Snip, Fidget, Boggle and Greeb

By Gary Battershell

The chalk pentagram was laid out precisely on the basement floor, and an oil lamp flickered and smoked at the apex of each of the five points. In the center with great care I had duplicated in yellow chalk the mystic runes which stood out in bas relief on the bronze amulet hung around my neck. In a moment, if all went as planned, I would be communing with the great and terrible Asmodeus himself who, if I had worked the spell correctly, would do my bidding in this mortal realm for a full fortnight.

I'd emptied out my basement for the ceremony, carried out all the junk accumulated by my parents during their married life together and by myself in the five years I'd lived alone in the house since their deaths. Now, lit only by the lamp glow, the basement seemed hollow and empty. I was struck by the absurdity of what I intended to do given my appalling lack of preparation. I had read exactly three books on demonology and conferred with one person who claimed to have summoned a demon, Murray, the guy who owned the occult shop where I'd bought the amulet and two of the books.

Two of the demonology books had been scholarly studies of the subject, one contemporary and one from the eighteenth century. The third--the one I now held in my sweaty hands--was a leather-bound volume with each left-hand page printed in Latin and each facing page containing an English translation. Murray had told me that this tome had been used as a training guide for sorcerers in early modern England, when English was supplanting Latin as the common written language. At the time I bought the book, whose title translated to The Boo k of Infernal Knowledge, that had seemed logical and I had been convinced of its efficacy, but now, holding it in front of me while I stood on the edge of my chalk pentagram, I felt quite foolish. For a moment, I considered shutting the book and forgetting the whole thing. But then I thought, "Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. A fool and his money are..." But, no, that one didn't apply. Or perhaps it did.

"Oh, diddle!"

I squared my shoulders,d the book, and switched on the book light I had attached to the cover. The thick letters stood out against the yellow parchment pages like smokestacks and blackened girders against a sunset sky. I began to read.

As I did, I recalled what Murray had said: "The first part sort of establishes the connection. Kind of like punching out a telephone number and listening to the ring. The second part is a direct plea for aid from the demon. You'll feel a little tingle or maybe a little numbing around your lips as you read this, and your mouth may get a little dry. That's the demon's energy bridging the dimensional gap."

My mouth did get dry, and though I didn't feel a tingle of any type, my lips did get sort of stiff, so that saying the Latin words precisely was hard--even though I'd practiced for a month using a tape recorder.

"The third section is the summons. If everything's right, with the ceremony and with the dimensional nexus, Asmodeus will appear inside the pentagram in all his horrific glory."

I began the third section. As I read, the temperature plummeted. I could see my breath condensing into gray clouds, and my hands began to shake. I knew that the cold was caused by theng of the portal between dimensions. I knew that the book was real and that I was soon going to see a great demon materialize before my eyes. I finished the incantation and slammed the book shut.

I must have dislodged the book light's battery, because it went out. The lamp-flames began to flicker and then, one by one, four of them winked out. In the light of the remaining lamp, the one straight across from me, I saw a sort of greasy smoke begin to issue from what could only be described as a split in space. It reminded me of a time when as a child, I'd watched a mare give birth. Only this time, what spilled out was not the makings of a fine racer, but rather four of the least attractive creatures in the multiverse.

They fell wriggling out of the wound in space-time and plopped, one by one, on the concrete floor of the basement where they flopped like new-caught fish until, apparently exhausted, they lay still, though their labored breathing maintained the fish metaphor.

After what must have been two or three minutes, one of them sat up and rubbed his red, puffy eyes with "hands" which sported three fingers equipped with nails like black scimitars. Then the little imp or devil or whatever the hell he was pulled his pudgy, warty body up onto two stubby legs and set about rousing his comrades.

"Fidget! Boggle! Greeb! Get the lead out. Time to meet our new master."

He sounded like Ralph Cramden on the "Honeymooners" reruns that I liked to watch on cable. And, now that I thought of it, if Gleason had been shorter, greener, and wartier, the resemblance would have been uncanny.

The three remaining imps began to stir. One of them, a troll-like thing with a huge downward curving nose and straggly, wispy white hair, was the first to revive."

"C'mon, Boggle," the Gleason look-alike said.

"Hold your gonads, Snip," Boggle said. "I'm not as young as I used to be, and these interdimensional jaunts aren't easy on my old bones."

"Bones, shmones, you old slacker. I'll bet you'd rouse quick enough if you thought there was a barrel of grog around."

Boggle scowled and finished heaving himself upright.

By that time, the other two were starting to rouse.

Snip took the hand of a small, red fellow with a crest like a lizard, thin lips, and very sharp teeth, and helped him to his feet.

"You okay, Fidget?"

The red one nodded and smiled like a friendly piranha.

By that time, the last of the four was on his feet and stretching out his long, thin arms and leathery...wings. Yes, wings! They looked like batwings except, that like the rest of him, they were chalky gray in color. This fellow's head, with its high, backward-slanting bony crest, made him look for all the world like a living dwarf hadrosaur. The crest also made him tall compared to the other three. Snip, at about three feet-five was the tallest of the others, but the foot and a half of bone projecting up from the winged one's head made him close to five feet.

"I'm afraid I've cracked a vane," the tall one said, examining the tip of his left wing carefully.

"Aw, Greeb," Snip said, "it's a wonder those things can make it through the portal at all without being turned into rags."

"I keep them tight against me, or that's exactly what would happen. And you know how convenient they've been in the past. Without these puppies, we'd have no air power."

"You're right about that," Snip admitted. "They do come in handy sometimes."

