A Date with the Devil

This story contains religious views, sex, the Devil, and mild watersports (He's into that sort of thing).

*

With the arrival of autumn came cooler temperatures, much to the relief of the parishioners of Little Castleton church. The old frame church sweltered in the summer months and was bone-chillingly cold during the winter. The sweet months of autumn brought refuge from the extreme temperatures and such pleasantness would be seen again until spring.

Father David preached a comfortable if not rousing sermon, extolling the virtues of Christian life without threatening those that unintentionally strayed off the path. He was fond of saying that God didn't expect perfection but perseverance. Having grown up in Little Castleton, his views fit quite well with the often-straying congregation. During the week many walked alongside that path of piety or at least kept it in view. On Sunday's they dutifully packed the church to find forgiveness so that the next week they could repeat the journey all over again.

At the end of the service, the affable priest stood at the doorway, smiling and blessing each of his flock as they left. He enjoyed the closeness he felt with them, his smile not wavering until Megan Cornish appeared. She side-stepped his friendly handshake and instead took up a presumptuous position next to him.

"I think we have much to talk about Father. I have expressed my concern before, but I must reiterate how strongly I feel about the soft way you deal with our congregation. These people are straying sheep and it is your duty to corral them with a firm hand, not whistle and hope they follow," she said arrogantly, neither keeping her voice low nor carrying who else heard.

Father David did not respond. He instead continued blessing the remaining parishioners, his eyes and theirs sharing sympathetic glances of silent commiseration. Still, the priests apparent disregard for her words did not deter the woman. She stood her ground, silent with pursed lips as she waited for the final few parishioners to exit the church.

"Father, as I've already said, I think you are making a grave mistake," she said immediately after the priest had finished.

Father David took a deep breath and said a silent prayer for patience before turning to face the most serious member of his flock.

"Megan...," he started.

"Father please don't forget yourself," she quickly interrupted.

"Pardon me...Miss Cornish. I assure you that my method of leadership is well within the teachings of the Church. After all, Christ himself was not a strict taskmaster but a gentle shepherd. I believe our fellow villagers are doing just fine in the eyes of the lord. Of course, if it's good for the all-father then it is good for me as well. Now if you will excuse me Miss Cornish, I have other matters to attend to," the priest said before turning away, his patience almost at its end.

Father David quickly hurried down an aisle and disappeared into a back room while ignoring the woman's continued calls for a discussion, closing the door to the back office with enough force to punctuate that he was done talking. He genuinely enjoyed his vocation and especially preaching in his home village, but ever since he returned to the area to take over the parish some three years prior, the young Miss Cornish had been a thorn in his side.

The priest poured himself a small measure of brandy from a bottle he kept on a service behind his desk and took a seat to nurse the drink. He unfortunately understood Megan Cornish all too well. She taught at the village school and with no family left, lived alone. She was modestly attractive but single, having placed all her time and energy into her vocation and her worship. He had tried to encourage her to explore relationships, but the truth was that she felt uncomfortable around men. Religion was both her shield and sword which she exercised with the ferocity that rivaled Joan of Arc.

Father David could counsel, cajole and if needed command the rest of his flock, but Megan Cornish's armor of self-righteous piety protected her from all attempted help. He took a steadying sip of the brandy before sighing and closing his eyes. What was he to do to help this frightened sheep break free from her self-imposed pen and enjoy the green pasture of life the lord had provided?

Down the lane from the church where the troubled priest wrestled with his problems, Megan Cornish walked, her shoulders squared as if fighting the very air. The cool fall air nipped at her legs reminding her of the short hemline of her new dress. It rested well below her knees, but she had already decided to let it down further. It was already longer than those worn by other women in the village, but she hoped to lead by example.

A few clouds floated by in the sunny late morning sky and multi-colored leaves swirled around the ground and through the air. Megan wrinkled her nose as she passed a display of carved pumpkins and almost screamed at the mannequin of a witch riding a broom, prominently displayed on the Halloween bedecked pub. She hated Halloween, a holiday in which the ignorant and blasphemous celebrated wickedness. She shook her head, honestly shamed that people celebrated and dressed up like witches instead of burning them as they did in the old days.

