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Description
Commission for ShrubberyLogistic
Kirsten is a cocky goth student enrolled on a college demonology course. She's arrogant, but wicked smart - she loves video games, heavy metal and snacking way past midnight. She's a former gymnast, and she keeps in shape through boxercise at the campus gym. Most of her friends are demons; hers to summon from a stolen book of exorcist rites, which is never further away than her back pocket.

This is a cover image to a story: Dealing with Gluttony (Chapter I)
11:46pm, 19th February, 2016 A.D.

I wiped chocolate off my mouth, smudging my black lipstick, watching the pigs squeal, dashing for freedom. All around, villagers fled their burning hovels for the farmer’s fields. The last guard collapsed in a heap, his body straining on my garrotte. His spear clattered forlorn to the ground. I pushed past the crowds, searching for stronger adversaries.

Slowly, the screams started to peel away. The music changed tone. A dark tower soared above the fiery shadows. I staggered into the safehouse, bandages trailing from my leg. A withered hearth was my only source of light. Slowly, carefully, I approached the wooden table, every inch laden with food and wine. My hair hung loose. The potion in the middle shivered, golden green, frothing and sparkling. I snatched it up and drank all of the doses in one. The greyness that ringed my vision faded, and I saw colour once more. Fierce clouds clamoured on the tip of the tower beyond the broken window.

“You won’t last much longer,” The rush of icy wind carried the demon’s voice.

“Time’s a-ticking. I’m gonna getcha...” I checked the hourglass. Three minutes left.

“Hold up,” I mumbled into my mike. “I’m gonna switch.”

“Seriously?” he exclaimed. “When you’re this close?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, swiping a turkey leg off the table in-game. I bit into another couple squares of chocolate in real life. “I’m fully healed, and I’ve nearly got enough manna.”

“Nearly. But not qu- ”

“HALT. WHO GOES THERE?”

I made my character duck low. Poly’s horned helmet rattled outside the window. His rusty armour clankered and clinked as he fumbled his sword back into its leathery scabbard.

“Hmm. Still warm,” he said, crouching down beside the body of the spearman at the door. “Looks like there’s a killer on the loose.”

No sooner had I equipped my mithril throwing axe than it was buried in the back of his neck. He let out a comical scream, collapsed to his knees, and died like a puppet shorn of its strings.

“Ok, now I’ve got enough manna.,” I announced, watching the blue bar give off a confirmatory glow. “Give us a minute.”

I hit the start button. I removed my headset and shook out my hair. I checked the clock over my dresser. Shit – nearly twelve o’clock. I adjusted myself on the pillows and grabbed my orange soda. Tilting back my head, I took a long, sugary swig. It was going to be a long night.

Getting settled, I put the headset back on and picked up the controller. Flicking down the menu, I swapped out my player character and scrolled through the roster. Niethammag, Butcher of Tranquility. Hmm...maybe not today. Xanthal, Scion of Evisceration. Cool...but not quite what I was looking for. Scooching up my legs, I fished out my pocket book of exorcist practice and thumbed through the aged, crinkly pages. I started with A for Armageddon, and I didn’t have to search long for what I wanted.

I typed out the name on screen, and hit the X button. The menu faded. A pool of golden light appeared beneath my character’s leather boots, blazing yellow beams all around the safehouse. My character’s slender frame was swallowed up in flames, transfigured into a flurry of lava and obsidian. A smooth black shard rose from the smoke, fracturing into a tall, statuesque figure brandishing a fierce snarl and a ferocious whip. She broke her arms free from the rock, then her cloven hoofs. Tongues of sparks sprayed from her battledress, a web of steely chains.

“Flee, you ingrates, for you have requested a return to the ashes from whence you came!” Annulla, my chosen one, bellowed into the night.

“Huh, nice catchphrase,” I mumbled, straightening my mike.

“What?” The demoness looked around. “What sorcery is this? Where am I? Who’s speaking?”

“DwightWalker98,” I shrugged. “Call me Kirsten.”

“This domain, this house...these potions...these are not of earth and water...”

“You’re in a PS4, they’re made of pixels,” I said, blinking. “I’m the one who brought you here. But I’ll get you out, soon as you help me kill this boss.”

“I am Annulla, Vanquisher of All Abodes, and you’ve summoned me to play some... child’s game?”

“Heyyy,” I mumbled. “Khan’s Fortress 3 is the best, show some respect.”

I nudged the left analog stick. Annulla’s clawed hoof jerked forward.

“W-what? What is this witchcraft?”

“I only need to control you for a couple minutes,” I promised. “See that dude way up in the tower?” I nudged the right analog stick. The demoness cricked her neck. Her shimmering tendrils of hair swung as she turned her pointed chin skyward to the face in the clouds. “Yeah, that guy. I need you to knock him off his tower with your fire powers so I can win.”

“Stycix!” Annulla’s mouth hung open. “So, this is where you’ve been skulking!”

“Skulking? Whaddya mean, babes? I live here now,” the icy demon called. “You coming on up? The view’s divine!”

“Why don’t you come down here, and beg mercy of those you’ve abandoned?!” Annulla hissed. “Your scorned bride, your poor spawn – growing up without a father!”

“Ooohh,” I raised an eyebrow.

“Since when did you care? Is this about what happened on Halloween?” The clouds thundered around Stycix’s toothy grin. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault you couldn’t finish quick enough – I told you, I wasn’t expecting her home early!”

“Ohhh shiiiiit,” I whistled.

“You slimy little – urgghh!” Annulla screamed as her hair ignited. “Witch from the heavens – give me means to teach this scum a lesson!”

“Yeah one sec, the game’s still loading,” I said. I reached for a handful of popcorn. “My connection’s crap. Mmmpphh. ‘Kay, here’s the countdown.”

X. The smoky numerals drifted and dissipated. IX. I crossed my legs. VIII. VII. VI. The battle music blared.

“Alright!” I licked my lips. “Let’s do this. Annulla, Wrecker of Homes!”

“VANQUISHER OF ABODES,” she growled.

“Yeah, yeah, cool. Get ready, you’re about to smash shit and stuff,”

“Not if I have something to say about it, heathen!” shouted Poly. I heard a drawbridge rattle. A squad of his cloaked clones trotted to the safehouse on horsebacks, beards glitching.

“Who said that?” Annulla shrieked.

“All of them,” I replied. “Poly controls every henchman.”

“Then they shall all fry!”

I smiled. This was going to be epic.

00:32am, 20th February, 2016 A.D.

“Phew,” Stycix stuck out a hand, black blood dripping from his mouth. “Good game, eh?”

