daniel curser – chapter four

The devil denies what God affirms, the consequence of which is that God denies what the devil has the audacity to affirm. The devil affirms his own existence, and by making good triumph invariably, God gives Satan an eternal denial.
- Eliphas Levi, The Written Tradition of Magic

Let’s try not to feel too uncomfortable, even though we are now in the very Heart of Hell. I know, it should be very black, and with plenty of bubbling pools of blood, or brimstone, or something a bit more evil than what is currently in the room, don’t you think?

His Nibs rolled about on his bean bag, the colour of which is an absolutely horrifying purple, and laughed so hard I really think in a minute his brains will begin oozing out through his nose to ease the pressure.

Daniel, meanwhile, sobbed on the carpet which, too, was a simply mind-destroying shade of purple. I guess if I were thrown on such a distasteful carpet, I too would be sobbing in a pile in front of the Devil’s bean bag.

One of the many demonettes who were lounging about engaging in a sin commonly referred to as sloth, made a tutting sound and gently slid from her own bean bag (I really don’t think anyone should own a bean bag, let alone one with a Smurfs theme, do you?), and shuffled over to where Mister Curser was still quaking in fear.

She gave His Nibs a stern look and then put her arms around Daniel in what was, I am happy to say, completely meant to soothe our poor friend’s terror. “Please, Mister Curser,” she said. “Forgive His Nibs. I don’t think he ever tires of this joke. Teasing poor new souls such as yourself seems to amuse him most terribly. I do apologise, and I hope you forgive him. Eventually.”

The devil wiped his eyes of the tears of mirth and settled comfortably in his bean bag. “Oh, man. Oh, man oh man. That was, like, one of the best, man. Maybe, even, like, the best one, man. Freaked me out!”

The demonette scowled. “You apologise. Right now!”

“What for, man? I didn’t do nothin’. Azz opened the door . . . and . . . and, like, pushed him in, not me! Uh-uh!”

“Yes, you and your insensitive friends should be ashamed of yourselves! Can’t you see how much you’ve frightened the poor man?”

The devil sighed. “Yeah, okay. Okay. Look, man, I’m sorry. Umm . . . Really sorry? Like, okay, man?”

***

I’m sorry?

What?

Oh! Yes, I know. He doesn’t really look the part, does he? But, yes, I assure you, he is Lucifer! The Fallen One.

I know he doesn’t look at all like he should, and that long unwashed hair is indeed crying out desperately for a decent haircut, but believe me, he is absolutely unwelcome in Heaven, and if you watch a bit more, you’ll see why. It would be completely inappropriate to have him walking around in a place like Heaven. Hell is so much more suited to him, and I do think you’ll come to agree.

I know he seems like such a likeable fellow, if not a bit tricksome at times. But he is also the Ruler of Hell, and that is something you don’t get to be unless you can prove yourself a good deal more evil than your average little devil.

I mean, just look at those corduroy trousers! Aren’t such things banned in most civilised countries? I mean, Orange and green stripes? And that horrible pink and yellow-splotchy shirt of his! Where did he get such a rag? I can’t believe the audacity of His Nibs, even if he is the Devil himself! Such clothing undermines the whole concept of existence itself.

I wonder when the last time he cut his hair or fingernails was?

Let’s try not to think about that too much.

***

“This is all some awful mistake,” Mister Curser moaned. “I can’t be dead.”

“Woah, man! Relax. It’s not so bad,” His Nibs said as he slid out of his bean bag and crouched beside him. He turned to the demonette. “Hey, babe. We got any juice around here? I think he, like, maybe needs some juice. You know? Like, orange juice? Or . . . um, even apple? Yeah. Apple. We got apple juice, babe? In the fridge? Maybe it’s, umm, like, cold in there? Maybe get a mango, too. Y’know? Like, mango’s good. And, um . . . Yeah. Apple.”

“A mango?” Daniel looked confused, and I bet he felt a lot more confused than he looked! I do like it when he’s like this. He seems so innocent, don’t you think?

“Yeah, man,” the King of Hell said, nodding enthusiastically. “Mango! Always makes me feel just great! Especially when I’m, like . . . not into it? Y’know? Like, out of it? Yeah. Out.”

The demonette smiled warmly at Mister Curser, and patted his shoulder. “I’ll find you a mango.”

The Devil looked positively delighted, I think, and seemed to want to be even more helpful. “And some clothes, babe! He needs a shirt! Maybe he can have one of mine? Like, even the blue one? Maybe? Y’know? Cool.”

