The Devils You Know

by M. C. Atwood

  Dylan’s face is contorted in anger, a look I’ve never seen before. Dylan is chill—nothing bothers him. But this Dylan is standing tall, breathing hard, and looking down at the thing with contempt.

  “Freak my dick, motherfucker,” he says through huge breaths. Then he looks up at me and his eyes melt.

  I feel my eyes melt, too. It’s Dylan. It’s my Dylan. John, Dylan, whatever . . .

  I give him a small smile. I know it’s a sad smile, but it’s a smile.

  And I know this deep inside. He is always my Dylan, my family. He is always Dylan to me. He is always in my life, no matter what form that takes.

  I walk over to the group, careful to step over the broken jester on the ground. There is silence for a second as we stare around at each other.

  Finally, my lip twitches into a smile. I say to Ashley, “So you’re a leg woman, huh?”

  “Wha?” she says, then remembers the wooden leg she has in her hands. She drops it and snorts in an awkward way. Then she smiles at me, but, like, a smile of “are we cool?” and, “what do you think?” and “holy shit, right?”

  Then, from the other room, we hear Paul scream.

  PAUL

  One tiger is bad. Two tigers . . . well. I see my short life pass before my eyes. Violet is there, at the end. Beautiful, sweet, taken-advantage-of—did I mention beautiful?—Violet.

  One of the tigers lunges forward and grabs my arm in his teeth, making me scream, pushing pain into my peripheral vision in a way I’ve never experienced before. I grab a violin and smash the tiger in the head, and the tiger lets go. But now it’s me and two tigers in a standoff. And all I have is a broken violin, the curvy part swinging by the strings. What I wouldn’t give for a sword now, Captain Tidbittles.

  The tigers are below a sign that says tour this way with an arrow pointing down, like it’s pointing to the tigers. Do NOT go on that tour, I think to myself and almost giggle.

  Almost. Because I slowly back up to the other end of the room by the other door, and I assess my situation. The tigers have teeth, and muscles, and claws, and hunger. I have a broken violin. And my arm hurts so bad I can barely raise it.

  Not great. Tour terminated.

  One of the tigers growls and takes a step toward me, but then I feel a whoosh of air on all sides of me and someone physically bumps into me from behind, hurting my arm.

  “Oh, sorry,” I hear. Violet.

  It’s Violet.

  Violet! My body sings.

  “Fuck-a-doodle-doo,” says Dylan.

  And then Ashley says, “Of course it’s a tiger. Because what else would it be?”

  Gretchen says, “Where are those dolls when you need them?”

  Every part of me is smiling. They’re here. They’re here. My friends, my Violet. They’re here.

  But my smile disappears fast. There is still the small matter of the two tigers in front of us. That probably now think they just hit the lottery in people meat.

  The tigers growl again. And something hurtles past my head.

  It’s a wooden leg. You know. A wooden leg. Because what else would go flying through the air here? The tigers jump and move back.

  Ashley says, “Yes, Violet!” And then I can feel people move and come back and I see objects being hurled in front of me. I’m too afraid to take my eyes off the beasts, so I watch as a milk jug, a staff, canning equipment, bottles, and even what looks like a pipe fly at them. With each object the tigers growl a little more but keep moving back. But they still haven’t given up, and I know pretty soon they’ll get that we don’t really have anything to keep them away from us. And then it’s not just me in trouble. It’s everyone.

  So I do something crazy.

  Taking the violin, I sprint full tilt at them and scream in my loudest voice possible. The scream comes from deep inside my gut, from some memory of some pain, of some threat. It comes from my dad dying and from not knowing how to act and from being responsible when I was just a kid and being scared all the time and my life sucking and school and sports and LARPing and friends and girlfriends and Rhinehart and world hunger and racism and sexism and all isms everywhere and child soldiers and the Holocaust and the pure fucking unadulterated scariness of life.

  I scream.

  And then I stop one second before I reach them, because they haven’t moved.

  Well. Shit.