“It was...adequate,” Annulla rolled her eyes, unsticking the boar spear from his guts.

“Another?”

“Oh, hell yes!”

The scoreboards appeared on screen as the demons healed their wounds, the glowing skull trophy confirming my quickest ever run through a hard map on KF3. I lapped up the last crumbs of popcorn, returning to the main menu. Their stats cards appeared on screen, lighting up as they spoke.

“Errmm, not to be the bearer of bad news as per usual, but...” Poly sounded sheepish. “It’s late in the eventide. Kirsten, don’t you have a report due tomorrow?”

“Yeah, who ya gonna pick?” Stycix boomed. “Someone cool right? Someone ice cold? Someone who’s name starts with an S?”

“I’m...undecided,” I said. “Ten pages for one demonic entity – there's only so many times I can write ‘Scourge of the Seven Stinging Snowstorms’ before they think I’m just bulking out the word count...no offence...”

“Perhaps...if I, maybe...it’s fine, honestly, it’s nothing big. It’s only...well, if you were to consider me, I’d - ahem,” Poly cleared his throat. “- be very much indebted, even more so than I am already. I’m one of the more senior demons of the infernal realms, a veteran of two wars, and I’d like to think that my experience has led to...ermm...”

“Poly, you have a girl’s name,” said Stycix.

“It’s short for Apollyon!” he squeaked. “You never get it, never. I mean – there you go, there’s four words for your essay. Or five, depending on how you count them. You could extend the apostrophe, and therefore if you – ”

“Poly, again, no offence, but if you were the demon responsible for the creation of essays, I wouldn’t be surprised,” I leant back, relaxing my abs. “They’re the most boring things known to man. Or woman. Or you know, most other demons.”

“O-oh...” His light dimmed a little.

“And I haven’t read the guidelines, but I think they want it to be on a hellish being who’s strong enough to maintain a physical existence in the mortal plane,” I yawned. “Or some bullshit. Basically, someone who isn’t wormfood in the real world.”

“Hah. As in, precisely none of my enemies,” said Annulla.

“So, you mean all of your enemies?”

“Yes,” said Annulla. “I mean...no.”

“Huh?” said Stycix. “I’m confused.”

“I dunno guys, I’m too tired to think,” I stretched my arms and yawned again.

“Gonna have to love you and leave you. Hope I’ll be able to stay here when I wind up on probation.”

“Have faith in your powers,” said Annulla. “Until next time.”

“Yeah, I’m still top of the leaderboard, don’t forget!” Stycix waved. “See ya!”

“Goodbye,” said Poly. “And good luck...”

I switched off the console and sighed. It was time to bite the bullet on all the reading I hadn’t done. All the tutors I hadn’t met. All the study sessions I’d skipped out on, because playing with demons was too much fun.

Damn. My mom would be so proud...

The silver bell chimed. There was a soft rap on my bedroom door.

“Your supper, Madam,” Phil called.

“Come in,” I answered.

The door creaked ajar, and my demon butler flitted through, carrying a silver platter. The kid’s suit was a great touch – he looked adorable in his little bow tie. He lifted the lid on a stack of buttery bacon sandwiches, setting them down by my side.

“Anything more?” Phil twisted his monocle.

“Nah, we’re good,” I smiled, patting him on the head. His horns dipped, bowing, then he flitted out back the way he’d come, all three feet of him, suspended off the carpet by the beat of his fluttering, leathery batwings.

Mephilofo...Mephistofo...Phil. Whatever. The mightiest demon I’d ever trapped, and I couldn’t even remember his name. Probably a bad omen for writing a report about him. Leave it to the nerds.

I twisted a strand of my loose blonde hair. Urghh. I had to write this stupid essay on somebody. I grumbled, facing frowning in the glint of the black mirror that was my laptop screen. I lifted the first dripping sandwich, took a bite, mustered the effort to push the power button. I loaded up Microsoft Word, then wrote the date, underlined it, and as a treat for all that work, I hopped on Google to check for gigs next summer. I’d saved enough slaving at the campus burger place to cash in on a festival or two.

I realised I’d need something to wear. I opened an Images tab and browsed over some fishnet tights. I clicked every link to see what was on sale. I saw a Cat Sabbath t-shirt that made me laugh. Then some sexy armwarmers. And some cargo jeans. I added a black raven skull pendant to my basket, then a red plaid skirt. I needed another seven bucks worth to get free delivery...

“Kirsten...”

A low breeze brushed across my desk. I looked over my shoulder, tilting my swivelling chair. There was nobody behind me.

“Oh, Kirsten...”

My heart skipped a beat. My eyes rooted on the blank, empty white page on the computer screen. The source of all evil, surely?

“Kirsten, look down.”

I glanced around my messy desk. “Where?”

“Left a bit.”

I pushed the textbooks to one side.

“No, no, too far. Up a little.”

I stared at my lamp, illuminating my midnight snacks. I switched it off, waited a second, then switched it back on again. Nothing looked any different.

“Okay fine, I’m in the chip packet. Open me.”

I shrugged, and reached over the printer to grab it. The chips felt strangely warm in my hands. I peeled the packet open. A puff of hot, salty air wafted to my nose. I coughed a little.

“Ahh...hello, sweetheart.” His voice turned dulcet and syrupy. “Your mind’s struggling with that report of yours, I see. Might I make a suggestion?”

“Mmmpphh,” I muttered, shoving a handful in my mouth. A gross, dull shadow emanated from the reflection on the plastic film. I turned around again. I saw no-one in my room.

“Sure,” I swallowed. “Hit me.”

“Let me write your paper for you,” the demon whispered. “I’m a delectable scribe, and something of an expert on... pleasures of the flesh. I’m certain your tutors will be left with that warm fuzzy feeling inside once they come to grade it...”

“Uh-huh,” I scraped up some more. “So, what’s in it for me?”

“Um, what do you mean?” I saw the demon’s lip curl up the packet. “I...I thought I was doing you a favour.”

“You’ve made my chips taste weird and you’re wasting my time,” I said. “You’re gonna have to do better than an A-plus on my midterm if you want my soul or whatever.”

The chips went quiet.

“Come on,” I rustled the bag, smirking. “Let's hear all about your evil plan, so I can go to sleep...”

“You know, I don’t actually want your soul,” he clapped back. I could practically feel him turn up his nose. “For someone like me, that’s really saying a lot.”

“Who are you?” I smiled.