Now, I’m sure that crosses the boundary of Hospitality and enters the realm of Common Cruelty, don’t you? I bet now you’re seeing a bit more of His Nibs’ true Evil Side.

***

Let’s try not to wince as we see Daniel Curser slowly initiated into the Neighbouring Community, and given not just a new shirt, but even a pair of the most amazingly tasteless pair of trousers you’ve ever seen.

Corduroy. It seems that it’s true that in Hell they wear corduroy. How alarming for Fashion Designers. Especially given the rancid combination of colours which His Nibs seems to have a great delight in inflicting upon the damned souls around him.

Apricot, red, and a shade of purple which leaves me feeling quite nauseated indeed. I must say, of all the things which have made me want to avoid socialising with demons, that at the top of my list of reasons is the absolute agony I feel upon seeing them wearing such gaudy fashions which should really only be even thought of when one goes golfing and which should never even be remotely considered as an actual outfit on a day to day basis.

Perhaps as a handkerchief.

Or, if you were truly desperate to experiment in colours which have no right in being smashed together in such a heartless manner, perhaps you might privately injure your dignity with a set of novelty boxer shorts.

So, I must say it is with deepest disappointment that I find myself hearing Daniel Curser, whom I do consider to be a dear, dear friend of mine, saying, “Wow. I kind of like the shirt. And the trousers are quite comfortable. Thankyou, Your Highness.”

His Nibs giggled, as did a few demonettes. “Man, lay off with the titles! Like, they give me an earache, yeah? And, um . . . They, like, um, enter my head, and kind of sit there. Y’know? Like, um, an insect. Yeah! An insect, buzzing? I don’t like that, man. Just call me Lew! Yeah! Or, if you really have to, and, like, stuff’s really important, like, then you can say, um, like, call me . . . His Nibs! Yeah!” His Nibs looked very pleased with himself. I don’t really know why, when it seems as though he can hardly even manage to conjure a decent sentence. “Sounds much friendlier. I mean, like, let’s be, like, completely open here, man. We’re both damned! Y’know? Not on God’s, like, good list? I’m, um, no better than you, and no worse. We’re like, um, man, we’re just two rejected souls, y’know, floating around . . . waiting for it all to end. Man. No need to, like, get all religious down here. Y’know? Spiritual? Y’know? No need. Just relax. Lew. Me. Lew. Okay? Hey, you going to finish that mango?”

Daniel shrugged, and the Devil took this for a negative. And took the rest of the mango, too. He slurped it right up with obvious relish, and managed to shuffle a few words out from the fruity flesh which dripped down his chin, “Man, this is good mango. Thanks, babe. Thanks, Dan, um, Daniel.”

“Where are you from, Daniel?” the demonette asked, probably more out of politeness than anything.

“I’m from Perth. It’s in Australia.”

“Hey!” His Nibs cried, dropping the mango skin. “I been there, man! It’s got, like, the wickedest waves, man.”

“Do you surf?” Daniel asked, absolutely astounded by the possibility of the Devil hopping on a surfboard and riding waves. Come to think of it, the mere thought horrifies me, too.

“No way, man! Too many sharks. I kind of like the way they, like . . . the waves, um, they, like, roll up over your feet, you know? Like, whooosh! It’s . . . totally surreal. Kind of like you can, if you think about it, feel the water going back out into the ocean. And . . . that drop which touched my feet, man, like, that drop, and the other drops, like, which touched my feet, they go out, man and, like, go back into the ocean and join millions of other drops, man. Maybe, like, billions. And, they might wash up on a beach in Japan, and then, like, wash the feet of some cute Japanese girl? She’s got, like, um, cute eyes and stuff. You know? Maybe, when it does . . . Maybe when they do, she’s, like, thinking of how the water rolls back out and touches my feet, too? And, like, in that moment, man, we’re like, connected? You know? Man. So, it’s like, surreal,” he nods his head, dreamily and spreads his arms wide, a big smile growing across his face like some overly cheerful caterpillar. “Yeah. Surreal.”

Do you see the truly devilish cunning of the Devil now?

Can you see the cruel intellect which has so managed to completely and utterly render poor Mister Curser a helpless victim to this foul creature’s influence?

No?

Well, I admit it’s pretty hard to imagine, given the performance, but sometimes I have to find myself asking myself just how mcuh of the ums and likes and mans are real and how much are positively placed for effect.

