“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 20

I am thankful for those who are reading this story.  It’s been a labor of love and research for many years, though I dropped it hard on its head when it got confusing.  And that is the usual path of writing: we grow, mature with all the attempts but we have to go back and clean up our messes.  We have to reform and rewrite hard.  I am still in the stage of learning the ins and outs of writing long, and there will be further messes in this long novel to clean up.  However, for those that dare to read this, and there are a lot of people who have read my poetry and are aghast that I would write such stuff…well, there is no accounting for taste, mine included.  And that perhaps is the lesson I am learning with this novel:  to find the courage to write, to think, to research into topics and themes that are alien and strange.  To not be afraid of the  criticism which is bound to come, especially from the prudes of the world, most of them in my  family and circle of ‘friends’.  Hah!

This chapter is heavy with research into the (mythical) Demonology and the cuties that I try to post pictures of.  In many cases, they stand in for generic Devils.

Lady Nyo

–

The ground was wet with dew, the morning still very young. I walked through the fields that stretched out before me, with the dull glaze of late fall upon the weeds and grasses that expanded to the mountains far in the distance. The ground was boggy but it wasn’t with peat. It seemed blood came up around my boots as I walked. How many men died here at Culloden? There was a weak sun, covered with swift moving clouds. Even the blue of the sky was brittle this morning, broken by the passing of the light. There was a stone cottage near at hand and I went to the door. It was open, or pushed open with my hand, and I entered a low ceilinged dwelling. There were no luxuries here, only a rough wooden table and a few chairs. The fire was dead. The cottage was cold, as cold as death. I wrapped myself deep in my cloak, and sat in the brief, fleeting sunshine in the doorway. The sound of men in battle, of them clashing with swords and musket, sounded faintly in my ears. The sounds of men dying are stronger, but this place is the place of Death. I have passed the infamous spring where British slaughtered the Highland men and stuffed them down the rock lined spring.   It pours out water from underground, still mixed with the blood after almost 300 years. The MacDonalds came late, so most of their clan lived into the future. So many of the other clans died, wiped out by the British and fate. Bad leadership on the Scots side too. Bonny Prince Charlie, my ass! He was dancing in France when these clansmen died by the thousands. The British put to the sword and fire all the towns and villages, women, children and elderly they found. So it is in history, ever and again. The Butcher Cumberland! His seed spread over the continents.

—

 

I finally awoke, this dream disturbing and making me mumble in my sleep. The Demon was sitting at the fire, silent, puffing on his pipe again.

 

“Why didn’t you wake me? I was having a nightmare!”

“I like history. I walked with you through the fields, still a bloody place.”

So he can invade my dreams as well as my thoughts. I have little privacy.

“Seems so.” He smiles. “Good Morning, good woman. Do you want your tea?”

“Yes, please. And make it strong.” I shake the sleep from my head. This dream was so real. I was in Scotland, Culloden in 1990 with my husband. We were there on a late fall day, early in the morning, with the sun and clouds just like my dream. There was no one else on the battlefield, the visitor center deserted except for a young woman behind the counter. It was a sad memorial.  I went in the cottage and saw how primitively they lived in the Highlands. Barely above the animals outside.

“Why do you think I am dreaming of a battle? And walking a battlefield, Garrett?”

“Seems simple enough. You are worried about the battle to come. What you have called ‘projecting’ before.”

I slid out of bed, my nightgown around my waist. I pull it down as I walked to my chair before the fire.

“It was quite a slaughter, that battle,” I said, sipping my tea that appears when he snaps his fingers.

“It will be quite the slaughter again.” He puffed on his pipe and stared into the flames.

The weather has broken, at least the snow had stopped. It is deep on the ground, and there is no activity outside. All is silent, and the days are gray. Today the sun is struggling to break through the clouds. It might clear and be pretty outside. I was wandering the house of late, disgruntled, a version of cabin fever.

“Are you going to work over your books, today?” I asked him, watching the smoke rise from his pipe.

“Have to. Have to see what forces there are to be tapped.”

I can tell he is preoccupied this morning, for he usually is more talkative. He has much on his mind, as I well know.

“Might have a meeting here, soon. You though, will remain in this room. Don’t want to complicate issues.”

“What? In this house? Are you crazy?” I can’t believe him.

“It will be neutral territory enough for these demons. I’ll have one to stand guard on this room. Just in case there’s a stray spirit around.”

“Oh! Let me understand all this. You invite a bunch of demons into this house, and you set another one at my door for safety? Are you daft?”

“Ah! Beyond daft. That’s how I survived. Acting crazy. Impresses the spirits.”

He takes his pipe out of his mouth and gives me a grin that makes me shiver. It’s as if the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. I can well believe him. The crazy part.

“You, good woman, at least until my plans are set still have the run of the house. But don’t even open a window. I see that our hawk, Arachula has been joined by another. Probably Lanithro.”

“Who’s Lanithro? Another demon?”

“An important one. The chief Demon of the Air. I’ll get more worried it they are joined by Ascaroth.”

“Who’s he?” This is worrying me now.

“Demon of spies and informers. If he shows up, I’m way behind the ball.” He got up from his chair, and put his pipe on the mantel.

