Demonised - 1. On Vacation

“Ahh …” The demon stretched out his cloven hooves and exhaled with pleasure.

 

Being away on holiday – there was nothing like it. All the stresses and strains of a boring, repetitive job just melted away. The old-timers thought him workshy or lacking in team spirit by wanting to leave hell occasionally. How long had it been - couple of centuries? He was determined to enjoy himself. As far as he was concerned, the others could all move to the Other Place and freeze to death.

 

The demon's forked tail swished gently in the cold, dark water of the ocean's deep. Its heat kept the water temperature just right - cool and soothing. Instead of his usual red hot, glowing skin tone, he'd nearly achieved his holiday tan – a dull black with only a faintest hint of fieriness.

 

Wasn't getting a tan one of the pleasures of being on holiday? And an obvious souvenir to take home and annoy his workmates. He enjoyed watching his skin lose its glow every day.

 

Much as he loved red - the whole spectrum of reds - as a colour, working environment, and all the rest of it, the deep sea's bluey blackness pleased him more. Self-care dictated a regular need to give his eyes a rest from the all-pervading glare. De-stressing – that was the word. Any use of the employee health advisory service was a serious career no-no. The demon glowered as he imagined gossip speeding from circle to circle.

 

Something darted through the water, right on the periphery of his vision. He tried to focus in on it, hoping it was something else he could tick off on his twitcher's list. There'd been some pretty good sightings so far, but a significant number of gaps remained. Disappointment loomed as the sea appeared empty once again.

 

Returning to the guidebook, the demon noticed the resort's outdoor lighting had moved. Reluctantly, he got up and moved with it. Luminescence from the dandelion siphonophores gave just enough light for him to read by.

 

Why couldn't the resort's staff secure the wretched things in one place? He paid enough for decent facilities.

 

Funnily enough, his guidebook fell open at the Frequently asked questions page. In his experience, FAQs were a waste of time and space. He only had to look at the pages of FAQs produced by the website at work. hell_is.com was moderately useful sometimes – flaying statistics or disembowelling success rates. He regularly featured at the top of both. But the same usefulness didn’t arise from its FAQs. The public relations demons must only have given them the most cursory attention. Why am I here? was the page most clicked on by new arrivals, followed closely by How do I make a complaint?

 

He shook his head in wry amusement and glanced at the open page in his book. For once, his question was answered. He shrugged. It had to happen once or twice before his workplace froze over. The answer read: A dandelion siphonophore is a conglomeration of individual, tiny creatures. A sigh followed. There would be no point in throwing a tantrum, then.

 

It wouldn't hurt him to move round a bit. "Gotta keep fit." Anyway, he hadn't brought any of his work tools with him. It was a holiday, for fuck's sake. How would a flail help him spot wildlife?

 

"There it is again!" The demon bent forward, eyes straining.

 

A shape hovered in the blackness for a moment before it disappeared off. Why hadn't he remembered his binoculars? He always managed to leave something behind when he packed for his holidays. It looked like a squid of some kind, but he needed to check which one. He knew there were still a couple he needed to tick off – the most desirable ones, of course. Work hadn’t left him with much free time to study the tourist guides beforehand. Why was there always a bumper intake in the weeks before a vacation? Anyone would think it had been planned. The demon’s thoughts turned to likely candidates from the team in Greed. There were enough of them. His eyes glowed orange.

 

He found the right page in his twitcher's manual, when a personal message flag went up in his brain marked 'Urgent'. The demon swore loudly. Couldn't everyone see the I'm not here – fuck off! sign? It straddled his neural pathways like a fluorescent, offensive billboard. He nearly told the message to self-destruct when he remembered the cat.

 

 

Owning a cat was the most recent of his many eccentricities. Or, if you were a demon of the old school, one of his many distressing perversions. He’d only collected it a couple of weeks ago. The previous demon had given up on the animal and appeared glad to be re-joining the righteous. It was just his luck the holiday was non-refundable and didn’t allow pets.

 

As a solution, he’d ordered one of the multitudinous damned, an attractive red-head by the name of Thomas, to look after it for the duration. The demon frowned. He’d so far forgotten himself that he’d offered a reduction in the man’s impalings in exchange.

One cloven hoof scratched gently under his chin. There was nothing like living dangerously. In fact, depth and darkness seemed to lend enchantment. He found Thomas surprisingly sexy.

