The Devil's Demeanor

by Hart, Jerry

  He raced up the stairs to the second floor. He checked Conner’s room but found it empty. He opened Jordan’s door across the hall.

  Jordan was passed out, his head hanging over the foot of the bed. His homework was scattered on the floor and across his chest. He snored peacefully. Don sighed in relief, but all was not well. Either Conner was still in the house, or he had taken off. Don had to find him, because if the voice had spoken true, the boy was being possessed by the creature Don had killed decades ago.

  * * *

  Conner kept moving, never looking back. He had to get away from Uncle Don’s house. He rode along the freeway on his bike with a backpack full of clothes that he quickly grabbed from his room while his uncle was still out in the woods looking for him. Conner barely remembered coming back to the house until he reached his room. He must have been in a trance or something.

  He was scared now, though. He had nowhere to go, no job, nothing. He was afraid of what his uncle had said about him. Conner had never murdered anyone in his life.

  Mom killed her boyfriend when he was five.

  Some crazy person killed Mr. Leper.

  Conner couldn’t remember harming anyone.

  Couldn’t remember....

  There were a lot of things he couldn’t remember, including going back to the house to get his stuff a while ago. Most of what happened at the laser-tag arena was a blur, as well. He did remember running into those bullies Leo and Jack. Jack was dead, and Leo was insane, but both of those had nothing to do with Conner. Right?

  Conner grew more frustrated as cars zoomed past him. He didn’t even realize where he was riding to until he saw the exit in front of him. He knew who lived nearby.

  * * *

  When he got to the house, he lightly tapped on the bedroom window. A light was on, and Conner had seen a silhouette pass by a moment ago. After what felt like an eternity, the silhouette returned and peeked through the blinds. And then the window opened.

  “What are you doing here?” Travis asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Please?” Conner had put as much desperation as he could into the plea.

  It worked.

  Travis backed away from the window and let Conner inside. Conner hit his head on the sill.

  Travis quickly stepped forward, grabbed the sides of Conner’s face, and kissed the top of his head. Conner grinned, causing Travis to back away once again, frowning.

  The room was nice and warm. It had gotten so cold outside that Conner could barely feel his fingers.

  “Why are you here?” Travis asked.

  “I had a fight with my uncle.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  It was meant to be sarcastic, but Conner was still stung.

  “About what?” Travis asked next, seeing the expression on the other’s face.

  About my murderous habits, Conner replied in his head. “Stupid shit. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Then why are you here if you don’t want to talk?”

  “Why are you snapping at me?”

  “Because I told you to leave me alone.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you let me in?”

  Travis found himself at a loss for words.

  “It’s because you like me,” Conner suggested.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Travis was suddenly angry. “I feel sorry for you. You’re pathetic.”

  Conner said nothing. He could barely breathe now, let alone speak. “You don’t mean that. You just kissed the bump on my head.”

  “Yes, I do. You just don’t want to hear it.” He avoided the part about the kiss.

  That truly hurt Conner, though he said nothing in response. Instead, he approached Travis, closed his eyes, leaned in...

  Travis punched him on his left cheek. Conner opened his eyes just as he started falling to the floor, stunned. Travis was shaking, his face red, his fists clenched.

  Without being told to, Conner left through the window.

  He rode his bike down an empty highway, his eyes clouded with tears. He could barely see, but he didn’t care. His face was numb from the cold, but he didn’t care about that either.

  He was too angry to care.

  He kept pedaling, his legs burning with exertion. He was vaguely aware of where he was—far from his own house, and that was all that mattered. Though, he fiercely missed his cousin and wondered when he would see him again.

  Conner noticed headlights behind him but didn’t bother looking. He hoped it wasn’t his uncle.

  A black SUV passed him and then pulled onto the shoulder that Conner was riding. An old man got out and stared back at him. Conner wanted to pass him but found himself stopping instead. The man had completely white hair and a beer gut. He was dressed in a maroon sweater with tan slacks.

  “What’s a boy your age doing out on these roads alone?” the man asked.

  Conner was surrounded by miles of empty road in both directions. He was miles from help. “I’m twenty-five,” he replied.

  “Now, now, you can’t be any more than sixteen. Am I right?”

  “I have a gun,” Conner lied.

  “No you don’t,” said the old man. “Though, I believe your uncle had one when he was around your age. I have the distinct impression you think I want to harm you. Rest assured, I don’t.”

  “My uncle? You know him?”

  The man nodded.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “To help.” The man sighed before saying, “Conner, I’m your grandfather.”

  * * *

  Conner sat nervously in the passenger seat of the SUV as “Grandpa” drove down the highway. They were headed in the direction Conner had already been going.

  “You’re not taking me back to my house?” he asked the old man.

  “Do you want to go back there?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, then, there you go.” Grandpa smiled.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My house. I don’t live too far from you.”

