{"id":2291,"date":"2012-10-10T00:25:57","date_gmt":"2012-10-09T22:25:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/?p=2291"},"modified":"2024-12-09T12:04:20","modified_gmt":"2024-12-09T12:04:20","slug":"demons","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/2012\/10\/10\/demons\/","title":{"rendered":"Demons"},"content":{"rendered":"

by C.S. Fuqua
\n\"\"<\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n
\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/td>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Issue 20 (Apr 2012)<\/span><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

<\/td>\n\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

The needle of light winks. Machinery rumbles, and he cowers against the dirt wall. Something brushes against his leg as a shadow scuttles into a corner. He kicks, and bone and flesh give way under his boot. He takes the rat into his hands and lifts the carcass to his lips, but then his shoulders sink. He drops his hands to his lap, weary of the struggle.<\/em><\/p>\n

The light winks again. The door rattles. This time he will make them shoot. <\/em><\/p>\n

Randy worked the screwdriver diligently between two bricks, flaking out grout. He wiped sweat from his face with his shoulder as the screwdriver broke through. Light stabbed into the space beyond. A glint of eyes?<\/em> He edged closer but saw nothing\u2014perhaps a trick of the light. From what he could tell, several feet of space lay on the other side, apparently without access. He pulled back abruptly, sickened by the sudden rancid stench from the hole. His hands began to tremble, and the screwdriver slipped from his grasp, clinking to the cement floor.<\/p>\n

Randy had awakened two nights earlier to a faint, persistent scratching. He sat up, heart racing, confused, believing he was back in that hole. But light blazed around him, and his chest hitched with the realization that the nightmare was only a nightmare, the darkness a bad memory. He lay back and pondered the silence of the house, the light, the patience of time, until his eyes closed, his breathing calmed, and he began to drift once again toward the hole in the desert.<\/p>\n

Scratching<\/em>.<\/p>\n

He twisted up on the bedside and cocked his head, listening. Muted, determined, real<\/em>. He retrieved the pistol from the nightstand and eased down the hallway, room to room, quietly, until the sound drew him to the kitchen and its common wall with the utility room that was accessed from the back patio. He pressed his ear to the wall, and the scratching stopped. Randy listened for a good minute or more, long enough to wonder again if he\u2019d imagined it. He closed his eyes, and darkness settled around him, forgotten by god and country, forever a prisoner. The gun\u2019s barrel rested against his forehead, the trigger taut against his finger. Escape. Once and for all.<\/em> A sad smile came to his lips. He sighed heavily and went back to bed.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Randy had been in the house for about a month, but not until the day following the scratching did he notice that the utility room\u2019s exterior appeared several feet longer than its interior. He tapped a hammer against the interior\u2019s end wall and thought he heard a rattle on the other side. Rattle or not, the wall shouldn\u2019t be there.<\/p>\n

The real estate agent had said the previous owners divorced shortly after the birth of their child nearly two years earlier, that neither had made payments on the house, leading finally to foreclosure. Saps down on their luck, thus, an opportunity for Randy, but he didn\u2019t care. He hadn\u2019t wanted this or any other house. That had been Claire, insisting it\u2019d be the first step in reclaiming his life. Whatever<\/em>. He didn\u2019t argue. In a house, at least, he wouldn\u2019t have to face the random encounters with apartment complex tenants. The only time he\u2019d have to see anyone would be to cash his VA check or buy groceries. So he\u2019d let Claire take care of the details. Since then, his steps had worn a path in the carpet, out the bedroom, down the hall, around the living room, and back, over and over.<\/p>\n

Randy pored over the sale and mortgage documents and found the names of the previous owners. Five minutes on the internet provided him with a telephone number. The line rang. A male voice answered. \u201cMay I speak to Jeremy please?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s calling?\u201d came the voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cRandall Langford. I bought the house…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have the wrong number.\u201d The line disengaged.<\/p>\n

Randy redialed, but it rang unanswered. The following day, the number was no longer valid.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Randy pried the screwdriver into the hole to break out more grout. A voice startled him, and he spun to find Claire in the doorway of the utility room, chocolate brown hair brushing her shoulders, framing a faintly cherubic face, accented with deep, penetrating eyes, the only trait common to the sister and brother. Otherwise, Randy\u2019s lanky frame, his timid demeanor, and his sandy-colored hair made him look like little more than an uncomfortable acquaintance in her presence.<\/p>\n

Claire grinned. \u201cRemodeling?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cListen,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n

Claire took a step in. \u201cWhat am I lis…?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere,\u201d he said, turning halfway back to the wall. \u201cHear that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire listened intently for several moments before pressing the back of her fingers gently against his forehead. \u201cYou don\u2019t feel<\/em> feverish,\u201d she teased.<\/p>\n