Evil is, after all, very cunning by nature.

Or am I thinking of selfishness?

Either way, I’m going to try and credit His Nibs with a little credit, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the same. It’s not a good thing to underestimate the Devil.

In any case, we watch now as Mister Curser, totally at ease, and completely unalarmed by the fact that he’s sitting in the Inner Sanctum of the great Heart of Hell, sips on a glass of apple juice and begins to ask those important questions.

Questions like . . .

***

“Why am I here?”

His Nibs puts some effort into moving his head so he can look at the little man. “Sorry, man? Here? As in, like, why are you here, or, like, um, why are you HERE?”

“Here! as in Hell!”

“Oh!” and he looks quite satisfied now. I don’t really know why, but I don’t trust him, and so, I hope, you don’t feel drawn into his web of obvious fakery and illusion. “Yeah. Like, um, in Hell. Yeah. Here. Why are you here? Well, man, It’s like, there’s these rules? Like, you shall not, umm, not . . .”

“Murder?” the demonette offers, taking the Devil’s hand.

He smiles at her, almost gratefully. Obviously, he’s quite a bit in need of some backup to help him keep in character. “Yeah, babe! Thanks. Like, um. Like murder. And other stuff. You shall not do other stuff. Um, and yeah. So there you go. You’re, like, in here.”

Daniel Curser frowns at this one. “But there must be some mistake! I don’t belong here! I don’t want to be in Hell.”

I think if you could wound the Devil in any way, it would not be through Holy Water, or the uttering of Psalms. No, it would be in telling him you didn’t want to be with him in his Inner Sanctum, surrounded by demonettes and lava lamps.

“Woah! Dan, like, man? I know it’s not, like, um, Heaven? But, y’know, it’s um, not that bad here, man.”

And, Daniel, being the polite little gentleman that he is, did the decent thing, even though I do believe one should not get into the habit of it, and he apologised to the Devil.

“That’s okay, Daniel,” the demonette offered, giving Lew’s (I do hope he doesn’t mind me calling him that, too) hand a squeeze. “We understand. It’s always a bit of a shock to arrive here in the first place. But it could have been worse, you know. I mean, if Heaven rejects you, and Hell rejects you, there’s also the Middle Community, and you don’t want to go there. It’s an awful place.”

“Yeah, man,” His Nibs cried, rubbing some mango juice off his cheeks with the back of his hand. “That place is, like . . . like, um, like Hell, man. I . . . I wouldn’t go there. Not for anything, man. I tried, like, to go once? And, um, this guy at the front gate, he, um, he . . . like, um, spat at me, like, man! Right at me! Like, hit me here! Y’know? Right here! Man. Spat at me! He called me, like, a hippy! I mean, man, do I even look like a hippy, man? I don’t even like Bob Dylan, man! And, like, there’s, um, so much difference between me and, like, hippies! I mean, I don’t have, like, um . . . y’know? I don’t! And, I mean, just because I, um, don’t . . . y’know? Just because of that, man, like, I’m not a hippy. Yeah? Y’know? I’m not a hippy. I’m, like, Lew. Y’know. Just, um, Lew. Yeah . . . Lew.”

Daniel sat back and absorbed this frightening revelation, or at least he tried to. It almost seemed to him that the demonette looked on in sympathy, but given the way she smiled encouragingly at His Nibs, he doubted whether she knew just how hard it was for Daniel to grasp such Infernal Knowledge.

Obviously, Daniel was thinking, he was really missing something. Somewhere.

Or, maybe even everywhere.

“Okay,” he said, after a few moments of catching up. “I get that. But, it still doesn’t tell me why I’m here. And what happens now? Do I get sent to some cell and made to wait while you think of ways to torture me? What happens now?”

“Now?” the Devil asked, looking puzzled. He glanced at the demonette, who shrugged.

“Yes,” Daniel said, a little more firmly, obviously unaware of the dangerous game he was playing. One should never even think of speaking in such a tone to the King of Hell. Thos pitchforks aren’t for pitching hay, you know. “What happens now? To me, specifically.”

“Oh! Yeah! I get it, man. You, like, um . . . want to know, yeah? Right, man. I can do that, man. Yeah,” he waved his arms wide again, and the demonette had to duck to avoid being swatted. I’m glad he missed, or I might not have been able to restrain myself. I don’t believe any man, be he man, demon, or even the King of Hell, has any right to hit a lady, be she lady, demonette, or Queen of Hell (if there were such a being). “Um, like, first, we should, like, maybe . . . Hey! Azz? You there, man? Azz?”