“I could answer that. But only if you’d just let me write your report,” he glowered. “In fact, curse all this, I’ll do it anyway. Could I have a go on your laptop?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, laying the split packet on the keyboard and switching the laptop back on. “Just stay out of my search history.”

“Your wish is my command, Kirsten Dwight.” He entered my initials into the username bar. “Any password?”

“SubSlayer69,” I muttered. “With a capital S.”

“Oh,” said the demon. “Err. Interesting.”

“I’m kidding,” I smirked, lifting up another sandwich. “Though you should bet your ass my wishes are your command. Here – I’ll log you in...”

11:11am, 20th February, 2016 A.D.

I woke up, bright and late, to the sound of crows huddling on the trees outside. I rubbed my weary eyes, unwrapping myself from my tangled duvet. Hankering for breath of fresh air, I decided I’d forgo a shower in favour of a jog round the block, and sifted through my wardrobe for my activewear. I could feel my calves seizing, cramping as I bent over for my medium leggings with a grimace. Too much sitting around, I resolved. Or maybe not enough salt.

I should’ve finished that bag of chips last night.

I raised my eyebrow, memories slotting into place. Rolling the loose, springy elastic over my thighs, I threw on an old gym vest and slipped my smartwatch round my wrist. Barefoot, I slipped back into my desk chair, hand on the mouse, clicking the screen.

My laptop had been razing through the mains. A blistering heat permeated the keys. My Evanescence screensaver was gone – swapped out for a solid pane of harrowing, dripping red. I swiped the cursor. The fan howled under the keyboard, blitzing boiling air through the circuitry. I clicked the Word window on the bottom tab.

The monitor flickered. My essay flashed on screen. I checked the count in the corner. 6,666 words.

“Huh,” I groaned. “Ain’t that original,”

I minimized it and opened my documents. My e-signature was the last thing required for my submission. I couldn’t tell how much of use it’d be in staving off a plagiarism enquiry – maybe the same demon had dropped in on other people on my course, offering to help them too. But then again, I was past the point of caring.

I inserted the signature at the bottom, saved it, then loaded up my emails. I attached the latest file in a message to Mrs Hargoyles, my first-year supervisor. The title emerged in bold, block capitals.

“On Gluttony,” I read aloud. Oooh, worth another look.

I switched tabs. This time I scanned it properly. The font was thick, cryptic swirls, almost as if it were painted by a finger.

“The Greatest Future Ruler That Hell Can Pray For, an essay by Kristen Dwight,” I mumbled. “All praise...Taeotevil?”

My desk rumbled. My pot of drawing pencils shook. A pool of light erupted open next to my chair. Two massive hands crept up from the floor, clawing for leverage for two quaking ham-hock arms. A triumphant pink face inched through the gap, between a pair of hulking, soft shoulders. The vast demon hauled up his corpulent frame, grasping the handles of my drawers to heave and push himself free. His smile contorted into frustration as his stomach buffered up against the portal’s edge.

“Hnnghh...hnnnggghh....” he wheezed. Wings barely bigger than a butterfly’s flapped furiously as he hunkered and railed, creasing his filthy tunic. Flinging himself side to side, he unwedged his enormous gut, loosening himself with a pop. Pumping his minuscule legs, he tottered over to my bed. With a click of his swollen fingers, the duvet straightened itself out. He turned, and telekinetically positioned a pillow beneath his colossal rump.

“AHAHAHA!” the blotchy demon chortled, sitting himself down. The springs screeched. “In speaking my hallowed name, you have brought my bounteous waste upon your mortal plane. Fear me, for I am Taeotevil, Lord of Glutt – wait...oh, hang on. It’s you. You’re the girl from last night.”

His wings fell flat.

“Um, yeah?” I rolled my eyes. “Who were you expecting?”

“Your tutors, naturally!” the demon spat. “Oh, what havoc I could wreak in possession of a professor of demonology! My kin would revere me! My legacy would enrapture the masses for all of eternity! Why else did you think I wanted to write your damned paper?”

“Yeah...um...about that. According to Microsoft Word, you’ve made a few spelling mistakes.” I swivelled in my chair, clicking the mouse and pointed at the squiggly red lines on the screen.

“See?” I invited him to look. “You’re gonna have to hustle a little harder if you want the Arcane Arts department to take you seriously. The heck is allacritty?” I scrolled down. “Also there’s no double P in ‘Chupacabra’. No es bueno, hombre.”

“Enough, wench!” the demon yelled, squeezing his fat fingers into a fist. “I have upheld my end of the bargain, and now, your destiny is sealed! Your wants and wills are now mine to guide to the precipice of despair!”

“Actually, could we do this at your place?” I asked, checking my nail polish. “I really need my deposit back this year and you’re...breaking my bed.”

Gluttony looked over his shoulder, judging the crater he was digging into my mattress.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up. “Just get in the portal.”

“Sweet, lemme put some shoes on,” I smiled. I fetched some socks from the drawer and slipped on my purple running sneakers. I bent down to tie the laces nice and tight. “What have you got down there? A grotto? A dungeon? A torture chamber? A cute guard dog?”

“Solitude...” he muttered.

“That doesn’t sound very hellish.”

“It will be if you don’t zip it!” said Gluttony, lurching forward. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this one, Kirsten, Kristen, whoever you are. I see the whites of your eyes. I see deep within your heart. Your plots, your schemes, your machinations. Tis’ all for nothing! Put on your airs, but you cannot outrun fate.”

“Pfft. Who said anything about fate?” I giggled, sweeping back my hair and striking a pose. “I only have to outrun you.” I tickled the demon lord’s chubby cheek. His roar rustling my plaits, I took a hop, a skip, a soaring jump, and dived headfirst into the abyss.

21st Turn of the Hourglass, 66th Pentember, 8050.

I landed on a pile of empty wineskins, sliding off to land coolly on my feet. My trainers slapped down on slabs of granite. The engorged Lord followed, his exit from my world every inch as awkward as his entry.

“Behold!” he launched into his spiel. “Hell’s Dining Hall!”

I observed the scene. Twelve towering chandeliers hung down from the cavernous rafters, the ceilings painted and embossed with scenes of farming and hunting. The wall behind the wineskins was buried behind an enormous oaken barrel, the one adjacent lined with an equally sizeable oven. The dominating feature was the mahogany dining table, set for dinner, lunch, breakfast, brunch – somewhere different where ever you sat, on the collection of plush armchairs and benches. It stretched on and on throughout the hall, seemingly to infinity.

“Couldn’t get a trademark for Hell’s Kitchen, huh?” I giggled. “Interesting clock you’ve got there though,” I noted, as he flopped down from above. Two yellow eyes loomed large behind an hourglass, tilting on a dial over a blazing fireplace.

