By Edele Winnie
The long flight to Quebec City was torturous. Cardinal Molson, nearly eighty years old and fortified by a glass of angel semen in water, was a constant attraction on the aircraft. Women hovered around him like flies on dead meat. Three of the male flight attendants offered to give him a tour of the private areas of the aircraft- or maybe it was their private areas in the aircraft? It required a lot of forgiving, but Molson was up to it. It also helped distract him from his travelling companion. They were flying first class so Mr. T was already over-filled on complimentary beer and little packages of crackers. He was sweating profusely- the skanky smell of beer cold filtered through a human body with a bushy layer of greasy black body hair. The cardinal was named Molson but Mr. T was Molson inside and out. He was so drunk he was eating the crackers without taking the plastic wrappers off.
When he heard the commotion near the back of the plane the cardinal suspected the flight attendants were scrapping over him. Angel semen seemed to be some kind of crazy aphrodisiac. But this time he was wrong.
“In the name of Allah!” a bearded man shouted. “American Imperialists and crusaders will pay the price!” He had some kind of button thing in his hand, with his thumb poised ready to press.
People were screaming and swooning. Cardinal Molson heard some praying to a Christian God and that snapped him out of his reverie. He raised his right hand- he wasn’t sure why at the time- and a bolt of white light came out and zoomed towards the bomber. And then the light was gone and so was the man. People blinked and rubbed at their eyes. The trouble maker had vanished. Cardinal Molson wiped the tingly palm of his hand on his black pant leg. Angel semen indeed.
Far below a man with a beard hit the metal roof of a snowy barn and slid off, bones smashed after a freefall from thirteen thousand feet. Fourteen year old farm girl Ashley Bloomfield looked up just in time to be crushed by the falling pulverized body, killing her instantly. One virgin, anyway.
Chad fell asleep at the wheel and the car drifted into the other lane. Angry blaring horns slapped him awake, yet again. God Burner the demon laughed so hard scalding red tears splashed out from his eyes. One landed on the car’s dash and sizzled as it burnt a whole in the plastic.
“I told you we needed two beds!” Chad whined.
They’d spent the night in a cheap hotel in Cornwall, sharing a double mattress. GB had slept fine but Chad had been too hot all night long- no wonder sleeping next to a smoking demon. And then around 4AM when Chad was finally slipping into dream land his demon buddy hot whispered “oh Sasha baby” and made Chad angry. GB had been laughing all morning about that. And Chad had been yawning uncontrollably ever since.
“Her name is Sarah!” Chad insisted for the upteenth time. “I don’t know why you insist on making fun of her.”
“Because she’s dead in bed?” The demon said mockingly. “Because a sock is more interested is sex than she is? Because she’d rather be porked by a cactus then your little dinky?” The demon continued mockingly. “Because-“
“Enough already!” Chad roared and swerved the car into the stones and snow at the side of the TransCanada highway at speed.
The vehicle twisted sideways, tires ploughing stones and it almost flipped over before it stopped. Chad slammed the door on his way out and nearly slipped on some ice as he marched over to the passenger seat and ripped the door open. He grabbed the demon’s hot shoulder and angrily tugged him out of the car. The demon stood up and stopped when he grew to nine feet and grinned down at Chad.
“I feed on this you know. You’re pathetic anger is like a greasy spring roll.” He laughed. “And I’m hungry for more!”
Chad backed off and screamed ‘fuck’ at a snow pile eleven times. Then he stalked off into the scrubby woods by the side of the road. He’d had enough. He was at the breaking point. It was always the same. He lost at everything he ever tried.
“Hard on! Hard on!” GB called into the woods. Considering that it might not be the best thing to be shouting at the side of the TransCanada highway when appearing as a demon, GB stepped into the tree line, leaving sizzling footprints in his wake. He didn’t have to make them sizzle, but he liked it.
The great horned demon found Chad sitting on a rock, but before he could torment even a little bit they heard the explosion.
“Christ that was close by!” Chad said.
“He’s not here.” GB answered. “And yes it was close by.”
They followed the demon’s sizzling step trail back to what was left of the car. The explosion had lifted the car up off the ground and smashed it down again and then transformed it into a blazing fireball, melting the snow all around.
One more piece of shit cake in my life, Chad thought.
“Cool.” Said GB.
Sarah- or Sasha Veselovsky waited until the clock in the kitchen hit 10AM before smashing it with a hammer. 10 AM was significant. It was the exact time her loser husband would be blown up when the car bomb went off. It was part one of her plan. Glass and bits of thin metal flew as she clocked the clock. It was the last time the clock would ever see- hammer time. She ripped the hands off and threw them onto the floor. The hammer pounded its way around the kitchen, zapping the microwave, cold snapping the fridge and blasting the oven. Stupid kitchen. Horrible house. She’d given two years of her existence to this fake cover life while carefully laying plans for her mission. Finally she poured cooking oil all over the floor and lit it on fire. There would be no evidence, just some ash to kick around.
As the flames licked at the grotesque wall paper she ran for her car. It was all she needed. In the trunk were a twenty pack of diapers, three hundred Snickers bars and an AK47 with RPG mods.
It was an incredible feeling to be free again after being chained to her loser husband for so long. The marriage had helped legitimize her and provided her with a cover. But now she felt like a young woman again, alive and free like before her training in Russia. She’d been chosen because she had incredible self control and an incredible ass. Putin himself had slapped it. She turned on the GPS and said it a loud Russian accent.
“Quebec City, mother fucker.”
As her tires squealed down the quiet, now smoke filled street she just had one nagging question. Why had her loser husband been going to Quebec City too?