Megan wanted to escape to the safety of her home, but she was hungry and knew she still needed to purchase groceries before doing so. She put aside her disgust as she entered a café, seating herself at the most remote table she could find, one far from the window and it's view of the horrific decorations of the village outside.

"Hello Megan, what can I get you today?" asked Beatrice, the owner of the café as she approached the table.

"I'll take the salad with chicken and a cup of tea, thank you," replied Megan.

Beatrice smiled and turned to leave, but her smile turned to a frown as Megan continued.

"You know Beatrice, and this is just a friendly concern, but I noticed that your boy Liam wasn't at church this morning. Of course, what you and Michael choose to do with your lives are up to you, but you should at least make the boy take his place in God's house," she said haughtily.

Beatrice held her tongue and instead of retorting headed back to the kitchen to place the order. It wouldn't help for her to scream at a customer and she decided it best to let the conversation drop. She returned with a pot of tea and then hurried off before Megan could restart the conversation.

Megan scoffed at the proprietress and turned her attention to a couple sitting at one of the tables in the window. She had seen them around the village and knew that neither were members of the church. They were openly holding hands across the table and giggling, obviously unconcerned about proper public behavior. She felt compelled to say something and was just about to speak when she noticed the man sitting at another one of the tables.

The man was well dressed in a fashionable suit with a handsome face, but Megan felt him somehow repulsive at the same time. His olive dark skin seemed to absorb the light around him, creating a darkness that wasn't seen as much as it was felt. Megan tried to pull her gaze away but continued scrutinizing his every detail with slowly building fascination and dread.

Beatrice came to take the man's order and although the café was calmly silent his voice carried no further than table in which he sat. When Beatrice stepped away, the enigmatic man turned his gaze to Megan is if he knew she had been watching, their eyes locking together and an irrational feeling of fear flooding through her body. Megan shivered as if she had just leaped into icy water and her lips trembled as she fumbled through a quiet prayer.

Megan watched as the man released her eyes from his gaze and continued appraising the rest of her face and body. Finally, he flashed her a faint smile before turning his attention to the newspaper on the table before him. Even then, with his eyes averted, she still somehow felt him watching her. With shaky hands she poured a cup of tea and gulped a portion of the still too hot liquid, the shock of heat jolting her out of the cold that had crept into her bones.

It didn't take long before Beatrice returned with the salad, and Megan stopped her before she could leave.

"Do you know that man Beatrice? He seems awfully...strange," she asked.

"No, I've never seen him before. He is sort of handsome in a criminal sort of way. He looks like he's from London perhaps, but his voice says from a rough part of town," she replied.

Beatrice hoped Megan didn't approach the man to lecture him on his wicked ways. He didn't seem like the sort who would take kindly to it, and she didn't want any trouble in her quaint establishment.

Although she was hungry, Megan found it difficult to eat and couldn't help but steal glances at her fellow patron. She was just about to abandon her lunch when the man stood, tossed a few pound notes on the table, and left. She felt a wave of relief wash over her the moment the man left the building, but after a few bites abandoned her salad. She paid and left the café in a hurry, rushing back to the church only to find the doors locked and Father David out.

Megan fumed silently, feeling sure that she had witnessed something evil. Of course, she knew that she couldn't count on the priest in a real time of need. Not knowing who to turn to for support, Megan decided it best to head home and pray for her own protection and those of the village. She hurried down the streets, repeatedly checking over her shoulder to make sure the man wasn't following her. She risked a shortcut across an open field, feeling safer amongst the sunlit grass than the tree shrouded lanes.

The bright field gave way to a small patch of trees bordering the street upon which she lived. Megan pushed through the hanging branches as if they were the spindly fingers of devil-spawned crones and burst onto the walkway, coming face to face with the mysterious stranger.