  They have stopped growling at me. They have stopped growling and they are looking up at me, panting. And then, like they’re bored, they turn around and walk away, out the door, into the rest of the House. I peek around the corner at them. A tail twitches out of sight, and then I pop back into the room, feeling like I’m going to pass out.

  It’s quiet for a second, like awkward quiet, and I can’t think of anything to say. Sort of embarrassing to give it all you’ve got and bore some tigers.

  Dylan pats my shoulder. “Dude, that scared the shit out of me, anyway.”

  Not the best compliment, but I’ll take it anyway.

  DYLAN

  So, coolest dude in school’s got issues.

  But don’t we all, yo? I pat him on the shoulder like guys do.

  Everyone laughs at my joke and I feel warmth spread through me. But then I hear the jester’s voice saying “freak” in my ear and cold creeps in.

  No one’s talking about what happened in that café. No one’s talking period. We’re barely even looking at each other. I know they’re thinking about what a phony baloney I am. I know they all think I’m two-faced, that I’m some weirdo religious dude. But really, I didn’t want to let anyone down, that’s all. I didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.

  Gretch says, “So, what’s next? Think hard. How many rooms?” She looks at me and says, “Do you remember?” I can see she’s trying hard not to be judgy. But I hurt her, and my Gretch isn’t the most forgiving horse on this merry-go-round.

  I clear my throat, but Violet jumps in. Girl can see I’m uncomfortable, I’m pretty sure. Love the Violet.

  She says, “We have the carousel room next, I think. Then there’s this big mechanical room—maybe called the ‘cask room’?—then a café, doll carousels . . .” Her shoulders slump and we all groan. She says, “I think we even pass those twice. Shoot.”

  Gretchen swallows, then says, “And then what?”

  Ashley jumps in, “I’m pretty sure there are a bunch of dollhouses and then a huge circus-like room. That one’s going to be a bitch. And then I can’t remember what comes after that.” Violet’s face is blank, too.

  I gather my courage like a bunch of fucking flowers on a hillside. Gretch knows I’ve been here so I might as well help, yo. I remember the next displays because I thought they were so cool. “I’m pretty sure after that we pass some rooms with knights in them, like, playing out a scene. Behind glass, duders,” I say, as I see everybody’s faces go white. “But we’ll have to go through fast because, you know, knights and shit.” I stop and think. “And then . . .”

  And then I remember. “And then the doll carousels again, but this time up close and personal. And I think there are, like,” I practically whisper the next part because I don’t even want to think about it myself, “the four horsemen of the apocalypse up there.” I clear my throat.

  No one talks. I don’t know how we’ll make it through any of it, let alone the apocalypse mofos. Especially with that info-dump in the café hanging over us like a GD bomb waiting to go off.

  Ashley says after a minute, “SO! To recap: We have, like, five more rooms to go through, each with their own psychotic OR nice inhabitants, we’re never sure which. We have two tigers roaming ahead of us. And anything in the rooms we’ve gone through before can come and follow us. Maybe even an OCEAN that we could, like, drown in. And then, to get outside—if that asshole demon guy will even let us, which, let me tell you, sounds pretty fucking unlikely—we have to go
through a sea of dolls AND the four horsemen of the apocalypse?”

  Again, no one talks.

  Finally Gretchen says, “Well. We better get going.”

  GRETCHEN

  Maybe 20 minutes have passed since I was in that blue room, thinking I would just let the House kill me. But now I feel something else, something strong, muster in me. Maybe it’s because I found everyone again, even if they all hate me. At least I don’t want to die now.

  But I still can’t look anyone in the eye. I can barely look at Dylan. I can’t look at Ashley. And Violet and Paul . . . well, shit.

  I don’t see this having a happy ending.

  But whatever, we’re here now. “Okay, so we have the carousel room next, right? Let’s just do one room at a time. One thing at a time.”

  Paul nods. “Yeah, good plan. But, you should know, two mini-centaurs told me there’s a fight going on in there between the angels and . . . well, I don’t know what else. Other mini-centaurs maybe?”

  I don’t even blink. Any other day, Paul would be committed to an inpatient mental ward for that sentence.

