The devil downstairs

Joe Emerald grunted and pulled the sheets over his head. "Lemme sleep," he muttered.

"Wake up, Joe!" This time his wife's fingers dug into his shoulder. "I tell you, somebody's in the house! For heaven's sake, wake up!"

"Let him," mumbled Joe again. "What d'ya want me to do, get up and make him a cup of coffee? Go to sleep, Pearl, there's nobody...." He began to snore.

Out in the living room, a lamp fell to the floor with a crash, Joe sat erect, startled, awake. "Whassat!" he exclaimed.

"In a private dick's house?" asked Joe. "And what could he find here—except bills?"

"He could be a kidnapper!" said his wife in a frantic whisper. "Joe, please get your gun and go out there, before I do it myself!"

"He's going into the children's bedroom!" gasped Pearl. "Oh, Joe...." She leaped from bed, fumbled for her bathrobe.

"Stay right here!" said Joe, almost savagely. He was out of bed now, and his fingers closed around his gun in its shoulder holster hanging over the chair. He opened the bedroom door, stepped out into the darkness of the living room beyond. A few quick steps took him to the door of the children's room, which was closed. He laid a hand on the knob, then whirled swiftly as a door shut softly somewhere at the rear of the house.

"Basement door," he muttered. "He's going down in the basement; must have heard Pearl yakking. Well, he won't get out that way!"

He made his way swiftly to the kitchen, halted an instant at the basement door. Beyond it he heard a queer scurrying, clicking noise. Then silence.

The basement had no outlet other than the door at which he stood, and the windows were merely glass blocks set into the concrete wall, and did not open, except for small ventilators built into them. Whoever was down there would have to come up this stairway if he intended to leave the house. But Joe did not intend to let him leave.

He opened the door, slid his hand inside in the darkness, flicked on the light switch. The basement was instantly flooded with brilliant light from the hundred-watt bulbs Joe had put in. Up at the head of the stairs it was less glaring to Joe's eyes than it must have been to the intruder. He had an advantage, and he followed it up quickly. He leaped down the stairway, halfway, and brandished his gun. "Put 'em up!" he snarled. "Don't make a move, or I'll put lead in your liver!"

Slowly Joe advanced down the stairs, crouching to get as early a view as possible of the entire basement, until his head came below the floor joists. Nothing was in sight, but he heard a slight sound behind the oil burner, which was the only place in the basement beyond view.

"Okay," he said. "You're behind the oil burner. Just step out with your hands up, and don't make any false moves. And don't think you can pot me—I'm the best pistol shot in this state, bar none. When Joe Emerald shoots at something, he hits it."

There was no answer. Cautiously Joe stepped down the last two steps to the concrete floor, then walked toward the oil burner's square bulk. He approached it from the end that offered the widest passage between it and the wall, eyes alert for the slightest sign of a protruding gun. But there was nothing.

He took the last step that gave him a clear view of the space behind the burner and stopped dead in his tracks.

"A commendable habit, if done to sufficient excess," said a deep, hoarse, almost animal-like voice.

Joe Emerald stared at the creature confronting him, and the creature stared back.

"Are you swearing, or simply making an observation?" asked the hairy creature, eyeing him intently with its slanted, lidless eyes.

"So you're observing," said the creature in disappointment. "Yes, I'm green. What of it?"

"You don't seem to question my identity," observed the creature. "Most people think the devil is human. Merely a case of identifying themselves with a superior being, I assure you."

"I came down here to direct a crime wave—the most ambitious I've attempted in years. This is a very corrupt town, you know."

"What better place than the home of a private detective? I always like to have the law on my side, and it usually is."

The Devil grinned. Joe almost dropped his gun. It was hardly a face adaptable to grinning. The resulting grimace was only recognizable as such with the aid of a sort of sixth sense. The intended humor came through, but the physical aspect was soul-shaking.

"I won't need to," the Devil assured him. "I do it all with hypnotism. In a few minutes you will walk back up those stairs, just as you came down them, and tell your wife what she heard was only a cat, and that you put it out. She won't suspect that you are still in the basement, temporarily occupying my body, while the man returning to the delights of his wedded chamber is a being truly capable of utilizing her particular talents to the greatest advantage. She may wonder at your sudden virility, but I believe she will be rather pleased, if not delighted."

"Not now. Used to have a police dog, but my wife made me get rid of it—too savage with kids around, she said. I used to keep it chained down here."

"Oh, excellent," said the Devil. "I see the chain now, fastened to the wall. Must have been a big devil. Ideal! A collar and all. Will be handy to see that you don't walk off with my body while I'm using yours."

It was Joe's turn to grin. He did so crookedly. "Won't work," he said. "I'm not suggestible. Can't be hypnotized, in other words. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed," said the Devil. "Very interested! You are rather unusual."

"Force. Tried and true, my most effective method. All through the ages I've used force. Great conquerors have done my work merely by force of arms. More lately I've preferred intrigue, cold war stuff, you know, but since you are from the old school, I'll just have to overpower you."

The Devil advanced slowly, flexing his hairy arms and going into a crouch, almost ludicrously reminiscent of a boxer's stance.

Deliberately Joe leveled his gun and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening in the close confines of the basement, but the Devil didn't waver. He grinned his horrible grin once more and pointed to a flattened piece of lead on the floor. "Neat trick, don't you think?" he asked. "If I were vulnerable to bullets, I'd have been holed rather frequently. Even silver bullets, silly superstition, are of no avail. Put up your dukes, my friend. I'm going to slap you silly."

The door at the head of the stairs opened, and Pearl's voice rang through the basement. "Joe! Joe, are you all right!"

"Cornered!" exclaimed the Devil. "Why you grandstander, you! Even while facing me, you can blow your horn to your wife! What a phony. Maybe it's time she got a real break...."

Joe Emerald threw his gun carefully and swiftly through the air, and as the Devil ducked it neatly, he hurled his six-foot-one of well-trained muscle and bone at the hairy figure. They came together with a crash, and for an instant the Devil reeled back.

"If it's force you want," snarled Joe, "maybe I'm not unversed in its application. Ever seen any jiu jitsu?"

"Invented it," said the Devil, evading a hold, and applying one of his own. Joe whirled through the air and went to the concrete floor with a crash. But he was up in an instant, his hurtling body cracked into the Devil's knees, and both went down in a heap. In an instant they were thrashing around in a violent tangle of arms and legs. Joe crashed a fist home into the Devil's mid-section, and the Devil grunted. Then a back-handed slap from the Devil's hand rattled the teeth in Joe's skull. Brilliant lights danced before his eyes. Instantly the Devil threw his hairy body atop Joe's and bore him back, both shoulders flat against the floor. A taloned claw gripped his throat, and began to squeeze. Joe thrashed around, but he could not throw off the Devil's weight, which seemed to increase immensely by the second.

"Great help, the knowledge of how to increase gravity," observed the Devil, tightening his grasp on Joe's throat. "As soon as consciousness leaves you, I'll make the transference, and then we'll chain you by your own dog's collar and leave you here."

