Dinner Demon

”Hello,” said the demon affably, “I will be your curse for this evenings main course.”

“What,” I stammered, quick on the uptake. “I am quite sure I ordered all my wishes granted with a side order of affluenza,” I finished, trying to hide from the demon behind my napkin.

“You misunderstand, of course you would, I am not a curse a la carte as they say, I am a custom curse, only served to specific bloodlines.”

“Of course, I see now,” I did not see, “Be that as it may I fear I am much to euphoric to take another bite and must send you back with the remains.”

“Again, and I must stress this strenuously…nope, I am your curse, all sales are final, no returns accepted,” steam poured from the demons long pointed nose.

“With my regrets I must refuse such beneficience as a curse, I simply cannot manage with one at this time,” this last in an air of nonchalance that I was hoping would keep me in good stead with the image I was rapidly trying to create of a care free professional who bantered tit for tat with demons every day.

“Tsk, tsk,” said the demon, puffing out its corporeal chest over his ethereal lower extremities. “I am sorry sir but I am your curse no matter what your protestations are. Think of me as your dessert. There is nothing I can, or would do to alter the situation. I am a highly sought after curse you know, if not the greatest of all curses. I have never received a single bad review. There is a curse that knows it’s business they say.”

Swallowing panic and bile, trying desperately to manuveour in any direction I grabbed onto, “What sort of curse are you anyways. I mean, what makes you such a hot commodity in the eternal damnation department. Is it your wit and humour maybe?”

Smiling benignly, “No, nothing so grandiose as my personality. That is just me angling for a tip. I can be whatever sort of curse that, you, the recepient can imagine. I am pretty much empowered to do anything. Including unto your cabbages. Not that I know what cabbages have to do with it but if they’re your cabbages they’re cursed by the greatest curse against cabbages ever. My jocularity is due to the immense satisfaction with my work. Why, I awake each evening with a smile on my face and an itch in my hairy palm,” the demon paused.

“No, what makes me the star of the menu is the simplicity and ease with which I enact my role; mostly with none the wiser for it. You are an exception, for obvious reasons,” the demon sucked in a bellyful of ectoplasm and puffed out his chest again, “for example,” another deep breath taken, “your curse is from the sixteenth century, once again coming to fruition in another generation of your family. Why, it was your great, great, great, some more greats, grandfather who was responsible for the curse in the first place. Since it included all progeny for all time, it quite legitimately covers your mortal frame, being as how you are descended from your great, 17 times great grandfather; which is something amazing in itself considering the efforts taken to end your bloodline. How you have sneaked your way into surviving this long is anybodies guess; but I am on the job now and I am very thorough in my work.”

Stunned, my lower jaw hanging open and my tongue hanging out I stared at the little demon with wide, horrified, eyes as he gleefully explained that my introduction to the Bistro Past the Edge of Reason was really a glorified pit of doom with a glamour upon it. Cursed, and no less than by my own ancestor, what could be worse. I saw a light.

“You see,” I suddenly lunged with my voice, “you cannot possibly have the right person for your curse, for I am an orphan and have no family, let alone a great, great, great, something or other grandmother who was so disagreeable. I, certainly, would not curse a descendant in such a way,” I suddenly clammed up, quickly dropping that line of discourse as my conscience gave a sudden twinge and my morally bent ethics strained with accepting the enormity of the lie I had just spoken. I was a tax collector by trade, there is no one I would not put under the ministrations of my institution.

“Ahem, why do you think you are an orphan in the first place,” beaming with pride, “I always aim to be my best.”

No, I would not curse a descendant but maybe I would not do much to aid anyone who I would consider family; which was no one so this line becomes moot as I had no experience with either family or family curses, though I was quickly becoming distressed at the evening. Being served up a five hundred year old curse for afters is not something I was expecting my first time at the Edge of Reason. I had been on the waiting list for months, languishing under the guise of ruthless; but not murderously so. The kind of ruthless that guaranteed taxes were paid in full and on time, the inevitable ruthless. I wish I could be murderously ruthless; my DNA profile indicates a close relationship with axe wielding barbarians but that violence lay dormant within me, not that I wouldn’t apply a maximum penatlty if it warranted. I prefer a more civilized approach anyway. Hire someone to be ruthless for me.

Now, however, in this most embarrassing exchange of words with one of the Bistros denizens it was becoming abundantly clear that I had been done dirty, blindly no less, by my own family. A family I believed myself the only member of. To find out you had a family, and that they cursed you was, to my eyes, extremely rude and in poor taste.

It was not lost on me, however, that I had been served a most exclusive curse at the most upscale eatery of the nether realms. It was said that even arch angels had to wait for a seat and that Dukes of Hell had difficulty making reservations. I could, at least, give my ancestor credit; the Bistro Past the Edge of Reason was the place to be cursed. It was just simply not fair, however. I had worked for years to attain sufficient ranking amongst the damned to be here and the first dish I taste is eternal damnation. I should be enjoying the fruits of my labors, accessing the most luxurious lifestyle that my miserly accountant would let me draw upon. And here I was, right inside the gate, my first blissful euphoria still fresh to taste and I get completely taken out at the knees by some backwater illiterate ancestor who got pinched for greed by the sounds of it.

