MicroHorror

The devil inked Asa Windler into his log.

“Asmodeus,” the devil called. “We have a disgraced C.E.O. of a large pharmaceutical company arriving today.”

“Ah,” said Asmodeus, “shall I retrieve the syringes?”

The Devil smiled proudly.

“Not just yet. He apparently filed a directional argument with Michael,” the Devil said gesturing above. “Asa thought he should hang out in purgatory temporarily and then pass through the pearly gates in a few centuries since he never killed anybody. Apparently, he doesn’t appreciate the thief’s absence of conscience.”

“The nerve,” said Asmodeus.

“That’s not all. He’s refused to part with a briefcase of money.”

“Oh, he’s something else, isn’t he?”

“Indeed,” said the Devil. “When he arrives, escort him directly to me.”

Asa arrived moments later following Asmodeus. A pool of water surrounding a small tree appeared as the Devil caught sight of them.

“Mr. Swindler, welcome to your dwelling place,” said the Devil.

Asa looked around at other residents walking on hot coals, some yanking endless needles from their skin, and one gentleman who was rolling a stone up a hill that moved like a treadmill.

“So, Michael told you I was unhappy with the direction, huh?” Asa asked.

“I heard something like that,” the Devil said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Asa approached the pool of water and a red swimming pool raft appeared, floating with a cocktail in the cup holder.

“Now that’s more like it!” Asa said, reaching with his toe to get aboard. “Compromise is everything.”

“Uh, one thing first,” Asmodeus said.

“What’s that?” asked Asa, watching the raft drift out of reach.

“The briefcase,” Asmodeus said.

The Devil extended his hand.

Within minutes, Asa was floating on the raft. A swift current took him to the tree.

“Wow!” Asa yelled. “This is a money tree.”

“Oh, yes,” said the Devil. “It symbolizes your knowledge.”

“Damn right! This place ain’t so bad after all.” He reached for a bill, but it turned into a rotten apple. He reached for another with the same result.

“God damn it! You fooled me!” he yelled.

“I am a mere conductor of ill fate, Asa. You’ve certainly heard the saying, ‘A fool and his money are soon–’”

“To hell with you!” Asa screamed.

The Devil merely frowned in mock disappointment. Asmodeus concealed his laugh behind his master.

“What next?” Asa said, looking around in the water which was now teeming with poisonous snakes.

He took the cocktail in his hand and, as he sipped, the drink went down but nothing came up the straw. When he put it down, the glass filled up again. He hurled it into the water, only to see another in its place.

“This is a rip-off!”

“So it has been, Asa, and so it always shall be,” said the Devil as he and Asmodeus walked away.

• Copyright: © 2008 John Young

“Stay alert, men,” the captain said on the loudspeaker as they sailed off the coast of Africa. “This place’s a haven for Blue Beard’s pirates.”

Blue Beard pulled Captain Paddock back from the loudspeaker in a chokehold.

“Now, tell me what you did with the Zenyatta booty!” Blue Beard hissed. “And enough with your curse talk! I ain’t buyin’ it!”

Gagging, Paddock grabbed a handful of Blue Beard’s flesh, and squeezed hard. When Blue beard shouted, Paddock dropped to the ground and broke free.

Blue Beard dove out the door of the Captain’s nest. Paddock followed but was too late. His nemesis had already reached the water and was swimming toward shore.

Several men ran to the captain’s headquarters with swords drawn.

“What happened, Captain?” one asked.

Captain Paddock pointed to the water. “Blue Beard was after our loot, again.”

“That scoundrel!” another griped. “Ya better swim away, ya vile dog!”

“Captain, what are we going to do?” another man asked. “This is the third time since we picked up that chest off of Zenyatta that someone has come after it. You think we got spies aboard?”

“No telling.”

“What about the booty, have you got at it yet?”

“I wish I had, but I still have not been able to get the chest open.”

Golt, the newest man picked up in Zenyatta, stepped forward.

“You said that before, Captain. I for one am beginning to doubt it.”

“All are welcome. I’ve said this before. But, if this is the chest that Count Stricker left behind after the raid of Zenyatta’s kingdom, then this may be the work of the snake curse.”

Most of the men stepped back, shaking their heads. The only one who stepped forward was Golt.

“You think you’re on to something here, do you?” the captain teased. The other men smirked at one another, nodding their heads to the captain behind Golt’s back.

“I’ve got nothin’ to lose, and if your lyin’ I’m gonna take your loot, ship, and your men.”

Captain Paddock stepped aside and let Golt lead the way down the steps to his quarters.

Golt ran to the chest.

“You may want to think this out, Golt,” Paddock said.

“Think… about… what?” Golt said, struggling to unlatch the lock.

“The curse, of course,” Captain Paddock said.

Golt removed a knife and wedged it into a seam on the lid. He rammed it in with a few hard blows and had successfully stuck it in the box to the hilt.

“Now, with some slicin’ I’ll peel this open like a skull,” he bragged. “To hell with your curse!”

Captain Paddock leaned against his bureau and dug at the grime under his nails with a knife as Golt proceeded.

“Ain’t you gonna stop me, Captain?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, no, Golt, I can clearly see you are a clever man not to be denied his fate. Please, continue.”

Golt glared at Paddock. “As soon as I finish with your phony curse, I think I’ll get to workin’ on your pretty little head.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Golt,” The captain said without looking up from his nails.

Golt paused as though he considered whether or not he should take the captain’s abuse. He returned his attention to the chest. As he peeled open the lid, a green-and-red-striped boa latched on to his face and coiled around his body. With each breath Golt took, the snake squeezed tighter until his face had turned utterly blue and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.

“Nice work, Curse,” Captain Paddock said as he leaned over the snake and scooped a handful of jewels. “Nice work, indeed.”

• Copyright: © 2008 John Young

I placed the steak knife on the marble counter and admired my work. Two lime halves rested on their rinds, facing the kitchen ceiling like up-turned turtles. Their pulpy matter glistened in the eastern sunlight.

“Ah, the perfect lime of symmetry,” I said, proceeding to the kitchen table with a butcher knife in hand.

“They say that the two halves in your skull will divide just as precisely,” I murmured shortly before smothering my dinner guest’s beautiful face with a rag.

Dabbing the gray matter of its red profusions, I arranged the four halves in a fruit bowl at the center of my mahogany table, admiring the art of my culinary lines.

• Copyright: © 2007 John Young