Read Online The Devil Stood Up by Christine Dougherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Dougherty
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reluctant to go away.
He turned away from the house and shrugged, trying to slough off the feeling. Following Kelly’s directions, he set out for the highway.
He walked and paid attention to the fatigue that was already settling into these weak, worn out muscles. Even the pack he’d shrugged onto his back, light as it was, started his thin shoulders aching and twisted a hot knot of pain between his shoulder blades before he’d gone one mile. And he felt hungry, his stomach knotting and growling.
The Devil came upon the highway. It was two-lane, rural, bound on both sides by trees and further down he could see farmland. He was in New Jersey, not too terribly far from Philadelphia, where he thought he would find the lawyer, Thomas Evigan. He wasn’t privy to The Litany anymore, and though it was a profound relief, it also served to cut him off from the path Thomas Evigan had taken.
The Devil stood at the edge of the highway and in the distance, saw a vehicle coming from the direction he did not want to go and in the direction he did. He shrugged the pack from his back, relieved to feel cool air where the straps had dug mercilessly into this body’s shoulders.
He waited.
As the vehicle approached, the Devil felt a building anticipation, which he at first attributed to his mission begun. But as he stood there, the anticipation bloomed larger and larger, unfurling like a heavy, black blossom, taking up all the space for this body’s breath, and this skull began to hum as if filled with a large, poisonous wasp, and the Devil realized he might know who was coming.
The vehicle came around a shallow curve and was fully in view. It was a sunshine yellow 1954 Ford F-100 pickup truck, the front painted in flames so vibrantly red and orange they shimmered as if with actual heat. The truck was a dandy, and would have brought a smile to any man’s lips.
But the Devil did not smile.
The truck slowed to a stop twenty feet from where he stood. Early morning sun glimmered and flashed across the windshield, hiding the driver. The engine idled, rumbling powerfully, a growl that would make any man smile.
But the Devil did not smile.
The engine revved and the truck jumped, playfully, like a tiger cub grown to monstrous size. Then it jumped again, tires chirping on the blacktop.
It was now fifteen feet from the Devil and it jumped a third time, gaining another five. Laughter, chuckling and thin and somehow sardonic, slipped from the open windows of the cab, and the truck jumped again, pulling dead even with the Devil.
The driver leaned over and popped the passenger side door, which yawned wide, barely missing the Devil where he stood. Leaning across the seat, the driver smiled and the smile sat uncomfortably under his jet-black mop of hair and black, sparkling eyes. This man’s thin lips seemed more prone to a sneer than a smile.
“Aye, well, sure and begorrah, if it idn’t ta Divil, hissownself,” he said, his Irish accent so broad it became a caricature; an unflattering one, at that. “Coom ahn oop, Lucifer, an ryde along wit me.” He put his fingers to the rim of the tight, plaid cap that had just appeared on his head and once again his laughter slid forth, mean-spirited and emaciated.
He put his hand out, his smile coiling tightly, a rattlesnake ready to strike…and the Devil took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled into the cab. The passenger door swung shut of its own accord and the pick-up roared, tires screaming against the road, a cloud of blue black building behind it, and shot off in the direction the Devil had wanted to go.
* * *
“It’s been a long time, Am,” the Devil said.
Amon looked askance at his passenger and grinned. The cap had disappeared.
“Aye, that is has, laddie, that it has,” he said. “Ye art soorly missed…” his grin widened, “…doon below.”
The Devil said nothing, only gazed calmly out his window and kept his mind serene. He knew he could not show
He turned away from the house and shrugged, trying to slough off the feeling. Following Kelly’s directions, he set out for the highway.
He walked and paid attention to the fatigue that was already settling into these weak, worn out muscles. Even the pack he’d shrugged onto his back, light as it was, started his thin shoulders aching and twisted a hot knot of pain between his shoulder blades before he’d gone one mile. And he felt hungry, his stomach knotting and growling.
The Devil came upon the highway. It was two-lane, rural, bound on both sides by trees and further down he could see farmland. He was in New Jersey, not too terribly far from Philadelphia, where he thought he would find the lawyer, Thomas Evigan. He wasn’t privy to The Litany anymore, and though it was a profound relief, it also served to cut him off from the path Thomas Evigan had taken.
The Devil stood at the edge of the highway and in the distance, saw a vehicle coming from the direction he did not want to go and in the direction he did. He shrugged the pack from his back, relieved to feel cool air where the straps had dug mercilessly into this body’s shoulders.
He waited.
As the vehicle approached, the Devil felt a building anticipation, which he at first attributed to his mission begun. But as he stood there, the anticipation bloomed larger and larger, unfurling like a heavy, black blossom, taking up all the space for this body’s breath, and this skull began to hum as if filled with a large, poisonous wasp, and the Devil realized he might know who was coming.
The vehicle came around a shallow curve and was fully in view. It was a sunshine yellow 1954 Ford F-100 pickup truck, the front painted in flames so vibrantly red and orange they shimmered as if with actual heat. The truck was a dandy, and would have brought a smile to any man’s lips.
But the Devil did not smile.
The truck slowed to a stop twenty feet from where he stood. Early morning sun glimmered and flashed across the windshield, hiding the driver. The engine idled, rumbling powerfully, a growl that would make any man smile.
But the Devil did not smile.
The engine revved and the truck jumped, playfully, like a tiger cub grown to monstrous size. Then it jumped again, tires chirping on the blacktop.
It was now fifteen feet from the Devil and it jumped a third time, gaining another five. Laughter, chuckling and thin and somehow sardonic, slipped from the open windows of the cab, and the truck jumped again, pulling dead even with the Devil.
The driver leaned over and popped the passenger side door, which yawned wide, barely missing the Devil where he stood. Leaning across the seat, the driver smiled and the smile sat uncomfortably under his jet-black mop of hair and black, sparkling eyes. This man’s thin lips seemed more prone to a sneer than a smile.
“Aye, well, sure and begorrah, if it idn’t ta Divil, hissownself,” he said, his Irish accent so broad it became a caricature; an unflattering one, at that. “Coom ahn oop, Lucifer, an ryde along wit me.” He put his fingers to the rim of the tight, plaid cap that had just appeared on his head and once again his laughter slid forth, mean-spirited and emaciated.
He put his hand out, his smile coiling tightly, a rattlesnake ready to strike…and the Devil took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled into the cab. The passenger door swung shut of its own accord and the pick-up roared, tires screaming against the road, a cloud of blue black building behind it, and shot off in the direction the Devil had wanted to go.
* * *
“It’s been a long time, Am,” the Devil said.
Amon looked askance at his passenger and grinned. The cap had disappeared.
“Aye, that is has, laddie, that it has,” he said. “Ye art soorly missed…” his grin widened, “…doon below.”
The Devil said nothing, only gazed calmly out his window and kept his mind serene. He knew he could not show
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