Kayla And The Devil

by Bryan Smith

  “Don’t know.”

  “Oh. Was there someone else here?”

  Kayla stifled a desperate giggle.

  Oh, nobody important really. Just my new pal, Lucifer.

  But of course she couldn’t say that. Not without throwing her sanity into serious doubt. “No. Just me.”

  “Oh. It’s just I thought I heard…whispering. Guess I was dreaming.”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  Sheila sat all the way up and swung her long, toned legs over the side of the bed. She frowned at the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, then looked at Kayla. “Did we…uh…do it?”

  It was Kayla’s turn to frown. “Do it?”

  “Have sex.”

  “Oh. No. That didn’t happen.”

  Sheila glanced at the pile of clothes again, still frowning, but when she looked at Kayla next her pouty lips had curved upward and there was a wicked glint in her eyes. “Want to?”

  “Huh?”

  Sheila stretched out on her bed again and turned onto her side, propping her head in an upraised palm. A sheaf of coal-black hair fell across one side of her face. “Do you wanna do it?”

  “Um…”

  Sheila laughed and tossed the sheaf of hair from her striking, angular face. “Come on. You know what they say about college. It’s the time to experiment.”

  “I didn’t know you were bi, Sheila.”

  “I’m not. I’m full-on lesbian. I just haven’t come out yet.” She smirked. “Well, not until now.”

  “Huh.”

  “So…what do you say?”

  Kayla frowned some more. “Just yesterday you told me you’d rather set yourself on fire than have to talk to me.”

  Sheila looked confused. “What? That doesn’t sound like me. Was I drunk? I’m drunk a lot, you know.”

  “No. You were not drunk. And you were serious.”

  “You’re messing with me.”

  Kayla studied the other girl’s expression carefully, but detected no indications of deceit. She looked genuinely baffled. The devil’s modification of the shunning spell obviously had memory consequences for those no longer under its influence. Which meant Sheila honestly could not--and likely would not--recall any of the many mean things she’d said to Kayla since the beginning of the semester.

  It also meant she had no choice but to drop the subject.

  She forced a smile. “You’re right. I’m messing with you.”

  An excess of girlish laughter bubbled forth from Sheila then. “I knew it! You bitch. You almost had me believing that shit. You sounded so serious.”

  Kayla tried to look sheepish. “Yeah.”

  “You were so convincing. You should try acting.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Sheila patted the mattress. “Come on. Be adventurous.”

  Kayla thought of how long it’d been since anyone had willingly touched her, since anyone had embraced her, kissed her, or stroked her bare skin. And though she still considered herself solidly on the hetero side of the sexuality fence, Sheila’s proposition was more tempting than she was willing to admit out loud.

  She wavered.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea at all.

  But then a deeply disturbing image invaded her consciousness. A big knife embedded to the hilt in Sheila’s chest, creating a gaping wound that pumped forth an insane amount of bright red blood. Just a really absurd amount of the red stuff. Like something from one of those ridiculous J-horror movies one of her exes had loved. It bothered Kayla that her mind would conjure a scene like that at all, but she understood why. It was that infernal seed the devil had planted in her head. Someone had to die if she wished to permanently escape the effects of the shunning spell. And, as the devil had explained so clearly, the victim had to be one of the people willing to accept her again now that the spell had been modified. Sheila could be the one. The devil had even said he “sort of” preferred a female offering.

  This could all be over in a matter of minutes.

  Well…more than minutes, obviously.

  She’d first have to locate a weapon and then find the nerve to actually use it. Somehow find it within herself to kill another human being. She couldn’t kid herself on that count. That was gonna be the biggest hurdle in this whole fucked-up-to-the-nth-degree bitch of a situation. She still very much doubted she could do it. And even if she could, there’d be the little issue of cleaning up all the blood and figuring out what to do with Sheila’s body until it was time to bring the devil his gory trophy a week from today.