"Oh, excuse me madam, it appears that I've lost my way. Can you provide a little guidance?" he said.

Megan back peddled, caught her heel on a rock and fell back onto the ground. Her head hit the concrete walkway, sending stars shooting through her eyes. Stunned, Megan couldn't fend off the man as he knelt, slipped his arms beneath hers and lifted her to her feet.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you. Are you all right?" he asked.

As Megan's vision cleared, she stared at the man in muted fear. His voice exuded the same disconcerting quality as his appearance. His voice was silken with a menacing undertone like a hardened criminal. It was as rich and sweet as honey but grated on her nerves like nails raking a blaboard. His touch was both hot and cold all at once, but she couldn't find the strength to pull away.

"Here, let me help you home. That was a nasty bump you took," said the man.

"N...n...no. I'm...fine," she protested in fear, still unable to find the will to break free from his grip.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I saw you earlier in the café, and I must confess that I thought you quite beautiful. I wish I had come over to talk, but perhaps this is a sign that we should get to know one another," he said as he walked her down the street.

The tree lined lane was quiet, the birds silent and the trees clear of squirrels. The only sounds Megan heard was the whistling of the wind and the pounding of her heart as it hammered in her chest.

"Who...who...are you?" stammered Megan in a hoarse whisper.

The man smiled and chuckled.

"I'm sure you know who I am, or you at least have a suspicion. I travel the world and I'm known by many names in many lands. Some of those names aren't very polite, but I believe that those in your corner of the world might refer to me as Lou. Yes, that would be the appropriate and colloquial version of my name," he explained as if he found the whole topic amusing.

Megan was still frozen in fear as Lou guided her up the walkway of her house. He paused only briefly to open the front door, which he did so without violence, noise, or a key, even though she knew that she had left it locked.

"What...do you...want?" she whispered.

"I think it's really more about what you want. You see, I am in the position of having all that I desire. I'm sure you think I'm lying, but it really is the truth," he replied.

Lou released Megan who collapsed onto her chair and busied himself looking around her small house. He had the manner of an estate agent sizing up a property and judging how to best make a sale. She heard him in the kitchen, noisily opening and closing her cupboards. She heard him sigh, and not much after her returned to the room carrying two glasses.

"I forgot that you wouldn't have a proper drink on hand, but don't worry, I always carry a bit of a nip on me," he said, offering her one of the glasses.

"No...thank you, I...don't...drink," she stammered, never taking her wide eyes off him.

"Oh tosh, that is utter nonsense. Your book doesn't tell you not to let alcohol pass your lips. It speaks of moderation and overindulgence. Surely a single drink won't place a blemish on your purity. Even the most stalwart disciples of the venerable son you follow partook of the simple fermented grape," he retorted, his arm remaining outstretched toward her.

Megan reached out with a shaky hand and took the glass. She could smell the sweet warmth of the caramel colored alcohol as she held it close to her chest. She had no intention of drinking from the glass, but a gesture of Lou's hand told her that he wouldn't drink alone. She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, preferring to swallow it quickly than let it sully her mouth.

A sputtering sound following by a series of hard coughs echoed through the room. The brandy burned Megan's throat, leaving a trail of liquid fire down into her stomach. She stared at Lou with a look of reproach in her eyes, causing him to laugh.

"That was not my fault. This is well-made brandy, but just brandy. It was in your inexperience that you swallowed it in such haste instead of letting it rest upon your tongue. I'm sure you'll find the remainder quite pleasing,"

Lou took a long, satisfying drink and kept watching Megan, his eyes silently commanding her to continue. She took another drink, and this time let it slowly roll down her throat. It tasted of burnt sugar and wood but wasn't displeasing. The liquid now felt warm instead of burning, and she felt herself begin to sweat as her stomach radiated heat like a fireplace.

"There, now isn't that better?" he asked.

"What...do you want? I'm not afraid of you. You don't have any... power over me. You were cast out for your wickedness. Begone lest I prayer an Angel come and smite you back down to hell!" Megan shouted, the brandy providing her with a burst of false courage.

