Games Demons Play

The idea for this sprang fully-formed while I was in the shower: light, frothy, mildly satirical wordsmithing. Let's see how it goes.

Enjoy the 2018 Halloween Contest! Make sure to read all the entries and vote on all your favorites.

* * *

I: Ad Praeseminam

* * *

"Wake up, lazy ass."

"Mmmph." No. Why would I?

"Come on."

"Urghhh," I suggested, or something like. The voice was familiar: conceited, self-righteous, the voice of my oldest friend. A voice I was not interested in hearing. "Get out of here. I'm hung over."

"Hung over." The reply was dry and mocking, like his voice always was. "No. You're not allowed to be hung over, idiot."

"Allowed?" I burrowed more deeply into the duvet, wrapping it tightly around my body. I hated being cold. "What's the matter with you? I'm a fucking demon. Why should I care about what's 'allowed?'" The reply this time was... silence, the silence he always used when he was trying to get me to make a point to myself. Because, naturally, it was a weak argument, a classic in circular logic: the demon doesn't follow rules, which in itself is a rule, so the demon is following a rule... He'd learned that kind of shit at school. I'd learned it on the street. But I scoffed anyway. "Allowed."

He kicked me again, harder this time. In the ribs. "You remember what day it is?"

I bit back a harsh, eager retort; maybe he was onto something. I counted in my aching head; the weather had been getting colder, the days shorter; it was dark, now, during the morning commute. I blinked. "Tell me it's only the thirtieth," I pleaded.

I could hear the savage joy in his voice; fucking bitch. For such a smart guy, and a demon from the third fires of hell, Juvatis sure could be a sadistic asshole. 'Oh, I think you know better," he hissed.

"Do I?" I pulled the sheets over my head, but of course the game was up. "Fuck. Can't I just call in sick?"

"Come on." He gave one more kick, his claws not even sheathed this time. "You know how this works. All hands on deck." I heard his knees creak as he stood over me. "We've got work to do."

"No," I snapped sullenly. "You've got work to do. You're the one that's angling for a promotion."

"Exactly." I heard him rubbing his claws together, scheming; Juvatis was always scheming. "I'm angling for a promotion. And I need your help to get it, bro."

"Bro?" I sat up, incredulous; it had been awhile since he'd been friendly to me. "Bro? That's how this is going to be? Man, you don't even hang out with us anymore; you're too busy kissing Azaz'el's ass, trying to get that gig over in the Bureau of... fuck, what was it again? I can never keep the departments straight."

"Yes, I know," he mused. "Your unprofessionalism is well known all over the Nether Pits. But come on. I'll make it worth your while."

He was grinning at me, that old grin I remembered from childhood, when the two of us had just been wispy little djinns, fucking around in Mesopotamia and running messages for Adrammelech. "Worth my while, how?"

He shrugged. "I'll buy you a beer."

"Fuck," I scowled. Not worth it.

* * *

"I mean, you have to be up there anyway."

"Stop it."

"It's not like They were just going to let you stay in bed on Halloween, Morfis."

"Shut up."

"And since you have to be up there messing with the humans, I mean... why not give me a hand?"

I spat at him. "Stop. I'm here, aren't I?" I was, too, trudging up through the Fifth Circle along with all the rest: all the demons of all the Hells, all of us marching up to infest the Seven Worlds on Halloween Night. I could tell Juvatis was itching to say something, restraining himself with difficulty, dancing on the balls of his feet; I sighed. "What?"

"Well shit, man," he exclaimed. "What is it you usually do on the 'Ween? Run around all night, going for the low-hanging fruit?" He shook his head sadly. "You're better than that, dude. You used to be so good at this."

"Shut up," I repeated sulkily, but I knew he was right. Once, I'd been a rising star... well, a falling star, headed for the tip of the hierarchy. Neck and neck with all those guys who'd gone on to such better things: with Baal, with Pruflas; hell, even Iblis had been in the year-group behind me, and look at where that asshole was now. But then, of course, The Disaster had struck; I'd been fucked over by that idiot Lucifer during that thing with the snake and all that bullshit, and now here I was. Providing two-bit support for my friend on the make. I gnawed at my lip, mostly because I was hungry.

"Fine, dammit," I said at last, sighing hard. "I'd planned to possess a drugged-out student at a costume party. I'd been looking forward to it," I added spitefully. He frowned.

"Man or woman?"

"Well, see, that's the thing," I admitted. "Both." I'd always been good at going back and forth, and I like to feel it both ways.