Randy motioned toward the small hole. \u201cLook in there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire frowned irritation, but she squinted an eye close to the hole as directed, peered in, and shrugged. \u201cIt\u2019s dark,\u201d she said, and then backed suddenly away, her face twisted in disgust. \u201cAnd it stinks<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d Randy said. \u201cAccording to the floor plan, this wall doesn\u2019t exist, and something\u2019s<\/em> causing that smell.\u201d He led her outside and showed her how the exterior wall extended several feet further than the interior.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother example of contractor expertise. Look, honey\u2026\u201d she flashed an impatient grin and kissed his cheek. \u201cI just wanted to stop by and check on you. I need to drop some supplies at church for Pastor Baggett. Wanna come?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOld subject, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne day, I\u2019m just going to bring the pastor here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy didn\u2019t bite.<\/p>\n

Claire sighed. \u201cYou want to go for dinner later?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged.<\/p>\n

Claire motioned toward the utility room. \u201cIf the wall bugs you so much, knock it down. And fumigate<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

A flash. <\/em><\/p>\n

The concussion hurls him several yards through the air. He hits, groans, faintly aware of screams within the roar. He gropes to see if his legs are still there. He rolls, pushes himself up with quavering arms. Two gun-toting figures emerge from the roiling dust, their heads and half their faces hidden by traditional cover. Randy moans as hands grasp him under the arms and yank him up. They throw him into the back of a sedan. He tries to pull himself up, but a rifle butt puts him down. <\/em><\/p>\n

Randy raised his face to the sky, eyes closed, the sun warm and clean. Claire had made him feel silly enough to give it up the day before, but then came the night and more scratching. He\u2019d entered the utility room around 2 a.m. and pressed his ear to the hole. Something metallic clicked within, and he felt a faint breath of air. He\u2019d backed out of the room and returned to his bed where he lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, the gun nestled on his chest, the barrel nuzzled under his chin, the scratching intermittent, but determined.<\/p>\n

Now, with his face flushed by the sun\u2019s warmth, Randy sighed and went back to the utility room, determined to lay the mystery to rest. He placed the pistol on the floor near the sidewall. He picked up the hammer and screwdriver and chipped the grout from around two bricks where he\u2019d worked the day before. Minutes later, he pushed the bricks through to the other side. They crashed to the concrete floor beyond, and vague light seeped into the space. Something hissed<\/em>, and the sudden rush of stench brought bile to Randy\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n

Randy retrieved a flashlight from the kitchen, switched it on, and slipped the barrel in through the hole. As he\u2019d guessed, the space beyond the wall extended a good four feet.<\/p>\n

The light winks. A voice on the other side calls, \u201cAnyone in there?\u201d Tears threaten. Dust swirls like a million mini-snowflakes in the shaft of dazzling light. Another voice calls in English. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cIn here,\u201d he rasps. <\/em><\/p>\n

The trapdoor rises, and two men glare down at him, their faces betraying disgust. He follows their gaze to his bloodstained hands, the filth that covers him, the dead rat. His fingers touch his face, the thick beard, the sallow eyes, the sunken cheeks. He looks up at them and reaches out with quivering hands. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cShoot me.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Movement.<\/p>\n

Startled, Randy retrieved the pistol and shifted the flashlight. Dust flecks danced in the beam as it settled on a chest-high metal cage, about two feet wide, five feet long, almost the width of the space, strong and secure. But what took Randy\u2019s breath were the eyes that reflected dully in the beam, set in a wretchedly malformed face that pleaded as much as it mocked and seethed.<\/p>\n

\u201cPretty<\/em>?\u201d a voice hissed from within the twisted mass.<\/p>\n

Randy directed the flashlight\u2019s beam up and then down, revealing a desperate creature that should not have been alive. Smaller than a cattle dog, its bloodshot eyes stared from within a distorted deformity of human and goat features, a face gnarled with agony. Two short, foul horns portruded from the forehead, one splintered two inches above the eye. The creature\u2019s shoulders and arms were little more than skin-clad bone. Thin flesh stretched across the chest, splitting over several ribs. Sores\u2014oozing, black and festering\u2014covered the emaciated body. Bone protruded from the tip of each finger, the skin peeling away.<\/p>\n

The thing opened its mouth and howled in a despairing, chilling voice, baring the blackened remnants of teeth barely set in gray, rotting gums. Then it lowered its head, its howl languishing to silence, and drew a ragged breath, the skin across its chest sinking between the ribs. It stretched out a beckoning hand, but suddenly yanked back and turned away, head bowed, breaths rattling and shallow.<\/p>\n

The soldier yells to someone behind him as he kneels beside the opening, \u201cBring some water!\u201d He stares down at the pathetic figure in the hole. \u201cJesus,\u201d he mutters, \u201chow long you been here?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy blinks back tears that form against the brightness of the day. Gunfire sounds in the distance. Another soldier arrives with a canteen and passes it down to Randy. Water splashes against his cracked lips, and it burns, but the taste is so sweet, so wonderful.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cCan you eat?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy\u2019s stomach growls viciously.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy rushed into the house, unable to comprehend how the thing\u2014whatever it was\u2014could still be alive. But it was. He thought about opening the hole further and bringing the creature out, but not yet, he decided, not until he knew more about it. He considered the revolver, but then decided it wasn\u2019t necessary with the creature secure in the cage. He retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and rummaged through drawers and cabinets until he located a pair of long barbecue tongs, another object Claire had insisted was necessary. For once, she\u2019d been right.<\/p>\n

