Demoneater

by Royce Buckingham

  “Very dramatic, Zoot.” Lilli smirked. “But I’m not spooked.”

  Zoot grunted, disappointed, and stopped fading into the room through the shadow. Instead, he raised a short trident—which looked very much like an elaborate dinner fork—tore a clean white rent in the blackness and then popped out of the hole fully formed and landed in the middle of the room on his ridiculously long two-toed feet with a huge smile.

  Lilli grinned back. Her demonic companion stood about to her knee, his plump body a bright, unnatural pink, except for his huge tan belly. Two curved, oversized green horns jutted from his head. The hands at the end of Zoot’s skinny arms were as blunt as the rest of him—he had only three fingers on each, and a thick, unsharpened claw extended from the end of each finger. They were more like mitts than hands, Lilli thought, and he looked, overall, like a giant pink pear with clown feet and sheep horns.

  “Can you clean that up?” she asked.

  Zoot swung the trident in a circle, and the black hole behind him snapped shut, allowing the colors to flow into the corner again.

  “The Troll is hiding,” Lilli said.

  Zoot frowned, thinking and then swept the trident across the wall. A deep blue color swirled into a round shape, and charcoal lines ran upward, forming towers.

  “Exactly,” Lilli said. “The lake in the middle of the city.” She rose from the hammock and put a hand on Zoot’s thick head. “I think it’s scared of something.”

  Zoot twirled the trident, painting a vicious snarl on Lilli’s face.

  “No,” Lilli said. Her voice came out in a growl. She wiped away the sneer he’d given her with the back of her hand. “Not us.”

  There was a knock at her door.

  It was not unusual for police to roust her out of places she’d decided to park the colorful VW and trailer. She walked down the hall and opened the bus door, wary, but it wasn’t the police.

  A twitchy, odd-shaped man with a notebook stood at the bottom of the bus steps. He spoke eagerly, rapid-fire.

  “Hello,” he said. “I saw you today under the bridge. You’re looking for the Troll. Me too. I’m Mr. Calamitous, incidentally. I’m investigating its disappearance.” He stopped and sniffed the air and then peppered her with questions, not slowing down long enough for her to answer. “Can I have a moment? Can I interview you? Can I come in?”

  “Not the best time,” Lilli interrupted.

  “But why? Why not? What’s the issue? Where’s the problem? Just a moment of your time, yes?”

  “No. My place is a mess.”

  “A few questions out here, then?” He put his foot up on the first step of the bus. “A couple? Two or three?”

  “Hey, man, no offense, but I’m starting to feel like you’re in my space.”

  ”Then I’ll come back. That’s what I’ll do. Later.”

  “I won’t be here,” Lilli said.

  “That’s fine. Okay. Yes. Thank’s for your time, Miss . . . ?”

  Lilli shut the door.

  Whump!

  Zoot materialized from the colors in her dress, scratching his round belly with his trident.

  “I didn’t like that guy,” Lilli said.

  Zoot shrugged.

  “I don’t know why,” Lilli answered. “But his karma is all mucked up, and I can’t see his aura at all.” She locked the door and headed down the hall toward her bedroom. Zoot followed. “I think I’m gonna crash for now and start my search in the morning, Zoot,” Lilli said. “It’s not like someone else is going to find the Troll tonight.”

  CHAPTER 9

  GRUFF MEASURES FOR OUT-OF-CONTROL TROLLS

  At 4:30 a.m. there was no traffic on the Aurora Avenue Bridge, except for three teenagers leading three goats, each bigger than the last, down the middle of the street. Nat led the biggest goat, and his minion Flappy flew lookout overhead. The little wind demon fluttered spasmodically like a dizzy, scaly, poodle-sized hummingbird.

  “This is ridiculous,” Richie said, struggling to drag his goat into line.

  “Just keep the medium-sized goat in the middle,” Nat instructed.

  Sandy led the small goat and carried the Demonkeeper Journal—the diary and notes of every Keeper in Nat’s long line of predecessors. Unfortunately, it was written in dozens of different languages. She quoted from it as she walked.

