Turn around
Go right
Go left
back again
look behind
look forward
look down
look up
your life
is a circle
of events
that shapes
your soul
-30-
The Circle of Life
Category: souls
Interview With A Demon
Somewhere between heaven and hell, demons live among us. You can’t tell they’re demons. They don’t wear signs proclaiming “I’m a demon,” or have horns on their heads for all to see.
You could be sitting next to one right now. In a theatre. On the subway. On a plane. You’d never guess by their appearance. You might even have a friend whose a demon. They play their cards close to the chest and do their best not to stand out in any setting. They may be in positions of power. Or Hollywood celebrities. They can be found in gangs, and in prisons.
*****************
Teddy Stackhouse Jr. was only 24-years old when he went to prison. He ran over a mother and daughter in a crosswalk while going 100 mph in a street race. It wasn’t his first speeding ticket. He had been driving on a suspended license when he snuffed out the lives of Lily and Julie Satarson. He also had numerous run-ins with the law (dating back to when he was 13 years-old), but always got bailed out by his wealthy parents. But the two deaths finally became the straw that broke the camel’s back. He was sentenced to 30 years in a state prison.
I think Teddy’s parents knew he was a demon. I also think they were relieved when he was sent to prison. When I came by to interview them for the local newspaper they both seemed unperturbed by the fact their only child was going to spend most of his adult life behind bars. They almost seemed jovial as they answered my questions. Before I left they gave me a recent photo of Teddy to add to the article. It was all a bit odd and my instincts told me there was a lot more to the story than a spoiled rich kid who really screwed up so badly even his permissive parents couldn’t save him. As I got into my car I wondered why Teddy’s story was clinging to my brain. I studied his photo. He was a handsome guy. Dark curly hair and big blue doe-like eyes with thick lashes that must have driven more than one female to lust for him. He had an aristocratic nose that narrowed into tiny nostrils. He was tall and slender with the hands of a pianist. No doubt about it. He was a handsome devil I conceded, and was probably going to end up a plaything among the brutes he was going to live with for the next 30 years.
*****************
Candace Willis sat in the rear of the courtroom. She had come to see Teddy Stackhouse Jr. after seeing his photo in the newspaper. She fell instantly in love with his eyes and hair. She watched his every move and when she didn’t think anyone was looking at her, she took photos with her cell phone. After the hearing was over she went to the park across the street from the courthouse and sat down on a bench. Soon she was posting Teddy on her TikTok account, her Twitter account, and her Facebook page. She had to share how handsome he was and made comments like, “He’s just too cute to lock up, and “They should give him another chance.” It didn’t take long until all three of her social media platforms were buzzing about Teddy. The buzz went on all day. And the next. It never stopped. Candance was amazed as she gained millions of new followers as the days turned to weeks. The fascination over Teddy’s good looks and story seemed endless.
It wasn’t long before hashtags like #FreeTeddy sprung up in the Twitterverse. People even starting fundraising so that Teddy could get another trial. Right-wing podcasters and cable stations called for Teddy to be set free. That he’d been unfairly treated by libtards in the court system.
I picked up Teddy’s story again about a year after he was sent up to the big house. My cousin Dennis was a guard at the prison where he lived. The first thing he told me was a shock. None of the prisoners messed with Teddy. I was sure he’d be fresh meat for the animals that awaited him. Not so. Even Dennis couldn’t explain why. Even more odd, the other prisoners feared him. The guards were stunned by all the letters Teddy got every day. All from women. From California to Florida. The stacks built up in his cell until there was no longer room for them and they were transferred to a secure locker in the complex.
Dennis arranged the interview. I was, after all, the hometown reporter who wrote about Teddy’s capture and court hearing. It didn’t take long. I only had three days to study my notes before we’d meet. In my research I came across Candace Willis’s Twitter account purely by accident. At least I thought that at the time. Discovering Teddy Stackhouse Jr. was a social media star was a revelation – a window – into the mysterious power he wielded over women. Looks are one thing, but after reading what women posted on Teddy’s accounts (to no one’s surprise his parents had arranged for him to use a computer one hour a day under the watchful eye of a guard) it was obvious he’d become a cult leader.
