Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

  As for myself? I could move again.

  I got up from the chair and grabbed Tim’s wrist, the one connected to the hand holding the knife. Before he could even realize what was happening, I punched him in the jaw and he fell to the ground. I kicked the knife off to the side, went to the bag, and ruffled through it until I found a can of spray paint.

  On the ground, I quickly drew a general all-purpose sigil for binding fear demons, hoping it’d be strong enough to contain this one. Shelly was still unconscious, but could wake up at any minute—and I didn’t know who would be in the driver’s seat when that happened. Working fast was crucial.

  With the sigil finished, I dragged Shelly into the center of it, placing her on top. Just as I did, she woke and waved her hand, hurling me across the room. I hit the bar in the corner and rolled over the counter.

  For a moment, I was stunned. But I got up as soon as I could and walked back towards Shelly. She glared at me, her eyes burning yellow. She tried to charge forward, but the sigil trapped her in the circle—a realization she came to with a growl of frustration.

  “This isn’t over, Cross,” she hissed. “Once I get out of this trap, I’m going to make you slice off strips of your skin and eat them!”

  “Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos,” I began the spell. “Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia.”

  The demon thrashed, growling and hissing as I continued to chant. “You won’t stop me, Cross! I know what you really are!”

  “Exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis and congregatio secta diabolica.”

  I continued, the demon protesting the entire time. It cursed me, shouted. Power radiated from the demon. Even contained by the sigil, the demon had still grown strong. I felt fatigue starting to overcome me. My strength waned. Doubt filled my mind. The image of my mother running from me in fear dominated my thoughts.

  I wouldn’t give up—couldn’t give up.

  “You will suffer, Cross!” the demon hissed. “You will never know peace! And one day, you will fulfill your destiny!”

  “Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria!”

  The demon roared in agony, falling to its knees. Yellow tendrils of energy slithered from its eyes, vanishing into the ether. The sound of the demon’s voice mingled with Shelly’s, the two of them screaming in unison.

  And, as fast as the light show began, it was suddenly over. The yellow energy vanished and silence filled the air as Shelly collapsed on the ground in the center of the sigil. I sighed and backed up against the wall, sliding down until I was resting on the floor. Reaching into my jacket, I found my cigarettes and took one out, lighting it quickly as the Harwoods stared on in a mixture of shock and horror.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll cut you loose,” I said between puffs of the cigarette. “I just need a minute."

  * * *

  Once I cut the Harwoods loose, they immediately went to check on their children. Tim had a sore jaw and one mother of a headache, but other than that, he was fine. He didn’t remember any of it, but said he had a sinking pit in his stomach, like he knew he’d done something wrong. I reassured him and Maria helped him upstairs to his room.

  Shelly was a different story. Diane had gone straight for her and tried to wake her up, but it was no use. After sending Tim upstairs, I joined Diane and knelt by her side, placing a hand on her back to comfort her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “She’s alive, just…recovering,” I said. “This kind of experience would be pretty traumatic for anyone, let alone a kid. She might be like this for a while, but she’s alive and she’s in there somewhere. She’ll come back to you eventually, you just have to have faith.”

  Diane nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. She threw both arms around me and pulled herself close to me. In my ear, she repeatedly whispered, “Thank you.” I told her she was welcome and pushed her away from me.

  “Diane, could you take Shelly up to her room?” asked Stuart. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Cross.”

  “Right, of course.” Diane picked up Shelly’s small body, resting her small head against her shoulder and carried her towards the stairs. I walked with them, remaining at the foot and waited until the basement door closed behind them.

  “Drink?” asked Stuart, motioning to the bar.

  “Definitely.” I followed him and moved in front of the counter, while Stuart moved behind.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Scotch.”

  Stuart set two tumblers on the counter and poured a shot from a bottle in each. We raised our glasses and clinked them together. I took a sip of the scotch, savoring the flavor. It had a smoky aftertaste to it, which gave me pause to enjoy.

  “This is good,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Laphroaig, eighteen-year.”

  I stared into the surface of the golden liquid and said, “I’ll remember that.” After tossing back the rest of the scotch, I set the glass on the counter. Stuart refilled it again without even asking.

  “I didn’t know what to think when you came here,” he said. “I thought you were a total fraud. That my wife was just throwing money away at false hope. But you did it—you saved us. That…thing was going to force my children to kill us.”

  “Just doing my job,” I said.

  “How do you even get involved in a job like this?”

  I took a breath and sipped the scotch. When I lowered the glass back down, I said, “Guess you could say I was born into it.” I took another sip, almost afraid to say the next words that were on my mind. But finally, I pushed myself to do it. “There’s also another matter to discuss…”

  “You mean in case the demon comes back?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat. “Payment.”

  “Oh!” Stuart shook his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry. We agreed on five thousand, right?”

  I was a little surprised by that. When I first told Stuart the fee, he balked. Acted like I was insane. But now, he was very happy to pay. Amazing how easily things could change in such a short amount of time. Guess that’s what happens when your daughter is possessed by a demon who compels your son to kill you.