Joe Emerald thrashed wildly, but the lights in the basement began to grow dim as his wind was cut off. Despair swept over him in a wave as black as the approaching unconsciousness.

There was a dull thud, a groan, and the grip on his throat lessened, fell away altogether. In a whirling haze of black, he heard a mumble, "Women ... always bruising my head...."

"Get up, Joe!" she begged. "Please get up. I've knocked him out with the snow shovel."

Joe shook his head to clear it, and the lights seemed to come back on. He climbed to his feet, stood wavering as he stared about. Pearl was clinging to him, staring down at the floor. He looked down. The Devil was lying flat on his stomach, and across him lay the snow shovel with which Pearl had hit him. There was a goose-egg on the back of the Devil's bald head, and it was getting bigger by the second.

"We've got to get out of here!" said Pearl. "Get the kids and go! He'll come to pretty soon and then..." she began to shudder uncontrollably. "He's the Devil!" she sobbed.

"I guess he is," admitted Joe. "But it won't do any good to run from him. Has never helped in the past."

His eyes roved about the basement, fell upon the chain fastened to the wall, with its steel collar.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "We'll chain him to the wall with Rover's chain. That'll give us time to decide what to do."

He grabbed the Devil by the heels, dragged him over to the wall. Opening the collar, he placed it around the Devil's thick neck, and snapped it shut. It clicked with a satisfying air of finality. Joe jerked it several times to see that it was tight.

"And I think the kids have heard the commotion and are coming to investigate," said Joe. "You get upstairs—head them off. We can't let them see this..."

Pearl ran for the stairs, and called up to them. "No, Jimmy—Sally, don't come down! Mother's coming up. Everything's all right."

The sleepy sound of the children's voices came to Joe's ears as she disappeared up the stairs, and they were cut off suddenly as she shut the door. He could hear the sound of their feet on the floor above as she marshalled them back to their beds.

"Never had any use for snow shovels," said the Devil, struggling to a sitting position. The chain around his neck rattled and his eyes widened. He looked at the chain, and at the bolt that held it into the wall. He took the chain in both hands.

"Never saw a chiseling contractor's cement I couldn't pull a bolt out of," he said.

Joe picked up the snow shovel and stood watchfully waiting. The Devil tugged at the bolt, then yanked furiously. At length he leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Just made up my mind there wasn't going to be any plaster cracking in this house," said Joe.

"It doesn't seem that it will," said the Devil. "But never mind, it won't make any difference in the long run. If there's anything I've got lots of, it's time. I'll figure out a way to get out of here. Meantime I'd advise you to stay out of my reach. And don't think that shovel would help you—it's only women who can put dents in my noggin. And your wife won't get a second chance—the woman doesn't live whom I can't hypnotize in one second."

"Thanks for telling me," said Joe. "I'll see that she stays out of the basement."

"Why don't you go back to bed," advised the Devil. "I've got to think about this situation."

Joe thought a minute. "Nothing," he agreed finally. "But it seems to me that you are in the same boat. You can't loose yourself from that chain, and as long as I keep people out of the basement, your presence here will be a secret. Okay, you think about it, and I'll go upstairs and do the same. Seems to me that this thing can be turned to good, somehow."

"While I'm down here you can't do much else," said the Devil dourly. "But it can't last—it never has. This concrete will disintegrate finally..."

Joe Emerald stared at the Devil a moment, then turned and went thoughtfully up the stairs. At the top, he flicked the switch and the basement went dark. Peering down, he could see only two balefully glowing yellow orbs, slanted and evil, shining in the darkness.

He opened the cellar door, stepped into the room above and closed the door behind him. Pearl stood in the doorway of the living room, staring anxiously at him. He looked at her a moment, and suddenly he grinned.

He walked over and took her in his arms and kissed her. "It's not what we're going to do," he said. "What's he going to do?"

"Nothing, so far as I can see," said Joe. "As long as nobody goes near him, he's helpless." His eyes lit up. "Maybe this is the beginning of that thousand years the Bible says he's to be chained!"

As the weeks passed, her doubt began to fade. It began to become increasingly evident that the Devil couldn't break the chain that held him, and he had even ceased rattling it. Joe had nailed the basement door shut so the kids couldn't open it, and had promised them a spanking if they tried. Strangely enough, they had accepted the warning without comment, and had, indeed, behaved like little angels. Neither of them had even approached the door. As a matter of fact, they had been a source of constant surprise because of their good behavior in all respects. There hadn't even been a quarrel over toys.

"Why, nothing," said Pearl. "They've been just as happy and contented as they can be."

"I think they are. When's the last time Jimmy has complained about Sally kicking him?"

"I..." Pearl hesitated. "Sally hasn't been kicking him. So why should he complain?"

"Not much of a point," said Pearl. "I think it's natural she should outgrow it."

"Certainly. I have the television on at noon every day. Richard Z. Hardlett gives the complete news every day."

"Not much of anything. Just things like the National Association of Church Socials is holding a big social in Washington, and the President's going to attend...."

"No murders, no robberies, no sex crimes, no Jack-the-Rippers, no embezzlings, no politicians stirring up trouble in Syria so they can raise the price of American gasoline?"

"I'm driving at another point," said Joe. "The second point is that the world's kind of peaceful all of a sudden—some change!"

"It's the Devil. He's chained up in our basement, and he can't go around stirring up trouble! That's why there isn't any crime going on! Crime has taken a holiday while the Devil is chained up. Oh, Joe, isn't it wonderful!"

"Yes," said Joe. "It's wonderful. If it gets much more wonderful, I don't see how we're going to pay our bills."

"Yes. I haven't made a dime in two weeks! Not one single client has come into my office since the night we chained old Beelzebub to the basement wall."

Pearl looked thoughtful. "Do you really think that he can't do any mischief while he's chained up? It doesn't seem to me that he's always been present at the scene of every crime. How could he be? Why, he'd have to be in a million places at once."

Joe shrugged. "I used to think that he did it all with a sort of world-wide influence. Something like a powerful mental wave that suggested all sorts of evil things to susceptible people—which is almost everybody."

"Or maybe he has his imps to carry out his orders—and they can't get to him now to get their usual briefing."

She shook her head. "No. And even at night, when you have been at the office, I've not felt alarmed at the possibility of a prowler. I've had a sort of confidence that there wouldn't be any. I do believe it's true—the Devil is completely helpless to spread his evil influence outside our basement."

"I guess you're right," admitted Joe. "I've felt the same thing—that feeling of there being nothing to worry about. I even trust the other guy when he's coming up behind me on the road, not to try to pass on a hill or a curve. He doesn't even blow his horn when you miss the red light changing to green. Everything's sweetness and light."

"You'll just have to get another job. If you're not to get any more clients, you might as well quit being a private detective and look for something else to do."

"I'll have to," said Joe. "Our bank account won't last that long if we have to tap it each month for all our living expenses, that's sure! And we've got to keep up our payments on the mortgage, or we'll lose the house."

