Cunning Devil

by Chris Underwood

  His eyes met mine, and in the last glimmers of moonlight I saw the fire in them. “Don’t you fucking talk about my son. You hear me?” He came a step closer, close enough I could smell his sweat. “You hear me?!”

  Maybe it wasn’t a lie after all. Swallowing, I raised a hand in placation. “All right. All right. I’m sorry. I did all this to help you, remember? I’m trying to help. I’m trying to understand.”

  “Just shut up.”

  “What is this really about? Just tell me that, Brandon.”

  He took a shaky breath and glanced back at the hobgoblin in his hand. “I don’t have a choice,” he whispered. I don’t think he was talking to me.

  I answered him anyway. “We always have a choice. Always.”

  He nodded slowly, a sad smile flickering across his face. “You’re right. And I’ve made mine.”

  He looked at me. And I saw what his decision would be.

  His finger moved to the trigger.

  I lifted my hand, opened my fist, and let the fear fetish I’d pulled from my pocket dangle from my finger. The chicken bones twisted and spun in the web of twine.

  It didn’t affect Mills. It wasn’t designed to.

  The hobgoblin screeched. It was a scream of purest fear. The fetish’s power overwhelmed the creature’s mind, driving out logic, rationality.

  The screech was a sound to make ears bleed. I was ready for it. Mills wasn’t.

  He grunted in sudden pain, jamming his eyes shut for a moment. I’d hoped he’d toss the hobgoblin aside. He didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around her. Her scream cut off as the air was pushed from her lungs.

  My other hand gripped my truncheon and pulled it free. I only had a second. No time to line up a real hit. As I pushed myself up, I threw my weight forward and thrust the pommel into Mills gut.

  It was a good hit, all things considered. I delivered it with all the force I could manage.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Mills doubled over, all right. But I was right about him—he wasn’t as soft as he looked. He flowed away from the blow with surprising speed, already recovering from the shock of the hobgoblin’s scream. The strike hurt him, but he didn’t let that pain stop him.

  Nice try, I thought to myself as I watched the gun come back up. But not nice enough.

  He shot me in the stomach.

  The truncheon slipped from my fingers, landing with a thud in the dirt. I gaped at Mills, at the smoking gun in his hand. I staggered forward, reached out, grabbed him by the hair.

  He grunted and elbowed me in the chest, shaking me loose. My ears were still ringing with the sound of the gunshot when I hit the ground. That hurt worse than the bullet itself, at first.

  Then I coughed, and that got things moving again. It suddenly felt like someone was stirring up my insides with a hot poker.

  I tried to get up, and found I couldn’t. My thoughts were coming in bursts—fear and confusion suddenly giving way to pure understanding. I couldn’t see where my truncheon had gone. I put a hand to my abdomen and it came away streaked with something dark and wet.

  I squinted up through blurry eyes, saw Mills standing over me. He had the nerve to look sad about the whole thing. I lay back down on the ground—damn, the earth was cold—and laughed.

  “You asshole,” I rasped. “I even gave you a discount.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he lifted the gun again.

  This time, he shot me in the chest.

  13

  The human body is a strange thing. Punch a guy just right, you can kill him, without even meaning to. Hell, you know what the leading cause of unintentional death in the home is? Falling over. Thousands of people die every year slipping in the shower or falling down the stairs. A life can be snuffed out so easily.

  And then there’s the other side of the coin. Soldiers in battle who get shot three times and don’t even notice until the firefight is over. People who are still alive after their parachutes fail to open.

  Strange how we can be so fragile, yet so resilient.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’d taken a bullet to the gut and another to the lung. I was dying. I just wasn’t quite dead yet.

  The world flashed past in tiny slices.

  Being dragged through the soil and rotting leaves, into the dark of the forest.

  Struggling to breathe. Drowning, drowning in my own blood.

  The heavy panting of the man who killed me, the sour-sweet smell of his breath as he leaned down to riffle through my pockets.