  “Here’s one I can read. It’s from Michael Jones Francis, an English Keeper from a couple of centuries ago. He says a demon gets its energy from the chaos that creates it and reflects that same type of chaos back upon the world.” She closed the book and stuffed it in her backpack for safekeeping. “In the Troll’s case, four insane Seattle artists were interpreting the fairy tale Three Billy Goats Gruff in the middle of an urban neighborhood when they sculpted it.”

  “Uh-oh,” Richie groaned, “she’s using the librarian voice.”

  Sandy continued, ignoring him. “They constructed the Troll illegally, hauling all the parts to the site in just two days and cementing the huge statue in place while pretending to be a road crew. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  Richie snorted. “Did you know that people who memorize history are doomed to repeat it? Over and over.”

  Blue and red lights suddenly flashed behind them.

  Nat winced. “Oh, dagnabbit! We’ve got more important things to deal with here.”

  “Dude, you swear like an old man,” Richie said, reigning in his goat as a police car pulled up alongside them.

  The officer stuck his head out the window. “Pull over, little shepherds.”

  “Now what do we do?” Sandy hissed to Nat and Richie.

  “I’ve got this one,” Richie said. “Cops are my area of expertise.” He turned to the officer. “Hey. Sorry to mess with the traffic. Our trailer broke down. Pretty lame, eh?”

  “You sound Canadian,” the officer said.

  “You’re a perceptive dude. Yeah, we’re from a cheese farm across the border up north. We’re taking these little billies down to the Puyallup County Fair.”

  “Yeah? Where’s your trailer?” the officer asked.

  Richie fussed with his goat for a moment, buying himself time to think.

  Sandy piped up. “You know the groovy trailer on the far side of the bridge? The one towed by the flowered VW Bug?”

  “Oh yeah,” the officer said. “I saw that earlier today. You must be friends with the pretty girl in the sack dress.” Sandy winced but nodded grudgingly. He nodded back, satisfied. “All righty, then. It’s late. Better get these goats where they need to be before any cars come.” The officer waved them on and drove away.

  “Wow,” Richie said to Sandy, “you lie like a pro.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Sandy snapped. “I hate doing that.”

  “Thanks,” Nat said. “Go ahead and take the small goat across.”

  As the police car turned a corner and drove away, Sandy led her goat over the bridge. The boys waited.

  “Nothin’,” Richie said as she disappeared into the darkness on the far side of the bridge.

  As they watched Sandy, neither of them noticed Flappy frantically trying to get their attention. The wind demon swooped low, meaning to fly right past their faces, when a huge concrete hand reached up over the side of the bridge behind them and slapped Flappy head over tail off into the darkness.

  Whap!

  Richie whirled. “Trrrrrroll!” he yelled.

  The huge statue climbed up onto the Highway 99 bridge deck, its gargantuan hands crunching the aluminum rails like plastic straws.

  “Execute the plan!” Nat barked, and they turned their goats loose.

  In the fairy tale, two goats passed a vicious troll as the creature waited for larger, juicier prey, and when the largest goat arrived, it butted the troll back to where it came from under its bridge.

  The two animals led by Nat and Richie, however, took one look at the towering concrete monstrosity and fled back across the bridge, clip-clopping like mad across the pavement.

 
The Troll ripped the guardrail from its moorings and swung it in a wide arc. It whistled toward the boys.

  “Plan B!” Nat barked. “Run!”

  They ran just as the guardrail came down on the concrete behind them.

  Crunch!

  The Troll lumbered after them.

  “See? It went for the goats!” Nat puffed as they ran. “It can’t deny its nature.”

  “Apparently the goats can, though,” Richie breathed. “They obviously don’t know the fairy tale. And they’re faster than we are, so it’s going to reach us first!”

  The Troll swiped at them with giant concrete hands and buried its feet in the pavement with each step. Nat and Richie quickly arrived at the end of the bridge, and Nat leaped off, running underneath.

  “Nat, don’t go under there!” Richie shouted. “You’ll be trapped.”