"We can't let that happen!" exclaimed Pearl. "If anybody ever goes down in that basement, the Devil will be loose again, and he'll be awful mad. The world would take a real beating...."

"I rather suspect he'd go hog-wild for a time," Joe agreed. "And he'd probably want to take it all out on us. Revenge would be his first thought."

"Then you've got to get another job. Right away. We don't want to miss a single payment!"

"Nor any meals," said Joe. "Which reminds me, I wonder if the Devil ever gets hungry?"

"I never thought of it," confessed Pearl, a slight expression of contrition crossing her features. "The idea of the Devil eating is just something that I've never considered, nor knew anybody who did consider it."

"Don't you even begin to think he might!" said Joe in sudden alarm. "He doesn't eat, that's all there is to it. Even if he did, it would be just for pleasure—and it won't hurt him to go without. Besides, it would be the best thing that ever happened on this old world if he did starve to death."

"Don't worry," said Pearl. "I couldn't go down in that basement for love or money!"

Joe looked at her sharply. "You'd better not—for either of them!" he said. "I'll do the loving around here, and I'll make the money!"

The sound of running feet interrupted him, and he turned to the door to see Jimmy and Sally coming in from their play. Their faces were flushed, shining with exertion and health.

Joe lifted her in his arms and held her high with a grin. "Sure thing, little girl," he said. "Come on into the parlor, Jimmy, and we'll rattle one off."

Joe seated himself on the easy chair and plumped Sally down beside him. He took the book from Jimmy and made room for the boy opposite Sally. He opened the book and read the title.

"Pandora's Box," he said. "The story of the little girl whose curiosity loosed all the troubles upon the wor...." He stopped suddenly and looked toward the kitchen where Pearl was rattling dishes preparing the supper.

Joe looked down at him. "I will," he said. "But I hope you realize this is only a fairy-tale, and didn't really happen?"

"Yes. He said it was almost like somebody had closed Pandora's box, the way things were going in the world these days. And how could anybody close the box if it wasn't real?"

"Sure. Now read it, Daddy. I want to know about Pandora's box, and how she opened it, and what happened."

"It shouldn't happen to a dog," said Joe, "then—or now." He glanced once more toward the kitchen. Then he began to read, but as he read, a gnawing worry began to creep through his mind.

The next evening Pearl greeted him at the door with excitement. "Did you hear the news?" she asked.

"The Devil? No. Not a sound out of him. It's got everybody excited. The newscasters have been giving it a big coverage."

"The disarmament agreement! The United States and Russia have agreed to scrap all armaments, disarm all the atom bombs, stop making them, and put in a foolproof system of inspection that will make it impossible for anybody in the world to make another atom bomb, or a missile, or even a bomber. Isn't it wonderful!"

"Sure is," agreed Joe. "But maybe it's just another Russian agreement. When the chips are down, they'll probably claim they never said any such thing."

"No! They've submitted plans and maps of all their atomic installations, their stockpiles, plans and details of their intercontinental ballistics missile, everything. The United States is going to do the same thing...."

Joe looked incredulous. "You mean the Russians voluntarily instituted this whole thing, and actually delivered the information...?"

"Yes. A team of scientists, diplomats and military men selected by the U. N. flew in, and the Russians showed them everything. Russian scientists, statesmen and military men are already on their way here to inspect our installations."

"It looks like, with the Devil tied up downstairs, this old world is headed for peace at last," said Joe.

"Finding a job isn't going to be easy. I'll bet I tried every plant in town today, and at every one, the story's the same. They aren't hiring—in fact, they are laying men off."

"Yes. As one personnel man put it: 'The men are working like beavers—every one of them putting in an honest day's labor. We're over-producing like mad.' The Union fined twelve bricklayers today for laying more than ninety-six bricks an hour."

"I've got to go to the bank first," said Joe. "Tomorrow's mortgage payment day. Just how much do we have in the bank?"

Pearl looked shocked. "You will find a job before that!" she exclaimed positively.

The day Joe paid the second mortgage payment out of savings deposit funds, she was forced to admit that he might not.

"Romburg-Smith closed down today," Joe reported weariedly. "The army cancelled their jet motor contract. Twenty-two million dollars worth. All in all, the army's cancelled sixteen billion dollars worth of contracts in the last thirty days. The President's estimate of unemployment today is up to twenty-eight million. There were food riots in Indianapolis...."

"No, not exactly," admitted Joe. "The newspapers called it a riot, because they're desperate for news, these days, and anything at all that will give them an excuse for some sensational adjectives for the headlines, they'll jump on. As a matter of fact, it was just a mass-meeting to request federal aid held in the courthouse square. There were signs reading 'Give us jobs, or give us food.' All very orderly and politely. But I keep thinking that hunger is a very primitive instinct, and I keep thinking of the Devil downstairs, and what he'd have to say about it."

"You know what he'd say about it," said Pearl. "He'd suggest that they steal food."

"Well," said Joe, "when they get hungry enough, what will they do? It's just possible they won't need the Devil to suggest anything."

"But that's impossible," said Pearl, wide-eyed. "The Devil's responsible for all such things. With him out of action, people would never think of crime."

"No...." Pearl hesitated. "I guess it isn't. And I think if it got to the point where I couldn't put a meal on the table for Jimmy and Sally, I'd probably put a different interpretation on borrowing a few potatoes from old MacDonald's potato field."

"I wonder if the Devil's reputation is entirely deserved?" said Joe. "He's chained up in our basement, but the situation that's building up in the world is becoming explosive."

"Maybe he's not as helpless as we think," ventured Pearl. "Maybe he can control things mentally, even from down there in the basement?"

"When he told me to go upstairs and go to bed—he mentioned something about not being able to do anything but good while he was down there."

"No, me. He said I'd not be able to do much else, when I said maybe this thing could be turned to good, somehow. He seemed pretty certain that I didn't have much choice in the matter."

"I'm worried because it has occurred to me that the Old Boy has always been an egotist. Maybe he's not the big-shot he thinks he is, controlling all the evil in the world. Maybe he hasn't got a monopoly, and never had."

"I don't believe it," said Pearl. "The Bible says Satan is the author of all evil."

"Maybe you're right," said Joe. "And if you are, and he should get loose with the world in the potentially dangerous position it now occupies, all hell could break loose."

Joe clapped his hand to his head. "It's in the basement!" he exclaimed. "How come he didn't ask to read it last month!"

"I told him we were fumigating the basement for termites," said Pearl. "So he said he'd make our reading out for the same amount of power we used the month before. But what'll I tell him this time?"

"Tell him we're fumigating again—that the first time didn't take! He can't go down into that basement!"

"That's a good question. But maybe by that time he won't need to go into the basement."

"Because I haven't paid the bill for two months. One more and they'll cut us off at the pole."

Pearl looked startled. Then she smiled. "No. I'm asking you not to let the Devil have a chance to get loose. Certainly that's not a crime."

"From the Devil's view-point, maybe. But it isn't from mine. Anything as dangerous as he is, should be locked up. I don't think there is a jury in the world that would disagree with me in that respect."

