Mississippi Queen
ZACHARIAH WAS GOING to do this just one time. At least that was what he told himself. He had heard the tales about the ugly English man with the lumpy, twisted face and the horrifying eyes who could make the devil appear in the flesh. His sister, Zeeba, had spared no details when describing this sinister fellow from across the pond.
Zeeba was a bit of a huckster herself, though, holding phony séances and charging grieving widows more than a fair price for tickets. She figured that eventually the old women dressed in black with lace veils covering their eyes would catch her in the act of lifting the legs of the table up and down with the toes of her boots. But the old bats never seemed to catch on. Denial must be a core part of the grieving process.
According to Zeeba, all Zachariah would need to make the devil appear were six black candles, a makeshift altar, and the right words said in the right order. Zachariah had some reservations about his ghoulish endeavor, but times were tough and he needed help and he could wait no longer.
* * *
The big crash of 1929 hit some folks harder than others. Zachariah’s haberdashery closed its doors in the spring of 1930. He had hung on for as long as he could, but eventually, the creditors got it all. Zachariah could never quite figure out how so many of the fancy restaurants stayed open around town, and he could not help but take off his hat and scratch his head in utter confusion every time he watched a brand new, shiny car with a coat of fresh paint glide its way down Main Street. Some folks had all the luck, and others had none at all.
The haberdashery had not just been Zachariah’s business, it had been his way of life. His favorite part of each day had been swinging the doors wide open and parting the wooden shutters to let in the fresh sunlight. His days were spent gleefully chatting with the fellas from town, and helping the local barristers and judges find suitable shirt and tie combinations. Zachariah could cut a mean looking suit, too. Never a button out of place, nor an uneven lapel. It was sure nice having a place where men could gather and chat about this and that.
Like a barbershop, but classier.
But there was one thing those creditor bastards would never get their hands on: the 14 karat gold Elgin pocket watch left to Zachariah by his grandpappy. Zachariah had cherished that pocket watch more than any other possession in the whole wide world. She was a beauty, all right. Solid gold, with a stunning white face covered with Roman numerals, with an image of a steam train along the back cover. Zachariah had not just held onto the pocket watch as a prized possession, he had worn it just about every day when he was overseeing his haberdashery.
Zachariah figured the watch must have been worth at least $100, and he had devised a plan to turn that $100 into $100,000. All he needed were three numbers, a little bit of help from The Dark One, and a trip to the Mississippi Queen gambling boat.
* * *
Zeeba told Zachariah that he needed to be as naked as the day he was born if he wanted the devil to appear. It had something to do with the purity of man, or perhaps the foul nature of man’s true spirit — Zachariah could not recall. Either way, he followed Zeeba’s instructions, and found himself naked, barefoot, and cold, standing in the middle of a drafty open room with dirty floorboards. The black candles had been lit and assembled just so, forming a star pattern along the filthy floor.
With shaking hands, Zachariah quickly unfolded a piece of paper provided by his sister, containing the precise words he was to say to complete this task.
Oh, my dark lord, I call upon you now. You are the Alpha and the Omega and there have been none before you and there will be none after you. You are the Almighty and all-powerful and I am merely your humble servant. I demand the power of the universe and the wisdom of your vision. Come to me now, appear in the flesh, and I shall be yours forever.
As Zachariah proclaimed his allegiance, his voice trembled and his hands shook uncontrollably. He felt as if he were about to wet himself, but he regained control just in time. Complete and total silence engulfed the room. Then darkness fell. It was a darkness that was heavier than a midnight sandstorm, and the weight of it was oppressive and merciless.
Then came the sounds. Not the howling and screeching sounds that Zachariah would’ve expected. Instead, the sound of a million beautiful wind chimes and the fluttering wings of a billion gentle butterflies filled the room. Zachariah closed his eyes and squeezed them so tight that he felt as if his eyeballs would liquefy. When Zachariah opened his eyes, he saw that he was no longer alone.
Standing before Zachariah was not so much a being, but more of an image. There was a flickering of bright colors — blue and red and green, with two bright, periwinkle blue eyes floating in the center of the cloud. Extending from the cloud of colors were tentacles and what perhaps was a tongue whipping back and forth and up and down. When Zachariah peered closely, he saw images of himself as a little boy running through the cornfields and chasing field mice with his big brother, Ebeneezer.