  The hobgoblin’s wailing, her cries, her screams, screaming, screaming…

  A baby’s scream echoes through the house, cutting through my sleep for the third time that night. Endless fucking wailing, the kind of sound that makes you want to go in there and throttle the kid until he shuts up. Just shut up, SHUT UP!

  He’s screaming because he’s sick, screaming because he hurts and the doctors don’t know why, screaming and screaming and nothing soothes him.

  I don’t care. If I had my way, he’d never have come along in the first place. Alice and I were already teenagers when Teddy was born. We were already a family. We don’t need a goddamn baby in the house. Shitting and screaming and why won’t he shut the fuck up already?

  That does it, if he doesn’t pipe down right now, I’m going to go in there and I’ll…I’ll…

  Rain pattered around me. It dripped from the leaves overhead, running in tiny waterfalls onto my hands, my neck, soaking through my clothes. Some of it dripped into my mouth.

  I couldn’t move away, but I didn’t want to anyway. I tried to swallow. I was thirsty, so thirsty…

  I’ve been left alone with Teddy. Again. Mom can’t take the screaming, she has to go out, has to drive around for hours and hours and come back stinking of cigarettes and cheap liquor. Alice moved out of town a month ago, off to journalism school. So here I am, alone with a goddamn baby.

  All I want to do is sit at the piano, practice this piece I need to practice, but Teddy’s wailing again, wailing loud enough to shake the walls, and somehow it gets worse every time I hear it.

  I want to leave, just head out the door and never come back. But I can’t do that, because I’m the only one here, I’m supposed to look after a fucking kid that I never signed up for.

  So I stomp down the hall and throw open the door to his room, my head pounding. I open my mouth to shout.

  And the screaming stops. It just stops, just like that. And for a moment, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the sound of silence.

  But then I realize the silence sounds wrong. It’s too still. Too complete. It pounds in my ears louder than his screams ever did.

  I don’t want to go over to the crib, but I do, I have to, and I see him there, curled up, wooden, wilted, like…

  Fallen leaves between my fingers. I grabbed at the ground as I was dragged into the shallow hole, but all I caught were leaves.

  The rain was falling heavier now, but I barely felt it. I was still alive, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know why. After all I’d done, this was such a stupid way to die.

  I heard a scraping sound, then a shovelful of dirt fell on my face. I tried to cough, tried to move my head away, but I couldn’t. All I could do was lay there, lay there and be buried alive…

  They bury Teddy in the tiniest coffin I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know they made coffins that small. I’m seventeen, and I’m starting to realize there’s a lot of things I still don’t know.

  I wished for this, wished for him to be gone. Now he is. And the worst part of it? I’m thankful for the silence.

  I hate myself for that. I hate the other people at the funeral for looking at me like they know my shame. I hate Teddy for being dead, and I hate Alice for crying, and I hate Mom for already being drunk. I’ve forgotten everything else except hate.

  The first chance I get, I break away from the mourners and leave the cemetery and disappear into town. If Mom and Alice look for me, they don’t find me.

&nbs
p; I want to get drunk and hit someone, but I can’t get into a bar and they’re all empty anyway, this being Lost Falls, the ass end of nowhere. So I find an alley and I punch a dumpster and I throw bottles against the wall until I realize what a stupid fucking kid I must look like. And I can’t be a kid, not anymore. So I go to the park and I sit down on a bench and I stare at nothing for a while.

  Until someone sits next to me. Not just sharing the bench—he sits as close to me as he possibly can, his hip pressed against mine. And before I can say anything, before I can tell him to piss off, he leans in close and says something that stops me cold.

  “Your brother wasn’t in that coffin.”

  I turn to stare at him. He’s the strangest man I’ve ever seen. Misshapen, asymmetrical, like none of his body parts are supposed to go together. He looks at me with a pair of mismatching eyes, studying me like I’m some vaguely interesting museum exhibit.