The dark man took another drink of liquor and smiled at Megan. It wasn't a friendly smile, but one that held a deeper meaning. It was an old smile, one that conveyed more malice than mirth.

"Now that wasn't very pleasant was it? I am nothing if not congenial, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to offend me I'm sure. However, I don't mind coming to the point. I am a...being of refined taste and particular appetites. Those that are smart to indulge my desires find themselves not only within my favor but handsomely rewarded," Lou explained as he motioned for Megan to finish her drink.

"I have everything I need. My faith is all I want," she replied after swallowing more of the brandy, filling her belly with more fire.

Lou scoffed as he took a seat in the chair across from where Megan sat. He lightly brushed the legs of his as if flicking off dust.

"I find it funny that few of your kind know the true me. Oh, many of you claim to know me but don't. You've built this misconception and bestowed upon the title of 'The prince of lies', and where that is an apt title, the meaning behind it is misplaced," he said.

"How...so?" she replied.

"It's simple really. I don't lie because I have no need to do so. I am the Prince of lies because you cannot lie to me. I see through the piety, the bravado and false bravery. I see through the fear and hope to the desires that lie beneath. It's those desires that create the lies. The lies you carry inside," he explained matter-of-factly as he continued drinking from the glass which always seemed to contain the same amount.

Megan stared at Lou, not believing his so-called 'honesty' but disarmed by his frank manner. She knew that she couldn't believe a thing he said.

"I don't believe you," she stated simply.

Lou's eyes narrowed to slits as he scrutinized his prey. He strummed his fingers on the arm of the chair filling the room with a patter that grew louder before abruptly stopping.

"Well my dear you're in luck. I can prove what I say very easily. Let's start with the Priest, Father David. Now you won't believe it, but he is a very good man. He truly cares for his followers and I must say does a much better job than you give him credit for. My...passion is to tempt men, while his is to save them. I can say with all honesty that he does a wonderful job. However, you pester him, complain about him, and undermine his good work. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were on my side," he said with a chuckle.

"That's a lie!" Megan replied, insulted.

"No, it's true and deep down you know it. You see my goal isn't the destruction of mankind or turning your world into a reflection of hell. Where would the fun be in that? I simply collect those that deserve damnation, and along the way persuade a few others to willfully come along for the fun," he replied calmly.

This bit of news startled Megan and without thinking she took a sip of the brandy.

"Now I also know how you feel about teaching. You enjoy it, but you despise many of the parents. You don't think they take their children's education seriously. Of course, we both know that this all comes from how your childhood," Lou continued.

"That's...not true," she whispered.

"Yes, it is. Your parents wanted you to stay and work on the farm. They didn't have much ambition. You performed well enough in school and it was only because your teacher saw something in you that you managed to go to university. You even came back to teach in the village so your parents could see how wrong they were. But they died without ever admitting it. Of course, they were simple farmers who would never change. So here you are, a teacher in a tiny cottage, not much better than a simple farmer," he said.

Anger and shame welled up in Megan's eyes. She wouldn't vocalize just how right he was, but she couldn't deny the truth.

"See, you cling to your religion in the hope that it will somehow make everything all worthwhile. You're hoping that walking the straightest of paths will somehow pay off when all is said and done. The truth is you want a nice house, you want men to desire you and you want success beyond what your parents thought you capable of. But the truth is you are too afraid to go out and take it," he said with a sly smile.

Within a couple of minutes Lou had laid bare the secrets of Megan's life. Whether he was a consummate liar or not, she knew that he had spoken the truth. She believed in the church but had only turned to it when her plans for life had not worked out as she envisioned. When a higher education had not provided her with the fulfillment she desired, she turned to the church and the promise of eternal reward.

Megan knew that deep down she was afraid to step out of her comfortable life and pursue something more. What if a new direction only ended with the same disappointing dead-end. She silently pondered Lou's words, unknowingly signaling him to continue with his unknown plans.