The next day, impossible as it seemed, all hell did break loose. Joe Emerald was waiting in line with a hundred other men to check with the unemployment bureau. One of the men had a portable radio, and although he had it tuned so low that only he could hear it, his shout was something everybody could hear.

He turned up the volume, and for a few stunned moments Joe listened to the excited voice of the announcer blurting out a complete lack of details other than a variety of ways of expressing the single detail that he did have—that the President had been shot.

The man beside him frowned. "A nut ..." he began, then sidled away. But now Joe whirled and ran from the building. There was only one thought in his mind. A crime had been committed, and it could only mean one thing—the Devil was loose!

Within ten minutes he raced up the steps to his own front door and hurled it open. In the living room he almost ran into Pearl, who uttered a low cry of alarm.

"Why, Joe, whatever are you talking about. He's not loose. The door's nailed tight, just like it has been for two months. And besides, I've been hearing him down there all morning."

Joe ran into the kitchen, inspected the door. It was intact, and so were the nails. He ran out of the house and peered through the glass bricks of the basement windows, but could see nothing because of the wavy pattern in them that permitted only light, but not vision through them.

"The President's been assassinated and that's what's wrong," said Joe heavily. "And if that isn't a crime, what is?"

Pearl ran to the television and turned it on. In a moment they were listening to almost hysterical voices, and watching equally hysterical scenes, as television cameras wheeled into position in the nation's capital and took shots of milling throngs, and announcers interviewed individuals who gave varied incoherent statements and expressions of grief that were obviously inspired only by the desire to be on television.

Abruptly the scene switched to a newscaster in the newsroom of the network, and a more calm voice was giving a coherent, though tense account of world news.

"Even as the President fell before an assassin's bullet," he was saying, "violence is flaring in all parts of the world. In Barcelona a mad mass of rioters is looting the city, led by rebel army factions who have taken over the arsenal and established a new government. The trouble seems to have broken out with unbelievable swiftness, and already the U. S. Air Base has been attacked and it has been reported that some fighting is actually going on. Air Force property will be defended, according to a Pentagon spokesman, in spite of the possibility of a rift with the government of the country, although just who is the government at this moment cannot be said with any certainty.

"In Algiers, all communications have been cut off, but it is reported that French citizens are being murdered wholesale in a ghastly blood bath.

"In Paris, gangs of looters are battling police, and similar scenes are being enacted in a dozen other European cities.

"But here in America there is a sort of a stunned silence and inactivity as the nation learns of the murder of the President. No one seems to know who fired the shot, but there is a growing rumor that it was a senator who performed the deed. Impossible as it seems, there were five senators in the White House at the time, and none of them can be located now, in the confusion that has engulfed the home of the President. No one seems to know which five they were...."

The scene switched once more to a camera near the White House and incoherence reigned supreme.

"That's covering the news?" snorted Joe. "But what's that you were saying before about hearing noises all morning from the basement? I thought the Devil had been quiet as a mouse for weeks?"

"A mouse," said Pearl. "A great big mouse. He's been squeaking all morning, and his claws keep clicking on the floor as though he were doing the St. Vitus Dance."

"I'm going to go down and see if the Devil's still securely chained. Maybe he's working loose."

"Be careful," she said. "If he has, he might be waiting for you to pull those nails out."

"You grab the snow shovel, and stand behind me waiting. If he is loose, close your eyes and swing. Don't look into his eyes under any circumstances."

Pearl went into the broom closet and got the snow shovel. She stationed herself in readiness while Joe pulled the nails. They squeaked protestingly, and from down in the basement came an answering squeak.

"I'm not going to get close enough for him to jump me," said Joe positively. "One move from him, and I'll come up these stairs like a shot. Then if he's following, you clout him as he comes past...."

The door was open now and Joe began his exploration. He snapped on the basement light. The squeaking stopped instantly. He went slowly down the stairs.

"He's still sitting beside the wall, and the chain's still tight," he said over his shoulder to Pearl. "I can see that from here."

"There's something...." Joe's voice trailed off. He went to the bottom of the stairs, looked at the Devil. The Devil was staring back at him, but there was no glimmer of intelligence or recognition in them. Nothing but a cowering alertness, an unblinking stare that looked almost like a trapped animal.

There was no comment from the Devil. Nothing but another squeak, and this time the Devil scrabbled his claws about on the floor in a nervous chittering way.

"You're ... a mouse!" yelled Joe. He lifted his gun and aimed between the Devil's eyes, then pulled the trigger. The gun roared in the confines of the basement, and the Devil slumped to the floor. Once or twice he kicked, then his mouth fell open, and he sagged into a limp heap.

Pearl descended the stairs hesitantly, the snow shovel held at the ready, her eyes averted from the wall where the Devil was chained. "I don't see any mouse," she said. "Where is it?"

"Chained...." Pearl looked toward the Devil and her mouth dropped open. Then she shrieked. "He's dead!" she cried out. "You've shot him."

"He's dead all right," said Joe. "But that isn't the Devil—only his body. He's traded bodies with a mouse, and he's escaped. He's loose in the world, Pearl, and he's on a rampage. And sooner or later he'll be coming back here for revenge...."

"We've got to get out of here," said Joe. "Upstairs, and go find the kids. We're leaving the city as fast as the car can take us. We'll go up to the country to your mother's. Maybe the Devil won't know where to find us. And maybe, in the body of a mouse, he won't be able to."

"But he won't be in the body of a mouse," said Pearl. "He'd change that almost the minute he got out of the house. No telling who's the Devil now!"

"You're right," said Joe. "All the more reason to get out of here quick. Go find the kids, while I throw our clothes in the car."

Pearl dropped the snow shovel and raced out of the basement. Joe walked over to the corpse of the Devil and gave it a kick.

"Dead all right, no doubt about it," he muttered to himself. Then he turned and went upstairs. In a moment he was stuffing clothing from all the bureau drawers and the closets into their traveling bags. When they were full he carried them out to the car. Then he went back in and came out with his arms full.

"Yeah," complained Jimmy. "What's the big rush? It was my turn to bat, and we were only sixteen runs behind...."

"We're going to Grandma's," said Joe. "Going up to the farm for a little vacation."

"He's loose all right," said Joe, and Pearl nodded palely. She shook Sally and shoved her toward the car.

"Get into the car, both of you," she ordered. "I've got a few things to get from the house, and I'll be right out."

Joe groaned. "Never mind all that stuff," he said. "We've got to get out of here."

"I'm not going to get 'all that stuff'," said Pearl. "There are a few things a woman has to have, and a man would never think of. I won't be a minute."

And she wasn't. Almost before Joe had the kids settled in the back seat, she reappeared carrying her large purse and stuffing an assortment of things hastily into it as she ran toward the car.

"All right," she said, slipping into the front seat. "Let's go. The sooner we get away from the house, the better I'll like it."

"Not me," said Jimmy darkly. "If I don't get to milk the cow, I'd rather stay here."

Sally kicked him again, and he punched her in the ribs. But her answering wail lasted but a few seconds when she observed that neither of her parents was paying any attention. She frowned at them and looked back at the house as they roared away from it.