My voice raised an octave and the muted buzz of the surrounding tables petered out leaving the only sound the rasping gasps of my rapid breathing and the sound of a pen as the minute demon was scribbling furiously at a ream of paper, finishing with a flourish and presenting the paper towards me, draped over one arm.

“Here you are sir. A completed copy of the cursed from its origin in the year 1524 up to its present incarnation and signed by me and is now awaiting your signature of receipt. If you care to review the curse before we conclude for the evening, I think you will find it of great personal benefit moving forward. It is an extremely well written interpretation or reverse personification of myself and my many attributes. In fact, I may even go as far to say that this is the greatest curse ever written. The invective is quite deeply drawn from only the most tortured of souls and it’s threats are profoundly physical. It is also the longest curse on record; which gives great honor to its recepient.”

Strangled now, my voice hoarse, “you mean to tell me that I have not only been cursed by me own but it is, in fact, in some sort of Faustian written form also. Is it an essay question? Is there a multiple choice component,” my mind rabitting from one errant thought to the next. Given the choice I choose C, whereas the gentleman is escorted to the coat room, settles his bill and catches a taxi home, thus ending the evening.” “.”

“Surely by now sir, you should know, or at least hazard a guess or a glimpse maybe that certain powerful people have got it in for you. Obviously the Archbishop was one, he wrote me after all, and from what he said your family were really very bad people who deserved me. Those same powers want you extinguished good sir, and not a moment later than that I will admit.”

Playing desperately for time I grabbed at the contract, ducked my head down from the watching crowd and began to read. Conversation started up again, damnation seemed to be a blasé occurrence here at the bleeding edge of reality as the rest of the diners simply turned back to their meals and ignored the helpless tax man.

It was a long curse, 1500 words and was against an awful lot of people. Clans of them. The Archbishop of Glasgow really outdid himself, went for the gusto, leaving no margin or wiggle room at all, and to my cabbages too it said. I began to see a glimmer of an idea forming. I almost giggled with hysteria when it happened but managed to keep my composure.

“Look here, this is a curse for over 77 different clan families. Not one person, you cannot just curse one person and besides, the same last name is your basis, I just do not think so, coincidence entirely,” I finished, I was starting to feel confident again, this little demon was playing him, The Tax Man. Death did not even play with The Tax Man, mainly because Death cheats to win and everyone knows you do not cheat The Tax Man.

“Ha, ha, you make my belly laugh, his translucent upper half billowing outward, looking like a deranged genie, that was the initial curse yes, I was young then and a workaholic I must admit but as the years have progressed I have begun to specialize. After the King wiped them all out and shipped the survivors overseas it became difficult to find each of you and the indiscriminate breeding since has not helped my boyo, but I have found you. You’re the one. I fulfill my oaths of service rendering your life down. They may think I am after all of them but in reality I have been after you since day one. I am totally going to get awards for this.”

My heart and hope shattered, I felt tears welling in the corner of my eyes. In a bare whisper, my eyes downcast, “Is there nought I can do. Pay a penalty or something.” I was young, I had my whole life of evil tax collecting ahead of me, I did not deserve to end this way.

“You know I can read your mind sir, you must really think me a country bumpkin curse. No I am not. I am the curse of curses and you will be thankful of my ministrations. And yes, yes there is a way out of this, I have made a wager with Bael that you cannot exercise it,” the little demon was laughing uproariously now. “Just look at that part again, it is right there, everybody misses it first time, then chooses me over it…every time young sir, it comes from you being a witch of course. Diabolical being a witch in the first place but a Reaver too and a double patriarch, second born of a second born destined to be second in all things, firstborn by default; this is a priceless trophy to have. I am honoured to meet you I must admit. Now tell me, will you exercise the out clause or not?”

I looked at the writing again, it was confusing in Old Scott but I could make it out…my heart sank even further as the bottom of the well dropped out from under me. I could not do that, it was impossible, maybe 500 years ago but today, it would be suicidal. Sniffling I looked at the curse, “You have me, you are correct, if I do that I will lose my self, it is impossible.”

Smiling like the Cheshire cat, all teeth and gleaming and lapping up the dying hope like a starved puppy the curse giggled again, “I know right, who could do that and mean it, honestly…repent your sins…sheesh, but it is why we in the nether hells always look to the clergy for guidance in infernal writings, we demons just do not have the head for such cruelty.”

I enjoy tips as much as I hope you enjoyed the read.

PS; this is autobiographical. And a true story, sort of. That Archbishop Dunbar really pulled out all the stops. Finding a sixteenth century curse in your family tree when you are the last surviving male that you know of in your bloodline made for some pretty exciting genealogy research I admit. Finding the greatest curse ever written: priceless, I never do anything half measure.