Friend of the Devil, Ch 9

I was in the Army fighting Satan on a religious crusade.   We had driven the Devil's minions out of Palestine--or so we thought.  One of my comrades was having a difficult time fighting of one of the demons. The demon (it didn't really look like a demon) had the face of normal middle aged man.  Maybe an accountant.   But the body was something entirely differed.  Like a hideously long slug.  

Comrade H was being visibly worn down trying to keep the demon slug at bay.   He asked me for help.  I stepped in and started banging the blade of my broad sword against the thick neck of the demon.  The blade merely bounced off without inflicting any damage.   Now the demon turned its attention on me.  It kept slithering up to me trying to knock me off my feet with the side of its head.  At first I thought the demon wasn't much of a threat,  it had a bland expression on its face.  Like it was apologizing each time it ran into me.   But as time wore on, I was also having a difficult time keeping the demon slug off me.  It kept coming at me, mindless, incessant and indefatigable--all the time emitting a constant noise that sounded like the drum beat from the Fleetwood Mac song "Tusk."   The part of the song that keeps repeating the vocals "Don't say that you love me."

My battle with the demon lasted what seemed like hours.  Over and over the same repetitive actions.   I couldn't seem to damage it.   The same drum beat over and over.  Then it dawned at me that I was dreaming.   I knew I had to wake up and open my eyes to stop the dream. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the basement room with the early morning light starting to be visible in the small window overhead.   But as soon as I began to wake my body was filled with an intense heaviness as if I were being suffocated.  The drumbeats continued, even louder: "Don't say that you love me"

I found that  I was back with the demon.   I saw Comrade H curled up in what looked like a giants birds nest.   Then I realized that H must have submitted to the demon because his eyes were lifeless and his face was locked in a horrific smile that looked like rigormortis had set in.

Over and over the drum beats continued "Don't say that you love me"

I began to panic:   to wake was painful.   My heart was racing and I longed to relax and go back to sleep. I thought that the way to beat the demon was to give into it and relax back to sleep.   I started to relax.   Then I thought:  what if giving into the dream means death?  I didn't want to die.  I had to keep moving.  I resolved to get up and run around the room to shake off the sleep.   Maybe use the treadmill.  I  tried to run around the room.  But the heaviness followed me, growing in strength.    My body grew more tight as if my efforts at resistance were feeding the panic.  Then I tried to relax my body and let the anxiety dissipate.

I heard a scratching sound at the screen in the window overhead.   Something was trying to get inside the room with me.   I peered up and looked face to face with the largest rat I have ever seen.   It must have been as big as a dog.  I slammed the glass window shut and tried to scare the rat away.

Then the room began to get hotter.   The panic returned.   Don't say that you love me.  Just tell me that you love me.

I saw the mangled body of Comrade H.  His face was no longer visible. His body now had feathers on it and was grotesquely bloated.

I turned away--and found I was in another room!

"Well Mr. K, what do you have to say for yourself.   You know the priest is innocent.  They all are."   It was Satan again, speaking to me from the Judge's bench.  I was back in the trial.   Satan was the Judge.   I looked across the room and saw the jury.   They were looking at me.   Waiting for me to say something.  Their mouths were slightly smiling, nodding at me as if they would agree with what I would say.   But I couldn't say anything.   Words and thoughts became jumbled.   I couldn't think of the words I was supposed to say.   And across the other side of the courtroom, the priest was laughing and shaking the hands with his attorney, thinking he had won by my own impotence.

Outside the court room I head a scraping sound on the door.  The rat dog had returned and was now trying to get back into the courtroom. 

Don't tell me that you love me.

 I've gotta stop and wake up--do you know how to?

 

when you have everything, including boredom, what must be done?

Dream Entanglement: A Coda

A women leans against a plain white house.  

The house is indistinguishable from the other houses on the block:  spread out like the nightmare in Edward Scissorhands' neighborhood.   But she is showing this particular house a great deal of affection.   Nestled against the downspouts.   Cheek against the painted metal.

She now whispers something to the house.  Coupled with a strange caress.  The neighborhood is deserted.  Its Twilight.  Where did everyone go?  Did she kill everyone?   No, she wished them all away.  She is adjusting to the consequences.   Be careful what you wish for!

She breaks her embrace with the house with the faintest of smiles.  She looks forward to a life without distractions, without responsibilities.  Without noise.  Her body tingles with excitement in the eerie silence. Her eyes shimmer in the dim light like the waves of the Black Sea.

She does not see or hear the wisp of vapor high overhead descending inexorably, inevitably to the ground.

Then, of course, our scene changes abruptly.  Now we are in that space ship hurtling down though the clouds high overhead.  The red lights and klaxons of the cockpit are blaring loudly.  Beyond frantic, the pilot is trying to manipulate the buttons, dials, and levers to avoid the crash. Chaos, panic, anxiety, and just when you think its over, there is more chaos, anxiety and panic--a lot more.   But you know its not going to work. And I know its not going to work.  And he knows its not going to work. It never does.  And all the breathing exercises in the world he knows are not going to slow down his heart this time.  

The ground is rushing up from below.  Sweat pores down the pilot's face as he clenches his teeth and prepares for impact.  

Later, on the planet's surface, the pilot lays sprawled out over a smooth ledge near the top of a crater. This crater is even bigger than the last one he created.   A lot bigger.  Debris from the rocket ship smolders next to him.   He crawls on the ground but his progress stops as he comes to the lip of the crater.   He pulls himself over the ledge and tries to peer into the abyss he created.   As his strength fails him at length, he mutters to himself.  "Shadow," said he, "where can it be, this land of El Dorado?"

The scene pans out, and we see the pilot laying still, hand drooping over the edge of the crater, hot sun reflecting off the pilot's stationary helmet. Alone and dying on a deserted planet.  Just like last time.

But wait, there's more, for a limited time, for $9.99 plus shipping and handling, we return to the woman leaning against the house.  In our absence, she fell asleep and now is waking up to the midmorning sunlight and a strange whooshing noise from overhead.  She is not happy that her silence has been broken.  Her eyes follow the trajectory down and her body involuntarily tightens as she waits for the sound of the impact.

The pilot wakes up in bed next to the women.  He glances at the alarm clock.   4:42 am.  He puts his arm around her and tries to go back to a sleep that you know, and I know, and he knows, will not come.

The women, already awake, wishes she was somewhere else.