Snip looked all around, and then fixed his piggy eyes on me. He smiled broadly, revealing tusks that would have done any wild boar proud, and started toward me.

"You'd be our master?" Snip said , extending a paw for me to shake.

I backed up. Even a novice such as myself knew that a summoned demon was trapped inside a pentagram until he was released by the one who raised him, or them as the case may be, but I feared that touching him might be tantamount to erasing part of the chalk circle and setting this menagerie free.

"Aw, your first time raising demons. That's cute. You got nothing to fear from us. The spell says we're your servants for a fortnight, so we won't eat you till then."

My look of sheer horror must have registered, because Snip quickly added, "Just kidding. A little impish humor, that's all. We hardly ever eat people."

I marshaled all my courage and intoned, "Who be ye? My summons was for the great and horrid Asmodeus. Ye be not he."

"First of all, cut that King James Bible crap. Wherever we go, and believe me we go lots of places, we speak in the vernacular. I know that in this dimension, TV preachers like to impress weak-minded folks with that out-of-date lingo, but it don't do nothing for us."

I felt a little silly when he put it like that, so I nodded that I understood and said, "All right, but you still haven't answered my question."

"True. You see, you summoned Asmodeus, one of the busiest demons in the netherworld. There's no possible way that the As-man could personally answer every summons. So, because he is a conscientious devotee of chaos, Asmo the Mighty delegates certain jobs to helpers like us. But, never fear, we are fully certified acolytes of His Horrific Majesty, just as is Asmodeus, and we are fully empowered to make deals, buy souls, grant wishes, and so on and so forth."

"Yeah, well if you're so capable, how come it takes four of you?"

Snip turned aside as though my question had taken him aback. Likewise, none of the others would meet my gaze, and the troll-like Boggle seemed on the verge of tears. His bulbous lower lip was trembling and he was dabbing at his eyes with the back of a misshapen hand.

"Then I take it sir, that you doubt our abilities?" Snip said.

"Oh, I didn't say that, exactly. It's just that I was expecting his great and horrid eminence, and, instead, I get a sort of demonic version of the Little Rascals. You can see where I'd be disappointed?"

"Uh, yes. Well, perhaps I can un-dissapoint you. Snip closed his piggy eyes and began to speak rapidly but with perfect clarity and enunciation.

"Your name is Oliver Norman, and you work as an assistant librarian at the city library, a job which generates an income barely adequate to pay the taxes on this rather impressive home that your parents left you in their will after they died in an airplane crash on the way home from a visit to your Aunt Polly in Minneapolis. Though you are twenty-seven years old, you have never gone on a date with a woman or, in fact, had any sort of intimate contact with the fair sex at all. You are romantically interested in a law student at the local university. Her name is Susan Grimes and she visits the library frequently. While you have engaged her in casual conversation and taken her to lunch a few times, you have not worked up the nerve to ask her out on a real date. In fact, you are convinced that if you did, she would turn you down and you would lose her friendship as well as any chance for more than that.

"A year ago you discovered an old book in the discard pile which purported to be a first-hand account of the life of a British mystic who lived at the turn of the last century. He alleged that it was within the power of human beings to summon demonic aid for a price and gave the account of his own contact with our master, the dark lord, Asmodeus. You were intrigued, and began a search for one of the ancient texts which set out the process for summoning demons. You found one at a magic shop on 37th Street run by a non-believer named Murray Abrams. Taking you for a gullible fool, Mr. Abrams gladly sold you the book for much more than you could afford, but you were happy to pay it if it would get you what you want."

"And what is it that I want, Snip?"

"Why, the same thing that everyone wants, master--love, wealth, revenge."

"And can you give me those things, Snip?"

"Oh, yes, Master. Yes, indeed. But, before we start, there is one detail we must take care of. Greeb."

The winged imp shambled forward. For the first time, I noticed that all of them were naked, but that none displayed any visible genitalia. Greebd up a heretofore invisible pouch in his belly and reached inside. He pulled out a small scroll, tied with a strip of rawhide that I somehow knew was of human origin, and handed it to Snip.

Snip untied the scroll and unrolled it with a flourish.

"It's a standard contract, master," he said, handing it to me.

The room was quite dark, but the scroll somehow generated its own glow. It was written in English legalese replete with "hereafters" and parties of the first and second parts, and there was no fine print. I was able to read it through with complete understanding in a few minutes.

"This gives you two weeks to get me all the things you mentioned," I said.

"That's right. Love, wealth, and revenge."

Each term was succinctly and specifically defined in the contract. In all, I was very satisfied.

"One question, before I sign?"

"Sure."

"What happens to me after Asmodeus takes my soul. Do I burn forever in a furnace?"

"Now what good would that do anybody?" Snip said, rather condescendingly, I thought. "There's a war on, bub. Asmodeus is one of the Dark Lord's chief generals, and he needs recruits."

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all you need to know. Now sign or send us back."

"Does it have to be in blood?"

"Oh, for pity's sake. Greeb."

Greeb produced a rather nice Parker ball point pen from his pouch and handed it to Snip who passed it on to me. I used it to sign away my soul to the forces of darkness and then, with the sole of my shoe, wiped away a section of the pentagram outline so that the four imps could get out. Then I led them across the basement and up the stairs to the doorway whichd into my kitchen.

"Got any salami,? Snip assked as he waddled up the stairs behind me. "Salami's one of the best things in this dimension."

"No way," Boggle demurred. "Taco Bell Mexican pizza."

"I like ice cream," Fidget piped up.

"Are you guys sure you can pull this off? I asked,ng the door at the top of the stairs.