Back in the utility room, he used the tongs to ease the water bottle through the hole toward the cage where the thing waited. The creature\u2019s cynical, wary gaze narrowed, shifting to Randy, then back to the bottle. Tentatively, it reached but abruptly stopped and looked up at Randy as though expecting the man to snatch the bottle back. Finally, it wrapped its spindly fingers around the bottle. When the tongs released their grip, the creature blenched, startled, and dropped it, cowering in fear.<\/p>\n

Randy pulled the tongs back through the hole and directed the flashlight beam across the floor until it found the bottle. The thing whimpered. It lowered itself awkwardly to the cage floor and stretched to reach the bottle, fingers desperately grasping air. Randy shifted the beam to the creature, saw the ragged genitalia that defined it as male. He shifted the light back. The creature\u2019s fingers touched the bottle\u2019s side, nudging it further away. He mewled softly, managed to stretch enough to nudge the bottle again, and, this time, it rolled gingerly under his outstretched hand. The creature grabbed it and pulled it into the cage, the mesh barely large enough for it to fit through. The creature lifted itself with a groan to sit and painfully twist off the cap.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s more,\u201d Randy said softly.<\/p>\n

The creature hissed. He raised the bottle to his lips, drank, and immediately pulled the bottle away, breaking into a rasping cough. Water sloshed out, and the creature whimpered and sprawled on the cage floor to lick up the precious liquid its tongue could reach between the cage wires.<\/p>\n

Randy drank, but half or more of the water spilled from the sides of his mouth, his throat raw with each swallow. Such decadence, such bounty\u2014water in a bottle. Will they believe how he\u2019s stayed alive by licking dewdrops that seep in around the door and the hole where the rats enter? How he\u2019s drunk his own urine and the blood of the rats he\u2019s caught, killed, and eaten? Believe or not, they\u2019ll be repulsed. Of that, he is certain.<\/em><\/p>\n

The creature twisted up, peeled back his lips, and hissed again. Tattered ears hung loosely against his neck as he lifted the bottle and took measured, careful sips that grew progressively into hungry gulps. A drop dribbled from one side of his mouth. He puled, lowered the bottle, and, with a quavering finger, guided the drop from his cheek into his mouth. Then he drained the bottle, sucking until the plastic collapsed. Reluctantly, he lowered the bottle until his arms hung at his sides, head bowed, body still except for his thin chest, which rattled with each breath. The bottle slipped from his grip and bounced to the floor, coming to rest in shadow.<\/p>\n

\u201cMore?\u201d Randy asked tentatively.<\/p>\n

The thing didn\u2019t reply, didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n

Randy went to the kitchen and returned a few moments later with packages of bread and ham and another bottle of water, which he slipped through the hole. The creature ripped the packages from the tongs and devoured the bread and meat. He licked his lips and stared up at the hole, his glare softening somewhat with curiosity. \u201cPoison won\u2019t work,\u201d he rasped.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t poison.\u201d Randy drew a breath and asked in a near whisper, \u201cWhat are<\/em> you?\u201d<\/p>\n

The thing cleared his throat. \u201cAidan,\u201d he said, and some pride came to his eyes. \u201cPhooka.\u201d<\/p>\n

Aidan was obviously his name, but the word phooka<\/em> meant nothing to Randy.<\/p>\n

The creature\u2019s head abruptly began to morph, the splintered horns retracting into the skull, face rounding, becoming more human, the large ears shrinking.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell…<\/em>?\u201d Randy whispered.<\/p>\n

Bones cracked and reshaped until finally the creature looked more like a badly battered child than a caged demon.<\/p>\n

\u201cPhooka,\u201d the creature repeated with a heavy sigh. \u201cAs you are hu…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRandy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy spun so fast, he nearly fell. \u201cJesus<\/em>, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRandy<\/em>,\u201d she scolded. \u201cNot the Lord\u2019s<\/em> name…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen don\u2019t scare the hell out of me,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n

Claire shrugged in that special way that said she\u2019d forgive him, but not forget, despite her Good Book\u2019s instructions. She wore religion like a badge, slipping it off conveniently when it went against her desires. For Randy, though, she presented religion as his best path back into the real world. God had a reason for having put him in that desert tomb, she maintained. God has a plan for each of us<\/em>. \u201cAnd what would that plan be, Claire?\u201d Randy had asked. \u201cTo do his work,\u201d she\u2019d replied, and he\u2019d laughed at her.<\/p>\n