"See?" Juvatis had stopped, his red eyes wide, shaking his head at me. "That's the spirit, Morfis!" I drew myself up a bit; he was right, I supposed. Most incubi couldn't do that, two occupations simultaneously. I'd mastered it centuries ago, then forgotten about it, but I still trotted it out on occasion; I found it easy. "I knew you still had it in you, bro!"

"Well, yes," I shrugged coolly, the old joke obvious. "But only when I'm the woman." His laughter echoed around the caverns, and I allowed myself to feel just a little bit of that old spark: maybe, just maybe, this was going to be fun.

* * *

"So, there he is."

"Which one?" We were floating malevolently above the street fair on Third, between Garfield and River Road, having taken the form of a pair of misty clouds.

"Over there, at the door on the corner. Next to the dry-cleaners." I squinted, a hard thing to do when you're a cloud, and tried to bring the man into focus. "He's the one wearing the brown vest," Juvatis went on with what sounded a lot like distaste. I paused.

"The what?"

"Oh. The waistcoat." Ah. Juvatis sometimes forgot I didn't come up here very often, certainly not frequently enough to keep up with the many twists and turns of a language as malleable as English. "He's a nerd," he added helpfully.

I started floating again. "What's a nerd?"

"Like a geek who reads all the instructions. And who's better at math."

I understood. "Like that Newton fellow." That had been a fun possession. I'd made him fuck another guy in the ass, that Swiss dude, and he'd been shocked that he'd done it; he'd been a virgin until then. The Church in his day would have been all over him if it had gotten out; the shame had made him so bitter he'd invented calculus. I'd gotten an award certificate for that one. They liked it when we increased the world's misery quotient, and calculus certainly had. "I see. So the waistcoat isn't a costume."

"No," he said cagily. "This is not the sort of man that dresses up for Halloween."

"Oh. And it's not ironic?"

"Nope. That's really how he dresses."

"No shit." I sighed. "So what's this guy's deal?"

The cloud beside me shrugged, which looked as cool as you'd think. "Oh, I don't know," he said airily, but then everything was airy in cloud form. "I think he's going to go on to invent time travel, or faster-than-light spaceflight, or something. Right now he's a tax accountant."

"Really."

"Really. But he's thinking of going back to school." Juvatis' plan was simple enough, I suppose: the old chestnut, possessing an ugly man and getting him to inseminate a beautiful woman. Part and parcel of the incubus' trade; in many ways, that sort of thing was the reason we were all here. It's not as much fun as you'd think, being a sex demon. It's not all cocks and cunts, or at least not all attractive ones. After all, hot people can fuck just fine on their own; we usually only come in when there are special circumstances afoot. Like ugliness, or body odor, or syphilis. "I'll go on down there and possess him in a few seconds, once I point out his bitch."

"Sure." I'd possess her. "Wait. Explain this again?" I frowned, making a few raindrops fall. "I mean, if your 'nerd' fucks a chick while I'm inside, how is that a challenge?"

"Well, see, that's why I picked you instead of a succubus," he explained once more. I was having trouble getting this; the hangover, no doubt. "I need Them to think I'm making the nerd do this on his own. Like I'm really working for it. So you, my friend, need to do a little acting. It has to look genuine, the fear, the trepidation. That's why I need you." He meant it as a compliment, and I nodded. "Someone devious."

"I see." I thought about it. "So she needs to want him, but not make it obvious."

"I knew I could count on you, Morfis." He patted me on the back, ethereally, and then he was scanning around some more. "Now then. Let's see." He swooped low. "I found her last week. A real firecracker."

Well. That sounded promising. "Sarcastic?"

"Oh, definitely." He giggled. "You'll be able to tell as soon as you see her costume, I expect. I was listening to her and her friends when they were picking it out."

"A virgin?" I asked; I'd find out as soon as I possessed her, but it always paid to know what I was getting into. Literally. Helped with my mindset.

He looked at me knowingly. "In one way, sure."

"Aw, c'mon!" This wasn't what I'd bargained for; I was hung over, for crying out loud. "You didn't say anything about anal."

"Well, who can say what'll get into my guy's head once he gets his cock inside her?" He blinked guilelessly. "I mean, I'm not going to set out to punch your shitter. But sometimes you just have to go where the spirit moves you, Morfis. But I promise I won't cum in there."

"Aww. You say the sweetest things."

"Well, you know. She's fertile."

"Oh!" Fair enough. You got bonus points Down Below if you could get a loser to knock a woman up on the first try. "All righty, then. So where's the bitch?"

"Trick or treating." He sailed on a few more feet before he realized I wasn't following. "What?"

"I'm not into kids, man."