  A moment later, the old man turned onto another road. Conner’s pulse quickened as he suddenly regretted getting into the car.

  “Uncle Don never talked about you.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t know much about me. I’m his father, but I’m not your father’s father.”

  “So, you’re not really my grandpa?”

  “Not biologically.”

  “But you are Jordan’s?”

  “That’s right.”

  They continued down the country lane, passing a few two-story houses. Conner had stuffed his bike in the back compartment and wondered if he could get it out and ride away if he had to.

  “Does my uncle know where you live?”

  “I don’t believe he does. I’ve been keeping it a secret.”

  “Why would you do that?” Conner asked.

  “Because I was hiding from something,” the man said sadly. “But now I don’t want to hide anymore.”

  “What are you hiding from?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Grandpa pulled up to a house and said, “We’re here.”

  The house was large and white, with a lot of windows, a red front door and two large columns on the front porch. Though it was dark, Conner could see peach trees on the side and in the backyard. Grandpa opened the front door and let him inside. The place wasn’t a mansion, but it was bigger than most houses Conner had ever seen. The living room was directly in front with a staircase to the right.

  They stepped farther in and Conner saw a kitchen on the right, past the stairs. He looked up and could see the second floor, split into two areas. An overpass connected them, though the pass itself wasn’t connected to any wall. It was like an actual bridge.

  “I like your house,” Conner commented.

  “Thank you,” said Grandpa from the kitchen. Conner joined him.

  Gran
dpa was pouring a pink beverage into a glass. He handed the glass to Conner.

  “What is this?”

  “Peach smoothie. Try it.”

  Conner did, and his eyes grew wide. “Wow, that is good.”

  “I thought you might like it. I make them myself from the peaches in my yard. They’re supposed to make you feel...good.”

  The moment the man said it, Conner started to feel euphoric. He was no longer sad or afraid of the future like he’d been after leaving Travis’s house. He suddenly wanted to stay here forever.

  Grandpa smiled at the expression on Conner’s face and said, “We need to talk about you, my boy. I know what you’re going through and I think I can help.”

  Conner took another sip before asking, “How could you know?”

  The old man sighed. “Because, believe it or not, I went through the same thing.”

  * * *

  Don held the phone in his hand, unsure of who to call. He’d tried Conner’s cell many times, but the calls went straight to voicemail. The phone must have been off.

  Jordan stood in the living room, looking through the fireplace into Don’s office. Don was drumming his fingers on his file cabinet behind his desk, making a hollow thumping sound.

  “Dad?”

  Don turned to his son. They were separated by the chain curtain of the fireplace. “Yes, son?”

  “Is Conner going to be okay?”

  “I’m sure he will be.”

  A moment went by before Jordan asked, “What’s wrong with us?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I keep passing out for no reason, and Conner’s acting crazy, and....”

  The boy was suddenly in tears, and Don was horrified to see his child in such anguish. He ran out of his office, up into the living room and hugged him.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he told his son. “I promise.”

  Just as the boy stopped crying, the house phone started ringing. Don answered.

  * * *

  It was a little after midnight when Don and Jordan approached what looked like a white plantation home thirty minutes away. There were peach trees scattered through the yard, reminding Don of his time in Florida; his family loved peaches.

  There was no paved driveway, so he parked behind a black SUV. He was nervous and confused; Conner hadn’t given any details about who he was with or why. He’d simply given the address and asked to be picked up. Don hadn’t even asked his son if he wanted to come along; Jordan was just as worried about his cousin.

  The two got out of the truck and made their way to the red front door, but before they got halfway there, it opened and out ran Conner. He hugged Don fiercely and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Don hugged him back and said, “I’m sorry, too.”

  A man appeared at the door. He was old, with white hair and a round belly. He was smiling. Don let go of Conner but did not approach this man. He knew who he was.

  “Stephen.” Don nodded at him.

  “Hello, son,” the man replied.

  * * *

  Don followed his biological father into the kitchen while the boys went upstairs to play. Don watched them cross a bridge into a small play area with a pool table and a TV. When he turned back to Stephen, he found the old man holding up a glass full of pink-colored drink. “What’s this?”

  “Drink it. You’ll feel much better.”

  Don already felt better now that he’d found his nephew, but he took a sip anyway. A few seconds went by and...nothing changed. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “That’s because you know better.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “But I do,” Stephen said with sad eyes. “I know what’s happening with your boys.”

  Don said nothing, only stood there with his peach drink. Then he said, “You know about the curse?”

  “That’s what you call it?” Stephen laughed. “I suppose it is a curse, isn’t it.”

  “But you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you?” Don wanted to cut to the chase. His pulse quickened. “How did you beat it?”

  Stephen took a deep breath and said, “I gave it away.”

  Don stared, motionless. “I’m sorry, but I think I misheard you. Did you say you gave it away?”

  “That I did, Donovan.”

  Don suddenly laughed at the use of his full name. “Nobody’s called me Donovan since I was a kid. Except my wife.”