  “There was something in that coffin,” he says, “but it wasn’t your brother. How does that make you feel, Osric?”

  Everything goes red and the next thing I know I have my fists bunched in his coat and I’m pulling him close enough to smell the faint stink of rot that comes off him.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I say.

  “A friend, Osric. A friend who knows the truth about your brother.” He bears his teeth in a smile that makes my skin prickle. “And I have a deal for you.”

  The dirt turned to mud around me. I blinked, staring up at the sky through the clumps of soil that covered my face. It was a shallow grave.

  I couldn’t hear the hobgoblin anymore. A car started somewhere nearby, then the sound of the engine faded into the distance. All that remained was the rain, and the forest, and the mud.

  I waited for my death.

  I gasp awake in a motel bathtub filled with ice.

  Disoriented, shaking violently, I pull myself out of the tub and collapse on the tile floor. I’m naked and my flesh is blue with cold. There’s an ache in the side of my skull, and a feeling of emptiness that goes far deeper.

  I grab the washbasin and haul myself to my feet. My legs nearly go out from under me again on the slippery floor. I snatch a towel off the rail and wrap it around me, still shivering.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes are sunken, my flesh drawn and tight. It looks like I’ve doubled in age overnight. There’s a shaved patch on the right side of my head. Gingerly, I touch the red-stained bandage affixed there. Memories start to come back to me.

  I can hear the TV playing in the other room. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I ease open the door with my foot.

  I’m alone. The motel room is beige, from the carpet to the light fixtures. The curtains are pulled, leaving the TV the only source of light.

  My clothes are folded on the bed. And next to the pile is a book.

  I can tell the book is old before I even touch it. It has a cover of red leather, with silver embossing on the spine. As I open it, the thick parchment crackles and gives off a smell of dust and time. The text inside is all written in a tight, cramped hand.

  It’s a black book. An evil book.

  A word springs out at me from the pages. A word that the strange, misshapen man said to me, as he explained what’d happened to Teddy. As he laid out the deal he had for me.

  Changeling. My brother had been taken, replaced with something else. Something not human. Something not even truly alive.

  That was what had screamed endlessly. That was what had wilted and died. That was what had been buried. But Teddy, the real Teddy was still out there somewhere, if the Dealer could be believed. In the hands of foul creatures. Monsters. Goblins. Like out of a goddamn fairy tale.

  A sudden horrific screaming pours from the TV, and I slap my hands over my ears. A commercial for laundry liquid is playing. But instead of the usual jingle, all I can hear is screeching.

  That’s not right. How does the song go again? I can’t remember.

  Slowly, understanding dawns on me. I recall what the Dealer bought from me in our trade. My hand goes again to the side of my head, to the hole in my skull where he took out the music.

  I switch off the TV, put the grief out of my mind. My music is gone. But there’s something else in its place. A new power, a new knowledge. I can feel it inside me, pressing against the inside of my skull, whispering for me to use it.

  I get dressed and pick up the old book. It seems to whisper to me as well. It tells me my brother is still alive. It tells me it knows how to find him.

  I sit down and start reading.

  That last memory seemed to hang in my mind for a very long time. It came with a feeling worse than the pain in my gut.

  Shame. For what I’d done trying to get Teddy back. For the knowledge that in the end, I’d failed.

  I tried, Teddy. But it wasn’t enough .

  I faded again. And somehow, when I drifted back into consciousness, I was still alive.

  The world seemed sharper now. One last gasp before I died for good. My mind gave itself a kick start, running through my options. Trying desperately to find a way out of all this.

  I couldn’t die here in this hole. I couldn’t die drowning in mud and my own blood. Not without saying a real goodbye to Alice, and throwing the twins around the yard one more time. Not without thanking Early for all he’d done for me, for saving me from myself.

  And not without wrapping my fingers around Brandon Mills’ throat.