“Sweetheart, you will have to entertain yourself.   I have much work downstairs. If I leave the house, I’ll be back before nightfall. Don’t go outside. And remember, don’t open a window or any door to the outside.”

“Will you at least let me know when you are going?” I don’t like being in the house alone. Especially when Obadiah and his mounting forces might be close outside. He stops at the door and nods his head.

I dressed in my petticoats and pull the green, wool dress on. There still was a trace of mud on the hem from when we looked at Van Doren’s pups and I stepped in the muck. The dress was warm enough, but added a shawl over my shoulders. The house was cold, for he doesn’t lay fires except in the room we use. Even in the library, he lets it burn out, but perhaps being some sort of devil, he doesn’t feel the cold like I.

The morning I spent straightening up the room, putting clothes away in the wardrobe, making the bed and then settled down for a while in embroidering the new vest. I would have liked to make him a heavy linen shirt, but would have to examine his for a pattern. He told me, one night, as he pulled his shirt over his head, that at that instant, all men were most vunderable.   I had laughed, but thought that in another time, he was probably right.

Around noon, I heard his boots in the hall and he entered the door of the bedroom. He was dressed in a black overcoat, and a tricorn hat, something that was worn during the time of the Revolutionary War. He looked serious enough, and stooping to kiss me on the forehead, he left, saying he would be back before dusk. I know not to cling to him, but all this is unsettling. I fear for him. I fear for us both.

I decided to go downstairs later that afternoon, and make myself a pot of tea. Coming out of the kitchen, it seemed a good idea to head for the library and look for a book. I spied the stack of large and old books on his desk, but didn’t think it was a good idea to open them. Whether they were magic, history or what, perhaps demonology, I didn’t really want to know. The built-in cabinets circled the room on three walls, and there were plenty of books to choose from. Some were familiar to me, names at least that I had read or heard of in past history. Addison, Boswell, Johnson, Chaucer, Richardson, and my favorite author, Fielding. These were represented by their novels I had in some cases, already read. But most of the books on the shelves were alien to me. There was a portion of Greek and Latin writers, and I recognized some of the names, like Plato, and Aristotle, and Latin authors, like Seneca and my favorite, Ovid. I had read the Metamorphoses early, looking for the ‘dirty’ parts as a preteen. I found much more value in the same text when I was in my 40’s. A lot of the books were in Greek, a language I could not read. I could speak a few phrases in modern Greek, but the written word was completely alien. There was a very old copy of Beowulf and Piers Plowman, the last a 14^th century work I hated in school. There was a collection of philosophy works, by authors I had missed in life: Boethius: The Consolation of Philosophy, and the eternal Dante.   After all, Dante should apply here…the Inferno especially.

There were shelves of some authors and titles that I didn’t at all recognize. Mostly with the Latin word “demonology” in it. There were books on the different “Demons of Hell”, with their talents or charges, whatever you call their expertise

.

I took a couple off the shelf, perhaps there would be some insight into what was whirling around me with my Demon. The ‘whys’ and ‘wherefores’…such things like that. I needed some answers. I was losing touch with reality faced with the latest cast of characters, and, well, I really needed some answers.

By opening just one of these books, very old and dusty in my lap, I found there were categories of demons: Royal and Common Demons. Greater and Lesser. I read text from Canaanites and Phoenicians, Egyptian and Sumerian writings on demons and evil. They attributed all sorts of illnesses and misfortune and weather to demons. Epilepsy and piles and indigestion and childbirth were rules by demons or complicated by such. Sacrifices or some sort of appeasement was demanded by the demons and this was what these cultures called medicine. I would suppose that plagues and pox were also in this listing. Also corns, cramps and crazy people. All controlled by demons.

In another book, as old looking as the first, I read of Cento, the Fire Demon.   There was Aspetus for vison, Encensio for teleporting, Capito for illusion, Opacus for shadow, Defigo for time. Oh, then I came across Cedo who was the Demon of shape changers. Early transvestites?   I wondered if Garrett, my busy Demon of late, had thought of these devils. They were something called ‘hybrid’ demons. Apparently, these were demons that had mated with mortal women, hence these powers. Seemed pretty powerful to me, even if they were classed as “lessor”.

In another book, the last I lifted from the shelf, was a dark black book, very old, again of leather, with only one word on it: it was “Watchers” but the language was Aramaic. The only reason I understood this word was because when I opened it, it had a strange English and Latin translation of the facing page. This was a very old text. It quoted the Hebrew Masoretic Text, and it centered on the Psalm 82:1. ‘God condemns the Divine Council who are the Watchers’. In Ephesius 6:12, they were called ‘kosmokratours, which was Greek for ‘world rulers’. They were evil spirits.

In another text they were called Nephilim, and they were born of Watchers and mortal women. They were a race of giants, Goliath was one of the last in the Bible, and they dated from the ‘preflood’ age.   In one text they were angels that married human woman and produced children on the earth. What caught my eye was one of their traits: their offspring, like the fathers, were voracious eaters and drinkers. I thought about my Demon’s appetite. He also was a giant of a man, or appeared to be with all that magic. God apparently got pissed off at them, the Watchers and at their rebellion, this rampant mating with mortal women, and tried to imprison them all underground until the Day of Judgement in something called ‘The Abyss”. In another text, this place was called a desert. In the Book of Enoch, there was more of this kind of ‘creature’, a hybrid demon. One was “Azazel” the Goat God, the teacher at the First Gate of Hell. He taught the Infernal Armies. I wondered if this was the name of Garrett’s father, since Garrett himself had seemed to inherit the manners of a goat. Especially around women, or at least me. One interesting fact I learned the Greek word daemon was demon, meaning intelligent. My demon certainly was that. Besides having the manners of a goat.