“Take my hand and relax. You have nothing to fear. I am here now and I will help you with what you need. Just tell me, what are you seeking?”
“I need to turn $100 into $100,000, and I need to do it fast. If I hit three numbers in a row at the roulette table on the Mississippi Queen, I can buy back my haberdashery,” said Zachariah.
“I see. Did you mean everything that you said before I appeared? Will you always be my humble servant for all eternity, and will you always follow my instructions and never second guess my wisdom?”
“Yes, I commit myself to you for all eternity. Just help me get my haberdashery back. Give me the three numbers that I need to regain control of my life,” said Zachariah.
“Very well, old pal. Give me your left hand, palm up, and let’s see what we can do.”
Zachariah stuck out his left hand. He immediately felt a harsh yank and a squeeze. His fingers were violently spread apart to the point that Zachariah feared that the skin between his fingers would split wide open. Then came the burning. It felt as if a hot branding iron had been shoved into the palm of Zachariah’s left hand. Then came the putrid smell of burning flesh, and the gritty smoke that followed.
“Ask and you shall receive. Ha ha ha!”
The cloud of lights turned dark gray and black, with a crooked white streak running down the center. Zachariah brought the palm of his left hand up to his face. The imprint was bright red and raised, showing 00. That’s the first number I’ll bet at the roulette table on the Mississippi Queen.
“Give me your left hand again, and don’t make me wait!”
Zachariah stuck out his left hand for a second time, and it was again met with a violent grip. The pain was so intense that he feared that all of the bones and tendons within his hand had been melted and crushed, simultaneously. When his hand was returned to him, he saw a giant, raised 9 stretching from the base of his palm up to the tips of his fingers.
“You want that third number, don’t you, boy? Or are you too much of a sissy? I didn’t think you had the stomach for any of this. Maybe I should have followed my instinct and ignored your calls. If you can’t take the heat, stay out of hell!”
“I can take it just fine, sir. Just give me a minute to catch my breath, then you can have my hand one more time,” said Zachariah.
Zachariah’s breathing was labored now, and he feared he would pass out at any moment. He finally gathered the strength to stick his left hand out for that last number. This time, the pull was so harsh that Zachariah felt a pop at his left shoulder, and his entire body flew forward in a violent surge. The hot brand smashed into his left palm, wiggling and twisting, as the smell of burnt flesh once again filled the room. Zachariah’s attempts to contain his agony were in vain. He screamed as he had never screamed before, fearing that his vocal cords would rupture and that his throat would bleed a mighty red river.
The left hand returned to Zachariah’s face, as a broken and lost puppy returns home after a long, cold night in the dark of winter. And there it was — the final number that would give Zachariah back his haberdashery. A bloody outline of the number 3 raised up from his left palm as a red, swollen monolith in the Mojave Desert.
“I have what I need now, so you can go away,” said Zachariah.
“What makes you think I’ll scamper away with my tail tucked firmly between my legs just because you say so?”
“We made a deal, so don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be,” said Zachariah.
“Yes, we made a grand deal indeed. Three numbers in exchange for your eternal allegiance. You have your three numbers now. What you can or cannot do with those three numbers is not any concern of mine. All my children are waiting for us down below, and I am afraid that time is of the essence. I have so many lovely children, and you are going to meet each of them. You might actually come to like it there after a while, if you give the place a chance.”
A hot and bony hand wrapped itself around Zachariah’s left wrist with a fiendish intensity. Zachariah pulled with all his might, causing his left shoulder to pop out of socket again, this time so loud that it made his ears ring. Zachariah was being dragged now, with his feet kicking hysterically and his shoes failing to make purchase along the wooden floorboards. A second hot and bony hand grabbed a thick chunk of Zachariah’s hair, and with a violent yank, Zachariah was flung like a boomerang through a cloud of hot and stale air that singed his nostrils and brought tears to his eyes.
Zechariah was all alone now, floating through the hot darkness. His stomach lurched up into his throat and he sensed that he would soon land very hard. As he looked upward, Zachariah spied two red eyes gazing down upon him with a combination of hostility and glee.
“We had a deal. Why have you done this to me?” Zechariah managed to scream with his last remaining breath.
“No reason in particular. I just felt like it.”
J.S. Lender’s new book “They Are Here Now (Short Tales)” is now available in paperback on Amazon.