  Violet brightens up. I see this from the corner of my eye since I can’t seem to look anyone directly in the face. I’m pretty sure I have an EBT sign hanging over my head. TAKER.

  She says, “If they’re fighting, maybe that’s good. They’ll leave us alone.”

  Paul looks at her sort of sideways and nods. “Yeah, that’s smart. Let’s just try to stay out of the way, not get noticed.”

  A thump sounds from another room behind us. I say, “We should go. Now. Who knows what’s coming?”

  Ashley says under her breath, “In so many ways.”

  ASHLEY

  Gretchen smiled at me. She smiled at me. It’s not making out, but it’s something.

  We start walking, Paul leading the way with his tiger-bitten arm tucked in, like he’s holding a book in his armpit or something. Violet’s looking at his arm and she puts her hand out as if to touch it, but then pulls her hand back. Paul doesn’t even notice. His temple is throbbing and he has this look on his face like he’s about ready to kill something.

  I’m glad we’re all together and all, but I’m way more glad he’s in front.

  We walk. Paul, then Violet to his right, one step behind. Me, then Gretchen one step behind on my right. Dylan one step behind on her left. We’re staggered, like some weird-ass croquet set.

  Fractured.

  We come to a door with a long ramp up to a small landing. Paul turns and starts up the ramp without saying a word, and we follow. As we near a turn, I can hear a loud male voice say, “Fight, you creatures, fight! Damn ye!”

  I do not want to go into this fucking room.

  Paul turns to us. “I think we should hold hands. We’ll look for the door and move straight to it. Yes?” When did he get all decide-y? Regardless, we all nod. I nod so hard my teeth chatter. I flex my sore-ass feet in my towel bundles.

  Gretchen says, “Where is the door . . . anyone remember?”

  I remember and swear under my breath. “It’s through a monster’s mouth. The doorway, I think, is to the left, but it’s a monster’s mouth.” I close my eyes and say again, “Fuck.”

  I feel a collective sigh ripple through the group.

  Gretchen says, “Well, let’s hope that mouth doesn’t bite down when we go through it, I guess.”

  I swallow. Really? This is my life? Hoping I don’t get digested by a monster? I am totally suing this place when I get out. After I disown my parents.

  A hand takes mine—a soft one—and then another soft one but definitely male. On my right, Gretchen holds my hand. On my left, Dylan holds my hand.

  Okayyyyyy. Awkward.

  I look at Dylan from the corner of my eye and he is bouncing a leg and looking to his left. Gretchen, when I scope her out on the other side, is looking to the right. I clear my throat.

  Paul says, “Let’s go,” and Gretchen’s hand tightens on mine. Reflex? God, I hope not. I hope it means she doesn’t hate me. Or, maybe even something more. Hope leaks out of me—of course she hates me. I have been nothing but an asshole to her.

  Weirder still? Dylan squeezes my hand, too. The guy may be a liar, but I have to give him this: he’s got some major kindness in him. For all intents and purposes, he should be mad as shit at me. I squeeze his hand back.

  We walk up the ramp like some line of preschool kids and stop in the doorway, all of us looking around the corner but hiding our bodies.

  Shit’s gotten real. Music has started up—more manic calliope music—and in front of us is the biggest, weirdest carousel I’ve ever seen, starting to spin slowly. Populated with Mermaids, knights, tigers, unicorns, and pretty much any mythical creature I’ve ever read about. As it turns, faster and faster, different creatures wrench themselves off. There’s a scraping of metal on metal as they take themselves—poles and all—off the carousel.

  But creepier still? They’re getting off the carousel to join others on the ground, some with poles, some not, to fight the swooping mannequins with wings that have begun attacking them.

  Swooping. Mannequins. With. Wings.

  Angels, House style. Awesome.

  In the middle of the fairy-tale wet dream of creatures on the floor, a tiny centaur in an old-fashioned British military jacket glances over at Paul. “Young sir! I see you came. Help us fight these monstrous angels!” He stops and grunts as a mannequin whose wig is falling off swoops down and grabs him by the hair. His four legs scramble in the air.