I read for a couple of hours, until my eyes tired of the dust and the print. It was hard enough to fashion a sentence from what I was writing for such was the language and translation. I closed the books, with much food for my mind, and went looking for something to eat for dinner. The kitchen had little except a small piece of pie. I was surprised the demon had not finished that off. He ate the full pie hot from the oven. That was after he finished the full pot of stew. His appetite certainly fitted the definition of the Nephilim. I found only bread and some cheese in a half round. It had some mold, but that wouldn’t dismiss it. A paring knife would do for the mold. Some butter, some honey and another pot of tea, this should make enough for both of us.

I went back upstairs to the bedroom to watch out the window. The day was darkening, and I wanted to see Garrett return. The thought of being in this house alone in the night made me uneasy. I heard him enter the front door, and ran to the balcony. He was taking off his overcoat and hat, and came up the stairs. I met him at the top of the stairs and he threw his arm around me, as he headed to the bedroom.

“Did you entertain yourself well, or did you miss me too much to do anything else?”

Ah! He was in a good mood. Perhaps whatever infernal business he had been at this day would soothe his manners tonight. I could see for the past week, or if you can call that time a week, I wasn’t sure, but I could see that the weight of his concerns were pressing on him.

“Come down to the kitchen, I have collected some dinner. It is all cold, but enough of a feast.”

“Better yet, good woman, I will bring it upstairs by the fire. You must be cold. Even I can tell this house is cold and I am not bothered by it.”

He brought the food up on a large tray and we ate by the fire. I asked him if he could talk about his afternoon, and he shook his head.

“Rather eat this food. Am hungry again. You need to cook more for me, Bess. I have battles to fight.”

“Ah! I’m not cooking for a legion of demons, now, am I?” I grinned at him.

“No, they have their own kitchens or use magic. I have come to like your earthly food better than my paltry magic.” He stuffed his mouth with a huge chunk of bread and cheese which he cut with large knife. “Your cooking lasts longer in my stomach than my magic. Am hungry again too soon left to myself.”

He didn’t seem less of a mortal man here. They all wanted to be fed. I wondered a bit at my own husband. He would subside on junk food and beer if I staged a strike. I hoped that his habits had changed for the better. Other than hope, there was little I could do for him.

I ventured to tell him what I had done with my afternoon.

“Garrett, I went into the library and found some books that I read for a few hours. I found information that might be helpful to you, if you don’t know it already.” I didn’t tell him anything about the Nephilim or my suspicions of his father. His face darkened and I could see that he struggled to control himself.

“You are delving into something that you can not understand, woman. The powers of the supernatural are dangerous enough to those who are. For a mortal, and a woman at that, it could be fatal before you know what strikes at you.”

“So! I am to sit here and see you threatened by all that is unnatural and mind my own business?”

“I say to you, woman, do not mettle in that which you know nothing. Even reading such words can leave you open to danger.”

His words angered me, for again, I was just a mortal woman to him. A breeder, a cook, a woman to bed. He could sense my upset, and he stubbornly withheld any words of appeasement.

We sat there, silence between us for a long while. I thought unwittingly of that which I read, and forgot my thoughts were easily exposed to him.

“So, you have occupied your time in that which you shouldn’t. Tell me then, what you have found that you think is of value to me.” This was as much as he would bend to my labors.

“Something called hybrid demons, though they are less in powers.” I started to list them and their values. “Cento, the fire demon could be of worth here.”

“Better Andesco”, he replied. “He can shoot fire from his fingertips. He can make a ball of fire and throw it far. Could come in handy.” He packed down his pipe with his thumb, and blowing on it, produced a high flame. More of his magic, but I would not be impressed.

“Then there is Capito, demon of Illusion,” I went on, ignoring the smoke that he shot my way in an attempt to annoy me.

“Go on.” He shifted his weight in his chair and stretching his long legs, he almost touched the logs with his boots.

“There is Opacus, the demon of Shadow. I don’t know how his would be handy, but then again, I am just a mortal woman, as you say.”

I saw him grin around the stem of his pipe. He was softening a bit.

“Don’t bet on it. Give me another.”

“Defigo, demon of Time. Surely you can figure that out. Oh! And I learned that the Greek ‘daimon’ means ‘intelligent’, not wicked.

“It means both, if you consider the behavior.”

“Then there’s Escensio, demon of Teleport. Surely another that could be of value to you.”

“Any more?”

“Finally, there’s Cedo…demon of shape changers.”

“Now that one is useful.”

“Well, thank you for that!” Little praise I got from him….

“You have brought me demons of a minor court. They can be easily fooled. That is why they are called ‘common demons.’ I need those from the Royal lines, of greater powers. Find any of those?”

“Well, what I found was something called the ‘Watchers.’” He looked startled and suddenly I had his full attention.