A half-hour later, as they passed from the suburbs out into the open country, she said: "Mommy, why did you leave the front door open?"

Three hours later they were well upstate, and Joe began to breathe easier. He turned on the radio. There was music on the station to which it was tuned. He began to twist the dial.

"I'll get some news if some is being broadcast," said Pearl. "This isn't the time for news broadcasts, usually."

She turned the dial past several stations giving musical programs, another where a strident nasal voice was selling something that turned out to be horehound cough syrup which also cured dyspepsia, rheumatiz and cancer. After ten minutes of spiel, a polka began rolling out the barrel and it was obvious there would be no news on this station. Pearl went on down the dial.

"... has settled over the city of Barcelona," said a voice. "Temporarily, a calm has replaced the rioting, and apparently the city is peaceful. What caused the sudden cessation in violence is not apparent at the moment, but the new government has stepped in and announced over the seized radio that they have assumed control and have the situation in hand.

"In Algiers, French troops are pursuing rebel raiders, who are fleeing in disorder, their initial ferocity seeming to have dissolved as rapidly as it had begun.

"Here in this country, of course, the sensational news is the suicide of Senator Schnort, who went suddenly insane, screaming that he had been hypnotized, and that he had murdered the President. He apparently used the same gun to blow out his own brains that he had used on the President."

For the next half-hour, they listened to a recital of a wave of madness that had swept the world, to be followed by a calm almost as unnatural. Then, finally, Joe switched off the radio and turned to Pearl.

"He's stopped rampaging around, and now he's probably looking for us," said Joe. He looked at his wife, and looked back at the road ahead. Then he turned to glance at her once more. She was still looking out of the rear window.

"That car," she said. "It's been sticking right behind us for miles. I think he's following us."

Joe took a quick look in the rear-vision mirror. Behind them was a new 1957 Mercury, and at the wheel was a hatless, black-haired man who seemed intent on the back of Joe's car. The man was alone in the Mercury.

"We're going pretty fast," said Joe. "Just because he's been behind us awhile doesn't mean he's following us. Now don't get to thinking every car is following us, and the Devil's behind every tree, waiting to spring out on us."

Joe lifted his foot very slowly off the gas pedal and the speedometer needle began dropping from 65 to 60, then down to 55, and slowly and steadily down to 40. The car behind made no move to pass, and Joe dropped the speed down to 30, then to 25. Still the Mercury clung to their rear.

"Not necessarily," said Joe. "I've had drivers like this behind me many times. But we will soon find out if he is following us." He tramped on the gas, and the car leaped ahead. In a moment he had the speed up to 70, and kept increasing it until they were hurtling along at 90. The Mercury stayed right behind them.

Jimmy's voice came in his ear now. "Beat him, Daddy!" he said excitedly. "Race him good. He can't beat us!"

"He could if he wanted to," muttered Joe to himself. He eased off on the gas again, and the needle dropped to 65 once more.

"I don't know yet," said Joe. "We'll find out in the town just ahead. I'm going to take a few turns ..." his voice trailed off.

As they passed the city limits, Joe dropped his speed to well below the posted limit and watched for a stop light ahead. Finally, he saw one, and he timed his arrival. Abruptly, as he reached it, he shot the car through the amber light just as the red flashed on. The Mercury stopped for the red light, and as the image receded in the rear-vision mirror, Joe breathed easier. "He didn't go through the red light," he said.

Pearl was watching. "The light's changing again," she said. "He's coming up pretty fast."

Joe put on his right-turn light and made a normal turn at the next corner. The Mercury made the turn too. Joe made another right turn two blocks down. The Mercury made one too.

Once again he maneuvered the car back onto the main highway and then continued through the heart of town. The Mercury was right behind, but now there was a car which had slipped in between. Joe timed his speed again, and once more barely made it through an amber light before the red. The car behind him halted, and so did the Mercury, by necessity. Joe poured on the gas and at the next corner turned right. He sped to the next block, turned right again, then left at an alley. He roared through it, turned right once more, and raced three blocks along the way they had come, and finally made another right turn back to the main street. He was lucky, and made it through a green light. Several more turns, and he headed straight out of town at right angles to his original route. Moments later they found themselves on a gravel road marked County Trunk M.

Pearl, who had been watching alertly all the while, turned and sat down facing the front again. "Nothing," she said. "You've shaken him."

"I was lucky," Joe observed. "Got every break. Now we will take a few byways for awhile, and then take a look at the map and see where we are. We can get to your mother's by another route. We'll get there late tonight, but at least we've lost the Devil for awhile—if that's who he was."

"Ed Sullivan, trying to sell another Mercury," joked Joe. But deep inside him he didn't feel humorous. Did the Devil have a way of knowing where they were? This first time it was conceivable that he'd caught them leaving the house, and had followed them all the way. But if he hadn't, then he had some other way of knowing, and if that was true, they wouldn't really have ditched him. He'd pick up the trail again, and all his evasive tactics would have been in vain.

Joe looked at her. "You've been thinking the same thing I have," he said. "I hope that's how he found us!"

"Okay, son. But you'll have to wait until we find a town. Then we'll stop at a restaurant."

"How are you going to find a town on this road?" said Jimmy disgustedly. "Why did you go on such a bumpy road. Is this the way to Grandma's house?"

Joe gripped the wheel tightly. "Horns?" he asked, staring at Pearl. "What man with horns?"

"He did too have horns," said Jimmy. "I didn't like him, and I'm glad you got away from him. But now I'm hungry."

"I'm glad too, son," said Joe. He licked his lips. "But it must have been that man's hair that looked like horns. He didn't really have any."

"When are we going to get to a restaurant?" inquired Jimmy impatiently. "I'm awful hungry!"

Pearl laid a hand on Joe's arm. "Don't press it, Joe. Sometimes children see things grownups can't. Let him forget it."

Joe nodded, and for a moment there was silence. Then Jimmy's voice piped up again.

They had eaten, having eventually found a small town with a restaurant, and now they were on their way again. The children were asleep in the back seat, and Pearl was studying a road map with the aid of a dash light that came on when she opened the ashtray.

"A few miles more, and we will be on Highway 10. That will run into 38, and we can take that down to 26. From there it's only ten miles to Mother's place."

Pearl began adding the figures on the map. Finally, she said, "About one hundred and thirty."

"Can't be helped," said Pearl. "Unless we stop at the next town and phone ahead."

"Good idea. We'll do it. Then they can have a place ready for the kids. They'll be crabby when we wake them, and if the bed's ready, we can just dump them into it."

They drove on a few minutes in silence, then Pearl said, "The Devil's in a very unusual position."

"Well, if you actually killed his real body while he was out of it, then I presume it's useless to him any more."

"Then he'll have to continue to use the bodies of other people, or of other—things."

"Won't change things any," observed Joe. "He used other people's bodies at will anyway. At least that's what he inferred when he talked about hypnotizing me and using my body. Now he'll just have to do it all the time. Nobody knew when he was among them before, and that hasn't changed."