Women worshiped him. Pledged their lives to him. Yearned for his guidance. Offered their bodies if he should ever be set free. He was an online celebrity when I interviewed him.
We sat on plastic benches separated by a clear plastic table. He wasn’t handcuffed and looked relaxed. It was a tiny room surrounded by windows.
“I looked forward to hearing from you Jake the moment Dennis brought it up,” Teddy told me with a broad smile.
It slightly unnerved me the way his pale blue eyes studied me like a specimen to be dissected. I tried not to let it show.
“I’m doing a one-year follow up story on your case and was hoping you’d share how your life’s been and if you still have no regrets about killing Lily and Julie Satarson with your reckless driving.“
It was a leading question designed to throw him off balance with rudeness instead of fawning respect. I saw a brief twinkle in his eyes (Amusement? Anger?) as he yawned loudly, exaggerating the sound.
“Listen to me Jake. Why would I have any regrets killing them? They were my awakening. To be clear, the clown who use to live inside this body was cast out when I took over the car that night. You can call me a demon if you must. My name is Xerse and I came straight from hell to land this gig. I haven’t had this much fun in 2,000 years. There’s nothing quite like messing with human’s minds and their bodies.”
His response momentarily left me speechless with a sliver of drool on one side of my mouth. The guy was crazy. Why wasn’t he in a mental institution for the criminally insane? My brain was spinning as I sought a reply to his claim.
“Don’t get too excited Jake boy. You’ll burst an artery and have a brain bleed. The answer to you question is there’s been no reason to put me away in a nut house. I haven’t caused a stir here. As a matter of fact things have been pretty peaceful. And yes, I can read your mind.”
So, if you’re a demon why stay in prison?” I blurted out
“It’s all part of the masterplan. Don’t worry your bald little head about it. Today is your lucky day Jake. I think you have a sense of adventure that may be useful to me. My prison time is ending in six months after all my followers successfully sue to free me. Take my word. It’s a given. Are you okay? Your drooling from both sides of your mouth.“
I managed an idiotic smile and nodded that I was just fine.
“You, Jake my friend, are going to be my road manager. We’re going to tour the country together. Lot’s of curses and spells. Wild men and women. And lots of souls to harvest.”
THE END
The Wild Winds of Wonderland
like a stampede of stallions across a fertile plain
the wild winds of wonderland carries dreams to countless souls
like a heavenly hurricane
and in this magical domain no one has a name
thoughts are colored lights vibrating with energy
and a positive synergy
that’s extrasensory
celebrated in a cosmic liturgy
for the ages
***
The Celestial Diner
Satchmo singing”What a wonderful world” in a corner of the 1950’s themed diner that never closes down
a mythical diner that attracts great musicians and singers from all around
Jelly Roll Morton rubbing elbows with Duke Ellington at the red bar
the two legends watching Buddy Holly perform from afar
Little Richie, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Fats Domino
hanging out but looking for somewhere else to go
Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley
looking over at Billie Holiday and Peggy Lee
Diane Ross and Janis Joplin playing Liar’s Dice
while old Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra, tries to be nice
so he can stay in this musical paradise
The Last Train
(158 words- flash fiction/poetry)
He waited impatiently on the wooden bench in front of the one-room train depot that sat in the middle of nowhere sweating in the high desert air, when he heard a faint whistle…
Dust devils danced gleefully in the distance, forerunners for a giant sandstorm gathering in the West, but the man was unimpressed, as he stared like he was possessed…
… into the direction of the whistle which grew louder with each heartbeat, and soon he could see a train through the shimmering heat, as he got to his feet, ready to board and take the back seat…
as the train idled and plumes of steam shrilly screamed with the whistle’s urgent blast, the man moved fast to get aboard and ignored the other passengers who looked bored…
There was no need to look back as they went down the track with their memories already fading with the light, something new was just ahead in the gathering night.