“The Nephilim. The Watchers over Mankind. A dangerous and royal line. That is possibly to be my line.”

That was a surprise to me. So he did know something more of his ‘parentage’.

“Why do you think that I have survived so long? Abigor dare not kill me only because of this. Otherwise, I would be ‘toast’ as you say.” He grinned, now more a grimace.

“Any of this you can use?”

“What, my ancestor line? I intend to. It is my first defense here. And the only reason that I have access to the Others.”

“The others being demons?” I ask.

“Oh Bess! I told you before that there are many cultures of Others. There are cultures here on this earth, that supply “Others”, there are dimensions out there, (here he waved his pipe in front of himself, I guess implying everything other) that have their own “Others”, everything that exists has its “Others”.

“So, these ‘Others” that you refer to, they are rulers?”

“More so than that. They have all the combined wisdom, intelligence, evil and good of their species. They are like a Pandora’s Box. But this box has all the jewels of the universes.

“More than one universe?”

“Many more. More than there are grains of sand on this earth.”

“I read that the Watchers pissed off God and He had them thrown into the Abyss forever.”

“Ah! That is what comes from a mortal woman reading these texts! Did you not read further? Was it in Greek or Aramaic?”

“Aramaic, I think.”

“Well, had you been able to read it, you would have found out that eight of the Watchers were placed in an ark, and survived the flood.” He drew on his pipe, letting a stream of smoke from his mouth.

“That’s from the Bible for your information.”

I was surprised that he had even bothered to read it. Didn’t sit well with him being some sort of demon.

“I am told I was descended from one of those Watchers. That is why I have been around a long time, unchallenged.”

In this short moment, I found out more about this Devil than I had guessed before. He was, what we would call in our pagan cultures, a “Wise One.”

“Your Wise Ones are paltry in powers compared to my breed.”

“Tell me, then. Are there Watchers or Nephilim of your breed that you can call upon now?”

“Ah! There’s the rub. They don’t reveal themselves easily. I have to search in various ways. That is why I am collecting a bunch of devils here soon, to parley something into agreement.”

This issue of devils on the furniture again. My God.

“Only dangerous if you get curious and come out of your room. Perhaps a few spells on you that day will make you less troubling for me.”

“Oh! Is that how you see me? As nothing but ‘trouble’?”

“Oh, much more than that. But trouble nevertheless.”

I decided not to push. I had enough to think about, and the fact that a passel of demons were to be in the house was not comforting.

“Can you control their behavior? Do you trust them together?”

“There is a certain code, or honor if you will.   If you can use the word ‘honor’ among demons.” He grinned a devilish grin. “My status is enough, I am betting, to control them. Abigor’s command is better.”

“And have you Abigor’s approval here?”

“Ah! That was the nature of my business today. Abigor has his own reasons to back me against Obadiah. Abigor will be here with the others. He has requested an interview with you, and I must oblige him in this.”

“Why? I am just a ‘mortal woman’ as you say.”

“Abigor has his own reasons. He has taken a ‘shine’ to you. He saw how you handled the demons that tempted you in the woods that night. Took some courage of you.”

So. I am to have tea with an Arch Duke of Hell. How my world has expanded!

“It grows late, good woman. We have more work on the morrow. You can continue to read and find devils for me. It’s helpful a bit.”

“Oh! Thank you, Demon of mine. I have the same objectives here. To keep us both alive for a while.”

The Devil looked at me, and though the smoke from his pipe and the darkening of the room did not allow me to see clearly, I thought I saw some tenderness pass over his face.

I am now caught up in his world. If I thought of any escape, I would not know where to run. Better stay and make a stand. Even though my allies were some of the worst demons of Hell.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

DEVIL’S REVENGE…chapter 3

Apparently some of you out there have been reading “Devil’s Revenge”….and some have privately written to me to post more.  There is a little bit of interest in this story.

I warn you, it’s rough and not yet rewritten, and I have learned something in the previous two years from the writing, but I have no energy right now to rewrite….and it’s a funny story, so I will post it in pieces here until the tide changes and the pikes come out.

Lady Nyo

“DEVIL’S REVENGE”

Chapter 3

Stretching like a cat, I awoke slowly.  Suddenly I smelled the strong scent of wood smoke and bounced upright in bed.  Looking around, I saw the fireplace and realized where I was.  Damn, it was happening again!  The Demon was playing fast and loose with my atoms, zapping me from my own comfortable bed and century.  How in hell does he do this?  Hah! Like he would tell me, but at least this time I wasn’t sick to my stomach.

The Demon had a name, Garrett Cortelyou, and was the hero of a novel I wrote sixteen years ago.   Cocksure of his charms, arrogance fed into his seduction and I found he was a danger to my decorum and decency.  Compounding the situation he was devilishly attractive and exuded an unearthly charisma.    He was master of a particular brand of sexual magic and his appetite knew no bounds.   He delighted in corrupting me, shocking me with his…. techniques.  I would call him a libertine.  He had little concern I was married and I forgot I was when he was near.  There was a certain charm in his humor and he was an entertaining devil.  Sexual encounters with him were addictive and probably dangerous. But this could not continue – I was losing control of myself.  He was a sharp-eyed critic and petards my writing with his presence and demands.