The doors opened again and the demon entered, flicking his crooked tail in the same way a cat does when it’s feeling frisky. He glanced at Daniel and chuckled. “See you survived, mate. Good one.”

“Azz, man! Hey. Can you, like, um, y’know? Get the, um, thing . . . that, um . . .”

“The key?”

“Yeah!” the Devil cried, delightedly. See how he manipulates his minions, forcing them to bring him every secret, every scrap of information, feeding him with so much knowledge which he will, no doubt, use in his nefarious plans? “Like, the thing! The key! Yeah, um, can you bring the key, man? Please?”

“Sure thing, Yer Nibs. Got it right here, anyway. G’day, Denise.”

The demonette didn’t smile. “Azz. I hope you’re feeling a bit ashamed for what you did to poor Mister Curser.”

The demon shrugged as it handed the key to Lew (I do sort of feel uncomfortable calling him that, but he did sort of wish for a level of informality). “Not really.”

“You’re a bastard, Azz,” she said, then swiftly cupped her mouth in her hands, her cheeks blushing daintily. I never knew demonettes could blush! That’s simply amazing. I must remember to try making one blush sometime.

The Devil looked shocked. “Babe!”

Azz grinned. “I’ll go get it, Yer Nibs,” he said, and walked over to a large urn. He picked it up and lowered it down in front of Denise.

She dipped her other hand into her skirt and pulled out a coin. Let’s try not to think about where she keeps them, because I do believe that skirt’s a little too short to hold a pocket, let alone a purse. The very thought makes me squeamish.

With an angry glare at Azz, she dropped the coin into the urn, which made an awful rushing sound as though some demonic entity had consumed the coin with all the charm and grace of an Aussie Rules Footballer.

And, let’s face it, being that this was Hell, one probably did.

As Azz returned the urn to its spot in the corner, His Nibs looked at Daniel’s confused expression and said, in a tone of utter seriousness. “That’s the swear urn, man. I mean, like, I don’t like it when anyone says, like, um . . . y’know, like, bad stuff around me, man. Okay? If you swear, you got to, like, pay the, um, price, man. Yeah. The price.”

The demonette sighed. “A whole dollar, Daniel.”

“It’s not the amount, babe,” the Devil said. “It’s the act, y’know. Like, um, just thinkin’ about it, you don’t, like . . . you don’t, um, want to! Y’know? A dollar’s not much, but, like, it’s a dollar, man. It’s, like, you don’t want to pay, yeah? So, um . . . when you think, like, I’m gonna say it, man, like . . . y’know, say it or IT, somethin’, like, um. Well. Y’know? You don’t wanna.”

Daniel obviously seemed happy to finally understand a small bit of Infernal Knowledge, and I do think that’s something he should try very hard to avoid. This, of course, was another step into the Evil Circle of Hell.

Sorry?

Why shouldn’t he?

What do you mean?

Oh! I see. You think that, since he’s been condemned to Hell, he should make the best of a bad situation.

Good point, but I disagree.

Why do I disagree?

Stop asking such stupid questions. There’s no reason to listen to the Devil, not even when you’re dead and damned.

***

The Devil held the key in his hands.

It seemed harmless enough. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what it does. Maybe it’s the infamous Key of Hell.

You’ve never heard of it?

Well, I think you should probably consider reading a few more books.

Yes, alright. I’m terribly sorry. But being in Hell is always a bit of a trial, you know. Surrounded by the damned and by demons and demonettes. Witness to the slow torture of endless hordes of screaming souls who have been denied entry into Heaven.

I’m really uncomfortable here, and I can see even you feel a bit out of place.

Well, hopefully Daniel will find a way to leave this infernal place. Or at least to leave the Inner Sanctum, which is the most unholiest place in the Afterlife, as that awful poster of Pink Floyd on the wall no doubt attests.

How anyone can listen to that droning noise is beyond me, although I do hear the Devil’s favourite song is Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun, and that explains a lot, I think.

Not quite as much as does his obsession for crazy flavoured fudges.

Like, passionfruit and mango combined in one fudge.

Don’t you see the extent of his evil?

I’m sure he’s somehow responsible for the Hollywood Remakes, no matter how much he claims he prefers movies with subtitles.