"The point is, he hasn't any body of his own, any more. If it were me, I'd be very much disturbed and put out about it. And I'd be determined to get even. Joe, we're running away now, and we've eluded him for now, but how can we do it all our lives? Sooner or later he'll find us, and we'll have to live in fear of that moment at all times. I don't think I can face the prospect."

"But now you are jumping to conclusions," argued Joe. "How do you know he can find us? Does he even know our names?"

"I ... I don't think so," confessed Pearl. "We never mentioned it—but didn't you say he knew you were a private detective, and that's why he selected you as his base of operations for whatever it was he wanted to stir up in our town?"

"Yes, he did," admitted Joe. "So I'll grant you, it is most likely that he does know our name. So we can change it."

"What kind of a life is it going to be, living under assumed names, looking into dark corners, suspecting every person we see?" said Pearl, almost in tears. "I don't think I can take it."

"He's not all-powerful," said Joe. "Otherwise he'd have the whole roost to himself. The churches wouldn't exist...."

He looked suddenly at Pearl. "The churches!" he exclaimed. "They've been his competition for two thousand years—they must know something about how to handle him! We'll go to a priest, get his advice. I've heard of certain rites and chants to exorcise devils. They must have one for Satan himself!"

"When we get to the next town, I'll call Mother," said Pearl, "and you go to the parish house and talk to the priest. Maybe there's something he can do to help us be prepared. We might need that help even tonight. I keep feeling that there is a way the Devil knows things, and that he'd know where to find us when he wants to."

"Maybe in his own body, yes. But in a human body, he might be subject to some limitations. Let's hope clairvoyance is one of the things he won't be able to exercise to full effect."

Joe didn't answer her. He was looking at some headlights coming up behind them. For several miles he watched them, then breathed in relief as they turned off. At least the Devil hadn't found them yet.

They came to a small town soon, and stopped at a filling station across from a church. Pearl used the phone while Joe had the car gassed up. He questioned the attendant and found that the priest lived right next door to the church, and that he usually was in at this time of the evening.

When the car had been serviced, he pulled it over to the side and waited until Pearl came out of the station.

Joe crossed the street and went up to the door of the parish house. He rang the bell. The housekeeper came to the door and welcomed him in with a smile.

"Father Lengowski will be out in a moment," she said, indicating a chair in the waiting room.

Joe had barely settled himself when the priest walked in. He was a jovial type, and his voice was booming. "What can I do for you, young man?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Joe hesitantly, "I came for a little information, and perhaps for a little advice."

"Not in the usual way," said Joe. "But I am in trouble. Maybe I'd better explain it. You see, several months ago the Devil came to my house, and said he was going to set up headquarters for some new deviltry he had in mind in my town. He also said he was going to use my body while he was there, and that he'd take over by hypnosis. Well, I can't be hypnotized, so it didn't work—but we scuffled. He was choking me, and would have gained control of my body except for my wife. She hit him over the head with a snow shovel, and while he was unconscious we chained him to the basement wall where I formerly kept a big dog of mine. We nailed the basement door shut, and left him there. But he finally escaped, by changing bodies with a mouse. That's when this trouble in the world started—you'll recollect that for several months, crime and evil had taken a holiday...."

He stopped, and eyed the priest, who had been staring at him and licking his lips. "You don't believe me," he said.

"It isn't a matter of belief," said the priest. "But granting that all this is true, what do you want of me?"

"Just some information. For instance, I believe the Church knows some means of exorcism, or some way of overcoming the Devil's influence."

"Well, yes, there are such things. But why do you wish to know this? As you say, the Devil is no longer at your house...."

"Well, that is, I shot the Devil's body, thus killing the mouse. Of course, it also made it impossible for the Devil to regain his own body—it was quite dead and useless."

"Well, you see, the Devil is very angry with us, and he's been following us in a Mercury. We eluded him in a town awhile back, and now we're on our way to my wife's mother's place, to sort of hide out awhile. But if he should find us, we'd like some sort of defense...."

"Exorcism might work," said Father Lengowski nervously. "But we'd have to have the Devil, or the possessed person, right before us, and you couldn't do it. I don't believe I could do it. Perhaps the Bishop...."

"I'm afraid such a complicated procedure won't help, Father Lengowski. There won't be time, if he should appear. What I want is something we can use ourselves, in an emergency."

"Well, there is an old stand-by," said Father Lengowski, "very simple. I will give you a blessed crucifix, and you merely hold it before you, thrusting it out at the Devil, and utter the words 'Get Thee behind me, Satan.'"

"Good. You wait here, and I'll get a crucifix." The priest hastened from the room, closing the door behind him. But it did not latch securely, and slowly swung open again. And Joe heard the priest's voice speaking urgently on the phone in the hallway outside. He heard a few words, and then, face growing red, he leaped to his feet and made his way swiftly to the door. He let himself out and ran down the steps and across the street to the car. He piled into the front seat and jabbed his thumb on the starter button.

"Nothing much. That priest thinks I'm a nut, and he's calling the local gendarmes. We've got to get out of here before we wind up in the bug-pokey. I've learned one thing in there—we can't go around saying the Devil's chasing us in a Mercury!"

"Oh, Joe!" said Pearl, then subsided, her face strained in the darkness as Joe drove hastily out of town.

It was after midnight, and Joe sighed in relief. He was tired of driving, and the tension had been telling on him. He had found himself staring at the rear-view mirror half the time, almost dreading the appearance of any headlights coming from behind. And when they had appeared, he had waited anxiously, slowing the car for the headlights to pass. They always did, but he continually expected that they would not, that instead they would pull up behind, and settle into steady pursuit.

"Heavens, no!" said Pearl. "At least not for a few days. We can tell Dad, though. I think, without too much trouble. He's always believed me, and he will still, I know."

"Then mum's the word until you break the ice," said Joe. "We'll just get the kids to bed, and then get to bed ourselves as fast as we can. There'll be plenty of time later to talk."

The porch light was on when he drove the car into the farmyard. A swarm of bugs flew dizzily around it, and literally coated the living-room window, where a light was on.

As he turned off the ignition, Pearl's mother appeared in the doorway. "I'll open the door and you come in quick," she called. "I don't want all these bugs to swarm in."

He turned to Pearl. "You take one of the suitcases and go ahead, get the bed ready. I'll bring Sally first, then come back for Jimmy. I don't think either of them will wake up."

The children did not wake, although Jimmy mumbled something about horns, and his grandmother thought it was very cute.

Grandmother looked at him blankly. "But he is. He's talking about somebody with horns. He's having a nightmare—oh, he isn't sick, is he?" Immediately she hovered over Jimmy like the epitome of anxiety itself.

"Of course not," Joe assured her. "He's sound as a bell. I merely meant I hoped he wasn't having a nightmare."

But as he put Jimmy down on the bed to which Grandmother led him, he was frowning slightly. It should not be like a small boy to dream of the Devil, especially if he didn't know he was the Devil. It didn't seem that the afternoon's experience should have created so deep an impression upon him that it would recur in his dreams. Did it mean that somehow Jimmy was sensing the Devil, and his possible nearness? Was the Devil really on their trail, homing in on them with some occult sense peculiarly his own?