"Piece of cake," Snip said confidently. "Not to worry."

The telephone rang and I went quickly to answer it, leaving the three imps alone in my kitchen.

The call was from my boss, Alex Deveraux, reminding me to be sure and come in early tomorrow. We were in the process of shifting half a floor of non-fiction to the floor above. It was a huge job, and one in which everyone was expected to participate. In my case, that meant loading books onto carts like a common laborer and trucking them up to their new homes on the third floor via the freight elevators. As first assistant librarian, I should not have been called upon to actually do manual labor. My job should have been purely supervisory. But, ever since he had unfairly taken the job that should have been mine, Deveraux had gone out of his way to humiliate me at every turn. He wanted me to quit, and I knew it, and he knew that I knew it. As long as I was there, I was a constant reminder of his duplicity.

I assured Deveraux that I'd be there bright and early and then hung up. When I returned to the kitchen, I saw that my guests had made themselves at home. Three of them were sitting around the table drinking soda and, from the smell in the air, waiting for a frozen pizza to finish heating in the oven. Greeb was nowhere to be seen.

When I asked about him, Fidget, the little red one with the sawtooth smile, just pointed up. Boggle interpreted, "He's stretching his wings a little."

"What!" I said with alarm. "You mean that a junior demon who looks like a small dinosaur is flying over Oak Street as we speak?"

"Don't get your panties in a knot," Snip said, "As far as your neighbors can tell, Greeb's just a big bird. We can disguise our true appearance to any we don't want to see us as we really are."

"Do they teach you that at demon school?" I asked sarcastically.

"Uh, yeah," Snip affirmed.

Greeb returned after a few minutes, sweeping nimbly in through anwindow and landing beside Snip's chair.

"That was exhilarating," Greeb said. "Are the pizzas ready?"

They were, and the four of them had no difficulty finishing off the two large pies along with about a gallon and a half of soda and a package of a half-dozen ice cream bars from the freezer. After they had eaten, I showed them to their sleeping quarters. My house was big, so there was plenty of space. I put Snip and Greeb in a bedroom on the first floor and Boggle and Fidget in a second-floor room next to mine.

After everyone was settled and the house was quiet, I spent a long time thinking about what I had done. But with anticipation, not regret. For the first time in my life, I was taking control. I liked the feeling.

When I awoke the next morning, the imps were nowhere to be seen, and their beds were made. I wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing, but I knew better. What had happened, had happened.

By eight o'clock, I was at the library and shifting books with other staffers. We had barely gotten underway when Deveraux showed up with pen and notebook in hand.

"I want this floor cleared out by the end of the day, Norman, and no excuses."

"Yes, sir. I don't anticipate problems."

"See that there aren't any," Deveraux barked with characteristic insolence. Then he turned on his heel and left for his office. Oh, that Mrs. Langtree was still with us. That woman had been as much mother as boss to me, and, now that I thought of it, I realized that I had mourned her death three years ago no less than that of my parents which had occurred two years before that.

"Surly bastard," I heard from behind. I looked around to see Hanna Harwood, one of our long-time staffers. Though we had never discussed it, I knew that Hanna hated Deveraux as much as I. Hanna didn't have a degree, but she'd worked at the city library for almost thirty years, and she didn't appreciate the autocratic way Deveraux treated the staff, especially after working so long with Mrs. Langtree.

I had once expected to succeed Mrs. Langtree as head librarian, but that was before the arrival of Deveraux, a few months before her death. When he showed up with his doctorate in library science and his friends at city hall, there was no question that he was the heir apparent. Mrs. Langtree's accidental death the following year, a full seven years before her expected retirement, had removed the last practical obstacle to Deveraux's ascension. In my darker moments, I sometimes wondered if that dear lady had had help falling down the third-floor stairs.

We finished the job on time. By five o'clock all the books were shifted, and I was ready to go home. I just had to stop by Deveraux's third-floor office, the one Mrs. Langtree had occupied for so long, to let him know how things had gone.

I knocked at the office door and Deveraux bid me his usual gruff assent to enter. As soon as I stepped inside, I knew that something was wrong. Deveraux looked up from some paperwork, but when his eyes met mine, seeming panic set in. Deveraux pushed himself back against the wall, and began to plead.

"I didn't know it would have such an effect," he said. "I thought it would only make you ill, allow me to take over for awhile. I had no way of knowing you'd fall down a flight of stairs."

"What?" I walked across the office toward Deveraux, trying to fathom what he was saying. Fidget appeared on the desk holding a large ornate mirror in front of himself and grinning at me over the top. Deveraux appeared not to notice him at all. I saw my reflection in the mirror, but it wasn't me I was seeing. It was Mildred Langtree as she had appeared on the day of her death. I remembered finding that wonderful friendly, competent woman crumpled and broken at the foot of the stairs in that very dress. I remembered thinking how the big pink and blue roses on the bodice were so incongruous, roses symbolizing springtime and fecundity, not death and decay. I walked across the office and stood in front of the desk, very much enjoying Deveraux's obvious terror.

"You know what you have to do, don't you Alex?" I said. To me, my voice sounded normal, but to him it must have sounded like Mrs. Langtree's.

He had gone behind his chair now and was pressing himself against the wall, as though if he pushed hard enough, he might be able to pass on through and escape the vengeance of a head librarian wronged.

"No, Mildred. Mildred, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to die."

"But I did die, Alex. I died horribly. And you benefited handsomely. That just isn't right."

"What should I do? How can I atone?"

"I'll leave that up to you, for now, Alex. But I think a good first step would be for you to go to the police and admit everything."