***

“This is, like, the key, man,” His Nibs said, leaning back into his bean bag. “I mean, it’s not, like, a key. It’s really more of a, like . . . a . . . um, it’s like, the key. Yeah? Y’know? The key. The Key. And, what it is, is like, um, when you get a lock, it unlocks it. Y’know? Like, you put it in, and turn it! Yeah! You turn it! And it unlocks! Like, the lock is no longer locked. Right? And, um, all you gotta do, like, is to find . . . um, the lock. And, with the key, you, unlock it. Yeah. Because, it’s the key. Right? Yeah.”

“I guess so,” Mister Cruser said, nodding carefully.

He’s probably thinking about the gates. That key, he’s thinking, opens the gates.

Me, I’m thinking it’s something a bit more villainous.

Probably unspeakable.

So let’s try not to speak about this to anyone, okay?

“Right! Right,” the Devil said. He looked pleased. A bit too pleased. An expression that makes me more than a little uncomfortable, I think. “So, like, then when you find the, um, the lock, you have to, like . . . um . . . you have to, like, put the key in. But, first, you, um, got to make sure it’s the right lock, right? Because, like, if you put the key in the wrong lock – boom! It, like, breaks the lock. And, maybe, like, the key? Yeah. Breaks the key. Maybe not the lock. No. Um. Yeah? Yeah. Breaks the lock and the key! Yeah. That’s it, man. Boom! Y’know?”

The demonette and Azz both nodded, their faces so extremely serious that Mister Curser should have known he was in a little bit of a pickle.

Unfortunately, Daniel Curser has that inept thing going, and right now it’s going on and on like only an Energizer Bunny can go.

On.

And on.

“Okay,” Daniel said, trying not to appear dim, or less than intelligent, despite the fact he obviously wasn’t understanding a word of what was going on.

“Right! Great. Yeah. Um, like, and Azz, here. He’s like, um, a demon. Yeah. And, there’s, like, so many! Right?”

“Right,” Azz grunted.

“Yeah, and, in Heaven, there’s like, angels. Y’know? Like, with, um . . . halos, and, like, um, white sheets, and um, y’know? Wings? Yeah. Wings. And stuff. Yeah.”

“Feather dusters,” Azz said. “They got those, too.”

“Yeah!” His Nibs giggled – a truly fearsome sound, guaranteed to turn any mortal man’s spine to marshmallow. “Feather dusters. And wings. Um, like . . . Yeah. Wings. Anyway. What I mean is, um, there’s angels. And, above them, Arch Angels. Yeah. Arch Angels are, like, above.”

“They’re in charge,” Azz said, helpfully.

“They think they are,” Denise muttered.

“Yeah,” His Nibs said, waving his hands again. “All around, they are, like, everywhere, man. In charge, like. And they, like, do stuff for, um, God, and, um, for . . . God. And, they, like, are powerful and stuff. And, like, I have some . . . Arch Demons, and they’re like, um . . . They have, um . . .”

“Feather dusters,” Azz sniggered.

Denise giggled – another sound to make a mortal man’s spine turn to marshmallow, but in a different way, I do believe.
“Yeah,” the Devil grinned. “Feather dusters. And, um, they, have, like, horns. Sometimes. Yeah. On their heads. Right here, man. Like, horns. And a tail, like, um, like Azz has.”

“But not bent,” the demonette offered, a bit too sweetly.

Azz ignored her, and I must say I am deeply impressed with the wisdom of his patience, although a small part of me wonders just how much he has lost to the swear urn.

“Yeah,” the Devil said, frowning slightly at Azz’s tail. “Not crooked. But, like, tails. But, not crooked. Um. And . . . well, sometimes, in, like, when . . . um, when we, like, go out and stuff, sometimes, like, the Arch Angels, they get together, and . . . they, um, sometimes, like, do stuff to my Arch Angels, um, I mean, no. I mean, they, like, do stuff to my Arch Demons. Y’know? Like, they, um . . . won’t say stuff in a nice . . . way, or they do more than that, and say mean stuff, or sometimes they, like, push them over, like, over a table and maybe, um, sometimes, like, yeah. Y’know? Kill them? Yeah! They kill them, sometimes.”

“They banish the Arch Demons, Daniel,” Denise said. “With Holy rituals. It’s not a nice thing to do, I think.”

“I guess not,” Daniel said. “But isn’t that what happens to evil?”