  So, no, she couldn’t do it. Not yet anyway.

  Sheila saw that something was troubling her and sat up again, folding her legs beneath her and hugging a pillow to her chest. “Hey…what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just…tired. And sort of not feeling well.”

  Sheila leaned forward, giving her a closer appraisal than before. “You’re all sweaty.”

  Kayla nodded. “I’ve had a hard day. I think I’m gonna take a shower.”

  “Want me to join you?”

  “Maybe another time.”

  She went into the bathroom then without allowing Sheila time for another leading response. She locked the door and peeled out of her sopping clothes. The water took a while to turn hot. That’s just how it was in older dorms like this one. When the water finally reached a suitable temperature, she stepped under the flow, dragged the shower curtain shut, and tried to wash away all the day’s horrors.

  But only her body got clean.

  10.

  Sheila was gone by the time Kayla emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white towel, still dripping water from the shower. She was relieved to find the room empty. Sheila seemed nice enough now that she was no longer compelled to shun her, which hadn’t been her fault anyway. Still, the solitude was nice. She needed some time alone while her head was still buzzing with so much bizarre new information.

  The first order of business was getting into some clean clothes. She deliberately selected a more conservative outfit than the one she’d picked at the beginning of the day. Jeans and a clingy, long-sleeved jersey-style t-shirt. The shirt was white but had black sleeves and the front of it was emblazoned with an image of a sunglasses-wearing tiger bursting forth from the logo of an old rock band called Van Halen, a name that was meaningless to her. The band was from way before her time. But she’d purchased the shirt from Goodwill for two bucks, thinking it had a cool vintage thing going on.

  She combed her wet hair and fluffed it a bit when she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked hot. Just like always. She was lucky that way. And, hey, tough shit for anyone jealous of that. Some people were born with what she had, that natural sex appeal and magnetism that shone through whether she was all dolled up or dressed frumpily and sans makeup, but most did not. Until these last few months she’d wasted little--if any--time thinking about what it must be like for people not born with the gift of natural, effortless beauty.

  She’d never really stopped being what she’d always been--one of the beautiful people. It was just that other people’s perceptions of her had been manipulated via malicious, unnatural means. Now that the effects of the shunning spell had been relaxed at least somewhat, she could resume her natural place in society. Which meant being treated with deference by practically everyone based almost entirely on how she looked.

  Then again…

  She frowned at her reflection.

  The devil had said that only some people would stop shunning her. In fact, hadn’t he said that only a small percentage of people would go back to treating her as they normally would? She reviewed what she could remember of the particulars of their conversation, focusing on everything he’d said about the spell itself.

  Crap.

  Kayla was certain her memory on that count was accurate. If her understanding of what the devil said was right--and she was sure it was--most people would still try to avoid her but maybe wouldn’t treat her quite so shabbily. A modest improvement
, basically, but far from a restoration of the proper order of things. To come all the way back, she had to become a murderer. It came down to that.

  And it always would, until either the dirty deed was done or she’d nobly faced the dark fate of existence as a perpetually shunned person.

  “Fuck you, Mr. Devil. Fuck you all the way to hell and back.”

  But these were empty words. They did nothing at all to make Kayla feel any better. She moved away from the mirror and sat on the edge of her bed. She glanced at the backpack, remembering how she’d carelessly abandoned it in the park in her haste to get as far away from the devil as she could. And yet here it was, transported through the ether by a being she’d believed was only a figure from myth. If only. She touched the backpack, running her fingers over the rough nylon fabric to confirm its existence. The backpack was real enough. It wasn’t an illusion. It wasn’t some conjuration of an overtaxed mind or stressed-out imagination. It was as real as the devil himself.