The demon breathed out steam in exasperation. “Is it the red again? Or the contrast with all that smooth, cool white skin.” He didn’t allow himself to recall Thomas’ body in any greater detail.

Favouring any damned was a disciplinary offence which, if discovered, would result in instant dismissal.

“Then what?” The demon stared off into the distance.

He and a few other demons from his cohort hated the despised rules and regulations which governed every aspect of their existence. Once in a while, they met up in each other’s houses for an evening of darts. Whose forked tongue could spear a damned at a hundred paces – that sort of thing. Heated discussions went on in dark corners. Dangerous, subversive talk.

The demon remembered one conversation well. He muttered the central questions under his breath. “How is it an issue if we want to plant a garden? Are roses unSatanic?”

A while back, one of his co-workers had been caught baking cookies. The resulting investigations had dragged on for decades, pursuing cookery writers, bakers, and the poor sods who supplied the ingredients. Some of the older demons were so up their own arses.

Forming a trade union had been another topic he’d pushed, but none of his friends wanted to put their tail on the line.

The message light in his head strobed, whirling a migraine-inducing soft yellow to every part of his brain. Grinding his teeth, he changed the mental sign to What the fuck do you want?

 

The communication channel started up. It was the damned, Thomas, and his concerns did centre on the cat.

The man sounded both annoyed and apologetic. Lord Arkoran, your cat won’t move.

And? The demon didn't bother concealing his boredom. He started cleaning his tail as something to do.

 

I'm loath to touch it. The beast'll scratch me to pieces if I do.

 

The demon rolled his eyes. Yes, the animal was a pet, but it was a true demon’s cat: totally black, fierce, and with claws that could kill. A brief memory surfaced. Some cats were soft and cuddly according to his research. White was a common colour and some of them purred. The demon puzzled for a moment over ‘purred’ before dismissing the entire thing.

 

Why should you need to touch it?

 

It's sitting outside, Lord Arkoran

 

Only half listening, the demon’s mind wandered. His horns needed a professional polish – they’d set off his tan something wicked.

 

Lord Arkoran?

 

The demon's eyes rolled. Outside?

 

It's sitting on the patio, cleaning its whiskers.

 

There’d be one imp less somewhere in hell. The demon nodded approvingly. Thieving little bastards. Get it back inside. A cat like that isn’t something to be flaunted. Or at least, not when he wasn’t there to shine alongside it. Can’t be that difficult a job.

 

He sensed Thomas wanted to disagree, but didn't dare to.

 

A deep sea creature floated into view. The possibility it was a vampire squid excited him. He wanted his holiday back. Something else was lurking on the ocean floor. Was it a sea sponge of some sort? The demon squinted hard. At times like this, he wondered whether he needed glasses. Pince-nez would suit him best.

What about beating his own record for creature sightings? That thought triggered his reply. Bugger off and sort it, Thomas.

Logging off immediately, he replaced the original Fuck off! sign in his head.

He revelled in the silence that flowed around him. The ocean floor was quiet, unnervingly so. No howls, screams, wails, or grunts assailed his ears. After a hard day, echoes from the unremitting row stayed in his head sometimes. He shouldn’t have to work in such a noisy environment. The demon blew out a stream of super-heated gas. Had his health suffered? Yet another reason for a trade union, although he hadn’t dared mention the idea in his one-to-ones. The management team in Greed consisted of typical hack ‘n’ slash sort of demons – they wouldn’t take kindly to an employee suggestion.

His eyelids drooped. All that lounging around looking at things was hard work.

 

The demon fell asleep more deeply than he’d intended. His tail lashed; snuffles and the odd grunt escaped, disturbing the water. He awoke with that sour aftertaste in his mind which hinted at unquiet sleep.

For some reason, his thoughts turned to the damned, Thomas. A vision of the human’s torso, pale, smooth, and enticing, filled his mind’s eye. The demon growled. Had he been too abrupt earlier? Uncaring? He paused to savour the strange new word. Lingering over a repetition spoken out loud, the burst of flame scared off a squat lobster.

How perverse of him to care whether that ghostly white skin became etched in red. That was the colour of hell after all. It might turn out to be attractive. The demon turned this thought round and round without reaching a conclusion. He resolved to initiate the next call in the search for news.

“If the cat attacked Thomas, would it upset me?” The possibility of another new emotion excited the demon.