****
Seeking Serenity #1
when it comes to
seeking serenity
each one of us has
a choice to make
a path to take
sometimes serendipity
determines fate
on our trail
resulting in
an eternal
fairytale
In The Center
what’s in your center?
an enlightening epiphany
or more?
discovering your inner core?
a place to safely explore?
some say
the soul is your center
and gateway
to your spirit
that follows a pathway
up a celestial stairway
to heaven
but I wouldn’t know
I have a wayward soul
that wanders alone
seeking the center
of the universe
and it’s secrets
but
I still wonder why
I can never go home
no matter how hard I try
The Awakening
after a century the first thing I could see
was a replica of me staring with curiosity
we looked at one another
trying to discover
the mystery
it didn’t take long
to understand what was wrong
when I blinked an eye
so did the other guy
and it became clear
I was looking up into a mirror
and there was no reason for fear
but when I stood up
I heard a hidden gear
instead of my heart
there was a moving part
instead of skin
I had something akin
that gleamed in the light
and gave me a fright
until I realized I was still alive
even if my body didn’t survive
Still Dancing In My Mind
my old legs with gimpy knees and gait
don’t allow me to move freely
because they ache
but it doesn’t stop me
from dancing in my mind
where I’m free
of earthly constraints
and physical limitations
that bring complaints
but I hear rock and roll
and keep on dancing
to please my soul!
The Fickle Gods Own Bartender
600 words –
“I’ll have a scotch on the rocks when your done serving those sissies at the end of the bar!” a belligerent customer bellowed.
Willie the bartender glanced over his shoulder at the loudmouth on the other end of the bar while continuing to serve the two men beer and pretzels.
He’d seen his type before. A mean drunk. Rather than violently kick him out, which he had every right to do, Willie walked over to him and looked him straight in the eye. Something in his stare caused the rowdy customer to instantly calm down.
“You sure you haven’t had enough for the night buddy?” he asked. The would-be customer slid off the bar stool and muttered that he was taking his business elsewhere as his unsteady legs propelled him towards the door.
In Willie’s world, the bar was a waiting room for restless souls, not yet gone on to any reward, and not likely too either. The tortured souls who sat at his bar looked for advise and solace. They were confused and he found that most were looking for heaven. They came to the bar to learn about their next step in the process of passing from one life to another.
They told him their life stories over shots of tequila and whiskey; wondering why their drinks didn’t make the misery of this alcoholic purgatory disappear.
Then there were those carefree souls who laughed and partied through the endless nights, calling Willie, “St. Peter,” and begging him to escort them through invisible Pearly Gates. But it wasn’t Willie’s job. All he was supposed to do was listen and offer his two-cents worth while serving endless alcoholic drinks.
Long ago Willie realized his karma was damaged beyond repair. That was why the gods (there had to be more than one) put him where he was. A lifelong alcoholic who drank himself to death and was resurrected as a messenger between worlds. What irony. The gods sense of humor was impossible for Willie to understand. He was a hostage for eternity.
One day all that changed.
The god of chaos sent other deities spinning through dimensions and worlds unborn, in a burst of cosmic energy that tore souls loose from the places they were stuck. Adrift, the souls turned to space, eagerly looking for new landings. New starts.
Willie found himself on earth again. It was 1923 and he owned a whiskey distillery that supplied gangsters from Chicago to New York. As he watched the last truck pull out, packed with crates of his signature booze, Willie had a nagging feeling that the good times weren’t going to last. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but business was just too good to walk away from. Besides, he felt alcohol was part of his destiny. His rise to glory.
Willie was on to something. He just didn’t realize it then.
When the mobsters attacked his distillery one night he was killed playing a game of poker with his two bodyguards. His suddenly rich wife buried him quietly.
Dimensions shifted. Alternate universes collided. The gods fought for time and space. New worlds were springing up in far away solar systems. Galaxies groaned as solar systems stretched and contracted, collecting stars like seashells on earth’s beaches.
And Willie found himself pouring a beer from behind a long mahogany bar while listening to a sad soul’s story. He sighed because he knew it was going to take a very long time.
The gods shrill laughter echoed throughout the heavens, and meteors continued to scream through outer space on a mission to mock mankind.
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 