  Whenever matters of a spiritual nature would arise in conversation, Kayla would typically describe herself as agnostic, though privately she had long considered herself well tilted toward the side of atheism. The idea of magical beings in the sky creating things and controlling her destiny just seemed silly. These notions were the flights of fancy of long ago primitive people, which had somehow endured through the ages and become codified into various religious beliefs. She had never seen any good reason to believe in any kind of all-knowing God, never mind anything so ludicrous as a demonic being ruling over a realm of eternal torment. It made no more sense than believing in ghosts. Or vampires. Or werewolves. Or any other strange, mythical creature.

  But now…

  She smiled with a certain tired ruefulness.

  Joke’s on me.

  Everything she’d ever believed had been turned upside down. Or inside out. She frowned, wondering whether there was a difference. After a few moments, she concluded there was not. They were two similar sayings that meant essentially the same thing. Which seemed kind of weird and pointless.

  Kind of like her life.

  Hilarious, Kayla, she told herself. Absolutely hysterical.

  She opened the backpack and dug out her cell phone. The screen showed that she had several text messages, a couple of missed calls, and one voice mail message. Her heart did a little stutter at the sight of all this. How long had it been since anyone had called her or sent her any kind of message? Probably not since the first days of the semester.

  There were a few messages from female friends expressing dismay that they’d let almost the entire semester slip by without getting together to party or hang out. “How did that happen?” one asked. She imagined explaining the actual reason to this chick, knowing the bitch would start laughing a short ways into the story and never catch on that she was telling the absolute truth. Just as with Sheila, there was no point in even trying to make her believe it.

  One of the missed calls was from a number she didn’t recognize. In the absence of a compelling reason to do otherwise, she would not be returning that call.

  The other call was from her mother’s cell number.

  Hmm…

  Mom was another person she’d communicated with only sporadically since last summer. And in all those instances, Julie Monroe had been very short with Kayla, cutting her off more often than not and keeping their conversations as brief as possible. She always sounded cold and distant, nothing at all like the woman she’d known and loved all her life. It’d really been sort of heartbreaking to be treated that way by her mom. There’d been no communication between them at all in the last month.

  But now, here she was, taking the initiative to call her own daughter for the first time all semester.

  Kayla felt like crying.

  Instead she tapped a button to listen to the voicemail and put the phone to her ear, a trembly smile dimpling the sides of her mouth in anticipation of hearing her mom’s beloved voice.

  Her smile faltered.

  The voice she heard was feminine, but it did not belong to her mother.

  “Hello. My name is Countess Elizabeth Bathory.”

  Uh…

  Kayla knew that name. Bathory was an infamous historical figure from 16th century Hungary. She was alleged to have tortured and killed hundreds of young serving girls, mostly peasants from the surrounding countryside. She was also said to have bathed in the blood of her victims in an effort to maintain her youth. Hence why she was known as the “Blood Countess.”

  Kayla knew this because she’d long enjoyed reading about messed-up things from the annals of history.

  But this was obviously a joke.

  Right?

  “I’m calling to speak to one Kayla Louise Monroe. It’s my understanding that you have entered into an agreement with my superior, Lucifer, the prince of Hell.”

  Kayla gulped.

  Holy shit. Holy, holy fucking shit…

  This really was the Blood Countess. Never mind that she’d been dead for hundreds of years. There could be no other explanation. Of course Bathory would have been consigned to the devil’s domain after her demise. Knowing that she was hearing the actual voice of one of history’s most infamous serial killers sent a deep chill snaking down Kayla’s spine.

  The recording continued: “I have been appointed to act as Lucifer’s liaison in this matter. Should you have any questions or concerns regarding any aspect of the task you’ve been assigned ahead of your appointment scheduled a week from today, you may contact me at--”

  She recited the number Kayla hadn’t recognized from her missed calls list.

  “Good luck with your assignment, Miss Monroe.” A pause, then a pointedly evil chuckle. “And happy hunting.”

  CLICK.

  A robotic voice said, “No more new messages. To return to the main menu--”

  Kayla tapped a button, silencing the robot voice.

