by Jeff DePew
“What will happen then? When I die?”
“That’s up to you.”
Barnett put his hands to his face. The room was silent. Just his breathing. And the muffled shouts from the hallway. They were pounding on the door now.
“What do I have to do?”
“Just set me free. Let me do what I am meant to do.”
Logan reached out and wiped his hand across the chalk circle, smearing and erasing part of it.
Death stood up and stepped out of the circle. He looked taller now. He stood over Barnett and held out his hand. Barnett gazed weakly up and let the darkness take him.
It was awful.
The Sleepover
When Emma saw the invitation, she figured it was joke. A mean joke. But then Maddy texted her.
“Did u get a invite to Hollys party?”
Emma's thumbs fired back: “Yes!!! WTF?”
Maddy: “ Are u going?”
Emma thought. She wanted to go. Who wouldn't? Holly Pierce, the coolest and most popular girl in seventh grade was having a birthday party/sleepover. Of course, that meant Annabelle would be there, and Mikey (short for Michelle), Katie, and Peyton.
“Hey??? U there?” Maddy texted.
Emma responded. “Are u going??”
The response was immediate. “No way! I hate them!! Mikey called me FATASS in PE last week!! F them!”
Another text. This one from her friend Tori. She had also gotten an invitation.
What does this mean? Emma wondered. Do they... like me? Us? But Holly was mean to her last year. They all were.
But maybe...
“SO are u GOING????” Maddy asked again.
Emma wasn't sure.
***
“Well I think you should go,” Mom said, passing the bowl of pasta. “I've met Holly's mom at the club and she seems really nice. It will be good for you to meet new people.”
“I'm not going to 'meet new people', Mom. I know everyone who's going to be there,” Emma responded, fighting hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Parents could be so clueless.
“You know what I mean,” Mom said. “ I think you should go.” There was something in her voice that implied she really thought Emma should go.
What does she care? Emma asked herself, chewing a piece of garlic bread.
“Weren't those the girls who gave you such a hard time at the bus stop last year?” asked Dad.
Emma shrugged. “That was last year... “
Her brother Myles chimed in, of course. (What would a dinner conversation be without the sage insight of a high school sophomore?) “I heard those girls are real bitches.”
“Hey,” Mom said. She was going to say more, but Emma’s dad cut her off.
“Knock it off,” Dad said, but then spoiled it by adding,” Although it is a well-known fact that seventh grade girls, especially in groups, are the worst people in the world.”
“What about ISIS?” asked Myles. “They're pretty bad.”
“Well,” said Dad, looking at Myles over the top of his glasses, “According to the UN, seventh-grade girl ISIS members are the absolute worst,” Dad said.
“What about-”
“Enough!” Mom said, before things escalated. She looked at Emma. “ I still think you should go, though.”
***
The next day at lunch, Maddie told Emma that Holly and her friends were going around telling people not to come to her party—that her mom had made her invite them.
“She's such a jerk,” Maddie said, and Emma nodded. “I told her 'no' before she even had a chance to say anything. Then I just walked away.”
Emma wondered when they would come for her. She wondered what she would say.
***
Emma was at her locker after lunch when she felt someone—no, more than one someone— behind her. She whirled around. Holly stood there, poised, perfect, one hip jutted defiantly out, her pale blue eyes sliding up and down Emma, judging, most likely storing information, verbal ammunition for another day.
Behind her stood Annabelle, Katie, Peyton, and Mikey. They wore identical smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. No braces for this bunch. Emma smiled without opening her mouth. Her tongue over her bottom braces.
“Emma,” Holly said. Not a question, not a greeting, but clarifying that was, indeed, her name.
She's known me since third grade, Emma thought. She knows who I am. I'm gonna say that. But instead, what came out was, “Hey, Holly. What's up?”
Annabelle let out a snort and the other three girls behind Holly smirked.
Why do they all have to be here?