“Yeah!” the Devil cried. “Yeah! But, um, like, we didn’t, um, do anything! Y’know? Like, um, this one time, one of my Arch Demons went, like, to the place. Y’know? Where, like, the Arch Angels were, um, hanging out? And then they, like, said, like, hey . . . hey, what you doin’ here? And then . . . like, he tried tellin’ them stuff. Like, he wanted to invite ‘em to, um, like, come round for dinner, or maybe. And, um, they didn’t want to? And instead, they said, like, they were gonna kill him! And he was, like, can we sort our differences, man? But, like, they didn’t want to. So, they killed him, man. They sent back the horns in a box, man. In a box! Like, man! That’s so, man!”

***

Oh!

See the way the Devil preys on Daniel’s experience as the bullied child? He makes Mister Curser relate to the Arch Demons, and thus influences Daniel into being more agreeable, and more inclined to commiting foul deeds against Heaven and, thus, against Goodness overall.

I am truly appalled, and I would say something right this minute if it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t really attired for such a confrontation.

“In a box?” Daniel looked sickened. He is such a sensitive kind of man. Did I tell you that?

In a box, indeed.

No self respecting Arch Angel would ever do such a thing.

King of Hell, and Father of Lies.

Apt titles, wouldn’t you agree?

“Yeah! A box, man. And, like, it’s not right!”

“Why didn’t you fight back?”

Azz snorted.

“Man!” the Devil rolled back into his bean bag. “That’s just not us, y’know? We’re, like, sea turtles? Um, maybe. Or, maybe not. I mean. Um. We’re, like, in Hell? And, like, damned, and stuff. But, like, we don’t want to just run around and, um, like, hit stuff.”

“I do,” Azz said.

“Azz is the exception,” Denise told Mister Curser. “Or, rather, Azz is a mutant.”

Azz blushed. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

She sighed. “It wasn’t a compliment, oaf.”

“We’re like, come on, man,” Lew said, still concentrating on Daniel, probably using all his evil mind powers to completely dominate and control Daniel’s thoughts. “And, they’re always sayin’, like, we should be, um, like, punished. For, like, just bein’, y’know. From Hell. And they keep pushin’ us, man, so, like, Denise, babe, she had, um, an . . . an idea! Like, y’know! She’s like, brilliant and stuff.”

“Thankyou,” she said, trying not to look too proud.

“Anytime, babe! You’re the, like, um . . . you’re the one! Yeah. The one. Um, and like, Daniel, she said, um, look at this guy! He’s, like . . . and she said. Yeah. Y’know? She was, like, Daniel can fix it, man. And I’m like, yeah? And she’s like, yeah. So . . . Yeah. There you go.”

Daniel paled then. Quite understandably, so. Who, after all, would want to ‘fix’ anything for the Devil?

I certainly wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t even want to fix a leaky tap for him.

“You want me to what?”

“What?” the Devil looked surprised, then smiled. “Oh, yeah! What? Yeah. I didn’t tell you. Right. Well, um. We thought, like, you were the lock, right? And, um. This is the key? Yeah? Like, um. Y’know. Turn it?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah! Y’know! Turn the key, man!”

“Wha-?”

“Turn the key! Like, the lock, if the key and the lock are, like, right, then, um, y’know, you could like, be . . . and then, um, you can, like, help fix things. Right? And, um, then, we could, like, and . . . you’d be, like, my, um, main man. Yeah. Main man! Main. Man. Y’know. My main man.”

“I don’t understand,” Daniel said, looking even paler than something which was very white. I’ve had some of my shirts come back from my drycleaners looking a lot less white than his face right now, and I should tell you I have the best drycleaner in the known universe.

“Daniel,” Azz said, squatting down to look Mister Curser right in the eyes. “His Nibs wants you to let him unleash your potential. He wants you to be an Arch Demon. Well, more like the Arch Demon. Something of an honour, really.”

Daniel made another one of those delightful gurgling noises.

“You want to what the what now?” Daniel stuttered.

“Man! I want you, Daniel. To be my main man! Y’know? It’ll be, like, totally awesome, and totally cool, and, like . . . awesome! And cool, too!”

Denise smiled. “Come on, Daniel. I think you’d like being an Arch Demon.”

“You’d get, like, horns,” Lew said. “And, like, um, a tail.”

“Not a crooked one, either,” Azz said.

“A what?” Daniel blinked.

“Man,” the Devil nodded. “I knew you’d love the idea! Totally cool.”

And, without further ado, he reached out, stabbed the key deep into Daniel’s chest and gave it a quick turn.

Poor Mister Curser.

Now he really is beyond redemption.

What a shame.

Tags: daniel curser