“A housewarming gift, from the boss himself,” said Gluttony. “Or maybe a thinly veiled threat to be there on time at his council meetings. Painful affairs, if I’m honest with you. Never anything to eat, and the time passes so painfully slowly.”

“Really? I thought Hell was quicker than Earth. You’re already on Year Eighty-Fifty.”

“Well we were hardly going to borrow a calendar from the wits behind hits such as ‘loving thy neighbour’ and ‘charitable giving’ now, were we?” Gluttony huffed. “Are we going to yap on about furnishings or are we going to get to the matter of your impending doom?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I said, plainly and simply. “Spoken agreements don’t work in the demon world. If you want my soul for that report, you’d have to get me to sign a contract.”

“Ah, but alas...” Gluttony flexed his wrists. “I already have!”

He coaxed a tightly wrapped scroll out of his stained sleeves, and handed it to me.

“I inserted an example of one of most exquisite binding deals into your essay – to which you’ve applied both your name, and your signature,” he crowed. “Go on, give it a read. I went to the effort of extracting it from your hinged machine to this delightful faux-parchment, made from the finest Manila paper.”

“You could’ve just used the printer,” I shrugged, unfurling the scroll.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to exhaust your jibes,” Gluttony scoffed. “Though I dare say you’ll never use that tongue to speak them. You’ll be far too...engrossed...”

I trawled through the wording, squinting at the footnotes. My eyes dipped to the signature. Definitely mine. I returned to the opening. All Praise Taeotevil. Preceded by – yup, my name...

“My previous precious captives have had little need for literature,” he lingered on. “This bountiful hall has provided more than enough to mollify the mind, and the senses. To picture all that money that could have been spent on food, wasted on your education...”

“Funny you should say that,” I murmured. “You spelled my forename wrong.”

“What?” he balked. A kink of perturbance struck every curving line in his silhouette.

“Look, right there – top line,” I flipped the scroll around so he could see it. “Kristen Dwight? Nuh-uh, you got the wrong girl.”

The demon ripped the paper out of my hands. He plonked down on his mighty bergère and peered with his currant eyes at the wording, then at me. Then to the words again, wrinkling his nose. Then to me.

“I’m Kirsten Dwight. The ‘I’ comes first. Always,” I smiled with a wink. “Which, I guess, means this deal is now invalidated, and that contract your holding’s probably better as toilet tissue.” I about-faced. “Um, on that note, mind if use yours before I get out of here?”

Gluttony quivered. His whole body shook. His blotches began to tinge with green. His eyes looked fit to blast from his shaking face.

“You...DARE CROSS THE GREATEST OF THE SEVEN LORDS OF THE DEADLY SINS?!” he screamed.

“Meh. It was only for an essay,” I tossed my hair. “Greatest of the Seven Lords? Wow. I’d say you have a chip on your shoulder but then if you did, you’d probably eat it.” I gave him a poke in the gut. “Better luck next time though, right?”

He clenched his thick jaw, indignant. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna exercise my right as a not-dead person to go home to the surface. Think I’ll play some more KF3 with your brethren,” I announced. “See ya.”

“Oh-ho-ho, not so fast!”

The demon snapped his fingers. The portal above the wineskins zipped shut. Two thudding footsteps rattled the chandeliers. “You might have pulled out a plum on this occasion, Miss Dwight,” he thundered. “But no-one – and I mean no-one – leaves the lair of Gluttony unencumbered.”

I saw him standing, and felt an occult hand tighten around my neck. I stopped dead. Slowly, an ethereal force spun me back around to look the grotesque lord in the eye.

“If you want a piece of me...” he spat. “Then fine. Here’s a little...souvenir...of your stay at my humble abode.”

Gluttony had his arm raised. With a come-hither motion of his fingers, I began to levitate, six inches off the stained, patchy rugs, travelling into his grasp. I tried to kick myself free. I shirked my shoulders. I arched my knees. Nothing. My muscles were frozen stiff.

“Hnngghh!” I seethed. My jaw and tongue were all I could control. “Urggh!” I cursed. “Lemme go!”

“But I am letting you go,” Gluttony’s sinister smile topped the crevices of his multiple chins. Winds whipped through the air. An ethereal strand emerged from his belly button, wispy, translucent, radiating silver and gold as it thickened into rope.

“I place this curse upon you, Kirsten Dwight,” he hissed. “Feel what I feel. Consume how I consume. Eat, drink, and make merry from now, until the end of your days.”

The strange tether wrapped around my midriff, ensnaring my hips, knotting over my ribs. My stomach tingled as he pulled me closer, his blotchy face creasing and gurning in twitches of rage. He closed on me, mouth awash with rotting teeth, whispering smidgeons from my ear.

“And if you should tell a single living soul of your predicament,” the demon declared. “I’ll take your life, there and then.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Something impalpable departed my body. A seed of gold wound through the strand, zipping burning and bright from my struggling frame into the pit of Gluttony’s stomach. My solid shoulders loosened. My skinny arms fell flat. I felt hollow, and lifeless, and empty. The tether tightened almost to my bones, and then the light began to fade.

Slowly I started to sink. I felt ravenous. Insatiable.

“It’s nearly time to turn the hourglass,” He settled back into his chair with an unyielding smile. “Care to join me for dinner?”

A clap of his hands set the table aflame. The fires simmered as platters, dishes and bowls appeared through puff after puff of smoke. Each was weighed down with something delicious. Goat’s cheese pastries, and steak and ale pies. Beef and noodles. Hams and cheeses. Rich, mellow, so mouth-wateringly good.

Suddenly, I was sprinting. I flung my legs, shooting over a bench, seating myself in front the smorgasbord with a desperate longing. Before I could blink I was piling food on my plate, cleaving my meat, drowning it in gravy, burying a plate under a mountain of mash and tearing in, stuffing and smacking my lips. I felt the lid thudding on the back of Pandora’s box, my face poised above, my mouth open, my tongue tensing, ready to dig to the bottom, no matter what the cost...

Within seconds I’d cleaned my plate. More food metamorphosised onto the tabletop. I flashed my knife and fork, stomach screaming for seconds, thirds, fourths... hundredths.... thousandths from a realm that had served me so well. I pulled at my leggings, licked my lips, and ploughed through another round. Course after course disappeared down my throat. My taste buds were in heaven.

I closed my eyes, and buried myself in the blessings of dining in Hell......