“Not much,” Holly replied. “So, what's up with you?”
“Just getting reading for Espanol,” Emma replied, searching desperately for something clever or cool to say.
“Uh huh,” Holly said, “So... did you get my invite?”
“Oh, yeah,” Emma said. “Yup. Got it yesterday.”
The girls behind Holly giggled.
Holly smiled. “Yeah, well, anyway, it's just going to be a small party.”
Annabelle said, “We hope you—”
“—can make it,” finished Katie.
They did that, sometimes. Finished each other's sentences.
“Oh,” Emma said. “Uh... “
Why is this so hard? Emma thought. If it was just one of them, that would okay. She'd still be nervous, but not like this.
But when are they ever by themselves? They're always together. At least two or three of them. She couldn't recall ever seeing any of the girls alone. If one of them was in a class, so was at least one of the others. They came to school together, ate lunch together (at their own table) and probably went to the bathroom together.
If they even go to the bathroom.
And they can be mean.
Something niggled at her memory. Katie hasn't always been friends with them.
That was true. Emma and Katie had actually been close in fifth and most of sixth grade, but sometime during sixth grade, Katie had been invited to a party at one of their homes (Annabelle's?) and after that she had been part of Holly's group. She had cut Emma off.
Mr. Prescott, one of the seventh grade English teachers, called them the “Queen Bees.”
She had detention once (just once!) in October when her phone was taken away for the third time in a week, and in the detention room, after school, along with a group of kids who looked like they were probably born in detention, three of them(Annabelle, Peyton, and Katie) sat in the back of the room, heads together, the whole time.
The campus aide in charge of detention didn't seem to mind that they were talking, although he sure enough told Emma to “find something to do” when she glanced up at the clock.
“Well, anyway, “ Holly said, “Do you think you're going to come?”
Annabelle, Mikey, Katie, and Peyton looked at Emma from behind Holly and nodded their heads in unison, like they had rehearsed it.
Mikey mouthed,” It'll—”
“—be—,” continued Annabelle.
“—fun,” finished Peyton silently.
Emma stared back at them. How do they do that?
“Wait? You want me to come?”
Holly nodded and smiled. “Of course. Katie says you're cool.”
Katie smiled and nodded. The other girls smiled identical smiles.
This is a trick. They’re going to mess with me. Emma thought of Maddy. She said to Holly. “Sorry. I have plans.” Then she closed her locker and walked triumphantly away.
She couldn't wait to tell Maddy she had turned down the great Holly Pierce and her group.
It wasn't until she got to class that she realized she had forgotten her Spanish book in her locker.
***
“What do you mean you told her 'no'?” Mom demanded. She stood in Emma's doorway, hands on hips, angry.
“What's the big deal?” Emma asked, sitting up on her bed, where she was studying for an algebra test. “She doesn't even want me t
here.”
“How do you know? She sent you an invitation, didn't she?”
“Yeah, but...” Emma was truly conflicted. She had felt so empowered after turning Holly down, and she didn’t really want to go, and she knew Maddy would never understand if she did go, but, deep down, in her heart of hearts, she really wanted to go. Maybe I can be in their group. And then I can get Maddy in, too, next year. And then, high school.. It would be awesome to start high school in the popular group.
But if she went to the party, Maddy would think she was a traitor. She'd be furious. If only there was a way...
“So are you making me go?” she asked Mom.
“I really think you should.”
“Are you making me?”
Mom stepped closer and crossed her arms. “ How about this, then? If you don't go, you're grounded for the entire weekend, since you obviously don't have anything better to do. And that includes your phone and all electronics.”
Emma jumped to her feet. “What? That's totally not fair!” Easy does it, don't make her too angry.
“No one ever said life was fair.” One of her mom's favorite aphorisms.
Emma sat back down, outwardly fuming, inwardly calculating.
“Fine,” she said. “I'll go.”
