The Devil Eats Here (Multi-Author Short Story Collection) (3 page)

Dean would have tackled the guard. Except Dean’s body had changed too. His attempted tackle degenerated into a wheezing struggle just to regain his feet. Dizziness and aching limbs made movement itself an agony. His body, which had been sleek with gym-worked muscles before the transfer, was putty stretched across bone. That dull pain in his distended stomach -- that was hunger. Starvation. Real starvation, not the damn-it-why-don't-you-have-anything-decent-prepared-I'm-starving starvation he had often bitched about at Colette.

The whip descended again. Dean Vanch cringed, and felt shame at cringing, but it hurt.

"If you're too weak to work..." The guard hooked the whip on his belt and pulled out a gun.

*

It all took a while to absorb. He drew a deep breath of the clean air in the office of Personal Paradise Inc., which was fragrant with the faint scent of soap and exotic bouquets. His body was sleek and strong and he enjoyed the way breathing didn’t hurt at all. He savored his strength, his health, the wonder of it.

"So you mean that I switched places with my other self?" Dean Vanch asked Smit.

"That’s correct," said Smit.

"My parents didn’t die in carpet-bombing by the Francophones during the civil war?" Dean asked in amazement. "Collette was not shot during the ethnic cleansing? I wasn’t sent to a labor camp because I broke the miscegenation laws by marrying a Francophone? My health is good because I didn’t suffer from malnutrition during the Siege of Dieskau? I’m a wealthy man? And you even expect me to believe I don’t need a passport to travel from California to Louisiana?"

"All correct," smiled Smit. "Are you happy now, Dean Vanch?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "If all you say is true, I’m the happiest man on Earth."

This story has been previously published in
Conmergence.

ROUND AND ROUND THE GARDEN

by Jonathan Broughton

‘Round and Round the Garden

Like a little Devil

One step, two step,

And…’

In the sitting room, Emma sings quietly, and as she sings she sets out the brightly coloured plastic pieces that make the game ‘Mousetrap.’

Anthony from Sunday-School is coming to play. ‘Round and Round the …’ There is a step at the door, and a shadow dulls the gleam of the bright plastic.

It is only Mum. ‘Have you done your hair?’

Emma coughs to cover her singing, because Mum always tells her off when she hears the Devil word. ‘Yes.’

‘And you’re wearing your new pink dress I see.’

Emma stands up and twirls, happy that she looks pretty.

‘Very pretty,’ Mum agrees. ‘Anthony will be here soon.’ She glances out of the window. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Play ‘Mousetrap.’ Then, after tea, can we play in the garden?’ The Devil will test him.

‘We’ll see dear, you might be too full to run around.’ Mum gives a little cry. ‘Anthony’s here.’ She waves as if he is standing a million miles away, ‘Cooooeeee!’ Then she runs into the hall to open the door.

‘Round and Round the…’

Dad puts his head round the door and she stops singing. ‘Anthony’s here Emma.’ He is very angry when she says the Devil word.

‘I know.’ She twirls the red cage on the end of the spiky yellow pole and then lines them both up beside the other pieces. She leans back, satisfied. It’s ready.

Mum laughs, long and loud, as she greets Anthony and his Mum. ‘Emma’s waiting for you in the front room, darling. She’s got a game ready for you to play. Go and see.’

Anthony appears in the doorway. He pretends to be shy, which is silly, because he isn’t shy at Sunday-School. Emma wonders when he will try to look up her skirt.

‘Hello Anthony.’

‘Hello Emma.’

His hair is combed with a parting like an adult. It looks like that in Sunday-School too.

‘Do you want to play ‘Mousetrap?’

‘All right then.’

He is wearing a yellow T-shirt with ‘Jesus Loves Me’ in silver letters. Anthony believes in God. He hasn’t seen him, of course. He says the Devil is evil. He hasn’t seen him either.

They play ‘Mousetrap’ six times. Emma wins every one. She cheats twice by moving his mouse closer to the round cheese under the cage when Anthony goes to the bathroom. He doesn’t notice.

They eat tea in the kitchen and there is everything that Emma likes best; chocolate fingers, fizzy orange, green jelly and two different pizzas. Then the doorbell rings and she runs into the living room to look through the window.

Is Anthony’s Mum back already? The Devil hasn’t tested him.

A big brown lorry is parked in the road, blocking the drive. A man in dirty blue overalls is standing at the front door and waves when he sees her looking.

Mum answers the door and then she calls for Dad and together they walk towards the lorry with the man. Anthony has joined her to watch.