  Footsteps. The sound of shoes squelching through mud. It came to me through the earth. I tried to open my mouth, tried to call out. Nothing. I could barely breathe through the thin layer of dirt.

  The footsteps were coming closer. They were strange footsteps, heavy and dragging. Not the footsteps of Brandon Mills.

  The footsteps stopped. But they were close. I tried again to speak, but the hoarse whisper I managed was drowned out by the sound of the rain.

  My hand. Maybe that would work. My right hand was laid across my stomach, just beneath the thin layer of dirt. If I could reach up, push my fingers to the surface, I might catch the person’s attention.

  Summoning the little energy I had left, I focused on the index finger of my right hand. Move. Come on. Just a twitch.

  Nothing. And then the tiniest movement.

  Heart surging with hope, I tried again. And again my finger moved, the mud shifting around it. With all of my effort, I pushed for the surface.

  Cold air and rain touched the skin of my fingertip. I wanted to cry. With my finger sticking out of the mud, I wiggled it back and forth, the only movement I could manage.

  There was a grunt and I felt the person shift next to me. Dirt and mud were swept from my face. And as I blinked and squinted, I found myself looking up into the same misshapen face I’d seen in the memories flashing through my dying mind.

  The Dealer smiled down at me in the darkness. “A kidney doesn’t seem too high a price now, does it, Osric?”

  14

  I groaned.

  Raindrops struck my face like falling needles as the Dealer cleared away the dirt over my torso. He knelt beside me, his fine suit now soaked through and splattered with mud. He didn’t seem to care much.

  He cast an eye over my wounds and tutted. “This is very bad, Osric. Five, maybe ten more minutes and even I won’t be able to help you.”

  I tried to speak, but no sound came out. I moved my lips anyway.

  What do you want?

  The Dealer seemed to understand. He grinned and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “That’s the right question, my friend. I knew you’d come to your senses eventually.” His smile faded as he looked me over. “It’s a pity you had to suffer so greatly to learn your lesson. But then, that’s you all over, isn’t it, Osric?

  I gave him a death glare. It’s easy to do when you’re so close to death yourself.

  “All right,” he said, “I suppose you want me to save your life, don’t you? It’ll cost you, though.”

  Kidney, I m
outhed.

  The Dealer chuckled. “Come now, Osric. Let’s be reasonable. When I offered to buy your kidney, I was selling information. Information that might have prevented you from ending up in this position. The situation is different now. I’m going to have to work hard to save your life. That’s worth more than a simple kidney, don’t you think?”

  Go to hell .

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He stroked his chin, then snapped his fingers. “How about this? I’ll do the work on credit. I’ll save your life, my friend, and give you a little time to do what you need to do. And then in—oh, let’s say five days—I’ll return. And I’ll take your body.”

  I tried to laugh. Bad idea.

  I’m using it, I mouthed.

  “Not for much longer,” he said. “In fact, you’re not really losing anything at all. I give you another five days of life, in exchange for use of your body once that period expires. Seems fair to me.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked a gaudy women’s watch. “Let’s call it midnight. So when the clock strikes midnight and Friday begins, you surrender your body to me. If you take the deal, of course.” He glanced around at the forest, then smiled down at me. “Though I don’t see anyone else lining up to outbid me.”

  A sudden spasm gripped at my stomach, bringing with it a wave of new agony. My vision was narrowing. I was finding it harder to focus on the Dealer.

  “You’re running out of time, Osric,” he said. “Take the deal.”

  He was right. I was fading fast. I could no longer feel my legs, and my arms were going the same way. There was a buzzing in my head, like my skull was filled with bees.

  Transfer clause, I mouthed.

  “Hmm? What do you mean?”

  I could barely move my mouth now, but I tried. Exchange…equal value.

  “Interesting proposition.” The Dealer smiled as he thought it over. “If you can find something else of equal value, you want to trade that instead of yourself.”