"Well, of course not!" Juvatis huffed. "I've got standards; you know me better than that."

"Do I?"

"Even adults do it nowadays. I believe it's done in a spirit of irony."

"I see." I sniffed. "Is this part of this 'hipster' phenomenon I've been hearing about lately? Becuause, fuck that; you know I don't like beards."

"Relax." He was peering closely at a small knot of breasts, together with their accompanying bodies, next to a bike rack. I followed his gaze.

"I see costumes here trend toward the salacious," I said dryly.

"They're just French maids," Juvatis shrugged dismissively. "A dime a dozen, over in Paris. Whatever." He looked further. "Aha." He sounded satisfied. "Eureka."

"You stink, too."

"No, idiot. She's there." His cloud nodded toward a trio of people beside a tree. "See? Sarcastic."

"No shit." The trio looked decidedly male. "No, really. Where is she?"

"The blonde in the middle."

I frowned. The person in the middle was a dark-haired male, about thirty, with what I took to be stylish glasses and a smart-looking suit. "The blonde who looks like a brunette? And who appears to have a penis?"

"And I'll leave you to it," he winked smoothly. "See you soon, Morfis."

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Juvatis." I watched a few seconds as the cloud sailed back toward the dry cleaner's, the sound of Samhain revelry drifting up from the crowds below. Then I took another look at my target.

I had work to do. I aimed myself at the middle figure by the tree and flowed down to earth.

* * *

II: Ponam in Opsidionem

* * *

Goddamn! "It's fucking freezing all of a sudden!"

Gracie blinked at me. I had to admit, the flat cap had been a nice touch; I could cut my hair and smear some tanning cream on my face and strap my tits down and pass for a guy, sort of. On a dark night. But Gracie? Bitch was built like a ballerina. Putting on men's clothing just made her look like the tomboy in an 80s movie. But she'd tried, and the stupid scally cap had put her over the top.

"When is Justin coming?" Fucking Megan, always whining. Fucking Justin too, always late.

"He'll be here," I grunted. I hoped, anyway; I had big plans for us tonight. We three bitches, dressed as men; then Justin, in drag. It was going to be fucking awesome when we started pranking people. He'd looked great that other time, when he and I had gone out clubbing on a lark as the opposite sex; making out with him had been pretty hot, probably because I got to act like the guy. In the end he'd gone home with a woman who, fortunately, had turned out to be both bi and forgiving. But then, that time, he'd had me to do his makeup. "Motherfucker better not chicken out," I muttered.

I shivered.

"You're cold?" Gracie was concerned. She weighed about 87 pounds; she was always cold before anyone else was. "I'm actually pretty comfortable."

"Well, lucky you I guess," I snapped spitefully. But she was right; whatever little chill had come over me, it was gone now. I felt different, too; my mouth was dry, I heard a persistent buzzing in my ears, and suddenly the heavy-duty sports bra I'd shoved The Girls into felt tight and confining.

I was horny.

"I need a drink." Fucking Megan, that goddamn lush.

"Suck a dick," I advised. "You'll get about a teaspoon, maybe more."

"Oh! Okay. Fuck off and die."

"Jesus. Go squat on a broomstick."

"Hey!" Gracie stepped between us. "What's this bullshit? It's Halloween, girls! We should be out pranking people."

"Yeah," Megan threw in darkly, after a pause. "Fuck you too, Grace."

I staggered slightly, for something had come to me all of a sudden: a mental image, ultravivid and insanely swift, washing over me like a rogue wave, the image of little Gracie twisted on a bed with Megan over her. The bigger girl, in my mind, was sawing a big black dildo mercilessly in and out of little Gracie's cunt. I had to catch myself against the tree nearby.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"You okay, bitch?" Fucking Megan and her pretend concern. But I just nodded, shaking slightly, feeling my nipples mashing themselves against the bra. Vaguely I became aware of a crowd of guys walking by with neckbeards and pumpkin spice IPAs, younger guys, like early twenties, and another rogue wave struck me as I watched them dully. A second image, strong and sharp, of all the marks that scratchy facial hair would leave all over my inner thighs after the three, no, four of them got through sucking the girl-cum out of my pussy. Just before three of them shot it all over my face. But not the fourth one: suddenly, somehow, I knew with absolute certainty which one of the guys had the hottest cock.

The one dressed like Richard Nixon.

"Hey!" someone shouted at him. "Show me your Tricky Dick!" The man swiveled his head at me, and with a shock I realized I'd been the one shouting.