Claire raised up on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. \u201cWhat\u2019s with the hole?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChecking the space,\u201d he said a little too quickly.<\/p>\n

Her face brightened. \u201cSo there is space<\/em>?\u201d She tried to step past, but he didn\u2019t move. \u201cLet me see,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

The situation suddenly felt more surreal than before, and something stirred inside Randy. He felt suddenly and inexplicably giddy with the possibility of challenging Claire\u2019s godly babble with something she couldn\u2019t explain away with a nod toward heaven. But would she see it if he allowed her to look? Or had he lost his mind?<\/p>\n

Randy moved aside, and Claire stepped up to the hole. They both pressed close to peer in as Randy clicked on the flashlight and held it under their chins, directing the beam toward the cage. Claire\u2019s breath caught, and Randy felt odd relief at her confirmation that the thing was real.<\/p>\n

The phooka bared its teeth at the woman, and Claire backed away.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is<\/em> it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt can talk<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

Aidan hissed, \u201cShe\u2019s burdened.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy wanted to laugh as Claire\u2019s eyes widened with fear and she fled, yelling back, \u201cGet rid of it, Randy. Get rid of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Randy spread peanut butter on two slices of bread and smoothed in dollops of cherry jam, placed the pieces together, and slipped the sandwich into a paper bag. Three days had passed since Claire had seen the creature. She hadn\u2019t called or been back since, nor had she answered her phone or responded to Randy\u2019s messages.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said Claire\u2019s burdened<\/em>,\u201d Randy had said to Aidan. \u201cWhat did you mean?\u201d The creature offered a sardonic grin in reply. \u201cYou know she wants you dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you have a gun.\u201d Aidan held his gaze until Randy looked away.<\/p>\n

The soldiers lift him from the hole, and he sees two men, their heads covered in the traditional wrap, running away in the distance. Another soldier raises his weapon, aims. One runner sprawls, his limbs twisting under his body. A second shot echoes, and Randy feels satisfaction as the second man falls dead. It was he who had killed Ahmad Ali, the only captor who\u2019d offered help to Randy\u2014.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy took the sandwich to the utility room. He slipped it through the hole and tossed it to the floor beside the cage, close enough for the creature to reach. Aidan looked up questioningly at Randy.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeanut butter and jam,\u201d Randy said. \u201cGo ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even after three days, the creature greeted Randy with suspicion at each feeding, suspicion that Randy subconsciously shared. Why did he continue to hold the thing captive? Aidan reached tentatively for the bag, nose twitching. He pulled it into the cage and squatted, fingers carefully opening the top, hand sliding in to pull out the sandwich. He held it before him for several moments. \u201cPoison?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve been through this,\u201d Randy said with irritation.<\/p>\n

The creature chuckled and drew the sandwich to his mouth, took a bite, and chewed, slowly, deliberately, savoring. When he\u2019d finished, he squatted in the cage and rubbed his palms over his small, distended belly. The creature\u2019s lips, healing rapidly, had more color now and curved into a mordant smile. Curiosity stirred in his eyes. \u201cWill you shoot me? Keep me as a pet? Put back the bricks?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ahmad Ali asks in a heavy accent, \u201cHungry?\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

What good is food? Randy wonders. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cHungry?\u201d Ahmad asks again.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Randy says.<\/em><\/p>\n

Ahmad leaves, bolting the trapdoor securely. He is gone for several minutes before returning with a bowl of bland bean soup.<\/em><\/p>\n

After moments of silence, Ahmad says, \u201cIt is necessary,\u201d and Randy understands that he means the imprisonment.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy held Aidan\u2019s accusing gaze for several long seconds, and then abruptly reached for the hammer. He struck the bricks furiously, chipping out large chunks with each swing, working out and downward. Aidan shied back into the cage, shielding himself from small bits of debris. A half-hour later, Randy had enlarged the hole to three feet. The stench almost overwhelmed him at first, but slowly dissipated to a faint fetor. The creature\u2019s crooked fingers grasped the mesh, breaths short and rapid. Randy noted the flesh on Aidan\u2019s hands was no longer gray and tender and was healing at a remarkable rate, now covering the bones completely.<\/p>\n

Randy finally stopped swinging and stood at the opening, winded, arms aching. The space beyond filled with light, and Randy saw that the phooka could be no more than forty inches tall, conforming to the cage\u2019s height. He felt a new rush of pity at the sight of the creature.<\/p>\n

The phooka waited, patient in his silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho put you here?\u201d Randy asked.<\/p>\n

Aidan said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen tell me what the hell a phooka <\/em>is.\u201d<\/p>\n

The creature rasped a chuckle that broke into violent coughing. He held himself weakly up on hands and knees as the coughing subsided, head hung haggardly. \u201cDemon, angel\u2014depends on who\u2019s telling the story,\u201d the phooka wheezed. \u201cMany believe we\u2019re good luck. A man trapped me, long ago.\u201d He drew a deep breath. \u201cThen someone else wanted me and killed old Bill, but when that one unlocked my box, I was too quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe guy who lived here, did he kill Bill?\u201d<\/p>\n