"Admit putting the LSD in your coffee? But that would be a murder confession."

"It was murder, Alex. And if you don't take responsibility for what you did, I'll have to visit you again. And I may not be so nice next time."

I turned and left the office, sparing only one backward glance. Deveraux was sliding down the wall as though a valve had beend that was letting all of the air out of him. Fidget was gone.

I never saw Alex Deveraux again, and I never found out what happened to him. After he had been gone from work for two days, I received notice that I was to take on the job of acting head librarian until such time as the board could meet to make a definite decision as to would succeed permanently to the position. I knew that this was simply a necessary formality; there were no other likely candidates besides myself.

"Good morning," Snip said, sipping coffee and smoking a long cigarette. I was just coming in for breakfast, and found the green imp sitting at the table. Normally I didn't permit smoking in the house, but I didn't feel up to challenging a supernatural being over such a minor quibble, especially one who had already been so helpful to me and held the promise of being infinitely more so.

"Good morning," I said, pouring myself some coffee and sitting down across from Snip. "Where are your comrades?"

"Oh, they're busy arranging for your acquisition of your dream girl." Snip leaned toward me conspiratorially. "You know, Miss Grimes."

"Susan, yes, Susan. Well, if you do as good a job on this one as you did getting me vengeance on that prick, Deveraux, I will be most pleased."

"We do good work, master."

Snip took another sip of his coffee and then got up from the table. He went to the door and paused for a moment beforeng it. In that moment he took on the form of a large, powerful man dressed in ragged jeans and a tattered plaid shirt.

"Remember me," Snip said, and then went out the door.

I was working behind the reference desk when Susan came in. I thought that she might. She often did on Tuesday after her morning classes. In fact, now that I thought about it, Susan hadn't missed a Tuesday in a long while. I waved at her, and she returned the wave and sent me a smile that made me frankly weak in the knees.

I don't suppose Susan was beautiful by most objective standards. She was too short and too square to fit the anorexic fashion-model ideal so prevalent today, and her glasses and short-cropped brown hair gave her a look of businesslike competence rather than sultry sexuality. I think it was her smile I most liked about her. It granted her a luminescence I'd never seen on another face, and it made me feel happy just to see it appear. Of course, it could be that Susan's smile was quite ordinary and the magical aspect was simply that it was so often directed at me.

"How was your morning?" I asked Susan when she was close enough to the reference desk that I didn't have to raise my voice.

"I had an exam in torts," she said.

"And how did you do?"

"Great, I think. After all, civil law's my main interest."

"Then you don't want to be the female Perry Mason, dazzling juries and exhorting witness stand confessions?"

"Criminal law? No, that's not my idea of a satisfying career. I'd much rather stop insurance companies from screwing people out of benefits and stuff like that."

"Well, I'm finished here in two minutes. How would you like to go around the corner to Haverty's for some lunch. I'm buying."

"Hey, when did a poor law student ever turn down an offer of free food?"

This Tuesday lunch date had become a ritual with us. I'd buy Susan a burger and fries and she'd tell me about the travails of her life as a struggling student, or about what it was like to grow up the only daughter of the police chief of Drury, Iowa. Often, as it did today, her talk turned to the exploits of Susan's wild roommate, Mindy.

"So I come home one afternoon and there she is, getting it on with her latest in the middle of the floor while Oprah talks about finding inner peace through meditation on the TV."

I always loved it when Susan talked about sex, but I never let on to her how it excited me. Librarians must maintain a cool, detached demeanor at all times; it's part of the code.

"So what did you do?" I asked, and then took a long pull on my soda straw.

"What could I do? I walked past them to my bedroom and said hello to Mindy on my way. Her friend never missed a stroke. He just looked up and said "Pleased to meet you.""

I had to be back at work by one, thus at ten minutes to the hour we left the restaurant. Our stroll took us past the mouth of an alleyway between a tattoo parlor and a florist shop. When we were abreast of the dark space between buildings, I heard a scuffling sound followed by Susan's scream.

A large man in a plaid shirt had Susan by the arm and was dragging her into the alley. The man shot me a look of purest evil, and then winked and grinned.

Snip.

"Unhand that lady, you miscreant!" I shouted.

Snip rolled his eyes, but stayed in character. He pulled Susan against himself and laughed malevolently. Susan brought her heel down hard on Snip's instep, but to no avail. Normal self-defense techniques, it seemed, were not useful against imps.

I grabbed Snip's arm and pulled him toward me. Snip bellowed with rage, but let go of Susan, whereupon I balled up my right fist and delivered a hard blow to his chin. Snip staggered back, and I pressed my advantage by stepping in with a left to the belly that doubled him up, followed by a right uppercut that slammed him into the brick wall of the tattoo parlor.

"I've had enough!" the imp bellowed, cowering behind upraised hands.

"Have you?" I asked, advancing belligerently. "I'm not sure that your chastisement has been adequate."

Again Snip rolled his eyes. I sent him an answering look that said, "I'm doing the best I can here."

"I'm sorry. Just let me go."

"Then you have learned the error of your evil ways and you will never again accost young women in the streets?"

"Never! Never! I swear."

"Then you may go."

Snip tucked his chin and ran up the alley. He disappeared around the corner of the building, and I turned to Susan.

"Are you all right, my dear?" I asked tenderly.

"You saved me, Oliver? You're my hero."

The next thing I knew, Susan was in my arms and her hands were pulling my head down to hers. Our lips met, and I pulled her hard against me.

"Can we go somewhere?" Susan said.

"Right now? Yes. Yes, we can. I'll just stop by the library and put Hannah in charge for the rest of the day. It's been a long time since I've taken an afternoon off."