  “They never called you Donnie?” Stephen grinned, going along with the subject change.

  Don was instantly reminded of the fact that the man standing before him—his biological father—wasn’t around for his childhood. “How did you give away the curse?” he finally asked.

  “Reluctantly,” Stephen joked. “I had to give it to someone who would willingly accept it.”

  Don thought about those words. “Who did you give it to?”

  “My own father.” Stephen suddenly transformed into a sadder, more bitter version of what he had been before. “He went insane and died shortly after. To this day, I still wonder if it was the cancer that killed him or the monsters.”

  “I’m sorry,” Don said quietly.

  “Thank you, son.”

  “How were you cursed in the first place?”

  “I was young and stupid back then. I’d gotten caught up in a paranormal craze, joined a group of other stupid kids looking for a ‘portal to hell,’ as they called it.”

  “A portal?” That struck a chord in Don.

  “Yep. It was rumored to be in Destin, Florida, where your...other father was from. We never found it, though. Instead, I found something else.”

  “The demon?” Don guessed.

  “Bingo. I never even saw it when it attacked. I’d gotten separated from the group in some woods. Something big and dark bit me; I’d assumed it was a wolf or something.”

  “Then you started noticing changes?”

  Stephen looked at him steadily. “I had nightmares, heard a voice telling me to do awful things to people. Not random people, either—certain kinds of people. Like a hit list.”

  “Did you ever do anything bad?”

  Stephen nodded sadly. “Yes. I hurt someone I truly loved. She was pregnant at the time, and I...

  “And then I met your mother in college. We were just friends; I was still heartbroken about my previous love Lucy. Then Hilda’s dad got sick around the same time as mine, and I spent some time with her, to comfort her. We, uh.... If I’d known the curse could be passed on to children...I never would have....”

  “I know,” said Don, trying to comfort the old man. “I did the same, and so did my brother.”

  “Ethan.” The man said the name quietly. “I’m sorry about what happened to him. It wasn’t fair.”

  “I know.” Don didn’t want to talk about Ethan, and he couldn’t help wondering if Stephen knew that it was Don himself who had killed him.

  “I don’t want the same thing to ever happen to one of your boys,” Stephen went on.

  “You seem to care more than I thought you would,” Don said bitterly. “Considering you’ve been absent for most of their lives.”

  “Just because you haven’t seen me doesn’t me I wasn’t there.”

  Don thought about that for a moment. “You’ve been watching them?”

  “All of you,” Stephen corrected. “Almost your whole life, Donovan.”

  Don found the air growing thick. “I don’t know what to say to that. I...think I’ve seen you a few times. Up in Connecticut, on the playground....”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “I’m...upset about this, though.”

  “I know,” the old man said. “I can feel your rage from here.”

  Don was startled by that. “You can?”

  Stephen nodded. “You were always an angry kid—you got that from me. The curse somehow turns that into an almost physical manifestation. Anger comes off of you in waves of energy
.”

  “Conner is the same way.”

  “I know.”

  “That means we’re both definitely cursed,” said Don. “You have to help us get rid of it.” He felt a thrill of anticipation; the cure was in his grasp.

  “I can’t,” Stephen said, completely deflating his son’s hopes.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Don asked.

  “I’m not going to pretend I’m a brave man, Donovan. I’m not like my father, who was the bravest man I’ve ever known, aside from you. He took the curse upon him, and it destroyed him.”

  Don wanted to be mad at his father, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know the man, so how could he expect him to take on such a burden? Even though he started all of this in the first place.

  “Tell me how to do it, then,” Don finally said, coming to a decision. “I’ll take the curse away from my boys and....”

  “Kill yourself?” Stephen finished for him. “Because that’s what will happen, having all that bad stuff in you like that.”

  “I have to do something. For my boys.”

  Stephen sighed. “I don’t even know how my dad did it. I felt a weight lift from me.”

  Don was shocked and angry. “What if he didn’t take anything? What if he just made you think the curse was gone?”

  “You’ve just touched upon an interesting point. Before you got here, I did a similar thing for Conner. I made him think I took his curse, and I can do the same for Jordan, if you want.”

  “I don’t just want them to think they’re cured; I want to actually cure them.”

  “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you. Though I wouldn’t completely discount the power of suggestion. It’s a powerful thing.”

  “So is a father’s love,” Don said, and he knew at once that his words had hit home.

  Stephen cringed. “I do love you, Donovan. I’ve been there for you, even though you didn’t know it. I was there when you tried to kill the creature in its cave.”

  Don instantly remembered that night. A freak thunderstorm manifested—

  “I have the gods on my side,” Stephen said, as if he’d read his son’s mind. “Whenever I begged enough, they brought their lightning down on the monster.”

  “Did you beg them to kill my mom?” Don found himself asking.

  “They didn’t kill her; your other father did.”