  She stared in open-mouthed wonder at the phone for a long moment. “Countess. Elizabeth. Fucking. Bathory.” She shook her head in a mixture of dismay and amazement. “Fuck my life.”

  Hearing the surreal voicemail further solidified the dreadful reality of her plight.

  I have to do this.

  If I want to have any kind of halfway tolerable life, I have to kill someone.

  One aspect of her afterlife was set in stone no matter what she did--she was going to Hell. What wasn’t determined, it seemed, was what her existence in Hell would be like. If she failed at the task assigned her, she’d surf forever on the waves of that boiling ocean. Or worse.

  If she performed as required…

  Maybe there’ll be a place for me there. A good place.

  And maybe that was wishful thinking, but it was all she had to cling to now.

  She snagged her little black handbag from the bedside table, shoved her phone inside it, and shrugged the thin strap up on her shoulder. A need to get the hell out of the cramped dorm room had abruptly seized her. She wasn’t accomplishing anything here anyway. She got up and checked herself in the mirror one more time, turning her head this way and that and giving her hair one last fluff.

  She smiled.

  Look out, world.

  Kayla’s going hunting.

  11.

  “Might as well jump.”

  The flush-faced old fat guy leaning over the bar grinned at her in that oily, unctuous way endemic to men of a certain creaky demographic. His badly thinning hair was slicked back and shiny, an egregious abuse of product, and his big, swollen knob of a nose looked like it was on loan from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

  Kayla shot him a blank glance. “Excuse me?””

  “Might as well jump,” he repeated in a slurred voice before spewing boozy laughter. “You know, from the Van Halen tune.”

  Kayla looked at the nearly empty glass in front of her. “Huh.”

  “Don’t you know that one?”

  “Why would I?”

  Red Nose, as she’d decided to think of
him, said, somewhat grumpily, “Well, you got on one of their shirts. A guy has to figure you’d know one of their biggest hits.”

  Kayla made a decision. The Van Halen shirt was going out with tomorrow’s trash. “Aren’t you too old to be hitting on me? I’m not even twenty yet.”

  The man squinted at her, his eyes flicking from her face to the nearly empty glass of tequila clasped loosely in her hands and back again. “But I saw you flash an ID at the fella behind the bar.”

  Kayla knocked back the rest of the tequila and slammed the glass on the bar. “Fake.”’

  “Lemme see.”

  Kayla reached into her handbag and took out her wallet. She flipped it open and shoved it across the bar for Red Nose’s inspection. Deep furrows rippled across his florid brow as he put his face close to it and squinted some more.

  He looked up at her, confusion writ large in his features. “It’s not even a good fake.”

  “I know.”

  “The guy barely even looked at it.”

  “I know.”

  Red Nose scratched the side of his head. His fingers came away shiny with some kind of grease. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “You mean, like, he gave you a pass because you’re hot?”

  “Ding-ding.” Kayla retrieved her wallet, flipped it shut, and returned it to the bag. She caught the eye of the bartender and pushed her glass across the bar, nodding when he asked if she wanted another.

  Red Nose rapped his knuckles on the bar and barked out, “That one’s on me!”

  Though it was against her better judgment, Kayla rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you.”

  It was really sort of creepy that this gross old fuck was paying so much attention to her, but it’d been a while since Kayla had been able to use her looks to manipulate free drinks out of a guy. Knowing she could still make it happen felt good.

  He grinned. “My pleasure.”

  Kayla glanced at him again, taking in his plus-sized wardrobe, thick neck, and blubbery cheeks. He had wrinkles in abundance to go along with his thinning hair and excess weight The guy looked like a million other middle-aged sad, lonely bastards. He should be passed out in a recliner somewhere in suburbia instead of loitering in a campus bar with people not even half his age. And yet he was the only guy in the whole place paying any serious attention to her. A few months ago, before the effects of the shunning spell had begun, she would likely have ignored anyone so pathetic. Either that, or she would have shamed him out of the bar with a barrage of withering insults.