We spent the rest of the day at my house, in my bed, doing things I'd only dreamed of heretofore.

I didn't see the imps again for three days, but I saw all there was to see of Susan on every day one of those days. It was, in fact, just after I'd returned from taking Susan home on the third evening that I found the imps in my living room watching The Omen on television and laughing uproariously at all the factual inaccuracies.

"Hi, master, " Snip said between guffaws. "Boy could they have used a technical advisor."

"This movie's stupid," Boggle said. "Let's switch back to the Playboy Channel."

I went into the kitchen for a soda and then joined my guests in the living room.

"Looks like we won't need the whole fortnight after all," Snip said.

"Oh, then you've worked out how to make me rich. That, I believe, is all that's left."

"Boggle and Greeb have been working on that, and I think they've got it figured out. Greeb, inform our client of your work, please."

"I'd be happy to," Greeb said. The imp strode to the center of the room and spread his wings impressively. "Boggle and I have produced a list of four potential buyers for The Book of Infernal Knowledge which you used to summon us from the nether realm. There are only three copies in existence on this plane, and a conservative estimate of the value is between three and five million American dollars."

Greeb reached into his pouch and produced the list which he handed to Boggle who took it and dutifully waddled over and proffered it to me.

One of the addresses was in Boston, two were European, and one was in mainland China.

"I would suggest," Boggle said, "that you contact all four and take bids."

"I see," I said, sitting back in my chair. "Then I suppose our business is done."

"I should say so," Snip said with satisfaction. "You have revenge, you have the woman you craved, and now you have wealth. We wish you a long and happy life on this plane, and an even longer eternity in the service of Asmodeus."

"Yes, I was thinking about that. I don't suppose I could give back any of this and get my length of service shortened? The money, for instance. I don't really care if I'm rich or not. I mean, I have the job I want, and I have Susan."

Snip looked offended. "I should say not. We have a contract."

Snip extended a green, warty hand to Greeb who produced the scroll from his pouch.

"The obligations of both parties are clear. We've fulfilled our part, and, in due time, you will fulfill yours."

"Could I at least have a copy of the damn thing?" I asked.

"But of course," Snip said. "I had intended to leave one with you."

Snip again extended his hand to Greeb who again reached into his pouch and produced a scroll identical to the other, except that it was on ordinary cotton-bond paper. Snip took the copy and gave it to me.

The imps spent the night in my house and early the next morning, after a huge breakfast, they announced that they were ready to return to the nether realm. I dutifully donned my amulet, took them to the basement, and redrew the wiped-out section of the pentagram border once they were safely inside. Then I lit the lamps andd the book to the page where the incantation for returning demonic beings was written.

It was like the first ceremony except in reverse. A rentd in space-time and the imps, one-by-one, were sucked into its maw. Snip was last, and before he was fully absorbed into the blackness of the portal, he smiled broadly, exposing his boar-like tusks, and said, "See you later, master--for a very long time."

When he said "master" the word was clearly laced with sarcasm. What would life (or un-life) be like on the other side with my soul in thrall to an elder demon with acolytes like these? I shuddered at the thought.

I asked Susan to marry me a month later, and her response was an enthusiastic "yes." For a little while, I was euphoric, but as the wedding date drew near, it became clearer and clearer that I would have to let Susan know the truth about the way I had acquired her love, and that while we might spend the rest of our lives together, for us there would be no sweet eternity. Whatever the afterlife held for Susan, for me it held only the grim prospect of endless service as a foot soldier of Asmodeus.

I chose a sunny Sunday afternoon to tell her. I'm not Catholic, but I'd attended mass with Susan that morning, and asked her if she'd like to picnic in the city park. Susan's brown eyes lit up like sparklers at the suggestion, and she smiled that smile that still made my knees weak. We stopped by a KFC and picked up some food, and then continued to the park where we found a shady table by the little lake where swans glided and golden koi swam.

After we ate, I got up and walked to the water. Susan came up beside me and took my hand in hers. It was a wonderful, romantic moment. Too bad, I thought, that I would have to spoil it.

"There's something I have to tell you, Susan."

"You sound serious, Ollie."

"I am. There's something about me that you have to know."

"Are you an escaped mental patient? A serial killer? Oh, no! Don't tell me you're a Republican."

"I'm damned." I said.

"Then you are a Republican."

I told her the whole sordid story, from start to finish. It just gushed out of me like black bilge water, and Susan listened quietly until I was empty.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I don't suppose you've got any proof?"

I took out my wallet and extracted a sheet of lined notebook paper which I handed to Susan.

"These are the four names and addresses the imps gave me. Any one of them would pay millions for the book. I've got that at home. It has my copy of the contract in it."

Susan took the paper back to the table. There she rummaged in her bag until she found a pen and a small notebook. Then she copied down the addresses and brought the paper back to me.

"I'm going to be unavailable for a little while, Ollie," she said. "Do you think you can handle that?"

I kept my eyes fixed out over the lake. I was afraid that if I looked at her I would start to cry.

"To tell the truth, Susan, this is the reaction I expected. Surely you must realize that your feelings for me aren't real. We were meant to be friends...just friends. It was the imps that made you love me."

"I'll be in touch," Susan said.

I watched her walk away, and proved myself right. The sight of her did make me cry. Not even the librarian's code which required the maintenance of firm emotional control at all times could stop the tears or the wracking sobs that followed.

Three days later, just as I returned home from work, the telephone rang. It was Susan.