***
Maddy had understood, kind of. At the very least, she said she believed that Emma didn't really want to go. And that was enough. Emma promised to text her throughout the party, keeping her updated.
So now here she was.
She had waved goodbye to her dad, turned, shouldered her backpack containing a change of clothes and her toothbrush, but before she could push the doorbell, the door swung open, and there they were, all of them.
Behind the five girls, standing off to one side, was Sarah Abrusci. Sara smiled and waved a tentative hello. Emma didn't really know her. She seemed nice enough, but she had a reputation as being kind of weird and a bit of a loner.
Despite herself, Emma had fun, although she would have never told Maddy. The girls talked about boys,and played on their phones They watched a couple of low-budget horror movies, screaming in all the right places, laughing too loudly, and drank soda and ate pizza and chips and popcorn. Holly's mom appeared once in awhile, mainly just to refill the chips and sodas.
Even Sarah seemed to be having fun. She sat in a recliner, off to one side, while Holly and her girls sat squished together on an oversized coach. Katie invited Emma to sit on the couch with them, but it was a little too crowded. Emma sat on the floor, her back to the couch. Katie slid down to sit beside her. Then, one by one, the other girls joined them on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Emma completely forgot to text Maddy.
But then it got weird.
At about midnight, Holly's mom told them they had to go to sleep. “Or at least to bed,” she said with a smile.
Holly guided the girls down the hall and stopped at a room with two twin beds. She looked from Emma to Sarah. “You guys sleep in here.”
Sarah nodded and stepped inside. “Which bed do you want?” She asked.
Emma stood in the doorway, puzzled.
“It's okay,” Peyton said.
Mikey held out her backpack. Emma took it.
Annabelle nodded. “Don’t worry—”
“—you're still our friend,” Holly finished for her.
Soft hands on her shoulder turned her and propelled gently her into the room, and the door clicked gently behind. Emma just stood there. She looked over at Sarah, who sat smiling on her bed, kicking her legs up and down. What just happened?
“I've never stayed up this late before,” Sarah said. “Do you want to braid each other’s hair?”
***
Emma lay in bed, her mind in turmoil. Across the darkened room, Sarah snored softly. Emma thought about texting her mom to come pick her up. Or was she over-reacting? No, she told herself, this is definitely weird.
She texted Maddy as soon as she got in bed, but there was no response. I She’s probably mad at me.
So here she was, at a slumber party with the most popular girls at school, in a room with one of the most unpopular.
This sucks. She stared at the ceiling and picked up her phone. 1:40 AM. This totally sucks.
“Emma.”
She sat up. Someone had said her name. Using her phone as a light, she held the screen out toward Sarah. Nope. She was out.
I'm hearing things.
“Emma...”
“...join...”
“...us”
She pushed the covers aside and stood up. She went to the door and listened, standing completely still.
She heard something, but it wasn't a voice. A thump from down the hall.
She opened the door, looked left and right. The hallway was dark, lit only by the dim light coming from the kitchen to the left.
But wait. There was another light source, coming from beneath a door farther down the hallway on the right. The light had an odd look. It wavered, flickered, like a TV screen. But it was pink, not the familiar blue of a TV screen.
Are they watching movies? And they just left us—me— back there?
Her curiosity evolved into anger. She strode down the hallway, grabbed the knob, and opened the door.
The first thing she saw was the pile of clothes on the floor, and she quickly thought, Oh, I don't want to be here right now.
The sounds were what made her raise her eyes. Slimy, slow, wet sounds. And then she heard the voices. All the voices.
“Emma... “
“Join us...”
“Become—”
“—one—”
“—with us...”
Her eyes, wide with terror and confusion, looked at the thing on the bed. It was... a thing, right? Singular?
It, whatever it was, was made up of the girls, as though they had been shoved together by two giant fists into a huge glistening pink mass that roiled and throbbed atop the bed. parts of its mass spilled over onto the nightstand. A broken lamp lay on the floor.