Here I was, early morning by the light in the room, and again, in a strange bed.   I had to pee, and knew from past visits where the chamber closet was.  It was cold in the room, the fire was dying down and I hurried across the floor. The sound of a pee in a china pot is quite intimate, as water with our modern toilets muffles sound.  Leaving the closet,  I stumbled over my feet in surprise.  There, sitting in a chair, was my Demon.

“I thought we agreed you would refer to me as your “Demon Lover”?  Garrett was eating a large slice of currant bread, the Dutch escapes me now –

“Kretenbroad”, he said, dusting the crumbs off his chest as he chewed.

“Thank you, the Dutch eluded me.”

“Anna makes good kretenbroad..  I think I will marry her.” He grinned at me and snapped  his fingers, making a dish of tea appear on the table for me.

“You could do worse.”  According to the first novel, Anna was the spinster niece of Daniel Griggs, the manservant who lived in this house for thirty years.

“Much more. Get your facts straight.”

“Garrett, what gives you leave to invade my bedroom at all times of the morning?”

Still chewing his bread, he gave a devilish grin.  “I like celestial music in the morning.”

“What are you talking about? What music?”   He could be so silly and confounded me many times.

“The music a woman makes when she pees in a chamber pot,” he said grinning broadly.

“You are a nasty demon.”  I was getting impatient with his antics.  He took great liberties.

“ Come drink your tea before it cools, “ he said, dusting the crumbs to the floor.

I sat down in my nightgown, and picked up the ‘dish’ of tea.  It really was a bowl with two handles, but every time he conjured up tea for me, it was good.

“Of course it is, I made and stirred it with my –“

“Don’t tell me, Garrett, I won’t be able to drink.”  He really was nasty this morning, and his visits were always backed with a purpose.

“Always backed”?  That’s more garbled English.  Write it in Dutch.”

“All right, Demon!” I was getting irritated.  “”Why are you here?” (Better I ask why I am here…) I was struggling with the book, trying to finish and every time we were together in this room, there was a setback in my writing, or a detour, or something strange and distracting.

“Oh? You see me as a distraction? I can be more dangerous than that.”  He burped loudly.  He had the table manners of a goat.

“Bahhh”.  He grinned crazily, and for whatever reason he appeared this morning, I was heading for trouble.

“First, give me your hand, and be more tender towards me.”  He extended his hand across the table, and gave me a sweet smile.  For some reason, he did this each visit. I never trusted him, especially when he was extending his paw.

“ ‘Hand’.”  He nodded to himself.  “And call me  ‘Lover’.  I miss that from you.”

I had to smile.  He was such an insecure devil.

“I am not. It’s just that you are a bad writer.” He lunged across the table and grabbed my hand.  “And still not fast on your feet.”

A current like water flowed from his hand to mine.  I was knocked back at the intensity of his touch.  He had done this before but something was different today.

“You fed me. See, Betsy, I was starving, and your cooking restored my strength.”  He grinned and would not let go of my hand.  “Anna made me stronger, too…and I thank thee for her.”    Anna was a good Dutch cook apparently.

“I don’t think I want to fokken her, though.”  He couldn’t resist.  “Nope, don’t want to do that at all.” He finally looked serious.  “ I read what you wrote…and again, you should stick to what you know.” He smiled at me, yanking my hand towards him.

“What in hell are you talking about?”  He rubbed the front of his breeches, and leered.

“Sex?” Is that the word you can’t think of?  You have to use sign language?”

“Ha…funny! Especially coming from a woman who obviously doesn’t know a thing about fellatio.”

I sat up, and thought back to what I wrote. “What was wrong with it?”

“See the sentence above the last.”

“Now you are going stupid.  Of course I know about it, I’ve been married for years.”

“Then your husband doesn’t know much.”   He had me there.

“I will teach you something useful –the devil leered again-  and make you an better writer.”  He grinned, and the current between us grew stronger.  My hand felt like it was melting into his, the heat fusing our flesh together.

“That’s what good …(the devil burped) …sex  is supposed to feel like.”

Garrett was a cock-sure devil, ( “damn right”) and most of his suggestions for the novel were on target.  He had lived in those years, the early part of the 19th century, and knew the social customs of the period.  I could only rely on my spotty research for these things.

“Hold still.  I will put something nice in your mouth, sweet woman.”  Ah, God…his mind was always fixated on lust.

“It effects better parts of me too, but you keep your knees together too much.  Ah, seduction of women writers is hard work.”

“You’ve used that line before, Garrett.  Now, who is original.”  My little joke didn’t please and he pulled me over the table and into his lap.  It happened so fast I couldn’t resist him.

“Give your highwayman a kiss, sweet Bessie.”  When he was in this mood, there was no denying the demon.

“Oh!” I said., sitting upright on his knee.   “That’s one of my favorite poems.  “The Highwayman”.  I thought it the most romantic poem I ever read when I was twelve.”

“Doesn’t turn out too nice, both of them dead.  That musket beneath her breast….” He shook his head and burped again.  His stomach at least was all too human.

I lay my head on his shoulder.  He could be a sweet devil, and evoked tender emotions from me he didn’t deserve.  He thought it a good time, when I was docile in his arms (“won’t last long”- I heard him think!) to pick me up and walk to the bed.  He lay down besides me, and placed my head on his shoulder.