The phooka pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled his atrophied legs under one hip. \u201cNo,\u201d he rasped.<\/p>\n

Randy held his hands open, indicating the enclosure. \u201cWhy here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Aidan wheezed a laugh. \u201cI took the baby.\u201d The phooka bowed his head. \u201cTo be taken by beings like me, to be honored, charmed…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou took<\/em> the baby<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI brought it back.\u201d The phooka\u2019s eyes blinked, moist and red. \u201cThey trapped me. Your kind\u2019s so stupidly arrogant. They never fed me, never brought water, only walled me into this tomb. I fed upon myself until…\u201d The phooka raised his arms and howled, long and mournful. Finally, the voice faded to silence, his arms lowered, and he hung his head in dejection. \u201cI starved for nourishment, for light…\u201d He looked up, and a momentary spark of thanks shone in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the same suspicion as before.<\/p>\n

Randy drew back the hammer and pounded the bricks until he\u2019d enlarged the opening to the floor, tall and wide enough to bring out the cage. He squatted before the hole and watched the phooka creep over to the near side of the cage, bony fingers lacing through the mesh, gripping, new skin threatening to tear.<\/p>\n

\u201cMove back,\u201d Randy said finally.<\/p>\n

The phooka\u2019s grasp loosened, and he backed up to the opposite side.<\/p>\n

Randy decided on the garden hoe. He hooked the blade into the cage\u2019s near corner and pulled. He wondered how Claire would react to him bringing a demon into light using the hoe she\u2019d bought. Metal shrieked against the concrete floor. Finally in the main utility room, the phooka bowed his head, drawing himself inward, crossing his arms over his chest and grasping his shoulders with tender fingers. Most of the sores scarring the creature\u2019s body had begun to heal.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus,\u201d Randy whispered as he circled the cage.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus,\u201d the sergeant whispers.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy feels ashamed. His hands shake uncontrollably, and he sees they\u2019re covered with open sores and scabs. Four hours later, he is in a hospital bed, asleep, face shaved, hands grabbing at the sound of rats skittering through his nightmare. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cYour woman…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSister,\u201d Randy corrected.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t like you using the Lord<\/em>\u2019s name in vain,\u201d Aidan sneered.<\/p>\n

Randy shrugged. He\u2019d learned a lot about gods in the desert and what they did and didn\u2019t care about. Claire\u2019s god cared more about the use of its name than how the members of its flock treated one another. Her god\u2019s sheeple<\/em> had only to ask forgiveness for this or that sin, and everything would be cool in heaven\u2014like the bumper sticker said: \u201cI\u2019m not perfect, just forgiven.\u201d But Randy had met the real god in that desert hole, and it hadn\u2019t been some old fart answering the prayers of SUV-driving boneheads, text-messaging down the highway of stupidity. God had introduced itself to be a man\u2019s ability to swallow raw rat meat and drink blood and piss to survive. God had been the sound of gunfire and splintering bone, your name on the lips of the person saving your ass.<\/p>\n

Randy went in to prepare more food for the creature. From the counter, he could see through the kitchen window into the utility room. The phooka sat with his face toward the door, eyes closed, scarred lips parted, perhaps in a silent prayer to its own god.<\/p>\n

He wakes, squinting into a shaft of light as machinery rumbles in the distance. He hears voices. He\u2019s confused and frightened until he realizes he\u2019s in a bed, surrounded by other beds. His heart calms as he lies back, shifting to bathe in that ray of early morning sun that reaches through the window\u2014 warm, soothing, and brilliant. He prays to the desert god for strength to make the light eternal.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy used what was handy for sandwiches\u2014cheese, bologna, lettuce, peanut butter, jam. He didn\u2019t think the creature would complain as long as it was food. The phooka proved him right as it guttled every morsel. When he finished, Aidan squatted on the cage floor and licked up the crumbs. He drank his water thirstily, his stomach distending increasingly, and, still, he asked for more after each bottle emptied. Randy slid all food and water across the floor to the cage, using the hoe from a safe distance just inside the doorway.<\/p>\n

The phooka sat on the cage floor, his short legs folded loosely, and settled the water bottle against a thin thigh. Randy marveled at his recuperative ability, how his body had healed itself so rapidly, how the creature was gaining weight at an incredible rate. The improvement made Randy feel some pride and relief, the first genuine good feelings he\u2019d experienced since the day he\u2019d landed in that desert tomb.<\/p>\n

The phooka looked at Randy for a full minute with unblinking eyes that drilled deep into those of his keeper, but Randy felt no threat or danger.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you keep me or let me go?\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy sat down in the doorway and leaned back against the frame.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet.\u201d That\u2019s what the one wearing the black hood says. He shifts the gun, and Ahmad Ali steps closer to his side.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen?\u201d Randy asks.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cIn time…\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen…?\u201d The question ends in an abrupt groan as the gun butt finds his kidney, and Randy accepts that he will not leave this place alive. He draws a breath, utters, \u201cIdiot.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