Kirsten Dwight ©️ ShrubberyLogistic

Description
Commission for ShrubberyLogistic
Kirsten is a cocky goth student enrolled on a college demonology course. She's arrogant, but wicked smart - she loves video games, heavy metal and snacking way past midnight. She's a former gymnast, and she keeps in shape through boxercise at the campus gym. Most of her friends are demons; hers to summon from a stolen book of exorcist rites, which is never further away than her back pocket.

This is a cover image to a story: Dealing with Gluttony (Chapter I)
11:46pm, 19th February, 2016 A.D.

I wiped chocolate off my mouth, smudging my black lipstick, watching the pigs squeal, dashing for freedom. All around, villagers fled their burning hovels for the farmer’s fields. The last guard collapsed in a heap, his body straining on my garrotte. His spear clattered forlorn to the ground. I pushed past the crowds, searching for stronger adversaries.

Slowly, the screams started to peel away. The music changed tone. A dark tower soared above the fiery shadows. I staggered into the safehouse, bandages trailing from my leg. A withered hearth was my only source of light. Slowly, carefully, I approached the wooden table, every inch laden with food and wine. My hair hung loose. The potion in the middle shivered, golden green, frothing and sparkling. I snatched it up and drank all of the doses in one. The greyness that ringed my vision faded, and I saw colour once more. Fierce clouds clamoured on the tip of the tower beyond the broken window.

“You won’t last much longer,” The rush of icy wind carried the demon’s voice.

“Time’s a-ticking. I’m gonna getcha...” I checked the hourglass. Three minutes left.

“Hold up,” I mumbled into my mike. “I’m gonna switch.”

“Seriously?” he exclaimed. “When you’re this close?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, swiping a turkey leg off the table in-game. I bit into another couple squares of chocolate in real life. “I’m fully healed, and I’ve nearly got enough manna.”

“Nearly. But not qu- ”

“HALT. WHO GOES THERE?”

I made my character duck low. Poly’s horned helmet rattled outside the window. His rusty armour clankered and clinked as he fumbled his sword back into its leathery scabbard.

“Hmm. Still warm,” he said, crouching down beside the body of the spearman at the door. “Looks like there’s a killer on the loose.”

No sooner had I equipped my mithril throwing axe than it was buried in the back of his neck. He let out a comical scream, collapsed to his knees, and died like a puppet shorn of its strings.

“Ok, now I’ve got enough manna.,” I announced, watching the blue bar give off a confirmatory glow. “Give us a minute.”

I hit the start button. I removed my headset and shook out my hair. I checked the clock over my dresser. Shit – nearly twelve o’clock. I adjusted myself on the pillows and grabbed my orange soda. Tilting back my head, I took a long, sugary swig. It was going to be a long night.

Getting settled, I put the headset back on and picked up the controller. Flicking down the menu, I swapped out my player character and scrolled through the roster. Niethammag, Butcher of Tranquility. Hmm...maybe not today. Xanthal, Scion of Evisceration. Cool...but not quite what I was looking for. Scooching up my legs, I fished out my pocket book of exorcist practice and thumbed through the aged, crinkly pages. I started with A for Armageddon, and I didn’t have to search long for what I wanted.

I typed out the name on screen, and hit the X button. The menu faded. A pool of golden light appeared beneath my character’s leather boots, blazing yellow beams all around the safehouse. My character’s slender frame was swallowed up in flames, transfigured into a flurry of lava and obsidian. A smooth black shard rose from the smoke, fracturing into a tall, statuesque figure brandishing a fierce snarl and a ferocious whip. She broke her arms free from the rock, then her cloven hoofs. Tongues of sparks sprayed from her battledress, a web of steely chains.

“Flee, you ingrates, for you have requested a return to the ashes from whence you came!” Annulla, my chosen one, bellowed into the night.

“Huh, nice catchphrase,” I mumbled, straightening my mike.

“What?” The demoness looked around. “What sorcery is this? Where am I? Who’s speaking?”

“DwightWalker98,” I shrugged. “Call me Kirsten.”

“This domain, this house...these potions...these are not of earth and water...”

“You’re in a PS4, they’re made of pixels,” I said, blinking. “I’m the one who brought you here. But I’ll get you out, soon as you help me kill this boss.”

“I am Annulla, Vanquisher of All Abodes, and you’ve summoned me to play some... child’s game?”

“Heyyy,” I mumbled. “Khan’s Fortress 3 is the best, show some respect.”

I nudged the left analog stick. Annulla’s clawed hoof jerked forward.

“W-what? What is this witchcraft?”

“I only need to control you for a couple minutes,” I promised. “See that dude way up in the tower?” I nudged the right analog stick. The demoness cricked her neck. Her shimmering tendrils of hair swung as she turned her pointed chin skyward to the face in the clouds. “Yeah, that guy. I need you to knock him off his tower with your fire powers so I can win.”

“Stycix!” Annulla’s mouth hung open. “So, this is where you’ve been skulking!”

“Skulking? Whaddya mean, babes? I live here now,” the icy demon called. “You coming on up? The view’s divine!”

“Why don’t you come down here, and beg mercy of those you’ve abandoned?!” Annulla hissed. “Your scorned bride, your poor spawn – growing up without a father!”

“Ooohh,” I raised an eyebrow.

“Since when did you care? Is this about what happened on Halloween?” The clouds thundered around Stycix’s toothy grin. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault you couldn’t finish quick enough – I told you, I wasn’t expecting her home early!”

“Ohhh shiiiiit,” I whistled.

“You slimy little – urgghh!” Annulla screamed as her hair ignited. “Witch from the heavens – give me means to teach this scum a lesson!”

“Yeah one sec, the game’s still loading,” I said. I reached for a handful of popcorn. “My connection’s crap. Mmmpphh. ‘Kay, here’s the countdown.”

X. The smoky numerals drifted and dissipated. IX. I crossed my legs. VIII. VII. VI. The battle music blared.

“Alright!” I licked my lips. “Let’s do this. Annulla, Wrecker of Homes!”

“VANQUISHER OF ABODES,” she growled.

“Yeah, yeah, cool. Get ready, you’re about to smash shit and stuff,”

“Not if I have something to say about it, heathen!” shouted Poly. I heard a drawbridge rattle. A squad of his cloaked clones trotted to the safehouse on horsebacks, beards glitching.

“Who said that?” Annulla shrieked.

“All of them,” I replied. “Poly controls every henchman.”

“Then they shall all fry!”

I smiled. This was going to be epic.

00:32am, 20th February, 2016 A.D.

“Phew,” Stycix stuck out a hand, black blood dripping from his mouth. “Good game, eh?”