  Another little centaur, this one who looks like a total whore from olden times, grabs onto one of his hoofs and the angel drops him. When the military guy drops, the she-centaur says, “Git yer dirty hands off ’im!”

  And the military guy says, “Millie, you saved me yet again.”

  The mannequin-angel lets out a banshee-like scream and swoops away after another target. I see her land on a pole that runs through a unicorn who has wrenched himself free from the carousel. The angel perches on the pole like a bat and grabs the unicorn’s horn, wrenching his head back and forth. Then she leans down and bites the unicorn right in the neck. Blood spurts everywhere.

  “Holy shitballs,” I say, and can hear the panic in my wavery voice.

  Banshee screams echo around the room and in the middle of it, giggles.

  Another angel swoops down and picks up a squealing pig that has wrenched itself off the carousel, and bites into it, tearing off its skin. Blood drips down her chin and the flopping pig in front of her stops flopping. The angel giggles, flesh still in her teeth. Then she takes off into the air again.

  Violet flips around and pulls Paul with her. She says, voice shaking. “I emphatically don’t want to go in this room.”

  VIOLET

  There is blood everywhere. And Paul won’t look at me, though he’s holding my hand. No one will, really. No one is really looking at anyone else. We’re together but still alone.

  There is blood everywhere and there are angels swooping down and biting through pigs and we have to run through a monster’s mouth.

  I think I can safely say this is a low point in my young life. I think I can safely say I’m going to die in here.

  The screams are getting worse. Paul’s hand squeezes mine. I hope against hope that this is deliberate and not just a reaction to the scene out there. I don’t want to die knowing he hates me.

  The carouselers are getting massacred. I see another angel swoop down and grab a rabbit ridden by a tiny knight. The knight grabs his sword and plunges it into the angel’s side. The angel drops the rabbit but grabs the rider by the head as the rabbit drops. And yanks the rider’s head off. The sword clatters to the floor. Blood splatters everywhere. Blood blood blood.

  I say, feeling bile rise in my throat, “Aren’t they supposed to be inanimate? How do they have blood?”

 
; Paul suddenly turns around to us. “Listen. I have to help them. I have to help. I have to . . . The angels are killing them. You guys stay here.” Then he finally looks at me and gives a weird little shrug. “Plus. You know. I know how to use a sword.”

  “Wait!” I yell and try to hold onto his hand to stop him, but his fingers slip out of mine before I can react and he runs full-tilt into the melee. Angels swoop down at him and he falls on his knees on the floor and uses the blood to slide several feet to the sword, like an insanely macabre superhero Slip’N Slide.

  Holy schmolies, that was way cool and really gross. Plus: sword. A real one.

  He picks up the sword and starts slashing at angels, his other arm tucked into his body.

  Behind me, Ashley screams, “PAUL! WHAT THE HELL?”

  I turn around, not knowing what words to use to explain what I’m going to do next. To explain that Paul will not be in there alone.

  I give the rest of them a “sorry” look and shrug. Then I swallow and run full on into the bloodbath.

  Gretchen yells, “Violet!” But her voice disappears in the screams around me.

  I find another sword—this one shorter and blunted—on the ground. It will have to do. I duck as an angel tries to grab my head, and I feel my hair fly as the swoosh of air hits me. I jump over bodies and slip on the blood. Something knocks me in the head—right on my bad ear—and I fall over for just a second, but find my feet again. I run over to Paul, who is breathing heavily. His eyes go wide when he sees me.

  “Go back!” He yells to me and then takes a swing at an angel swooping by. He hits it right in the face and the thing screams and swoops away. An angel comes at him from behind, so I push him away and swing my sword at it. I catch it in the arm and it swoops away.

  I look at Paul and yell, “No!” I stare hard at him. Something in his face softens and his eyes search mine. He’s about to say something, but he’s pushed aside by a huge St. Bernard just as an angel comes at him from above. I duck, too, putting my hands in the softness of the St. Bernard. The dog says, “Watch your back!” then makes a running leap into a mound of angels that are tearing apart a mermaid on the floor. He picks up an angel in his teeth and shakes it hard, throwing it into a cart at the side of the carousel.