The man spits on him and points his weapon at Randy\u2019s forehead. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cDo it,\u201d Randy says calmly. \u201cI\u2019ll get your virgins ready for you.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Ahmad Ali lays his hand on the weapon and shakes his head. The hooded man glares at Ahmad, then drops back and fires. Ahmad Ali\u2019s face caves in and the back of his head opens as his body collapses.. The man with the gun yanks off his own hood. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cThis is <\/em>my country,\u201d he shouts at Randy. \u201cYou do not exist unless <\/em>I say so.\u201d The trapdoor falls.<\/em><\/p>\n

Aidan\u2019s eyes gleamed with interest, the dull, gray stare now a memory. \u201cYou\u2019ll keep me then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t say that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNor did your captors say it to you,\u201d he grinned. \u201cRat can be a delicacy, yes?\u201d<\/p>\n

The words took Randy\u2019s breath. His head pounded, and he started up, unsteady on his feet. \u201cHow do you know…<\/em>?\u201d His voice trembled.<\/p>\n

Aidan\u2019s face grew serious. \u201cThoughts unguarded.\u201d He shrugged as if that explained everything. \u201cLike the woman…\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy took a step but stopped abruptly. Not too close.<\/em> \u201cWhat about her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe odor<\/em> engulfed her,\u201d the phooka said softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat odor<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

Aidan pressed his face between the cage mesh. \u201cShe\u2019s pregnant,\u201d he hissed.<\/p>\n

The declaration took Randy completely unprepared, and a slow smile came to his face. \u201cClaire?\u201d The smile melted. \u201cWhat? You want it?\u201d<\/p>\n

The phooka chuckled and shook his head, his gaze never straying from Randy\u2019s. \u201cIt interests me not.<\/em> I find the situation amusing.\u201d The phooka lifted his nostrils, sniffed. \u201cThe smell precedes her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy half-twisted to the doorway. \u201cShe\u2019s coming?\u201d<\/p>\n

The phooka raised his brow slightly.<\/p>\n

Randy stepped unsteadily out of the utility room and pulled the door closed, his last glance at the phooka\u2019s eyes noting the sadness and fear of one who\u2019s been alone too long. He released the knob as Claire rounded the corner.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t answer the doorbell,\u201d she said. \u201cI figured you\u2019d be back here. Did you kill it?\u201d Claire glared at him, waiting.<\/p>\n

Randy didn\u2019t reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cRandy, <\/em>why in heaven\u2019s name not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s intelligent, not some rabid animal. You just can\u2019t go killing<\/em> things.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not human<\/em>, Randall. It\u2019s evil.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have a clue.\u201d He drew a breath, realizing that the only way to prove the phooka\u2019s value was to demonstrate it. Randy reached for Claire\u2019s hand, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. \u201cGive it a chance, Claire. I mean…this may sound strange, but,\u201d he said, \u201care you pregnant?\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire went rigid, eyes wide with angry fear. She yanked free and backed away. Randy held her gaze, waiting. He\u2019d learned a lot about waiting, about being quiet. His hands trembled slightly, and he concentrated on being still.<\/p>\n

A peal of laughter issued from within the utility room, and the color drained from Claire\u2019s face. She began to turn away, but Randy caught her at the elbow.<\/p>\n

\u201cKill<\/em> it, Randy,\u201d she growled.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook into his eyes. He\u2019s not evil. He\u2019s something…special. He said you\u2019re pregnant<\/em>. He knows by smell, Claire\u2014by smell<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire struggled against his grip. \u201cLet me go.\u201d Randy released her, and she fled.<\/p>\n

Randy didn\u2019t bother calling Claire that night. It would be useless, and, frankly, he was weary of her and her assumption of superiority. Perhaps this little predicament she now found herself in would bring her down to earth, would instill a bit of empathy and humility. Perhaps. For now, though, her absence would allow him to give his attention completely to the phooka, beginning with a dinner of squash, potatoes, and an entire baked chicken.<\/p>\n

The phooka didn\u2019t speak while eating, nor did he acknowledge Randy, who sat quietly in the doorway, watching. Aidan\u2019s ravenous hunger had sated somewhat, and he now ate more thoroughly, carefully. His pointed tongue snaked around the bones and stripped them clean before he cracked each to consume the marrow. He left nothing edible uneaten. Finally, Aidan began licking his fingers clean, and pushed away the pan. He lay down quietly on his back.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes the cage floor bother you?\u201d Randy asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m accustomed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy rose and returned a few moments later with several towels, which he tossed onto the cage top. The phooka pulled them in one by one to make a mat on the cage floor. He lay down once again, this time with a satisfied sigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnything else?\u201d Randy asked.<\/p>\n