  Nat found the two goats huddled under the bridge. “You were supposed to attack,” he told them.

  The goats simply stared, not understanding their role in the strange game the teenage human was playing and certainly not willing to follow his directions after he’d led them straight to a bizarre, monstrous thing that obviously wanted to eat them.

  Richie joined Nat. “Shoo! Shoo!” he shouted at the animals. “If you’re not going to fight, then run!” He kicked one of the goats in the butt. It bleated and kicked him back.

  “Oww!” Richie yelped.

  “All of you get out of here!” Nat demanded. But it was too late. At that moment, the Troll climbed over the side of the bridge and dropped its two tons of concrete and steel on the ground right in front of them.

  Kaboom!

  It had them cornered.

  “Now what?” Richie asked.

  Nat glanced at his watch. “We wait.”

  “We won’t have to wait too friggin’ long!”

  The Troll stomped forward and reached for them just as the sun peeked over the horizon. The mighty creature stiffened and then shoved past them, tossing the boys and goats aside with sweeps of its mighty arms. It fell forward with a thunderous crash and began to squeeze madly back into its space under the bridge. Moments later, it was frozen solid.

  The police car followed the giant depressions in the asphalt to the end of the bridge, where the officer parked his cruiser. He peeked over the side and saw two huge footprints in the sidewalk. Curious, he leaped over the rail, dropping beneath the bridge, where he was confronted with a bizarre sight.

  The Troll had returned to its space, as good as new, except that it had returned to its hole headfirst, and instead of leaving its upper half exposed, its head and shoulders were buried and its giant legs and rump stuck up in the air.

  CHAPTER 10

  TWO KISSES

  Nat and Sandy stood on the porch. It was fully morning now, and the sun leaked through the gray clouds, illuminating their tired faces.

  Things hadn’t gone as planned, as they always didn’t. Flappy was gone, knocked off into the darkness and, no doubt, wandering aimlessly, as he was prone to do. It was unlikely he’d be back anytime soon, for he had a miserable sense of direction. It was a difficult loss—Nat was quite fond of the little wind demon. Dhaliwahl had introduced the two of them when Nat had first come to the house. Initially, Dhaliwahl hadn’t wanted Nat to get too friendly with the unpredictable little beast, but the two of them had gotten along so well that Nat’s mentor had relented, and Flappy had become Nat’s first minion.

  Besides losing Flappy, the Troll hadn’t been put back properly—not a subtle recovery for a Demonkeeper and his apprentice. They’d almost been caught at the scene too. Fortunately, when Sandy had come running back across the bridge, she’d astutely suggested that they hide behind Lilli’s nearby trailer before the police officer arrived. The goats were so scared that they had stood in petrified silence while the policeman poked around under the bridge less than fifteen feet away.

  Then there was the strange reporter who was too interested in Nat and the strange girl, Lilli, in whom Nat was too interested. Nat found his mind filled with a dozen things besides Sandy as he stood with one hand on the doorknob waiting for her to leave.

  “I told my mom I was doing seriously early inventory this morning for my job at the library before opening,” Sandy said. “I’d better get there and firm up my alibi.”

  “Okay,” Nat said, wondering why, if she had to go, she was still standing there.

  “I had a good time,” she continued. “Could have died, but it was interesting.” Again she lingered. Finally, she licked her lips.

  Suddenly, Nat understood. She wanted to kiss. It seemed that she always did after they had a brush with danger. They’d kissed after the terrifying episode with the Thin Man. In fact, she’d been smoochy for several days. And she’d gotten into a lip-locking mood again immediately after they were almost run down by Nat’s demonic old lawn mower a couple of weeks later. They’d mashed their mouths together right there in the garden shed.

  He looked at Sandy in the bright light of the day. They had been up since 3:30 a.m., and her eyes were red. They bulged out behind her thick glasses, and she was drenched from the drizzling rain like a wet rat. She looked a bit weathered, Nat thought, and smelled a little like a goat too. He hesitated.

  “You seem distracted,” she said.