“You are rather sweet this morning, my Demon Lover.” His temper was usually like mercury.  I think we were coming to terms.

“Well, we have, my darling.  I have chased away all the competition and you have me at ball and cock.”

I had to laugh here.  I was still married, and older than him by decades.

“I was born in 1790. Beat that.”

I thought I was robbing the cradle.  He was such a beautiful creation, but still, just a figment of my imagination.

“You really need to expand your horizons, sweeting.  There are so many parts to the universe and you just occupy one. You limit yourself by what you believe.”

I never accepted the stories of ghosts, haunts or spirits, but lying by his side, I was beginning to wonder.  He appeared flesh and blood enough this morning, especially as he grabbed my hand and placed it on his half mast cock swelling under his breeches.

“Good. You learn something.  Am I real enough for you now?   Let me show you something else.”  He passed his hand quickly from the top to the bottom of my nightgown and it melted away like smoke.

“Ah!  The first time I have seen you naked. You wear too many clothes. Let’s see what I’ve caught.”  He pushed my hair back from my breast, and stroked a nipple.

“You have pink nipples…very pretty!  And you are pink elsewhere, I see.”  I lay in his arms and blushed at his words.  He took my hand and placed it in his shirt, next to his heart.  He always wore a heavy linen shirt and I had become enchanted by his smell of  wood  smoke and probably brimstone.

“Very funny, sweet woman.  Now unclench those knees and let me make love to you.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me the portal to a woman’s soul is her mouth?”  I was teasing, trying to distract his limited mind.

He turned on his side and smiled tenderly down at me.  “You use my own words against me? You show courage. You also forget I am a nasty demon.”

“Not so nasty.  And getting better.”  His behavior had turned my mood from irritation to affection.  Conditions were changing between us and he was softening with a gentler touch.

“I have no softness, and don’t bet on it.”  He stroked my thigh and squeezed a breast.  I tried the same trick on his clothes, passing my hand down the length of him, and he laughed.

“It will take many decades, sweetheart, for you to learn that trick.”

“Not even levitating a chamber pot?”

“You would have more luck just throwing it.”

He was a handful, this Demon.   It was hard work keeping in stride with his wit.  He could have written a much better book, but then again, he likes best being the sharp-eyed critic.

Copyrighted, 2007
Jane Kohut-Bartels

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 16

This is a quirky novel that is almost finished except for the damn rewrite which should take me a longgggg time. It’s the second novel in a series, but it is very rough as it was written before I had a clue about writing…two years ago…LOL!

The plot is complicated. 21st Century writer is warped back into the 19th century…around 1820…where she ‘meets’ the same character in her first novel….Garrett Cortelyou..this time a Devil…handsome…but still a demon. He is immersed in a feud with another demon, Obadiah, and the writer is in the middle. There is a whole cast of Demons from Hell, and in this chapter, Betsy…the writer, is being ‘prepared’ to meet Abigor, the Devil close to the throne. Hopefully this comes across as funny, but as I said…it’s sorely in need of rewrite.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, Part 16

My Demon has left me alone for the last three days. I am a bit worried for he has spent many hours in his library, pouring over large books. Then he strides out the front door of the house, with neither a nod in my direction nor a kiss, and I am left to await his return. When he leaves, I return to my room, but I am at liberty to visit the bedroom that opens to mine. It is his, though he never seems to use it. It is a room with a high bed, old dusty curtains at its corners and a shotgun by the bed. He would just have to stretch his hand out to retrieve it. I look at it, knowing something about shotguns, but this gun is ancient. I don’t touch it, but it looks very heavy, with a scrolled and embossed silver plate, badly tarnished on the breech. It looks like it has killed many times. It is evil looking as all guns are to me.

I look out his windows though my room is a corner room with more windows and trees close to the house. His window gives me a clear and unobstructed view of the countryside that stretches for miles. It is mid January now, and the view is as bleak as it was in December. The skies are a uniform gray, with an occasional black cloud, and the ground is brittle and dun colored. There is little notice of life outside, except for that hawk that flies each day, patrolling its territory. Or so I believe. My Demon knows it to be another devil, a lesser one called Arachula, the evil spirit of the air. He said this demon turns into an owl at dusk and sits in the tree outside of our bedroom, watching. He stands at the window, silently communing with this spirit, but won’t comment on what passes between them. Perhaps he has an agreement with the owl to protect the house from monsters. Who knows? It is all beyond my comprehension.

This morning, I sit quietly flowering another vest for him. He has constantly worn the one I made for him, and it shows its wear. The floss I use is becoming worn, and pulling from the fabric. I am forever cutting off little ends that unravel.. This floss is silk, not cotton, and sinks into the fabric, and looks like it will be stronger. It is a tree limb with many different kinds of flowers and leaves, with autumn colors, and at the top, an elaborate orchid, with tiny seed pearls worked in the blossom. It is something to occupy my hands while I await his return.

I believe he has gone off to consult with different Demons of his own tribe. I guess you could call it a tribe, but not knowing the hierarchy of his dominion, I am only guessing. He tells me little, and is strangely, for him, silent. This is a definite turn in his behavior, and disturbs me. It tells me he is very preoccupied with his present business. I do miss his easy conversation, as I have grown accustomed to his wit. I hope it returns as his behavior now is scary. Too much the man and not enough the funny devil.