The phooka grinned. \u201cIf you would be so kind as to open the cage door…\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy smiled. \u201cSleep well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you walk in your cage tonight?\u201d the phooka asked.<\/p>\n

Randy hesitated and then closed the door.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Randy woke with a grunt, dragging himself into consciousness, slowly becoming aware of the banging. He rose and groggily pulled on jeans and a t-shirt before stumbling out toward the noise. He opened the front door to find Claire and a soft, puffy man standing behind her.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood lord, Randy,\u201d she said, her eyes raking up and down him. She pushed in, and Randy stumbled back, allowing both Claire and the man entry. \u201cYou locked the door to it,\u201d she said flatly. She started for the kitchen \u201cWhere\u2019s the key?\u201d she demanded, but she located it on the counter next to the refrigerator before he could answer. She led the man out the back door onto the patio. Randy salvaged his senses finally when he spotted the bible in the older man\u2019s hand and followed them out the back door. He wedged himself between Claire and the utility room door just as she turned the lock. \u201cWho\u2019s this guy?\u201d he demanded.<\/p>\n

\u201cRusty Baggett,\u201d the man said. \u201cClaire\u2019s pastor.\u201d He smiled reassuringly under intense, hungry eyes, and leaned forward, offering his hand in greeting, but Randy ignored him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou brought a preacher<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat thing<\/em>, Randy. It\u2019s…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s none of his<\/em> concern.\u201d Then, to the man: \u201cYou can go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d Claire tried to reach past Randy, but he refused to move. She straightened, indignant and determined. \u201cRandy, I will not<\/em> allow that thing…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have the option of allowing<\/em> or denying<\/em> anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

A coldness settled in her eyes, and she tucked her shoulder and pushed him off-balance.<\/p>\n

The preacher caught Randy\u2019s arm to steady him, begging, \u201cPlease, please.\u201d Randy yanked free with such ferocity that the preacher grunted as he lost his grasp. Randy grabbed for Claire\u2019s hand, but the door swung open to reveal Aidan, crouching inside the cage, glaring up, tense and ready. Claire gasped at the thing\u2019s appearance, its head now fully transformed into that of a goat, curved horns short and sharp, gaunt body quivering with energy. It wagged its tongue and hissed.<\/p>\n

\u201cDear God,\u201d the preacher whispered as he faltered closer. Randy reached for him, but the action brought the preacher back to the moment, the mission. The air went out of Randy as the preacher pushed him back against the utility room\u2019s exterior wall. Pastor Baggett raged through the open doorway, toward the cage, brandishing his bible like a weapon. \u201cDemon of hell,\u201d the preacher growled, \u201cprepare to be cast into the fiery pit forever and ever!\u201d<\/p>\n

Aidan didn\u2019t move, his eyes cold and black on the pudgy man.<\/p>\n

Randy forced his way past Claire and grabbed the preacher\u2019s shoulders from behind. The man dropped low and spun, bringing the thick bible against Randy\u2019s head, sending him crashing into tools hanging on the wall. A spade clattered to the floor, and other tools rattled on their pegs. The preacher tossed the bible down, grabbed the spade, and reeled toward cage. The phooka\u2019s hands lashed out, fingers latching around the preacher\u2019s thick leg, digging into the material.<\/p>\n

The preacher shrieked as blood darkened his pant leg. He swung the spade down at the phooka\u2019s arms, but Aidan proved too fast, and the spade struck the cage door. The phooka toyed with the man, taunting him, slipping his hands out of the cage, only to pull back precisely as the preacher swung, the spade striking the door and lock repeatedly.<\/p>\n

The preacher drew back to swing again, the spade poised over his shoulder, his eyes widening as the creature slipped gangly fingers around the lock and opened the door with a screak<\/em>. Aidan hissed, body shifting, growing, horns lengthening, straightening, sharpening, eyes fixed on the preacher.<\/p>\n

The preacher dropped the spade and scrambled back through the doorway, forgetting his bible, colliding with Claire who went down hard on her back. The preacher fled around the house for his car as the phooka bolted past Randy to straddle Claire\u2019s chest. He crouched low on the woman, his long, dark tongue snaking out to lick her trembling throat.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet it off<\/em>!\u201d she shrieked. Claire struck at the beast with both hands, but Aidan grabbed her forearms in his bony fingers and crossed her arms over her chest. He bent low again, lips brushing hers as she twisted her head from side to side. He sniffed, long and hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cRandy<\/em>…\u201d Claire cried.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet off of her,\u201d Randy demanded, but he hesitated from action, suspecting that the phooka would have already harmed his sister had that been his intention.<\/p>\n

Claire struggled, but it dug its lanky fingers into her arms. She whimpered but continued to struggle weakly.<\/p>\n

Aidan twisted his head around to face Randy with a sardonic grin. \u201cShe no longer bears.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s struggling ceased as the words\u2019 meaning grew clear and her eyes met Randy\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet her go,\u201d Randy said softly.<\/p>\n

