swam, and as he struggled to remain conscious he made out a face at the window. Many faces.

  Father Durant strode into the dining room, refreshed after his recent tour of duty south of the border. It was good to return to “civilization” as the water in tropical countries never agreed with his digestive system. He was in a pleasant mood, despite the nature of the dispatch which had drawn him to Perpetual Mercy. Unsure as to what the “trouble” was, he had dropped everything even though he was supposed to be on a much deserved vacation.

  The women who had greeted him all seemed friendly enough. In fact, the entire remaining staff of Perpetual Mercy had turned out to welcome him. “I hope you won’t judge us too harshly on the state of the place,” the Abbess had said, “but after recent events—well I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, a terrible shame, that.” Everyone knew of the tragedy involving their deranged caretaker, Abernathy, kidnapping the orphanage’s children and driving them over the edge of a ravine. Father Durant realized that such a waste of life somehow fit into the Divine plan, but it still bothered him. He prayed for greater understanding and faith.

  Considering the fact that their mission was being closed, especially under such circumstances, he found the Sisters’ upbeat demeanor perplexing. Perhaps they were all far more devout than he. He’d have to ask his old buddy, Iggy Picard, when they met. The wait wasn’t long—Picard came to the dining room momentarily to meet with him. The old scoundrel looked good. The time spent at Perpetual Mercy had somehow taken years off his troubled countenance, which was remarkable considering all the accusations that awaited him on his return to their base of operations. While the men exchanged customary greetings and small talk the Sisters laid out an elaborate meal for their guest.

  “Many thanks, this is most gracious of you,” Father Durant said. “But don’t tell me I’ll be eating alone? I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Not at all,” Picard insisted. “We’ve already eaten.”

  The conversation continued, but with the ten Sisters crowding them—and that other dark-haired young woman, who was she anyway?—Father Durant didn’t feel it was prudent to bring up the note he’d received. It was somehow unnerving how his hosts sat there scrutinizing him as he consumed the food, but he chalked it up to the lack of visitors they received way out there, removed from the world as they were. Afterwards he inquired as to his accommodations.

  “Oh, that,” Picard said, glancing to the women. “Yes, we’ve arranged for you to use the guest house. Come, I’ll take you there now. I’m sure you must want to rest after your travels.”

  Father Durant’s expectations of privacy were dashed when the Sisters insisted on carrying his baggage. The more he considered their smiles the more put off he was. On the way out, Picard informed him that he would be removed from the rest of the compound by some distance. Father Durant looked over his shoulder at the one with the blank eyes—Sister Mary Cheron, if he wasn’t mistaken. The extreme angle she held her head at perturbed him to no end.

  “Perhaps it’s a good thing I’ll be far removed from the compound,” he commented. As they continued to walk he felt the need to broach the subject. “Obviously I received your message. A tad cryptic, Iggy, even for you.”

  Picard smiled distantly. “Yes, well…”

  Suspecting that his old friend had something he wished to disclose, Father Durant increased his pace, allowing them to put a comfortable distance between the Sisters and themselves. Before he could ask the question his attention was drawn away to something cast aside in the underbrush.

  “I say…hold on…” Father Durant stooped and retrieved two items from the ground.

  “Time is getting on,” Picard chided. “We must keep to schedules.”

  “Yes, but have a look.” He held two small, colorful shoes in his palm. They had not been exposed to the elements for long. “These look like…”

  “Like?”

  “Baby shoes.”

  As they resumed walking Picard chuckled. “You caught me, old chum. I have indeed been here too long.” He paused for effect. “We’re expecting.”

  At first the meaning did not sink in for Father Durant. “Expecting? Expecting what?” Picard made the little shoes walk about in the air. “By all that’s holy, you can’t be serious!”

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

  Father Durant was deeply disturbed by the revelation, and feared for his friend. “Have you lost your mind? With everything else hanging over your head…I mean…once word of this gets out, your career will be finished! It’s all so…” He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t good. Not by a long shot. He sighed. “Which one?”

  Picard grinned and turned to wave to the sisters. They all returned the gesture. He turned back to Father Durant and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “As I said, we’re expecting.”

  “All of them!”

  “Don’t act so surprised. You’ve known me long enough to hear all the rumors and gossip.”

  “Yes, but—” Father Durant only now realized they were in the wilderness. How long had they been walking, anyway? Then, to his eternal consternation, Father Durant also noticed a little boy at Picard’s side. Where had he come from? It was disquieting, to say the least. And why was Picard holding the hairy little boy’s hand? “Excuse me, but, well, who are you,young man? I don’t think we’ve—ah—met before.”

  The boy remained silent, merely smiling. Now, behind him, there appeared a second even more wretched little whelp. A pervasive sense of alarm spread through Father Durant’s being. Either he had failed to notice them this entire time, or they somehow snuck up on the two men. They couldn’t be orphans, as the orphanage had ceased to exist—but then what would children from town be doing all the way out here, displaying such familiarity with Picard? Were these boys privy to the sensitive conversation that had just occurred?

  They stepped into a clearing riddled with the carcasses of many fallen trees. An unfamiliar odor filled the air. Overhead, a flock of birds flew near the perimeter of this deadened land, suddenly changing direction to avoid crossing into its domain.

  Picard’s smile was devoid of humor. “Ah—here we are.”

  “Here? What exactly is here?” Up ahead of them a terrible stone structure offended the Earth with its presence. Ominous vapors wafted out of its entrance. “My word, what is that?”

  As Picard put his arm around Father Durant the Sisters of Perpetual Mercy caught up to the duo, forming a semicircle. His luggage had somehow been lost along the way. Picard benevolently stated, “Why, these are your accommodations.”

  From within the stone structure issued a horrible roar that made the Earth tremble.

  About the Author

  John Edward Lawson has been referred to as “the forgotten black man of horror,” but he also regularly publishes literary and science fiction. His novels, short fiction, and poetry have garnered nominations for the Dwarf Stars Award, Elgin Award, Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Stoker Award, and Wonderland Award. You can spy on him at johnlawson.org.

  Reading & Resource Guide

  Introduction

  Are there moments in your past you ignore...pretend never happened...moments you hide from yourself and others? What if the only thing imbuing our past with a sense of dread and terror is the fa
ct that our future is based on it? And every evil incident has given the devil a foothold to step inside and make himself at home in our hearts. Be it a secret vice, a childhood trauma, or disturbing holiday traditions, Devil Entendre is a petri dish in which the dark moments of our lives are allowed to evolve unencumbered.

  About the Author

  Early in life John Edward Lawson lived through some incidents that most in the United States are never confronted with. As he aged he began to realize the scope of his experiences, and became fascinated with the notion of how people are shaped by events around them. Furthermore, in a wealthy, hypermediated environment such as ours in which everyone is convinced they are or can be the star of a very important drama...who plays the bad guy? Do they know they are the bad guy? Do they see the unhappy ending coming, or can they throw away the script and revise the structure of their lives? It is with these points in mind that Lawson approaches his fiction, be it in the horror genre—as with Devil Entendre—or his work in other genres, including children’s and humor.

  Things to Think about While Reading

  The author approaches the notion of “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny,” or “history repeats itself,” as perhaps a bit more of a societal phenomenon, whereas at the personal level it might be more accurate to say: a dismal history ensures an even more dismal future. In Devil Entendre it is this proposed dismal history that allows corruption—or, for lack of a better word, “evil”—a foothold in the individual. Bearing this in mind the author became interested in pursuing how characters in the grip of such “devils” would evolve when thrust into various circumstances.