"Rachel!" Fucking Megan and her disapproval. She was staring at me, wide-eyed. I looked back, not even seeing her, seeing instead the guy with the Richard Nixon mask, his sweat dripping on my naked body as he pummeled my cunt. I blinked.

"Hi! I'm Matt," said Nixon, smiling with that white-bread American smile that went along with how I knew, knew his cock looked. This guy pulled plenty of pussy, even thirty-year-old pussy like mine.

"Fuck off." Fucking Megan, with her cockblocking ways; I was ready, for reasons that escaped me and, frankly, should have scared me, to bend over the bike rack down the street and let him have me however he wanted me.

"We're waiting for a friend," Gracie blurted, looking troubled, and Nixon shrugged as he eyed my body. I knew he'd see nothing in the costume, but I arched my back anyway.

I wanted this man to look at my tits. Preferably, while I rode him.

"No problem," he nodded affably, and then the four of them were drifting down toward Garfield.

"Jesus, Rachel!" Fucking Megan, bleating like a goat. I wanted to punch her. Hard. In the back of the head, while I breached her ass with a strap-on and she shrieked in ecstasy... Christ! What was wrong with me? "What's wrong with you?"

"I think I need to sit down." I was feeling almost drunk, but that made no sense; I'd had nothing at all since last night. The crowd at the All Hallow's Eve Street Faire had that low, too-cool suburban rumble to it, all vibrant with maple-apple-pumpkin bourgeois horseshit, and suddenly my clothes felt like they were suffocating me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip the secondhand suit off, get naked in the middle of the street. Slip on a blindfold, grovel on the pavement, and take in whatever cock came along.

Preferably, Richard "Matt" Nixon. But I knew, in my superheated fucking reptilian brainpan, that it didn't really matter. I was so horny, so suddenly, that I'd have taken all comers.

All cummers.

The pun made me giggle, a high-pitched wheezy cackle, and once I'd blinked several times I was able to make out Gracie, her pretty-pixie face wearing a look of concern, staring at me from a couple of inches away. "What's wrong, honey?" Her voice was sweet, loving, troubled; she'd sound so, so sexy with Megan fucking her little pussy. I shook my head. "Are you feeling sick?"

"Probably PMS." Fucking Megan. But she sounded truly concerned this time.

"Should we call you an Uber?"

"N-no..." I fought for control. I'd never felt like this, not even remotely, and as I leaned heavily against the tree I saw the man in the brown vest, walking with his back straight and his nose in the air. Somehow, I wasn't surprised when he stopped beside Megan and eyed me curiously.

"You ladies need some help?" His voice was low, and it told me a lot: I knew instantly that he was a cold bastard, distant, even mean. He was certainly ugly. Shorter than I usually liked, with that skinny build that told of a cereal-box diet and zero exercise. His skin was video gamer-pale behind a pair of last decade's glasses; he was not a man who took any kind of care of his complexion. There was no way he could be older than twenty-seven, and yet his forehead already gleamed unnaturally; it was losing the battle against his retreating hair. I knew his breath would smell like coffee, the cheap kind from a drip maker that never got cleaned.

I wanted to smell that breath while he came in me. Fuck! What was wrong with me? I thought fleetingly about the birth control I'd been so casual about this month, and I felt my throat bobbing as I swallowed.

"She's fine." Fucking Megan, all protective and shit, like she wanted to be the hero. "She just needs to walk it off."

"Yeah," Gracie echoed, clearly not believing it.

"Okay." The guy seemed nervous. "It's just that I couldn't help but overhear you? About the Uber? I was just on my way to the store for some milk, but I'd be happy to offer a ride after that."

"Oh fuck. Buddy, come on. Are you serious right now?" Fucking Megan. "You're seriously going to come in here like some kind of white knight and fucking rescue this bitch? Dude." She searched his face, transparently not liking what she saw. "Are you high?"

"Certainly not." The man shuffled his feet uncertainly, as though even he wasn't sure what he was doing here. I thought about what he was seeing: a compact woman dressed like a man, her eyes huge, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe beside the tree. A woman who wanted dick. "I don't do drugs." It came out haughty, brittle.

Fucking Megan. She cracked up, her guffaws rolling across the sidewalk. "You don't do drugs?" she mocked. "What's that, the Just Say No curriculum from 1988? Buddy." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Let me explain something to you. You understand, that shit she's wearing? It's just a costume. You get it?" Fucking Megan. What an insufferable little cunt. But she was good at telling off men, and so she just kept on laying it out. "See, that chick's a fucking dime, man. A ten. No, an eleven. She's smart as fuck, she's got massive goddamn tits, she does yoga twice a day, and she fucks like a tornado. Right?"