102119

Fellow Traveler

We none of us go swimming anymore,

Some swear they met an unknown woman there;

She bade them join her, but some ghastly fear

Made each one hesitate, and back away.

We’ve fewer than one hundred on the ship,

There are no strangers after all this time,

And yet two members of our crew have gone;

Their clothes discarded, scattered by the pool.

Last night a lake of water blocked the hall,

Too wide to jump, but I forbore to wade

Across; I turned to leave and felt a hand

Upon my ankle; wrenching free, I ran.

Today one more of us had disappeared.

How long before we all are dead and drowned?

061119

Sold an SF poetry book ms to Diminuendo.Includes poems about gods, but none about demons.

012119c

Needs Something

He wasn't quite sure about the soup and

Leaned in to inhale its scent;

It bubbled suddenly, and a muscular green arm

Reached out of the pot to

Grasp Chef Pierre by the throat;

His eyes bulged, he clawed at the hairy wrist,

It was no use, inexorably he was drawn in,

Thrashing a bit at first, then limp as lettuce.

The pot bubbled, filling the room

With a rich, complex aroma.

111018

Birthday in Hell

“Go on,” the demon said, “open it. It's your birthday present.” Hesitantly, Darrell reached for the package. This had to be a practical joke. But every moment of a practical joke was a blessed time in which he was not suffering excruciating torment. He had lucked out drawing Slapsteickkior as primary tormentor. Carefully, so as to prolong the absence of torment, he peeled back the silver-foil wrapping paper, striving to avoid tearing it. He almost had it off, but the last piece of tape stubbornly refused to yield no matter how he pried, teased, rolled, or tugged. After five minutes of this, while the demon drummed his fingers ever more loudly on the table, Darrell just ripped the last corner off. The box inside was so black he couldn't see the edges of the flaps. He found them by feel and pulled them open quickly. He was too anxious to stall any more. Plus, the demon always punished him for stalling, and the longer he stalled the more it hurt. Inside, a rolled scroll was tied with a pink ribbon sporting a frothy chrysanthemum-like bow. He slid the bow off the end of the scroll and unrolled it.

“This certificate entitles the bearer to one year off his sentence for good behavior. Happy birthday.”

He sighed, knowing that the worst part was still coming. Slapsteickkior delighted in explaining his jokes. You had to listen, because there would be a quiz at the end. If you missed any questions, well, it didn't bear thinking about.

“You see you get a whole year off, but naturally your sentence is of infinite duration; you don't get that year off until the end, and there is no end. What I'm trying to tell you is....”

071118b

look at him
he's not a BAD demon
lead wouldn't melt in his mouth

020418

Heck Ain’t What It Used To Be

Turn him over, he’ll burn if you leave him like that. Once the flesh is entirely cooked there’s no more pain till it heals. Holy turd! I have to watch you every single minute. Can’t do a blessed thing right. No! Stick the sanctified fork INTO the belly, don’t stroke the perfect thing. Unbelievable. Look. Our purpose here is to cause suffering. If the clients get too happy, we get docked. You do not want to find out what a millennium in “the halo” is like. You’ve given the saintly ghost a blessed erection—what are you trying to do, breed them? Let me show you. OK. You hear that ululating cry? That indicates DISTRESS. With a “D”. What we’re here for. Riiiight. Now get busy, or I’ll give you a white mark.

*****

I tell you Beelzie, it is just impossible to get effective help these days. The latest crop of demons are the sorriest, tithing, do-good numbskulls I have ever encountered. Some of them are as dense as mortals. Not like when I was a boy. I mean, I was born knowing how to properly impale a client, you know what I’m saying? Tell me about it. These kids can’t even recognize the sharp end of a stake when it pokes them in the arse. Oh, I tell you, this place is going to paradise in a gold-plated chariot.

080417

Past due

Tito always meant to return the demon. Thing is, it was so darn useful when Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door. Plus, the demon did the laundry and other chores while Tito was at work. Everything was fine and dandy until he got the overdue notice.