Emma seizes her chance. ‘Let’s play outside.’ Mum and Dad won’t notice them going into the garden. ‘You can ride my bike.’

‘All right then.’

Emma runs through the hall to the kitchen, then out through the back door. Anthony pounds along behind her.

The shiny pink bike is leaning against the wall and she jumps on and pedals over the grass away from the house. ‘Let’s go to the bottom of the garden,’ where the Devil is waiting.

The short grass is easy to ride on and the garden curves right, past a bank of rose bushes. Anthony puffs and grunts as he sprints to keep up.

The grass is longer now and the feathered tips stroke Emma’s bare legs, and she shivers.

The apple tree stands in front of a high hedge, out of sight from the house. The branches twist, long and gnarled; brittle grey twigs spiral like corkscrews into pencil line thinness, and dark green leaves gleam in the sunlight. At its roots, fallen blossom turns from white to mushy brown.

Emma brakes, and brings the bike to a halt. The Devil lives in the apple tree and his eye glints in the darkest part of the bark.

Anthony runs up, panting like an old man. ‘Can I - have - a go now,’ he gasps, pointing at the bike.

‘Only if you pass the test,’ In Sunday-School, God and the Devil are always testing people.

Anthony frowns. ‘I know how to ride a bike.’

Emma points at the tree. ‘This is the Devil’s garden, and if you want to play, you have to pass the test.’

Anthony puts his hands on his hips, throws back his head, and laughs.

Emma thinks he looks ridiculous. He is pretending to be an adult, but she guesses that he is scared.

‘Don’t laugh too loud,’ she tells him, ‘or the Devil will get you!’

Anthony looks all around with wide eyes. ‘I can’t see the Devil, Emma,’ he shouts in a silly sing-song voice. ‘He isn’t real you know.’

‘Yes he is Anthony. He lives in the apple tree. I’ve seen him.’

‘Ha ha ha! Liar liar, your pants are on fire!’ He jumps up and down, holding his bottom.

He is the most disgusting boy she has ever met. Then he runs forward and kicks the apple tree with a loud thwack!

‘Don’t do that,’ she shouts. ‘You’ll make him angry.’ The spindle twigs tremble; the Devil is stirring.

‘You must believe me. Pass the test, and the Devil will let you play.’ She points at the twisted trunk and the deep wrinkles gouged out of the bark. ‘He can see you.’

The spindle twigs reach down like clawed hands, and the thick root running through the grass is his tail; his knotty hump protrudes from underneath the lowest branch.

Anthony falls flat on his back and rips up handfuls of grass, ‘Ha Ha Ha!’

Emma stamps her foot. Why won’t he listen? ‘Look, I will show you how to do the test.’

Anthony jumps up and skips round the tree. ‘Liar, liar, your pants are on fire!’ The twigs catch in his hair.

Emma gasps. ‘The Devil nearly caught you then. Did you feel his fingers?’

‘Ha Ha Ha!’ Anthony runs behind her and lifts up her skirt.

‘Don’t do that!’ She bunches her fist and aims for his head, but he ducks and her blow misses.

He dives into the grass, rolls onto his back, and arches his neck towards her as he takes another look. ‘Your pants are on fire!’

Emma shuffles towards the apple tree, flattening her skirt against her legs. ‘You’re horrible!’

The Devil’s tail flicks, like an angry cat’s, and his eye widens as the shadow under it deepens.

‘You mustn’t keep him waiting.’

Anthony sweeps his arms backwards and forwards, making star shapes in the long grass. ‘I don’t like playing this game.’

‘It isn’t a game,’ Emma shouts. ‘If you don’t pass the test, the Devil will get you.’ She wraps her arms round the gnarled trunk. ‘Now watch me.’ She closes her eyes and squeezes. ‘Are you watching?’

Anthony hums and says nothing.

She takes a deep breath. ‘Please Mister Devil, let me play in your garden.’ She shuffles round the tree, never letting go, taking one small step after another. ‘Please Mister Devil, let me play in your garden.’ His hump presses into her tummy, and his tail strokes her ankle. ‘Please Mister Devil, let me play in your garden.’ His sharp fingers snatch at her soft hair. She opens her eyes and the Devil’s eye stares into hers, all wet and slimy.

‘I’ve done it,’ She lets go of the trunk. ‘I’ve passed the test. The Devil won’t get me today.’ A soft breeze rattles the thin twigs.