  He didn’t want to explain, so he leaned in. She closed her eyes and puckered up, and he kissed her . . . on the cheek. Sandy blindly tried to find his mouth and kiss back but missed. Their noses bumped.

  “Well, okay,” Nat said, ending the embrace abruptly. “See you tomorrow.”

  “It is tomorrow.”

  “Right. Then I’ll see you today.”

  “Okay.” Sandy frowned. She finally gave up and walked away.

  Richie looked out the window with Nik on his shoulder and Pernicious perched on his head.

  “Totally weak, man.”

  “I’ve got things on my mind, all right?” Nat snapped. “And what are you doing watching us, anyway?”

  “So what’s up next,” Richie said. “We go after Charr? Wedge? The Loch Ness Monster?”

  “I need to think,” Nat said. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “I’ll get my sweatshirt.”

  “Alone,” Nat grumbled, and he started down the steps.

  “Don’t worry,” Richie called after him, “I’m gettin’ this Keeper thing totally figured out. I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

  Behind Richie, the comforter from his wandering bed snuck up on him. It engulfed him and dragged him off down the hall, thumping into furniture and walls. Nik and Pernicious gave chase, squealing with laughter.

  “You do that,” Nat said to himself.

  Minutes later, Nat found himself standing outside Lilli’s funky trailer, wondering why he’d come. His heart was beating quickly, telling him that he shouldn’t be there, but just as he was about to turn and go, the bi-fold door swooshed open.

  The smell of incense drifted out, and Lilli drifted out after it like a mirage. She wore a smock with paint stains and didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said. “Finally.”

  “How’d you know I was coming?”

  “You were red.”

  “Red?”

  “Your aura, man. You lit up like a light bulb when you saw me.”

  “You see things?” Nat said.

  “I see beauty in things.”

  “Not me. I see chaos.” Nat didn’t know how much he should tell her. He didn’t even know her, but he felt an instant kinship and wanted to tell her who he was, what he was.

  Lilli laughed. “Honestly, the way I see stuff freaks me out sometimes, but I think what matters is what you feel. What do you feel?”

  “I feel responsible for things,” Nat said.

  “Like what?”

  “The entire world sometimes.”

  Lilli waved a paintbrush Nat hadn’t even noticed she was holding. Color danced from the end, splashing the nearby co
ncrete wall with vibrant life. “What do you see there?”

  “Graffiti?”

  Lilli laughed. “Oh, that’s sad. You poor boy. You need to come inside and see the bright side of things.” She led him to the trailer and opened the door. She hesitated at the threshold. “Can you keep secrets?”

  “That’s what I do,” Nat said.

  “Do you know what I am?” Lilli asked him.

  Nat’s heart leaped. “I think so,” he said eagerly. “Do you know what I am?”

  Lilli nodded. “Yeah. It’s all around you, man. It just takes someone who knows what your colors mean.”

  “Yeah? So what does it mean if I’m red and as bright as a light bulb?”

  Lilli leaned toward him. “This . . .”

  She pulled Nat to her and kissed him. Lilli kissed freely and deeply, her lips unrestrained, wandering, doing as they pleased. It was unlike Sandy’s careful calculated smooches. It was better.

  When their mouths parted, a purple haze drifted between them. Even Nat could see it.

  “So, did you feel that?” Lilli grinned after it faded.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “C’mon. I want to show you more beautiful things.”

  CHAPTER 11

  PLAYGROUNDS

  Flappy tumbled out over Elliot Bay, tossed to and fro by gusts of damp air, a wind demon bullied by his own type of chaos. Slapped silly by the Troll, the little incarnation wandered, dazed, over the salty waters of Puget Sound.

  Flappy was outside the confines of the house and away from his Keeper, Nat, for the first time in years, and he was lost. Yet the openness felt strangely liberating and oddly familiar. As he drifted out over the islands, he began to swoop and soar at will in his new playground. Some demons had memory. Others, like Flappy, drifted from one thing to another, letting go of the past to whimsically explore around the next corner. The blow from the concrete giant hadn’t done his recollection any good either.