Aidan hissed.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet her go<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy saw sadness soften those demonic eyes, and Aidan\u2019s grip relaxed. The creature stepped off the woman.<\/p>\n

Claire scrambled to her feet. \u201cIf you won\u2019t kill it, I will<\/em>,\u201d she seethed. She started for the spade the pastor had dropped, but Randy seized her by the shoulders and forced her to face him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019d you do, Claire? What<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes shifted from Randy to the phooka, then back, before she finally turned and ran. A car door slammed, an engine roared to life, and rubber squealed. Randy stood in silence, staring after her.<\/p>\n

Mucus rattled in the phooka\u2019s throat. He coughed and spat. The creature remained silent until, with a sigh, it turned back toward the utility room. Randy heard the cage rattle as the door closed. He came into the room\u2019s doorway to find Aidan sitting in the middle of the cage, his back toward the door. Randy crossed and opened the cage door.<\/p>\n

Randy squints into the sunlight, his eyes adapting slowly, but adapting nevertheless. The soldiers who support him chatter on about the stench, the size, the heat. They marvel he\u2019s still alive.<\/em><\/p>\n

Randy glances around at the opening to his tomb. Its roof is indistinguishable from the rest of the desert floor. He swoons with the thought it could have been his grave, and his feet refuse to move, his legs rebelling against their weight. The two soldiers at his sides brace and carry him forward.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right, buddy,\u201d the one on his left says. \u201cYou\u2019re going home.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Each word is a trapdoor, falling shut.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGet out,\u201d Randy said softly.<\/p>\n

Aidan looked around, hesitated.<\/p>\n

Randy smiled. \u201cOut.\u201d<\/p>\n

The phooka left the cage slowly, tentatively. He crossed the room once again to step onto the patio. As Randy came out, the phooka\u2019s body lengthened. His skin changed, coating itself in feathers. His face and horns morphed into a small, sleek head and beak. Aidan\u2019s arms and hands grew and contorted until the phooka, as the huge eagle it had become, stretched his wings into a good six-foot span.<\/p>\n

The bird shook his body, ruffling feathers, and extended a wing to provide a step up for Randy.<\/p>\n

Randy\u2019s heart pounded. What about Claire?<\/em> he thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere will always be a Claire,\u201d Aidan whispered. \u201cAnd a preacher. Always better<\/em>, always judging<\/em>.\u201d The phooka\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cYou escaped the desert. Let the demon go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy bowed his head for several long moments in consideration before finally drawing a deep breath. He looked around slowly one last time and then mounted, straddling the great bird\u2019s back. The eagle\u2019s beak pointed skyward. Randy\u2019s gaze followed it, face warming in the sun. Aidan stretched his wings, a little shaky at first, but steadying as the pair began to rise.<\/p>\n

Copyright \u00a9 2012 by Angel Propps
\n\"\"<\/h5>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

[hana-code-insert name=’ArticleBlockOpen’ \/]<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/em><\/p>\n

C.S. Fuqua<\/h2>\n

Christopher S. Fuqua\u2019s<\/em> work has appeared widely in publications as diverse as Bull Spec<\/em>, Slipstream<\/em>, Pearl<\/em>, The Year’s Best Horror Stories<\/em>, Christian Science Monitor<\/em>, Honolulu Magazine<\/em>, Naval History, The Writer<\/em>, and many others.<\/p>\n

His published books include Alabama Musicians: Musical Heritage from the Heart of Dixie<\/em>, If I Were<\/em> (children\u2019s poems), Big Daddy’s Gadgets<\/em>, Trust Walk<\/em> short fiction collection, Notes to My Becca<\/em>, and Divorced Dads<\/em>, among others. His short fiction and poetry collections have earned several \u201cYear\u2019s Best\u201d honors.<\/p>\n

He is a musician and craftsman of Native American flutes which are sold through WindPoem flutes at www.fluteflights.com<\/a>. For more information about his writing, please visit his website at http:\/\/csfuqua.comxa.com.<\/p>\n

[hana-code-insert name=’ArticleBlockClose’ \/]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by C.S. Fuqua
\n\"\"<\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n
\n

The needle of light winks. Machinery rumbles, and he cowers against the dirt wall. Something brushes against his leg as a shadow scuttles into a corner. He kicks, and bone and flesh give way under his boot. He takes the rat into his hands and lifts the carcass to his lips, but then his shoulders sink. He drops his hands to his lap, weary of the struggle.<\/em><\/p>\n

The light winks again. The door rattles. This time he will make them shoot. <\/em> <\/p>\n<\/td>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nIssue 20 (Apr 2012)<\/span><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\n<\/td>\n\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[192,226,187],"class_list":["post-2291","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-c-s-fuqua","tag-fiction","tag-issue-20"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2291","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2291"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2291\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3352,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2291\/revisions\/3352"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2291"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2291"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2291"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}