Suddenly he is in the room, and I look up, surprised.

“Good Morning, Devil! Don’t you look handsome today!”

He smiles and sits down in his usual chair. He has dressed himself in a different manner, and I continue to stare. He wears a dark green frock coat, with deep cuffs and silver buttons. It is long, to his hips, and under is a rich, silver brocade waistcoat, embroidered with leaves. A stock closely wrapped about his neck, clean linen shirt under the waistcoat, black breeches and shiny black boots completes his costume. He looks quite formal in dress. And quite charming . He is obviously dressed for an important occasion.

“Goedemorgen, Betsy. Today we make our appearance before Abigor and it is good we put our best foot forward.”

He smiles at me and I am a bit apprehensive. I immediately think of cloven hooves.

“Ah. An appearance. As in being presented to a Demon that you want favors from?”

“Abigor is the Grand Duke of Hell, and I would remind you to curb your comic thoughts about him. If you think I read your mind fast, he is faster. He is pleasant enough, but there are limitations. And he doesn’t take well to mortals. He is annoyed by free will.”

Great. Now I don’t only have to fear my Demon’s invading my thoughts, but his granddaddy as well.

If he reads my mind, he ignores me. I seem to be compounding my ‘mistakes’. Perhaps I am losing my mind.

“First you will have to take the bath and dress in a gown provided for your appearance.
Arginutin has loaned you the handmaidens I promised you. They are soon to appear. . They will assist you this morning.”

Arginutin is the demon who has dominion over baths and bathing places. Like the Turkish baths?

“Don’t let your wit run away with you today. I need you sober and submissive.”

Ah! About that submissive stuff, I was wondering if –

“Don’t wonder. Don’t even think. You will be surrounded by forces that will be confusing enough. Remain by my side, slightly behind my right side, and if things get nasty, grab onto the back of my coat.”

“Are there to be more than one Demon that we are visiting now?” I am apprehensive enough with this Abigor.

“Abigor travels with his own…ah, cabinet. He will be visible to you, but only he. Perhaps a large dog or wolf, or some monster at his feet. The others will be there, but invisible. Do not get curious and look around. If one catches your eyes, he could charm you away, and I’ll have more trouble on my hands.”

We both hear a scratching at the door, and my Demon calls out ‘enter’. The door opens and four greenish frogs enter the room. They are large frogs, at least 4 feet tall. But they are frogs. I start to laugh, and Garrett looks at me with a scowl. I am in shock and must be going hysterical.

“Go in the other bedroom with them and do as they say.”

“As they croak?” He smiles a sly smile, “As they croak.”

“Will I get warts from them?”

“Betsy, don’t push it this morning. If you anger them, they could cover you with worse.”

I trail the frogs into the other bedroom where a copper slipper tub is sitting on the floor. The fire is lit in the fireplace and the four frogs take places around the tub. There they start to fill the tub with ‘water’ from their throats, like fountains. I watch for a moment and then it dawns on me. My bath. I return to the other room where I find Garrett, the Demon, sitting before the fireplace, smoking his white clay pipe.

“Ah, Garrett…..the frogs are spitting in my bath.”

He looks up at me, and he grins. “Don’t worry. You’ll like the effects. Like asses milk. Good for the skin.”

I look at him blankly, and go back in with the frogs. The water is foaming, and looks milky. Two frogs start to remove my petticoat and bodice, and their little claws scratch my skin. They don’t croak a word, and they lead me to the tub, where I climb in. It’s not exactly warm, frogs being amphibians, cold blooded and all, and I try to suppress an image of frog legs on a plate. One of the frogs croaks pointedly, and I mumble ‘sorry’ to him. They have little sponges attached (?) to their pads and they wash my hair with their spit. One frog emits more of his saliva onto my hair, rinsing it with a blast of frog spit in my face. I believe that was on purpose, as I sputter and they all give a low croak. I think they are laughing at me. They are none too gentle in washing me either. One picks up an arm and other does the same, and they rub hard. Two pick up my legs, I feel like a wishbone right now, and they do the same. The ‘chief’ frog, the one that is slightly darker and taller than the other three, plunges into the water and washes between my legs. I see his face as he busies himself down there, and there is a decided sly frog smile on his…ah, face. They pull me down in the water by my legs as their way of rinsing, and sputtering, I am helped from the bath. Four towels appear in their paws and they are none too gentle in their rubbing. I think they get some pleasure in making my skin red with their efforts.

Standing there, naked, surrounded by these frog servants, I would laugh but they take themselves so seriously. Plus I am afraid of warts. The chief frog, for that is what I believe him to be, stands before me, looking intently at my body. He croaks something in his language to the others and there is a hearty croaking. Now I know that they are laughing at me, I just don’t know what part they find so amusing.

I am led to the bed, where I lay naked on the coverlet. Since I don’t see any little penises, I am not afraid of frog rape. However, they have little pots of something in their paws and start to paint different parts of my body with a soft, brick- red powder. They paint my lips, cheeks, fingernails and toenails, rouge my nipples, and then the chief frog comes between my legs and none to gently spreads them. He rouges my sex with the powder, and seems to work at it more time than necessary. I see that sly frog smile again between my legs.