"I'll make this short and sweet, Ollie," she said. "I had my dad use his police connections to check out those addresses. They're for real. The guy in Boston is a frozen food tycoon, the Europeans are a Dutch banker and a Norwegian count. Each of them has an annual income roughly equivalent to the U. S. national debt. And the Chinese guy is an internationally known drug lord who supplies about half the heroin to the western hemisphere. In short, a million dollars would mean no more than a big tip to any of them."

"What about ties to the occult?"

"Definitely on two of them."

"All right, so now you believe me, or you at least believe part of what I told you. What does that mean? Are you coming back to me?"

"Ollie, I never left. I just had to find out what I needed to know in order to help you. At first, I thought the help you needed would be psychiatric, but now I'm not so sure. Can I come over this evening?"

I assured Susan that I'd like nothing better than to see her. She arrived at my door an hour later. The kiss we exchanged at the front door was passionate, but Susan broke it off a little quickly to ask me a question.

"You say you have a copy of the contract?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

I went upstairs and came back down a minute later with the rolled-up sheet of paper, which I gave to Susan.

Susan flipped on the reading lamp, unrolled the scroll, and sat down in my easy chair to read it. As Susan read, her brow furrowed, and then, further down the page, she smiled.

"I have an idea," Susan said.

"An idea about what?"

"An idea about breaking this contract. I'm going to need to take this home to study for a few days. And I'll need to borrow that book, too."

"And then what?"

"And then we're going to court."

The basement was musty and dark, lit only by the lamps flickering at the five points of the pentagram. I stood at the edge of the circle, bronze amulet hung around my neck and holding my book. A woman stood on either side of me. To my right was Susan, dressed professionally in a gray skirt and a formal-looking white blouse with puffy sleeves. She wore tiny black pearl earrings and a tasteful matching necklace. To my left was Susan's roommate, Mindy, who was dressed considerably more casually in cutoff blue jeans and a tube top. I still wasn't sure why Mindy was here at all, but Susan had told me that her presence was absolutely necessary.

When I had asked Susan if Mindy would be willing to attend an occult ceremony involving the conjuration of demons, Susan had only laughed and replied, "After all the crazy things I've told you about Mindy, you doubt that she'd be interested in something this bizarre? And besides, as many times as I've pulled her little chestnuts out of the fire, she owes me."

Now, looking determined and radiating confidence, Susan took my hand, gave it a comforting squeeze and said, "Trust me, Ollie. I know I can do this."

I began the incantation, and, almost immediately, the temperature in the room began to drop. A cold breeze issued from inside the pentagram as a fissure in space started to form.

"Oh, wow!" Mindy said. "It's doing it!"

"Quiet," Susan whispered hoarsely. "You might mess up the spell."

"I read the Latin phrases with precision, and, as I finished the last one, a pinkish spike poked out of the nexus. It was followed quickly by a second spike and then the huge, raw forehead from which they sprouted.

"Asmodeus," I said in an awestruck whisper.

The demon's sheer size, as he emerged, was staggering, but he shrank as he came across the dimensional gap so that by the time he actually stood on the cold concrete of my basement floor, he was no larger than your average professional wrestler. Asmodeus was naked. His skin looked as though it had been rubbed raw with a garden rake, and, unlike the imps, his sexual organs were very apparent, so much so that a wave of envy hit me like a physical blow. The effect on Mindy was quite different judging from the little mewling sounds which issued from her as she stared fixedly at the demon's solar plexus.

Asmodeus looked around the basement and at the confining lines of the pentagram in which he was ensconced. His expression was one between exasperation and outright rage.

"Why have you summoned me?" the demon demanded.

Asmodeus voice was like the purr of a really big housecat, but with a sinuous undertone like an extended low note played on a viola.

I started to speak, but Susan cut me off.

"Mr. Asmodeus," she began. "I plan to represent Mr. Oliver Norman in a lawsuit against you."

Asmodeus smiled a toothy smile. "A lawyer. We would have met sooner or later in any case."

"My client alleges that this contract is null and void."

Susan took the contract out of her briefcase and displayed it.

"Let me see that."

Susan leaned toward me and, in a whisper, asked if it was all right for an object to pass across the perimeter of the pentagram. I assured her that passing the contract to the demon would in no way compromise the pentagram's containment field, and only then did she proffer the document.

Asmodeus took the contract in a clawed hand and scanned it quickly.

"There's nothing wrong with this," he purred. "It's a standard contract, properly signed by my agents and this mortal. His soul is mine."

"I beg to differ, Susan said, beginning to pace, and looking off into the distance in an annoying lawyerlike way. "It is our contention that Mr. Norman's signature was secured by fraud, that the benefits described in the contract are, in part, fictitious, and, thus, that the entire contract is null and void."

"What? You dare?"

The demon howled and rushed at us. I flinched, even though I knew that no part of him could escape the pentagram unless I allowed it. Mindy jumped back, but then, seeing how the barrier of the pentagram stopped Asmodeus as effectively as if it were a wall made of diamond, she clapped her hands and giggled.

"Way cool!" Mindy screeched. "This is better than watching a scary movie on acid."

"She really is nuts, isn't she?" I asked Susan.

"I told you," Susan said smugly.

"Mr. Asmodeus," Susan said condescendingly, "this display of temper does not change the fact that your agents--Misters Snip, Fidget, Boggle, and Greeb, cheated my client. As per the contract, I demand adjudication by an impartial jury."

"As per the contract, I demand..." Asmodeus mocked Susan with a high-pitched, sillified repetition of her words.

Susan smiled dryly and read from the contract: "Paragraph six, "In the event of any dispute arising from the aforestated terms, either party shall possess the right to demand satisfaction from an impartial third party or parties agreed upon by both.""