Arms and legs jutted out in all directions, waving obscenely. Mouths opened and closed each one perfectly lipsticked, full of perfect white teeth. A hand reached out, grasping for Emma. Then it was pulled back into the mass.
A mouth called to her. “Emma... join us...”
A tongue licked red lips.
A pale blue eye regarded her.
Beneath it, a brown eye emerged, wet and blinking, and searched until it fixed on her.
A tentacle, made of flawless, bronzed skin, protruded from the thing and snaked across the floor toward her. Another emerged from the mass, sliding over the bed.
A lump protruded from the top of the mass, began forming into a head. Dark hair sprouted, a slit opened, became a mouth.
Emma back away. Her phone fell from her hand, thudded on the carpet.
The tentacle at her feet flattened, grew thin pseudopods, became a hand, wrapped itself around her ankle, and gently tugged her toward the bed.
“Join us...”
“Become us... “
Another tentacle pushed the door closed behind her.
Secret Satan
Pitch wiped the honey off his hands with a dirty rag and gazed around Hell. He sighed. Was his shift over yet? He stood beside an immense, circular abyss, miles across. When he looked up through the swirling, smoky air, he could sometimes catch a glimmer of light. Up Top. The surface world. Home of the humans. And above that? Heaven.
If he walked down and around the winding paths along the edge of the Abyss, he would eventually find himself at another level, complete with its own type of sinner and specific torment. And if he followed the paths even further, walking down and down and down, he would get to the bottom. The Pit. Lakes of fire. Immense palaces made of human bones. Cauldrons of boiling human fat. Constant screaming. And the Big Guy himself. Satan. But nope. Pitch was up here, in a place that was barely part of Hell.
Fifteen hundred years of loyal servitude to his Infernal Lord and Mas
ter, and he made one little mistake. It wasn’t even his fault. Eons ago, he had been the assistant manager of the premier banquet hall on Level Nine. Not a prestigious job, but not bad. Pitch had been preparing for the Feast of Empusa, who, at the time, was one of Satan’s concubines. It was a grand affair, and her retinue of imps had painstakingly planned the menu. Pitch was given a menu that called for “Twenty-One Year Olds.” So Pitch (with much difficulty, thank you very much) had found a dozen twenty-one-year-old virgins and served them up, lightly broiled. How was he supposed to know the menu should have read “Twenty One-Year Olds”? Apparently, Empusa favored infants. The fatter the better.
Well, it hadn’t been a pretty scene, and Empusa was not forgiving. Even though she didn’t complain until after she’d devoured the twenty-one-year-olds. And had asked if there were any more. But a mistake had been made. She had been dishonored. And Pitch was in charge. So he had been demoted up several Levels. All because of a misplaced hyphen.
The rules of punctuation were a lost art, Pitch mused. So now he was stuck here, working in one of the outer levels of Hell, beside the black waters of the River Acheron. The Uncommitted, souls who had never made any real decisions in life, spent eternity here. The weak, the complacent, the yes-men, three-year community college students and the like. There were some angels here, those who had not taken sides in the Great Battle. But they pretty much kept to themselves. The human Shades wandered about aimlessly over rocky terrain covered with writhing, biting worms and beetles. Stinging wasps, hornets, and mosquitoes filled the air, darting and swooping at the exposed flesh of the Damned.
A ragged crimson banner zigzagged through the air, several feet off the ground, fruitlessly pursued by dozens of desperate souls. Others struggled to stand on rocks or sought shelter in narrow crevices, seeking a brief respite from the constantly biting insects. Good luck with that.
Pitch sighed again. Back to work. He began wheeling his battered, wooden pushcart over the rocky, worm-covered ground. Fat, obscene worms burst as the wheels crushed them. Shrill shrieks followed in his wake, along with the stench of their bright green ichor. They wouldn’t stay dead for long though. Nothing died down here. Except my dreams, Pitch waxed poetically.