I stand up and two frogs bring a beautiful gown to me. It is green or purple, no it is both colors, iridescent, and changes in the light. It is a heavy silk and they float it over my head. It fits, but hugs my body in places. They all give a croak of approval, or this is what it seems to me. They brush out my hair and the chief frog places a circlet of spun gold around my forehead. I am barefoot, but apparently, I am expected to stay that way.

The frogs lead me back into the bedroom where my Demon is sitting, and present me to him. He looks at me, and his eyes widen. I think he is pleased. He smiles and bows to the frogs. I curtsey to them and they look pleased. They file out the door, and then are gone.

“Wasn’t that bad an ordeal now, was it?” He looked at me appraisingly.

“Garrett! I am covered with frog spit! Maybe in your world this is normal, but in mine?”
I started to laugh, I could easily become hysterical.

“Any warts?”

“No, not that I can tell.”

“Good. Because if they took offense, you would now be covered in large, red welts.”

Well, that was the good news. “What happens next?”

“We turn up at the appointed time and I make a leg.” That meant him bowing to the Duke.

“And what do I do?”

“You are very quiet, don’t breathe a word, and for your Goddess’ sake, don’t think a thing. Try to remain blank. Though do present a pretty curtsy, and mean it when I present you.” He grimaces at me. “Do not be mocking in your behavior or you might end up a cinder.”

Ah! That was good to know. I was really scared now!

“Do not lose courage, little woman of mine. You will get used to the procedure, for we will be doing the same in a round of visits. I am building my influence here, and calling in favors.”

“Will Obadiah be doing the same?” I was curious.

He sighed deeply, and looked at me. “Yes, he will. It will be a race to see who develops their forces first. That first strike can mean an early victory.”

“And I assume, who gets me?” He looked at me in a strange way, and drew me onto his lap.

“Sit here a spell. We have some time yet. The gathering isn’t until dusk. Let me smell your mortal woman smell. That will create a stronger bond. It’s more than appearances to these devils, but appearances are important.”

I sat on his lap, and leaned my still frogspit damp hair on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and held me to his chest. Ah, he was so tender this day!

“Explain something to me, Garrett. Why is it again that I am needed in your dimension? What is it about mortals that make us desired?”

“Not all mortals are desired, my darling one. You have shown a free imagination and a certain intelligence. That is how you attracted the Old Ones in the first place. It’s not that they read much, but they sensed something usable in you.”

Sounds like he was describing a ‘devil’s plaything’. Nice.

“Have you ever heard of “Abd-ru-shin”?

“No, should I have?”

“Not necessarily. There are a couple of reincarnations made from the original. He was an Arab who wrote about humans and personal responsibility. He also wrote, and is most famous for, beliefs on human free will. He believed that humans, mortals if you will, have a neutral Creative Power. They were between worlds….yours and others. Applies to different dimensions, too. You are what is called a ‘carrier.’ You can go between worlds and dimensions, with a bit of magic.”

“That’s where you come in?”

“Partly.” He scowled heavily at some thought. “Of course, other spirits and demons will want to use you, too. I’ll have to be on guard you don’t get squired away.”

I felt like some giant, immortal mail service. I had to laugh. He read my thought but wasn’t in a humorous mood.

“You look fetching in that gown. The frogs did a good job with you. Now listen to me carefully. You are a bit too fetching for my tastes. At least outside this room. I want you to grab onto my coat and stay there. Don’t lose contact with me. There are going to be strange forces around you, and some  will enter your mind. Don’t allow them to muddle your thoughts. Just think of me. Only of me. There will be temptations abounding and these are a pack of tricky devils. I would attend to him alone, but they all want to see why Obadiah and I are fighting over you. If you feel an arm, or a breath or a tentacle touch you or go up your gown, stamp your foot. That should break their spell. If that doesn’t work, pull on my coat. That will get my attention. But remember I will be making my case to Abigor, and this is strong business between devils. Try not to interrupt.”

Oh god! I am to blank out my mind, avoid the tentacles going up my legs, not be open to suggestions from other demons in the area, and not loose contact with his coat! And to remember to stomp my foot if I am tempted.

“Why not just leave me here in the room? Seems a lot of trouble for you.”

“I would do that, easily, but that is not what is called for. You are a prize, and right now mine, and I aim to keep it that way. That is why Abigor is pivotal here. He also predicts the future. So, just remember what I have said, and please! Be submissive!”

If there was any time that I felt more submissive, I couldn’t remember. Right now, I wanted to be so submissive as to disappear. I was clearly out of my league with his fellow creatures. The frogs were benign in comparison.

“Just for the visit, I am going to put a little charm on you. Just for safety, my own as well as yours.” He passed his hand over my tinted lips, and I felt nothing. I started to ask a question, and I had no voice. I was mute!

“Good. It works. Hard to tell sometimes, you are such a chatterbox.” He smiled down at me and I flashed my outrage and anger from my eyes. My mouth was useless.

“Don’t worry, sweetwoman.. After the visit, I’ll loosen your tongue again, and you can put it to good use thanking me.”

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2008