  “I’ll be right back.” Stuart excused himself and walked up the stairs.

  I took the bottle of Laphroaig and examined it. After reading the label, I poured myself another glass and lit a fresh cigarette. By the time I’d started on my second draw, Stuart returned and came up to me, holding a piece of paper in his hand. I took it and saw it was a check in the amount of five thousand dollars.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I also have a favor to ask.”

  “You name it, anything.”

  I reached inside my jacket and took out my business card case, then handed him one. “If you know anyone who might need my services, pass on my information.”

  Stuart took the card and nodded. “Absolutely. And you’re sure Shelly’s going to be okay?”

  I finished the scotch and left the empty glass on the counter. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. If anything else comes up, you know where to reach me.”

  “What about Tim? Will he be okay?”

  “Could probably use some therapy, but otherwise I’d say he’ll be all right.”

  I collected my belongings and headed up the stairs. Diane and Maria met me at the door to bid their goodbyes and Diane gave me one final hug for the road. I thought about what the demon said, how Diane had a thing for me and how Stuart was banging the maid. Had to admit, part of me was tempted. But better not to get involved in anything that complicated.

  My business here was done. I went out to the Camaro and started it up, then began the drive back to Chicago.

  Epilogue

  I was surprised when I got to my apartment and found the door was unlocked. I took the key from the lock and dropped it in my pocket, then drew the revolver from the holster beneath my jacket. Carefully, I turned the doorknob, and
then charged inside, holding the gun at the ready.

  “Someone’s a bit dramatic.”

  The voice was tinged with an English accent and the scent of smoke filled the room. I lowered the gun and holstered it, closing the door behind me and walking into the studio. A man sat on my futon, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and red tie loosely hanging from the unbuttoned collar. A beige trench coat lay alongside him and he puffed on a cigarette. His hair was graying and he had intense blue eyes.

  “Alistair,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in town, thought I’d pop over for a quick chat.” Alistair tapped his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray and took a sip from a glass of scotch. He cringed after tasting it and looked at me in disgust. “What the hell is this shit?”

  “Sorry, just starting out. Can’t exactly afford the good stuff.”

  “I remember those days.” He set the glass back down and picked up his cigarette. “Heard you had a case. Possession if I’m not mistaken, right?”

  “How’d you—?” I began to ask, but then scoffed. “Never mind.”

  “Attempted a dreamwalk, I understand.” Alistair fixed his gaze on me. “Dangerous magic, son.”

  “It worked.”

  “Did it? Who knows how long that girl will be in a coma, or what sort of long-term psychological damage she may have suffered?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t.”

  I shook my head and took off my trench coat and suit jacket, tossing them on the futon beside Alistair. I went to the kitchen area and fixed myself a drink as well. “I really don’t need this from you, old man. I’ve had a long day. And I’ve got some questions for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I want to know about the night I was born,” I said.

  Alistair shrugged. “I’ve told you.”

  “About the sacrifices? The ritual? What those cultists told you about me?”

  I watched Alistair carefully. He maintained his gaze, but for one brief second, he looked away. That’s all I needed to know he wasn’t being completely honest with me.

  “The demon tell you this?” He scoffed. “They lie, Luther. You know this.”

  “Unless they think the truth will screw with you more.” I sipped my drink. “What am I, Alistair? Why am I here?”

  Alistair sighed and picked up his trench coat, pulling it on.

  “What are you doing?” I set my glass down and moved to block his exit. “I asked you a question.”

  He took a breath and looked down at the ground for a moment. Finally, he made eye contact with me once more and placed his hand on my shoulder. “You were an innocent child, that’s all. And you’ve grown into a fine young man, one who is on the verge of doing great things, of helping a lot of people. Nothing else matters.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I said.

  “You know, when I was a lad, my father used to say, ‘Ally, my boy, one day you’re going to follow in your old man’s footsteps. You’re going to be a doctor just like me.’ Look at me now, Luther.” He took a step back and held his arms out to the sides. “Do I look like a doctor to you?”

  “No,” I said. “Pretty much the furthest thing from one.”

  He lowered his arms and smiled. “Exactly. Doesn’t matter what people have planned for you, boy. You make your own destiny.” He patted my cheek. “Have a good night. I’m going to go find a bar where they serve decent scotch.”

  Alistair turned and left the apartment. Part of me was tempted to go with him, to try and get more information out of him. But I knew I’d just be wasting my time. Alistair Carraway wasn’t telling me everything he knew about my past and my parentage. I didn’t even know if the demon was telling me everything. All I knew was that there was a lot more to the story.

  I’d figure it out. One way or another.

  The Reckoning

  A Luther Cross Short Story

  The doorbell echoed through the large-ceilinged mansion, and a middle-aged maid came through the foyer. She turned the locks and pulled open the heavy door.