‘Thank you Mister Devil,’ and she bows to him. ‘Now it’s your turn Anthony.’ The shiny green leaves tremble in the rising wind.

‘Anthony?’

She turns round. The long grass is flat and broken where he was lying; there is no sign of him, or of her new pink bike.

‘Anthony!’

She runs up the garden, her heart pumping. ‘Anthony!’ The Devil’s got him and sliced him. She feels sick. She runs past the rose bushes onto the lawn. ‘Anthony!’ She wishes she had stayed indoors.

Then she sees him, at the back door, and Mum has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The bike is on the paving stones where he has dropped it. She stops running; then mum looks up and sees her.

‘Come here,’ her face is red. ‘Come here this minute!’

Emma walks slowly, thinking what to say. Mum is very angry and Anthony cries into her shoulder.

‘What have you been doing?’ Mum yells at her.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’ve been playing that silly, silly game, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ she lies.

‘You’re a very naughty girl.’

She wants to tell Mum that Anthony rode her bicycle without permission; that he is the naughty one, but she will be sent to her room if she makes a fuss, and so she looks away as if she doesn’t care. Anthony is stupid; she’s never liked him. The Devil will get him and it’s his own silly fault.

‘Come inside,’ scolds Mum. ‘Wait ‘till I tell your father.’ She helps Anthony up the steps into the kitchen.

Emma picks up her bike and leans it against the wall. She takes her time. Everything is always her fault because nobody listens. She wishes the Devil would appear, just to show them that he really does live in the garden.

How will he grab Anthony? Inside the house, or will he wait till Sunday-School? The shadows lengthen across the lawn; he is coming.

Then Mum’s angry face appears in the doorway. ‘I told you to come inside.’

Anthony is standing by the sink and Mum wipes his face dry with a paper tissue. ‘What do you think Anthony’s Mummy is going to say?’

Emma watches from the door, pretending to look bored. ‘I don’t know.’

‘She will say Anthony can’t come and play here again; that’s what she’ll say.’

Emma shrugs. Of course Anthony can’t come and play here, because the Devil will get him. She twists her hair in her fingers and puts on her ‘I’m about to cry’ face. Mum strokes Anthony’s back and he snivels like a baby.

Emma gives a big sigh, ‘It was only a game.’

Mum takes two strides across the kitchen and leans down so that her face is level with hers. She speaks in a low husky voice, almost a whisper. ‘What have I told you about using the Devil word?’

‘I didn’t -.’

‘Don’t argue with me. How dare you frighten Anthony like that! Go into the living room and stay there.’

‘But I -.’

‘NOW!’

Emma stomps out of the kitchen into the hall.

‘Just you WAIT ‘till I tell your father,’ Mum growls after her.

Just you wait ‘till you see the Devil, Emma shouts back in her mind. Then she sees him; a dark writhing shadow that fills the living room wall next to the window. The Devil is in the house and she runs towards him, but he melts away as another bigger shadow takes his place.

Dad is standing by the window, looking outside. ‘What’s all this fuss about Emma?’

‘Nothing,’ she lies. ‘Anthony fell off my bike.’

‘What have we told you about playing in the garden by yourself?’

She stands next to Dad and looks out of the window. The back of the brown lorry is tipping up, higher and higher, spilling a mountain of black stuff onto the front garden.

‘Why is it doing that?’ she asks.

‘It’s tar,’ Dad explains, ‘For our new drive.’

The black tar pours off the lorry like heavy water, and as it slithers and slides, strange shapes emerge and disappear. One shape forms and holds. It is the Devil, sitting on his haunches, waiting for Anthony. He grins at her, and she winks back.

A blue car draws up on the opposite side of the road.

Dad waves, ‘It’s Anthony’s Mum,’ and he runs into the hall.

Anthony’s Mum can’t drive up to the front door because the lorry is in the way, and there isn’t a pavement on their side of the road where she can park. Dad runs across the grass, past the Devil, who flicks his forked tongue at him like a darting snake, and growls.

Emma calls over her shoulder, ‘Anthony! Your mummy’s here.’ The Devil growls louder, as Anthony runs through the hall and out of the door.

Mum chases after him. ‘Anthony! Come back! Don’t run off.’

‘Anthony!’ Dad makes a grab for him, but misses. The Devil dissolves into the tar and his growl deepens to a roar. He is going to pounce.

Anthony squeezes past the lorry and runs into the road; he has seen his Mum climbing out of the car. She waves at him to wait, but Anthony is silly and won’t do as he’s told. And the Devil gets him.