“It was...adequate,” Annulla rolled her eyes, unsticking the boar spear from his guts.

“Another?”

“Oh, hell yes!”

The scoreboards appeared on screen as the demons healed their wounds, the glowing skull trophy confirming my quickest ever run through a hard map on KF3. I lapped up the last crumbs of popcorn, returning to the main menu. Their stats cards appeared on screen, lighting up as they spoke.

“Errmm, not to be the bearer of bad news as per usual, but...” Poly sounded sheepish. “It’s late in the eventide. Kirsten, don’t you have a report due tomorrow?”

“Yeah, who ya gonna pick?” Stycix boomed. “Someone cool right? Someone ice cold? Someone who’s name starts with an S?”

“I’m...undecided,” I said. “Ten pages for one demonic entity – there's only so many times I can write ‘Scourge of the Seven Stinging Snowstorms’ before they think I’m just bulking out the word count...no offence...”

“Perhaps...if I, maybe...it’s fine, honestly, it’s nothing big. It’s only...well, if you were to consider me, I’d - ahem,” Poly cleared his throat. “- be very much indebted, even more so than I am already. I’m one of the more senior demons of the infernal realms, a veteran of two wars, and I’d like to think that my experience has led to...ermm...”

“Poly, you have a girl’s name,” said Stycix.

“It’s short for Apollyon!” he squeaked. “You never get it, never. I mean – there you go, there’s four words for your essay. Or five, depending on how you count them. You could extend the apostrophe, and therefore if you – ”

“Poly, again, no offence, but if you were the demon responsible for the creation of essays, I wouldn’t be surprised,” I leant back, relaxing my abs. “They’re the most boring things known to man. Or woman. Or you know, most other demons.”

“O-oh...” His light dimmed a little.

“And I haven’t read the guidelines, but I think they want it to be on a hellish being who’s strong enough to maintain a physical existence in the mortal plane,” I yawned. “Or some bullshit. Basically, someone who isn’t wormfood in the real world.”

“Hah. As in, precisely none of my enemies,” said Annulla.

“So, you mean all of your enemies?”

“Yes,” said Annulla. “I mean...no.”

“Huh?” said Stycix. “I’m confused.”

“I dunno guys, I’m too tired to think,” I stretched my arms and yawned again.

“Gonna have to love you and leave you. Hope I’ll be able to stay here when I wind up on probation.”

“Have faith in your powers,” said Annulla. “Until next time.”

“Yeah, I’m still top of the leaderboard, don’t forget!” Stycix waved. “See ya!”

“Goodbye,” said Poly. “And good luck...”

I switched off the console and sighed. It was time to bite the bullet on all the reading I hadn’t done. All the tutors I hadn’t met. All the study sessions I’d skipped out on, because playing with demons was too much fun.

Damn. My mom would be so proud...

The silver bell chimed. There was a soft rap on my bedroom door.

“Your supper, Madam,” Phil called.

“Come in,” I answered.

The door creaked ajar, and my demon butler flitted through, carrying a silver platter. The kid’s suit was a great touch – he looked adorable in his little bow tie. He lifted the lid on a stack of buttery bacon sandwiches, setting them down by my side.

“Anything more?” Phil twisted his monocle.

“Nah, we’re good,” I smiled, patting him on the head. His horns dipped, bowing, then he flitted out back the way he’d come, all three feet of him, suspended off the carpet by the beat of his fluttering, leathery batwings.

Mephilofo...Mephistofo...Phil. Whatever. The mightiest demon I’d ever trapped, and I couldn’t even remember his name. Probably a bad omen for writing a report about him. Leave it to the nerds.

I twisted a strand of my loose blonde hair. Urghh. I had to write this stupid essay on somebody. I grumbled, facing frowning in the glint of the black mirror that was my laptop screen. I lifted the first dripping sandwich, took a bite, mustered the effort to push the power button. I loaded up Microsoft Word, then wrote the date, underlined it, and as a treat for all that work, I hopped on Google to check for gigs next summer. I’d saved enough slaving at the campus burger place to cash in on a festival or two.

I realised I’d need something to wear. I opened an Images tab and browsed over some fishnet tights. I clicked every link to see what was on sale. I saw a Cat Sabbath t-shirt that made me laugh. Then some sexy armwarmers. And some cargo jeans. I added a black raven skull pendant to my basket, then a red plaid skirt. I needed another seven bucks worth to get free delivery...

“Kirsten...”

A low breeze brushed across my desk. I looked over my shoulder, tilting my swivelling chair. There was nobody behind me.

“Oh, Kirsten...”

My heart skipped a beat. My eyes rooted on the blank, empty white page on the computer screen. The source of all evil, surely?

“Kirsten, look down.”

I glanced around my messy desk. “Where?”

“Left a bit.”

I pushed the textbooks to one side.

“No, no, too far. Up a little.”

I stared at my lamp, illuminating my midnight snacks. I switched it off, waited a second, then switched it back on again. Nothing looked any different.

“Okay fine, I’m in the chip packet. Open me.”

I shrugged, and reached over the printer to grab it. The chips felt strangely warm in my hands. I peeled the packet open. A puff of hot, salty air wafted to my nose. I coughed a little.

“Ahh...hello, sweetheart.” His voice turned dulcet and syrupy. “Your mind’s struggling with that report of yours, I see. Might I make a suggestion?”

“Mmmpphh,” I muttered, shoving a handful in my mouth. A gross, dull shadow emanated from the reflection on the plastic film. I turned around again. I saw no-one in my room.

“Sure,” I swallowed. “Hit me.”

“Let me write your paper for you,” the demon whispered. “I’m a delectable scribe, and something of an expert on... pleasures of the flesh. I’m certain your tutors will be left with that warm fuzzy feeling inside once they come to grade it...”

“Uh-huh,” I scraped up some more. “So, what’s in it for me?”

“Um, what do you mean?” I saw the demon’s lip curl up the packet. “I...I thought I was doing you a favour.”

“You’ve made my chips taste weird and you’re wasting my time,” I said. “You’re gonna have to do better than an A-plus on my midterm if you want my soul or whatever.”

The chips went quiet.

“Come on,” I rustled the bag, smirking. “Let's hear all about your evil plan, so I can go to sleep...”

“You know, I don’t actually want your soul,” he clapped back. I could practically feel him turn up his nose. “For someone like me, that’s really saying a lot.”

“Who are you?” I smiled.

