by Gail Fulkerson
Frank awoke with a start. He sat up, rubbing his head with his remaining hand. Looking around, he could make no sense of his surroundings. Nothing was familiar. Where the hell was he? Knowing how malevolent his dad could be, Frank wouldn’t have put it past him to have flung him to the farthest reaches of the Universe.
He had no idea how to get back to Earth, but Frank wasn’t too worried. He had a daemonic beacon, which he activated, so that any daemons in the vicinity might see and hear it and come find him. He desperately hoped his dad wouldn’t notice it and find him first, especially after the last time He’d dropped in unannounced.
While he waited for the others, Frank dug a small, daemon-sized depression in the ground, laid down in it, and placed rocks over his body so he wouldn’t be disturbed while he slept.
The daemons arrived with the dawn. “Hey, guys. Hey, Larry! Am I ever glad to see you. Where the hell are we? Do you have anything to eat or drink? How soon can you get me back to Earth? Does my dad know you’re rescuing me?” Frank chattered, as the others laid out food and drink.“Hey, check out Frank’s arm bud you guys! Looks like you’re gonna have a strong replacement arm when it finally grows in.” (Daemons, like some reptiles, can regenerate limbs…) Larry McDaemon, Frank’s best friend, screamed in Frank’s face and to the mob of daemons as they ate, drank, belched and vomited, welcoming their lost compadre back into their ranks. (Daemons do a lot of screaming, howling, screeching, growling, and wailing, whenever they converse.)
When Frank asked, none of the daemons recalled seeing his dad recently. They figured he must be off in another dimension placing ‘tags’ on the souls he wanted to reap later when their hosts finally died. Frank was visibly relieved, especially after the last time he and his father had met. Frank’s hand reached for the growing arm bud; he gently touched it with his fingers. It was still quite tender.
After the meal, he helped the rescue party strew the leftovers all over the moon’s dusty face. Most daemons are slovenly, and Frank was no exception.
Searching for something enjoyable to do after supper, Larry queried the mob before him, “Who wants to do battle with puny humans, the ones who think they can get rid of us by calling a priest who throws ‘holy water’ at us?” Frank’s hand was the first to shoot up.
“Oh, oh, pick me, pick me!” Frank bellowed. “There’s this guy named Zach, and he travels with three other guys, scouring the countryside looking for places to investigate where daemonic infestations or terrifying ghost sightings are reported. We could easily trap him and his lame entourage inside one of the abandoned psychiatric hospitals or old hotels they are so fond of investigating. Surround them and terrorize them until they’re all dead. It’ll be a hoot!”
The daemons screamed in full-throated agreement with Frank’s plan.“Fantastic! We can easily track down the four of them as soon as we land. And remember, if you don’t kill them outright, they WILL rat us out.” Frank was fairly shaking with anticipation.
The pack of marauding daemons easily located the ghost hunters in a diner across the street from the old Cecil Hotel, just finishing a hearty vegan meal. Once the men crossed the street and entered the hotel, the daemons surrounded them; they toyed with the men’s emotions, terrified them with visions of their own deaths and the deaths of their loved ones, lifted them up repeatedly and slammed them down onto the floor, screamed and shrieked into their ears and minds, made the air smell like rotting flesh, and pretty much had a high old daemonic time. The blood was flowing fast, and some of the daemons decided to dip their hands in puddles of it and leave their dripping, bloody handprints on the walls. All in all, the night’s festivities were a bloody success.
The next day, Frank surveyed the site of the previous night’s hilarious and horrific events.
He watched as the police and detectives from the local precinct pored over the scene and tried to make sense of what had taken place. When he leaned over and whispered into the ear of one of the detectives, the guy almost had a heart attack. Frank had never seen a human jump back so fast or so far, and it made him snicker. He made a mental note of it and continued observing the police working the scene.
Yes, he and his daemonic cronies had had quite a night. Most of the daemons had left Earth before the sun rose, leaving best friends, Frank and Larry, to rehash the events of last night’s party over a steaming cup of diced guts and tomatoes.
“See you next week Larry?”
“Sure, Frank. See you next week, but I want to be the one who takes off and hides next time,okay?”
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