"Holy sh*t! This can't be right! This is the first notice I received, and it says I already owe a fine of 1.5 souls. I don't have 1.5 souls." He rubbed his bare scalp with one hand and shook the offending postcard in the demon's face with the other.

The demon sneered. "Bureaucrats. Emasculated worms. I'll take care of this."

A month later, Tito got a second postcard. 2.0 souls, and the case was being referred to a collection agency called "The Sole Source."

"I thought you took care of it," he screamed. The demon was vacuuming the drapes.

"What?"

"Collection agency! And turn off the damn vacuum!" He was almost as red as the demon.

The demon took the postcard. "Oooo! They must really have something on you. These guys don't pick up every sorry hellbound Tom, Dick, or Harriet."

Tito was pacing back and forth. "I haven't done anything. Not really. We need to take care of this before they get here."

"Too late," the demon said. The picture window exploded inward, shards of glass flashing and tinkling as they hurtled across the room. Four or five creatures hopped in. They were about the size of adult men, covered with patchy fur and what looked like scabs. Their wings were feathered. Their teeth were huge and brows low.

Tito put up his hands. "Look, this is all a misunderstanding. Here's the demon. You can just take him now."

"And how do we get our commission then?" the monkey asked.

"I never got the first notice," Tito quavered. "Can't this bill be resubmitted?"

"Sure," the monkey growled. "But that has to be done in hell."

"Tell you what," Tito said. "Why don't I send my servant here down to wait in line and get this straightened out. When the final decision is made, just let me know and I'll pay whatever I owe." There must be even more red tape in hell than above ground. Most likely he'd be dead before the infernal bureaucrats figured out what to do with him.

Today was Saturday. He was going to get stinking drunk tonight, and repent tomorrow. There was a Catholic church just around the corner.

Publ. July 29, 2008, Daily Cabal

Past Due

Past Due

Tito always meant to return the demon. Thing is, it was so darn useful when Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door. Plus, the demon did the laundry and other chores while Tito was at work. Everything was fine and dandy until he got the overdue notice.

"Holy sh*t! This can't be right! This is the first notice I received, and it says I already owe a fine of 1.5 souls. I don't have 1.5 souls." He rubbed his bare scalp with one hand and shook the offending postcard in the demon's face with the other.

The demon sneered. "Bureaucrats. Emasculated worms. I'll take care of this."

A month later, Tito got a second postcard. 2.0 souls, and the case was being referred to a collection agency called "The Sole Source."

"I thought you took care of it," he screamed. The demon was vacuuming the drapes.

"What?"

"Collection agency! And turn off the damn vacuum!" He was almost as red as the demon.

The demon took the postcard. "Oooo! They must really have something on you. These guys don't pick up every sorry hellbound Tom, Dick, or Harriet."

Tito was pacing back and forth. "I haven't done anything. Not really. We need to take care of this before they get here."

"Too late," the demon said. The picture window exploded inward, shards of glass flashing and tinkling as they hurtled across the room. Four or five creatures hopped in. They were about the size of adult men, covered with patchy fur and what looked like scabs. Their wings were feathered. Their teeth were huge and brows low.

Tito put up his hands. "Look, this is all a misunderstanding. Here's the demon. You can just take him now."

"And how do we get our commission then?" the monkey asked.

"I never got the first notice," Tito quavered. "Can't this bill be resubmitted?"

"Sure," the monkey growled. "But that has to be done in hell."

"Tell you what," Tito said. "Why don't I send my servant here down to wait in line and get this straightened out. When the final decision is made, just let me know and I'll pay whatever I owe." There must be even more red tape in hell than above ground. Most likely he'd be dead before the infernal bureaucrats figured out what to do with him.

Today was Saturday. He was going to get stinking drunk tonight, and repent tomorrow. There was a Catholic church just around the corner.

The end

Publ. July 29, 2008, Daily Cabal

072116

Three Days Are Up


the visitors were tall
so tall, and bony
they wore no clothes
which was why we were so surprised
by their barbed and supple tails
where had they been hiding?
with the wings, I guess
contacts could explain the glowing eyes
which shot beams of coruscating light



From a writing-group prompt: tail; visitors