“I could answer that. But only if you’d just let me write your report,” he glowered. “In fact, curse all this, I’ll do it anyway. Could I have a go on your laptop?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, laying the split packet on the keyboard and switching the laptop back on. “Just stay out of my search history.”

“Your wish is my command, Kirsten Dwight.” He entered my initials into the username bar. “Any password?”

“SubSlayer69,” I muttered. “With a capital S.”

“Oh,” said the demon. “Err. Interesting.”

“I’m kidding,” I smirked, lifting up another sandwich. “Though you should bet your ass my wishes are your command. Here – I’ll log you in...”

11:11am, 20th February, 2016 A.D.

I woke up, bright and late, to the sound of crows huddling on the trees outside. I rubbed my weary eyes, unwrapping myself from my tangled duvet. Hankering for breath of fresh air, I decided I’d forgo a shower in favour of a jog round the block, and sifted through my wardrobe for my activewear. I could feel my calves seizing, cramping as I bent over for my medium leggings with a grimace. Too much sitting around, I resolved. Or maybe not enough salt.

I should’ve finished that bag of chips last night.

I raised my eyebrow, memories slotting into place. Rolling the loose, springy elastic over my thighs, I threw on an old gym vest and slipped my smartwatch round my wrist. Barefoot, I slipped back into my desk chair, hand on the mouse, clicking the screen.

My laptop had been razing through the mains. A blistering heat permeated the keys. My Evanescence screensaver was gone – swapped out for a solid pane of harrowing, dripping red. I swiped the cursor. The fan howled under the keyboard, blitzing boiling air through the circuitry. I clicked the Word window on the bottom tab.

The monitor flickered. My essay flashed on screen. I checked the count in the corner. 6,666 words.

“Huh,” I groaned. “Ain’t that original,”

I minimized it and opened my documents. My e-signature was the last thing required for my submission. I couldn’t tell how much of use it’d be in staving off a plagiarism enquiry – maybe the same demon had dropped in on other people on my course, offering to help them too. But then again, I was past the point of caring.

I inserted the signature at the bottom, saved it, then loaded up my emails. I attached the latest file in a message to Mrs Hargoyles, my first-year supervisor. The title emerged in bold, block capitals.

“On Gluttony,” I read aloud. Oooh, worth another look.

I switched tabs. This time I scanned it properly. The font was thick, cryptic swirls, almost as if it were painted by a finger.

“The Greatest Future Ruler That Hell Can Pray For, an essay by Kristen Dwight,” I mumbled. “All praise...Taeotevil?”

My desk rumbled. My pot of drawing pencils shook. A pool of light erupted open next to my chair. Two massive hands crept up from the floor, clawing for leverage for two quaking ham-hock arms. A triumphant pink face inched through the gap, between a pair of hulking, soft shoulders. The vast demon hauled up his corpulent frame, grasping the handles of my drawers to heave and push himself free. His smile contorted into frustration as his stomach buffered up against the portal’s edge.

“Hnnghh...hnnnggghh....” he wheezed. Wings barely bigger than a butterfly’s flapped furiously as he hunkered and railed, creasing his filthy tunic. Flinging himself side to side, he unwedged his enormous gut, loosening himself with a pop. Pumping his minuscule legs, he tottered over to my bed. With a click of his swollen fingers, the duvet straightened itself out. He turned, and telekinetically positioned a pillow beneath his colossal rump.

“AHAHAHA!” the blotchy demon chortled, sitting himself down. The springs screeched. “In speaking my hallowed name, you have brought my bounteous waste upon your mortal plane. Fear me, for I am Taeotevil, Lord of Glutt – wait...oh, hang on. It’s you. You’re the girl from last night.”

His wings fell flat.

“Um, yeah?” I rolled my eyes. “Who were you expecting?”

“Your tutors, naturally!” the demon spat. “Oh, what havoc I could wreak in possession of a professor of demonology! My kin would revere me! My legacy would enrapture the masses for all of eternity! Why else did you think I wanted to write your damned paper?”

“Yeah...um...about that. According to Microsoft Word, you’ve made a few spelling mistakes.” I swivelled in my chair, clicking the mouse and pointed at the squiggly red lines on the screen.

“See?” I invited him to look. “You’re gonna have to hustle a little harder if you want the Arcane Arts department to take you seriously. The heck is allacritty?” I scrolled down. “Also there’s no double P in ‘Chupacabra’. No es bueno, hombre.”

“Enough, wench!” the demon yelled, squeezing his fat fingers into a fist. “I have upheld my end of the bargain, and now, your destiny is sealed! Your wants and wills are now mine to guide to the precipice of despair!”

“Actually, could we do this at your place?” I asked, checking my nail polish. “I really need my deposit back this year and you’re...breaking my bed.”

Gluttony looked over his shoulder, judging the crater he was digging into my mattress.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up. “Just get in the portal.”

“Sweet, lemme put some shoes on,” I smiled. I fetched some socks from the drawer and slipped on my purple running sneakers. I bent down to tie the laces nice and tight. “What have you got down there? A grotto? A dungeon? A torture chamber? A cute guard dog?”

“Solitude...” he muttered.

“That doesn’t sound very hellish.”

“It will be if you don’t zip it!” said Gluttony, lurching forward. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this one, Kirsten, Kristen, whoever you are. I see the whites of your eyes. I see deep within your heart. Your plots, your schemes, your machinations. Tis’ all for nothing! Put on your airs, but you cannot outrun fate.”

“Pfft. Who said anything about fate?” I giggled, sweeping back my hair and striking a pose. “I only have to outrun you.” I tickled the demon lord’s chubby cheek. His roar rustling my plaits, I took a hop, a skip, a soaring jump, and dived headfirst into the abyss.

21st Turn of the Hourglass, 66th Pentember, 8050.

I landed on a pile of empty wineskins, sliding off to land coolly on my feet. My trainers slapped down on slabs of granite. The engorged Lord followed, his exit from my world every inch as awkward as his entry.

“Behold!” he launched into his spiel. “Hell’s Dining Hall!”

I observed the scene. Twelve towering chandeliers hung down from the cavernous rafters, the ceilings painted and embossed with scenes of farming and hunting. The wall behind the wineskins was buried behind an enormous oaken barrel, the one adjacent lined with an equally sizeable oven. The dominating feature was the mahogany dining table, set for dinner, lunch, breakfast, brunch – somewhere different where ever you sat, on the collection of plush armchairs and benches. It stretched on and on throughout the hall, seemingly to infinity.

“Couldn’t get a trademark for Hell’s Kitchen, huh?” I giggled. “Interesting clock you’ve got there though,” I noted, as he flopped down from above. Two yellow eyes loomed large behind an hourglass, tilting on a dial over a blazing fireplace.