  Standing on the porch in the rain was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black trench coat and matching fedora. His skin was the color of strong coffee with a dark goatee, and even though night had fallen and the rain was coming down, he still wore a pair of sunglasses. In one hand he held a leather briefcase.

  “Luther Cross to see Sylvia Bennett,” he said in a deep baritone.

  “Yes, please come in,” said the maid, her voice tinged with the remnants of an eastern European accent.

  Luther nodded a thank you and stepped inside, removing his hat to reveal his bald head. He held the hat out and the maid took it as Luther set down his briefcase. He unbuttoned his coat and slid it off his frame. Beneath it he wore a black suit with a red shirt and silver tie.

  The maid took his coat, draping it over her arm and laying his hat on top. She turned from him and motioned to follow. “This way, Mr. Cross.”

  Luther retrieved his briefcase and stepped after her. A pair of white French doors led from the foyer to a sitting room. Two couches sat on either side of a marble coffee table with a roaring fireplace across from the doors.

  The maid gestured to one of the couches. “Please sit.”

  Opening his suit jacket, he sat and placed the briefcase on his lap.

  “Would you care for a drink, sir?”

  “Scotch, provided it’s at least as old as a middle school student. Otherwise, nothing.”

  The maid nodded and gave a slight bow, then left the room with his coat and hat. Luther’s eyes glanced around the room with interest. The sitting room was kept in immaculate condition, perhaps too immaculate. He imagined Bennett never used it, except when company came calling.

  “Mr. Cross?”

  He stood on hearing his name, buttoning his jacket as he did. The maid was back and standing by her side was a woman in her sixties, wearing a dark dress and with make-up heavily applied to her wrinkled face.

  “Sylvia Bennett.” She held out her hand, palm down. Luther took the cue by lightly gripping her ring-adorned fingers and then laid a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

  “A pleasure, Mrs. Bennett.”

  She smiled and cast a glance at the maid, who handed Luther a tumbler with a small amount of scotch in it. He sipped it and the smooth taste resulted in an approving nod.

  Bennett next said to the maid, “That will be all, Irena. Thank you.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Once Bennett sat on the couch across, Luther returned to his seat as well. “Thank you for coming here on such short notice, Mr. Cross. Things have been quite difficult since Jacob’s passing.”

  Bennett’s eyes drifted to the mantle above the fireplace where there sat several framed photographs. “He just retired last year and then to lose him so soon…”

  “I understand you’d like to communicate with him?” asked Luther.

  Bennett nodded. “I just want to know that he’s okay, and I want him to know how much he’s missed.”

  “I understand.”

  “You can really do this? Communicate with the dead?”

  “Mrs. Bennett, I have some specific talents.” Luther removed the sunglasses and Sylvia Bennett gasped. His eyes were a deep crimson, the color of freshly spilt blood.

  Luther folded the glasses and slid them inside his jacket’s front pocket. “Don’t be alarmed, madam. Just a by-product of my skills, nothing more.”

  Bennett put on a false smile, but Luther could tell she was still unsettled. Good, he thought. That would make things a lot simpler. He brought the briefcase to his lap and opened the latches. From the case, Luther drew out a small board and laid it on the table. Bennett examined the board and her first reaction was to scoff.

  “Is that…a Ouija board?”

  “Please, Mrs. Bennett. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.” Luther took a planchette from the briefcase and set
it on the board. “This is far from the game you can find in stores. I made this board myself from beech wood, which is very useful for divination spells. And the ink used for the lettering was mixed with my own blood to increase the potency.”

  “I’m sorry. So we place our hands on the planchette?”

  Luther smiled. “Not quite. Just hold your hands over the board, but do not touch anything.”

  Bennett did as she was told and Luther followed suit. He took a deep breath and said, “Now concentrate on your husband. Picture him in your head. Feel free to stare at his photograph if it helps.”

  She nodded and looked at the photo on the mantle. Luther closed his eyes and began to speak.

  “I’m now reaching out beyond our realm. I beseech the voices of those who have passed through the veil. I seek to commune with the one whom in life was known as Jacob Bennett. Jacob Bennett, respond to my call.”

  Luther opened his eyes and Sylvia Bennett nearly screamed when she saw that his eyes were now completely white.

  “Stay with me, Mrs. Bennett.” His hands began to shake a little and the planchette budged.

  “What was that?”

  Luther ignored her question. “Jacob, can you hear me?”

  The planchette moved across the board, seemingly of its own accord. Neither Luther nor Bennett had their fingers anywhere near it to move it with their hands. It slid upward, until the point of the planchette was aimed at the YES written on the board.

  “J-Jake?”

  “Jacob, my name is Luther. I’m here with your wife, Sylvia. Is there anything you would like to say to her?”

  The planchette moved to the center and then back to YES.

  “We’re listening, Jacob. Please let us know your message.”

  Luther closed his eyes and the planchette moved some more. It passed over several letters.

  R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R.

  “Remember? Yes, Jake, of course I’ll remember you!” said Bennett.