"Read the next sentence." Asmodeus purred.

"In the event the plaintiff is the seller, if the decision is for the buyer, the said soul is due and payable immediately."

"That means if you lose, your client dies now."

"I'm well aware of that," Susan said.

I wasn't. I'd read that damnable document a hundred times, but somehow that part had never registered.

"Susan are you sure about this?" I asked. "We could still have a lot of years together before..."

"I'm sure, Ollie. We've got a good case."

"A good case? Not an excellent case?"

Susan took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Since I've never practiced in this venue before, I'm not sure of procedures. How exactly would a jury be empanelled?

"Oh, quite simply. You can have any mortal or immortal you want, provided they're willing to serve. Of course, in the case of mortals, they have to be dead."

"And the number?"

"You choose, as long as it's odd. We don't want a tie."

"Very well, I think three should be sufficient."

"Since I am the one accused of wrongdoing, I should get to pick two."

"No objection as long as we restrict it to mortals. No demons, imps, or any of that sort."

"Agreed."

"And all choices must have extensive legal training. I plan to win this case on its merits."

"Agreed. Agreed. Agreed. You are a most trying woman."

"Thank you."

"For my first choice," Asmodeus purred, "I choose Tomas de Torquemada of Spain."

Instantly, the figure of a sharp-featured, bearded man dressed in the rich raiment of a Renaissance aristocrat appeared inside the edge of the pentagram.

"That's the Spanish Grand Inquisitor?" I whispered urgently to Susan.

Asmodeus continued, "And I choose Maximilian Robespierre of France."

"Robespierre, my God!" I complained desperately to Susan. "He cut the heads off half of France."

Robespierre appeared beside Torquemada. His fleshy visage radiated cold arrogance. He wore black trousers and a black jacket draped with a sash in the red white and blue tricolor of revolutionary France

Susan seemed unperturbed. I wondered if this whole thing was a farce, if, instead of working to free me from my hellish bargain, she was getting even with me for using infernal power to make her fall in love with me. It was not a happy thought.

"I choose Oliver Wendell Holmes." Susan said.

The distinguished American jurist, bedecked in the black robes of a Supreme Court justice--raiment he wore nobly in life for almost thirty years of the first half of the twentieth century--materialized beside the two Europeans to each of whom he nodded amicably. I felt better knowing that Holmes was there. Still, he could be beaten by a two-to-one vote if the two maniacs stuck together.

"What about questions of order, admissibility of evidence, and such?" Susan asked.

"Our panel of judges will settle all such matters by majority vote, if it suits you."

"Suits me fine. Let's get started."

As the plaintiff, it was up to me to begin, or rather for Susan to do so on my behalf. While the judges looked on impassively, my girl built our case. The crux of her argument was simple. While the imps had granted me the revenge on Deveraux which I craved and had given me the means of achieving great wealth--even thought I had not yet availed myself of it--they had not, she argued, given me the promised unattainable love.

"Objection," Asmodeus broke in. "I believe that the defendant is currently engaged to the love object in question. Is that not so?"

"It is, Susan admitted. I love Oliver and we will be married soon."

"Then how can you possibly argue that I am in default?"

"Because I loved him before your imps had anything to do with it. In fact, I had announced my intention to initiate a romantic involvement with the plaintiff long before the event in the alley which he mistakenly believed to have catalyzed our relationship."

Torquemada spoke up "And I suppose, senorita, that you can prove this?"

"Indeed. To that effect I call as a witness Miss Mindy Howard."

Mindy stepped forward and raised her right hand.

"No need for swearing in, my dear," Robespierre said icily. "We can smell a lie, and the consequences of misleading this court would be grave."

Mindy lowered her hand and smiled weakly.

"Miss Howard," Susan said, pacing, "How would you describe our relationship?"

"Well, we're roommates, and best friends, I guess."

"Then we exchange confidences often?"

"Oh, yeah. All the time."

"And in any of these confidences did I ever mention the plaintiff?"

"Yeah, lots of them."

"And would you describe the content of these confidences?"

"You said you were crazy about him. Almost from the first time you met him in the library, you were talking about how you wished he'd ask you out, and about how cute and how shy he was. How you wondered if he'd ever had a girlfriend. Stuff like that."

"Would you say that I was in love with Mr. Norman, and had been for some time prior to the time we began sleeping together?"

"Oh yeah. You had it bad."

"No further questions," Susan said, turning triumphantly to the judges.

"Do you wish to cross examine?" Justice Holmes asked Asmodeus.

The demon was visibly furious, his lips writhed, exposing yellow fangs, and his black eyes flashed cold hellfire. Nevertheless, when he spoke, it was in his most sensuous purr.

"Miss Howard," Asmodeus began, "did Miss Grimes ever tell you in so many words that she loved Mr. Norman before the day when she was attacked?"

Mindy chewed her lip fetchingly while she thought. After a long while she said, "I'd have to say that she didn't."

"No more questions," Asmodeus said.

"Re-direct," Susan said.

Holmes nodded.

"Did I ever tell you before that day that I wanted to sleep with Oliver?"

"Sure, lots of times."

"Mindy, would you say that I am promiscuous?"

"You?" Mindy laughed. "You haven't had a boyfriend since you started school here two years ago."

"Then would you say that I am unlikely to sleep with a man whom I don't love."

"Yeah, I would."

"Then would you say that my stated sexual desire for Oliver was tantamount to my saying that I loved him?"

"Objection," Asmodeus hissed. Actual steam shooshed from his nostrils. "The witness is being asked to draw a conclusion."