He’d even danced around the ultimate taboo represented by a four letter word not to be spoken out loud for fear of the consequences. It was rumoured the Other Place spread the same word around like hot ashes. The demon’s tongue got ready, forked tip pressed up against his palette. He drew breath… and nothing. Broaching that barrier daunted even him.

Was his move towards deviancy so surprising? Having sex at work was inutterably boring. He could fuck anyone, any time, wherever he chose. It usually served as a punishment or retribution. Watching the damned get it on between themselves was the embodiment of tedium. There were only so many permutations. The demon picked at his teeth – sunflower seeds from lunch had gone everywhere. He’d sooner spend an hour pacing Sisyphus up that damned hill of his.

Feelings, emotions, a caress, even a kiss – those were the forbidden things he wished to explore. He’d even considered blagging access to Satan’s private boudoir, a place where books telling stories of romance and that word were secured. Removed from the damned upon arrival in hell, the books remained hidden away.

“Strange they’re not burnt immediately.” The demon opened his mouth wide. “Romance.” He lingered over the second vowel.

His tail swished lazily, seductively even, and his skin regained some of its glow. He peered at it cautiously. The red had a distinct tinge of pink about it. The demon squirmed, though it wasn’t the first time it had occurred.

A brisk, cold swim followed. He gave it purpose by looking for sea stars. He’d only seen five-pointed ones so far, which wasn’t good enough. The search didn’t keep his mind occupied. Other thoughts intruded – cherry blossom-tinged, undemon-like thoughts not fit for any right-minded employee of hell. All the while, a certain red-headed damned lurked in background.

 

Later, he sat eating pan-fried sea anemone with salt-dried kelp. As an academic exercise to counter the loneliness, he wondered what it would be like to have Thomas as a dining companion.

As a damned, Thomas stood out. He never fawned, grovelled, or begged. Staying aloof from the roiling mass of the other damned whenever possible, he observed their goings-on with a clear eye, seemingly uncowed by his existence in hell. A rebel, then. A smile appeared on the demon’s face. That made two of them. Did Thomas have any knowledge of gardening? He chewed thoughtfully. The involuntary guests of Greed had usually spent their existence free of an interest in outdoor occupations, most of which involved hard labour. His damned was different.

The demon nodded to himself in agreement. He imagined the other sitting opposite, Thomas’ conversation starting with teases, then turning sarcastic and witty in turn, both of them laughing. The red-head’s back-chat and sly commentary was well known amongst the supervisory demons.

“How does he get away with it?”

The demon burned to ask the question now but decided work had better come first.

Thomas. How’s everything going? He heard a faint, aggrieved sigh. That was not an acceptable way to greet a demon. Where was the wit, the humour, the sass? Something the matter? Holidays mellowed him.

Another sigh. Lord Arkoran, your cousins, the Lords Asmodai and Orobas, they… may’ve seen the cat.

His tail churned water. Of course, it would have to be those hidebound, vicious bastards. Demons demand; demons defile; demons destroy. How many times had he heard that mantra parroted by Asmodai? Not that the pair of them had two brain cells to rub together.

He wondered whether anything had leaked out on social media. Either way, being at the bottom of the ocean, he wasn’t in a position to comment.

How did the cat come to their notice?

It didn’t like being hauled inside. I tried everything else I could think of first. Damn cat gouged my arm. I yelled. It hissed, then yowled when my foot made contact.

Some foot to make an impression on that animal. Briefly, the demon considered the part mixed martial arts might have had in the incident. Turning his visuals on without warning, he gasped. That pale, almost translucent skin of his dreams was laddered in red. The intermittent crimson tracery was so, so sexy.

Are you OK? Words, bizarre and misshapen, nearly stuck in the demon’s throat.

His damned stared back. Am I OK? An eyebrow crept up. Sounds as though we need to worry about you more.

You worry about me? Lava comprised of a scorching flood of previously unknown emotions, threatened to engulf the demon. Really?

Only as far as it affects my chances. A wide, lazy smile was followed by a wink, both aimed squarely at the demon.

He squirmed, cherry blossom pink thoughts floating his brain.

The damned was serious for a moment. Sorry about the cat. It won’t happen again. His face brightened. Enjoy the rest of your holidays, Lord Arkoran. Work on that tan, mind.

The demon gaped, forked tongue lolling against his teeth. Was that a kiss? An actual kiss blown in his direction? The damned signed off before he could react.

“Fuck me!” His heart pounded. Who cared about the wretched holiday?

Hell and Thomas awaited. Maybe.