Emile Berube yawned and rubbed his arm. He’d just injected something or other- couldn’t quite remember- he hadn’t really paid attention when he’d lifted it from his junkie friend Etienne. Poor Etienne would be breaking through the thin walls of his cheap apartment right about now, approaching madness without his fix. Emile smiled. What did it matter? All of us are doomed anyway.
His Bonhomme de Neige costume was sitting out on the couch, getting some air time after being choked in a box with moth balls for a year. Emile ditched his pants and unders and put on a pair of white boxers. It would not do for the great Bonhomme to have dark underwear. It was an annoying gig but he honestly didn’t mind it. So many women wanted pictures with Bonhomme and they just laughed when he pawed their breasts and tweaked their asses. It was a license to grope. Add in some alcohol and the winter Carnival was guaranteed to be a fun couple of days. Still Emile fretted over the transition. He didn’t work normally. He collected welfare under three different names and also got the baby bonus under two others. He didn’t need the Bonhomme job but it was worth handfuls.
The phone rang. He didn’t move towards it. The answering machine kicked in and the annoying voice of his aged mother pleaded a message. Emile didn’t pay attention. The old coot always wanted something. He just wanted her to die. He was certain she had some kind of insurance.
He took a stiff brush to the Bonhomme costume, to fluff it a bit and get the wrinkles out. It was not something he normally did, but today was different. Today he was bonhomming in front of the president of the United States. He should have gotten the costume dry-cleaned. If there were sniffer dogs they’d likely note the cocaine residue. Oh well, Emile thought and laughed out loud. Maybe he wouldn’t be seeing Obama Mama after all.
“Pretty good if I say so myself.” GB commented, ripping the well done meat from the bone with his pointed teeth. Then he crunched up the bone and swallowed it.
They were still in the snowy woods by the TransCanada Highway. Chad had freaked out when his car exploded- even though GB had warned him about using a higher octane gas. Chad thought someone was trying to kill him. GB had shot fire at a passing deer and voila, instant forest flambé. He’d also started a campfire and now they were sitting and snacking.
“You should eat Hard On.” The demon urged. “We have a long walk ahead of us and no time.”
They’d tried hitchhiking but no one would pick up a man and a demon. GB had pulled his robe over his head so it hid everything but no one would pick up a man and a jedi either.
“I want to call Sarah.” Chad whined. “I want to hear her voice.”
GB opened his mouth and did a perfect imitation of Sarah/Sasha. “Oh Chad, why don’t you take out the trash and clean the garage?”
Chad nodded sadly. Yup. That was his wife’s voice all right. He looked up at the demon sitting across the fire from him. A little bit of hell, Chad thought. And yet this stupid demon has stuck with me longer than anyone else. It was an odd realization.
“I can read your mind you know.” GB said quietly.
“Fuck you.” Chad answered.
“Fuck you too.”
Cardinal Molson was at the airport, waiting at the baggage-go-round. The old man was actually hovering a few inches off the ground. The angel semen was amazing stuff. Mr. T was sweating on a chair nearby, leaning on a garbage can. He’d been alternating swearing and puking for the last half hour. He was actually puking up crackers still in the plastic wrapper. That hurt coming up. He kept looking at the old priest for sympathy but there was none there. Old prick.
Finally luggage began to appear on the conveyer belt. Neat little suitcases slowly grumbled past. The Cardinal awaited an old leather valise that he’d had for years. When it appeared he hovered over to it, and then sank to the floor in disgust. Someone had slashed it up and defecated in it. Why would they do that? He was a Vatican emissary. They would have to stop somewhere so he could purchase some clean underwear. He turned to Mr. T to tell him to get up because they were leaving but the sweat machine of a man was vomiting into the garbage can again. Molson caught sight of some pointed ears in the vomity refuse receptacle- and then a little face peaked out. He should have known. A little imp demon. A quick glance around the baggage pick up area showed a dozen of the little trouble makers playing hide and peek. Likely it was one of them that had toilet tantrumed his valise. The cardinal lifted several inches off the floor again and raised his right hand. He unleashed heaven.
Great arcing zaps of bright energy smashed at the imps. They squealed and screamed when hit, like puppies in pain. The cardinal was surprised to hear himself laughing. Emergency sirens began to sound- they must have thought it was some kind of a terrorist attack.
Cardinal Molson motioned to Mr. T but the slimy man was no longer sitting. An errant ecclesiastical energy burst had taken off half his body and deep fried the rest. Mr. T was a smoking oozing puddle of ruin. The cardinal shrugged. He felt no remorse. He was discovering a new reality- in the bible God had sometimes smote, destroyed and purged. Molson understood it now because he was living it. He appreciated the practice too, because he knew he had a large demon to face. He just hoped the angel semen effect wouldn’t wear off before he found the creature.
The forest at night is full of sounds. Even snow falling from branches makes noise. Chad and GB had begun their trek, staying close to the highway but no one had offered them a ride. It had begun to snow again. When Chad could go no further they had retired into the trees. GB had coughed up a fire. Chad was cold and wet and exhausted. GB sat beside him to keep him warm. Faced with the toasty heat Chad had quickly fallen asleep and the great demon was left holding the puny human in his arms. Carefully, he laid Chad down and then curled up beside him, the snow melting around them due to the steady hot. For a few moments no one moved. Then Chad reached a tentative arm around the demon. GB reciprocated. They began dry humping at each other. The forest at night is full of sounds, sometimes, howling.
One thought on “The Fifth Monday Two – Hard On’s Curse – Part 3”
Edele, you sure aren’t making things easy on me. I thought I would have the best part with my opening to the story, but then Christian ramped everything up and now you took it all somewhere even more amazing. Damn you for writing a good story.