Out in the living room, Pearl was engaging in animated conversation with her mother. Already they were inspecting pictures of the other seventy-seven grandchildren, and gossiping like mad. Joe interrupted.

"Mother," he said, "I've always admired your common sense, and I just know you want us all to go to bed immediately, and save all the visiting for tomorrow. Please don't let us keep you from your beauty rest."

"You're always so tactful," she said in return. "I've always said you were a wonderful son-in-law. A wonderful husband and father. A fine...."

"Thank you, Mother. Now show us where we sleep, and we'll let you get back into your comfy bed."

"Oh, no," protested Joe. "Pearl and I can sleep on the couch and davenport. No use you giving up your bed. Besides Dad doesn't like those broken springs on the couch ... do you, Dad?"

His father-in-law grinned. "Of course not, son. But you are dealing with your mother-in-law, and there's no arguing. For thirty years she has made a practice of making herself—and me—uncomfortable when the kids come home. She couldn't sleep if she wasn't putting herself out!"

"Yeah, I know," agreed Joe. "The Mother-Martyr complex. She's got the worst case I ever saw!"

"Who's kidding?" asked Joe, grinning at her. "Show me to my bedroom before you change your mind."

"And I keep thinking he'll find us," said Pearl. "Somehow, I have a feeling we're not fooling him at all."

"You know," said Pearl, "that's a good name for it! And right now I feel like a blip on a radar screen."

"But a mighty pretty blip," said Joe. He kissed her good night and then turned on his shoulder to go to sleep.

In the morning he awoke to find Pearl already up. He climbed into his clothes and went out into the kitchen. Pearl was sitting at the table, eating a grapefruit.

The kitchen door opened, and Dad came in, carrying a gallon jug full of fresh milk and two freshly picked musk-melons cradled in one arm. "First ones ripe," he said cheerfully. "We'll let you kids initiate the patch. Where's Mother? She can fix them for us...."

Dad deposited the melons on the sink and set the jug of milk in the refrigerator. "Neighbor? Wonder who'd stop out front, and not drive right into the yard...?"

He walked through the house to the front room, and peered out through the curtains. Then he came back.

"Here, let me get you another spoon," said Dad. "Floor's pretty dirty—we had thrashers here yesterday...."

The sound of footsteps on the back porch preceded the opening of the screen door. Pearl and Joe turned and stared.

"Why, Joe," said Pearl's mother. "You up already? You could have stayed in bed a couple more hours, and got your sleep out." She walked up to him, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Then she turned. "Dad, you found some ripe melons!" she exclaimed. "How lovely. I'll fix them right now, and we'll have them before I fix the pancakes."

Joe looked at Pearl, then sat down at a chair. "I'm starved," he said. "Those pancakes sound real good."

"I suppose you told him to take the next fork to the left, then turn right at Perkin's general store," said Dad.

She turned and put her hands on her hips. "Now, Dad, you know very well that is the way to Highway 13."

"Usually," agreed Dad. "But it's closed now. Under repair. If he takes it, he'll be axle-deep in sand inside a quarter mile."

"Oh, dear, I forgot about that," said Mother, anxiety showing itself on her face.

"Don't worry about it," said Dad. "If he does get stuck, he'll come walking back here, and I can make five dollars pulling him out with the tractor."

"You know you won't do any such thing," declared Mother. "You never charged anybody yet for pulling them out. Land sakes, you want Joe to think you're a highwayman?"

"Isn't that why you sent him that way, so I could make five dollars?" asked Dad, a twinkle in his eye.

"No, it isn't," said Mother. "But, come to think of it, it is a good idea, isn't it?"

"If I didn't know you," said Dad, "I'd say you meant that. You aren't usually a kidder, Mother. What's got into you?"

"Sometimes," said Joe, looking at her sharply. There was no twinkle in her eye. "But I didn't know you could do it with such a straight face?"

"Don't see why not," she said. She turned back to the sink. "Do you kids want some ice cream in your melons?"

"Dad will eat ice cream any time," she said, "and as long as he'll be having some, we might as well all do the same. These melons are delicious that way, and who cares what time of day it is?"

Jimmy's piping voice came from the doorway, and he pranced out into the kitchen in his shorts.

"Looks like I should have gotten some more melons," said Dad, beginning to move toward the door.

"Never mind," said Mother. "He can have my piece. I don't feel like eating anyway. Jimmy, go get some clothes on before you catch cold. This morning air is a bit chilly—Dad, close the door."

Dad chuckled as he made his way to the door to close it. "Like father, like son," he said. "Already he's kidding his Grandma! Hey, here comes that fellow already, walking back. He got stuck, all right!"

Pearl's chair fell over with a clatter as she rose abruptly to her feet. She faced the door, her face white.

Joe recognized him the minute he came to the door. It was the man who had been driving the Mercury the day before. But before he could utter a word, the man dashed into the kitchen, then ran for the living room without a backward glance.

"Hey, young feller!" exclaimed Dad. "Where you think you're going?" He began to follow, but almost immediately the young man reappeared, a crucifix clutched in his hand, and he faced Pearl's mother, brandishing it wildly.

Pearl leaped to the stove and picked up the poker. With a set expression on her face she ran toward the young man. Joe leaped forward and grabbed her.

Pearl froze in his grasp, and complete silence settled over the kitchen. Except for Jimmy. He was eyeing the young man brandishing the crucifix. "Daddy was right," he said. "You don't have red horns, Mister."

"Yes, son," said the young man, advancing toward the older woman. "He's got horns, all right! He's the Devil. But I won't have any Devil in my house!"

He advanced upon Pearl's mother, thrust out the crucifix and said in loud tones, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"

The old lady smiled, walked around the young man, and stood behind him. "Anything you wish," she said.

"Now, just a minute," said Dad, his bewilderment complete. "What in thunderation's going on here? Mother, I don't know what you think you're doing, but you're much too old to carry on like this with a strange young man. And don't banter with the Devil's name after all these years!"

The young man stood horror-stricken, staring at the crucifix in his hand, and then he uttered a cry of despair and slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

"Pick her up and put her on the bed!" yelled Joe. "Get her out of here, and stay out yourself. This is something for Pearl and I to handle...."

"Pick her up," said Dad dazedly. "Son, are you going daffy, too? You've got her in your arms already. Carry her into the bedroom yourself—you're younger'n I am."

"Let her lay there," said Mother to Dad. "It's time we cut out this silly business. I've got a score to settle, and now that the cat's out of the bag, and your wife spoiled all my fun by getting stuck in the sand and ruining my post-hypnotic suggestions, I might as well settle it and be on my way."

Dad staggered over to a kitchen chair and slumped down into it. "Will somebody explain what's going on?" he begged. "I'm an old man, but I didn't think I was going crazy. Or am I?"