"Withdrawn," Susan said. "I believe the point has been made."

I saw that Justice Holmes was smiling, and that Torquemada also seemed amused--perhaps even impressed. Only Robespierre remained impassive.

"Are you ready to close?" Holmes asked Susan.

"Not quite yet. I call Mr. Oliver Norman."

Susan asked me about my summoning Asmodeus and getting the four imps instead. She asked about their activities on my behalf, and I answered honestly and completely. And finally she asked me whether the imps had seemed to have preternatural knowledge about my life.

"Well, yes. They knew all about my life and my job. They even knew that I'd never had a girlfriend or been on a date."

"And they knew all of this before you told them anything about yourself?"

"Yes. Snip went into this spontaneous spiel about the life and times of Oliver Norman."

"And it was all correct?"

"All of it," I affirmed.

"Then if the imps knew all of this, there is a strong likelihood that they also knew that I was in love with you, and, if true, that would mean that not only did they promise to get you something you already had, but that they were fully aware of the fraudulent nature of the promise. Perhaps we should ask for punitive damages. I think I'm finished here."

Asmodeus roared and Justice Holmes called for order.

I expected that closing arguments would begin at that point, but after conferring for several minutes with his colleagues, Justice Holmes announced that additional witnesses were necessary.

"We have decided that we must have testimony from the imps in question in order to fairly adjudicate this case. Thus, Asmodeus, we require that you summon to this tribunal your lieutenants, Snip, Fidget, Boggle, and Greeb.

Asmodeus scowled, but, realizing he had no choice, waved his claws in the air and hissed a summons.

Instantly, four quite disconcerted imps appeared inside the pentagram.

"It has been alleged," Justice Holmes said, "that you four intentionally misled Mr. Norman by promising him the love of a woman you already knew to be in love with him, and that this was a major inducement for his relinquishment of his soul to the demon, your master, Asmodeus. Is this allegation true?"

"Hell, no!" Snip said. "That deal was fair and square."

"Then how did you know so much else about me?" I asked indignantly.

"I read your mind, not that it was much of a thrill. I always go through that supernatural knowledge routine with new clients. It scares them and that buys respect. But it's just a parlor trick. I didn't know nothing that you didn't know, and if you didn't know that she loved you, there's no way I could have known it either."

Susan looked a little taken aback. She'd evidently been hoping that the judges would believe not only that I had been cheated, but that it had been intentional on the part of Asmodeus's agents.

I leaned toward Susan and whispered, "Is this bad? I mean does it nix the case?"

"Not necessarily, but it certainly weakens it. I've played my last card, Ollie. All we can do now is wait."

There was nothing new or dramatic in either side's closing arguments. Asmodeus stressed the sanctity of the contract and the fact that two-thirds of it had been fulfilled perfectly--a fact admitted by our side, he pointed out. He also belabored the fact that there was no way his agents could have known Susan's feelings, and that as far as they were concerned, they were fulfilling the letter of the contract. And further, he argued that months had gone by with nothing to spark my relationship with Susan, and that without the imps' intervention, our love might have lain dormant forever. All in all, he made, I thought, a strong case.

Susan reiterated her argument that the contract was based on the fraudulent idea that she was not in love with me and had to be persuaded to fall in love with me through demonic intervention. She assured the judges that she would not have allowed much more time to go by before making the moves that I was evidently too shy to initiate. Whether the judges were buying it was anybody's guess. Holmes looked sympathetic; Torquemada looked amused; and Robespierre looked constipated.

After both sides had rested, the judges conferred for perhaps five minutes, following which Robespierre began the announcement of their decision.

"We find no intentional fault with the actions of Asmodeus or his agents."

"Oh, God, no!" I sobbed. Visions of hellfire leaped before my eyes.

"However," Robespierre said coldly, "we do find that the validity of the contract rests on the reciprocal voluntary exchange of valuable merchandise, i. e. a human soul, for stated benefits which include the love of a woman, a commodity which the plaintiff already possessed. Thus, this is tantamount to selling a man a horse he already owns, an exchange of dubious legality and morality."

Torquemada continued the explanation.

"Since the plaintiff did derive definite benefit from the transaction, i. e. revenge on a co-worker, an improved position at work, the means to acquire great wealth, and the hastening of a romantic involvement with Miss Grimes, we decree that he is to some degree indebted to the demon Asmodeus."

Asmodeus smiled horribly and made clutching gestures toward me with his claws.

Justice Holmes finished for the panel.

"Thus, we decree that The Book of Infernal Knowledge become the possession of Asmodeus and that Mr. Norman be absolved of all further obligation. We have spoken."

With that, Justice Holmes clapped his hands and everything went dark for a moment. After a second, the lamp glow returned, and we three mortals found ourselves alone.

"There's nothing inside the pentagram," Susan said.

She was right. Everything was gone except the chalk marks.

"Did this really happen?" Mindy asked.

"The book's gone," I said. "I was holding it in my hand, and now it's gone. It was worth a fortune."

"Do you care?" Susan asked, and then she stepped into my embrace.

"Hell, no," I said, and leaned down to kiss her with equal parts passion and gratitude.

"I guess with the book gone, there'll be no more summoning demons," I said.

"Oh, I don't know. I made three copies while I had it. They're at home in my dresser."

"You mean. After all this, you'd consider enlisting demonic aid. You must be mad, my dear."

"No, but I do want to be a licensed attorney, and I might need some help passing the bar."

I could swear I heard a deep purring chuckle come from somewhere.

About the Author.

Back to the top of this page.