“A housewarming gift, from the boss himself,” said Gluttony. “Or maybe a thinly veiled threat to be there on time at his council meetings. Painful affairs, if I’m honest with you. Never anything to eat, and the time passes so painfully slowly.”

“Really? I thought Hell was quicker than Earth. You’re already on Year Eighty-Fifty.”

“Well we were hardly going to borrow a calendar from the wits behind hits such as ‘loving thy neighbour’ and ‘charitable giving’ now, were we?” Gluttony huffed. “Are we going to yap on about furnishings or are we going to get to the matter of your impending doom?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I said, plainly and simply. “Spoken agreements don’t work in the demon world. If you want my soul for that report, you’d have to get me to sign a contract.”

“Ah, but alas...” Gluttony flexed his wrists. “I already have!”

He coaxed a tightly wrapped scroll out of his stained sleeves, and handed it to me.

“I inserted an example of one of most exquisite binding deals into your essay – to which you’ve applied both your name, and your signature,” he crowed. “Go on, give it a read. I went to the effort of extracting it from your hinged machine to this delightful faux-parchment, made from the finest Manila paper.”

“You could’ve just used the printer,” I shrugged, unfurling the scroll.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to exhaust your jibes,” Gluttony scoffed. “Though I dare say you’ll never use that tongue to speak them. You’ll be far too...engrossed...”

I trawled through the wording, squinting at the footnotes. My eyes dipped to the signature. Definitely mine. I returned to the opening. All Praise Taeotevil. Preceded by – yup, my name...

“My previous precious captives have had little need for literature,” he lingered on. “This bountiful hall has provided more than enough to mollify the mind, and the senses. To picture all that money that could have been spent on food, wasted on your education...”

“Funny you should say that,” I murmured. “You spelled my forename wrong.”

“What?” he balked. A kink of perturbance struck every curving line in his silhouette.

“Look, right there – top line,” I flipped the scroll around so he could see it. “Kristen Dwight? Nuh-uh, you got the wrong girl.”

The demon ripped the paper out of my hands. He plonked down on his mighty bergère and peered with his currant eyes at the wording, then at me. Then to the words again, wrinkling his nose. Then to me.

“I’m Kirsten Dwight. The ‘I’ comes first. Always,” I smiled with a wink. “Which, I guess, means this deal is now invalidated, and that contract your holding’s probably better as toilet tissue.” I about-faced. “Um, on that note, mind if use yours before I get out of here?”

Gluttony quivered. His whole body shook. His blotches began to tinge with green. His eyes looked fit to blast from his shaking face.

“You...DARE CROSS THE GREATEST OF THE SEVEN LORDS OF THE DEADLY SINS?!” he screamed.

“Meh. It was only for an essay,” I tossed my hair. “Greatest of the Seven Lords? Wow. I’d say you have a chip on your shoulder but then if you did, you’d probably eat it.” I gave him a poke in the gut. “Better luck next time though, right?”

He clenched his thick jaw, indignant. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna exercise my right as a not-dead person to go home to the surface. Think I’ll play some more KF3 with your brethren,” I announced. “See ya.”

“Oh-ho-ho, not so fast!”

The demon snapped his fingers. The portal above the wineskins zipped shut. Two thudding footsteps rattled the chandeliers. “You might have pulled out a plum on this occasion, Miss Dwight,” he thundered. “But no-one – and I mean no-one – leaves the lair of Gluttony unencumbered.”

I saw him standing, and felt an occult hand tighten around my neck. I stopped dead. Slowly, an ethereal force spun me back around to look the grotesque lord in the eye.

“If you want a piece of me...” he spat. “Then fine. Here’s a little...souvenir...of your stay at my humble abode.”

Gluttony had his arm raised. With a come-hither motion of his fingers, I began to levitate, six inches off the stained, patchy rugs, travelling into his grasp. I tried to kick myself free. I shirked my shoulders. I arched my knees. Nothing. My muscles were frozen stiff.

“Hnngghh!” I seethed. My jaw and tongue were all I could control. “Urggh!” I cursed. “Lemme go!”

“But I am letting you go,” Gluttony’s sinister smile topped the crevices of his multiple chins. Winds whipped through the air. An ethereal strand emerged from his belly button, wispy, translucent, radiating silver and gold as it thickened into rope.

“I place this curse upon you, Kirsten Dwight,” he hissed. “Feel what I feel. Consume how I consume. Eat, drink, and make merry from now, until the end of your days.”

The strange tether wrapped around my midriff, ensnaring my hips, knotting over my ribs. My stomach tingled as he pulled me closer, his blotchy face creasing and gurning in twitches of rage. He closed on me, mouth awash with rotting teeth, whispering smidgeons from my ear.

“And if you should tell a single living soul of your predicament,” the demon declared. “I’ll take your life, there and then.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Something impalpable departed my body. A seed of gold wound through the strand, zipping burning and bright from my struggling frame into the pit of Gluttony’s stomach. My solid shoulders loosened. My skinny arms fell flat. I felt hollow, and lifeless, and empty. The tether tightened almost to my bones, and then the light began to fade.

Slowly I started to sink. I felt ravenous. Insatiable.

“It’s nearly time to turn the hourglass,” He settled back into his chair with an unyielding smile. “Care to join me for dinner?”

A clap of his hands set the table aflame. The fires simmered as platters, dishes and bowls appeared through puff after puff of smoke. Each was weighed down with something delicious. Goat’s cheese pastries, and steak and ale pies. Beef and noodles. Hams and cheeses. Rich, mellow, so mouth-wateringly good.

Suddenly, I was sprinting. I flung my legs, shooting over a bench, seating myself in front the smorgasbord with a desperate longing. Before I could blink I was piling food on my plate, cleaving my meat, drowning it in gravy, burying a plate under a mountain of mash and tearing in, stuffing and smacking my lips. I felt the lid thudding on the back of Pandora’s box, my face poised above, my mouth open, my tongue tensing, ready to dig to the bottom, no matter what the cost...

Within seconds I’d cleaned my plate. More food metamorphosised onto the tabletop. I flashed my knife and fork, stomach screaming for seconds, thirds, fourths... hundredths.... thousandths from a realm that had served me so well. I pulled at my leggings, licked my lips, and ploughed through another round. Course after course disappeared down my throat. My taste buds were in heaven.

I closed my eyes, and buried myself in the blessings of dining in Hell......

Kirsten Dwight ©️ ShrubberyLogistic