Pearl was coming to now, and she struggled to her feet. Joe steadied her a moment, then he looked at Dad. "No, you're not going crazy, Dad. We came here last night because we were fleeing from the Devil. He was chained up in our basement for months, but he escaped, and took the body of this young man lying on the floor—only it isn't a young man, now, but your wife. He switched bodies with her this morning when he stopped in front of the house. The Devil's in your wife's body now. And he's come to kill Pearl and I out of vengeance for my killing his own body."

Her father looked at the body of his wife, standing there eyeing them all quizzically. Then he nodded. "Yes, I can see it. He's the Devil, all right. I've met him before. I recognize him now."

"That's right," said the Devil, grinning. "I remember you, too. You were quite a lad before you married and settled down!"

On the floor now, the body of the young man was stirring, and finally it sat up. The Devil looked at it.

"This body's messy with virtue," he said. "I think I'll switch back for a moment. After all, I don't have any argument with you and your wife, and we did have fun, years ago. The memory of it is rather pleasant."

"To you, perhaps," said Dad, "but not to me, I've put all that behind me, and if I had it to do over again...."

"I know," said the young man, getting to his feet. "Women are always reforming men, and ruining them for my purposes. But that's past now, and I lost that game. Right now I've got a grudge to settle."

Pearl's mother uttered a low moan and rushed over and huddled close to her husband. He put a protective arm around her shoulder.

The Devil turned to Joe. "What makes you think I intend killing you both?" he asked. "That's crude, and what would I stand to gain? You're both going to die some day, anyway, and in your present condition, I won't have any chance at you afterward. So, does it make sense that I'd let you slip out of my clutches that way?"

Joe looked at him. "I guess I see your point," he agreed. "But what are you going to do?"

"Why not? I think it's a very delicate bit of artistry, myself. Imagine it. You will make a lovely couple, both male, and your wife will be such a good mother to the children. Will be rather strange for them to have to call a man Mother, but I presume they will get used to it—or will they? How would you explain it to them? That their mother has suddenly become a man? And you, think of your position. You love your wife dearly, I know. And what an interesting situation as you take her into your arms and kiss her tenderly, and...."

"Stop!" roared Joe, leaping forward. "I'll tear you limb from limb first! I killed you once before, and by Heaven, I'll do it again!"

But before he could make another move, little Jimmy raced forward, and clutching the Devil by the leg bit hard into the calf. The Devil yelped in pain, but then he recovered and grinned. "The lad has possibilities. And who am I to deny him an occasional bite out of his mother's leg."

He disengaged the boy's grasp from his leg and pushed him gently aside. His grandmother reached out and pulled him to her, and the youngster stood with her arms protectively around him, glaring at the Devil.

"You just keep your eyes on those horns, son," advised the Devil. "In a moment you'll see them again, and in an interesting place...." He turned to stare at Pearl, and his gaze became penetrating.

Joe took another step forward, his face livid, but the Devil waved an arm, and Joe stood rooted to the spot, overcome by a strange paralysis.

"But, yes," said the Devil. "I have frequently been a beautiful woman, but I must admit, never one quite so beautiful. I believe I will enjoy using your body for the next twenty or thirty years. Believe me, I'll take good care of it. It won't grow old and fade as it would if you were using it. I wouldn't be surprised if it eventually became somebody very important, perhaps even a queen, or the wife of a president. Some position where I can control the world politically as well as morally and anti-ecclesiastically."

He advanced slowly toward Pearl, his gaze boring into her eyes. "Don't resist, girl," he said. "It won't take but a second, and you'll be rid of me. I promise I won't bother you and your family again. You'll be free to live out your lives in whatever happiness you choose to make of them...."

Pearl stood stiffly now, her face a mask of utter horror. Joe felt a wave of blackness engulfing him, a wave of sheer hate that almost consumed him, but he could not move a muscle. Then, as Pearl seemed to wilt for a moment, seemed about to fall, there came the rush of bare feet and a childish scream as Sally flung herself into the room and raced straight toward the Devil.

Her slim arms were extended, and she hit the Devil full in the back. He staggered forward, tripped on the rug, and crashed headlong against the refrigerator. He dropped like a poled ox and lay there, unconscious.

Joe, released from the paralysis that held him, leaped forward and hurled himself upon the Devil's body. Granddad, too, swung into action, and between them they both knelt on an arm of the prone Devil, and then Joe barked: "Mother, fetch a clothesline. We've got to tie him up. Once we've done that, you go and get a log chain, Dad, and we'll chain him up out in the old storm cellar."

"You bet," said Dad. "And then we'll bulldoze enough dirt over it so he'll never get out!"

"Now you're talking," said Joe. "Not even a mouse must get into that cellar...."

He clamped a hand on the Devil's throat and held it in readiness. "Don't look at him, anybody," he warned. "He's coming to. Hurry with that clothesline, Mother!"

The Devil's eyes opened, and he looked up dazedly. There was no recognition in them. He looked up at Joe. "What's happened?" he asked, then groaned. He closed his eyes a moment as a wave of dizziness obviously swept over him. Then he opened them again. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Don't you know?" asked Joe, puzzled by something he saw, or rather didn't see, in the eyes that looked up at him.

"I...." A look of surprise flitted over the man's face. "I ... don't know. I can't seem to remember a thing."

Joe looked at Pearl's father in startlement. "You've been looking at him ..." his voice trailed off.

Pearl came over and looked, too. "He ... doesn't look like the Devil," she said hesitantly.

"I feel like the devil," said the young man. "And you two are sure hard on my arms. They're getting numb."

Joe eased up, then slid his knees off to the floor, "I guess I can hold him if he tries anything, Dad. You can get off him now."

"You going to tie me up?" asked the young man in dazed tones. "What's going on here?"

"I believe he's got amnesia from hitting his head on the refrigerator," said Pearl.

The young man shook his head. "I don't remember a thing. All I know is that I'm lying here and you two are apparently bent on strangling me. Can you tell me why?"

"I can tell you why, but if you've got amnesia, I don't think I should. In fact, if you aren't faking, you'll never know why, believe me!"

"I'll tell you later," said Joe. He turned to Jimmy. "Come over here, son. I want to whisper in your ear." He handed Pearl the poker. "Clout him over the head if he makes a move," he directed.

Then he leaned over and whispered in his son's ear. Jimmy listened, then he stared at the young man. He nodded.

Joe whispered some more, and Jimmy nodded again, a look of importance spreading over his face.

"Okay," said Joe. "Now you and Sally go and get dressed. I want to take you both over to the barn and we'll have a go at milking that cow."

Joe turned to Pearl's mother. "How about those pancakes?" he asked. "I'm hungry, and I think our friend is, too. After what we have done to him, I think we owe him a breakfast, at least."

The young man felt of the top of his head gingerly. "I guess so. And I think I'm hungry, too, now that you mention it. Those pancakes sound kind of interesting." He got to his feet, looked uncertainly around at the wondering faces of Pearl's mother, father, and Pearl herself. He smiled. "I don't know what's been going on, but maybe after some of those pancakes, you'll explain."

Pearl looked at her husband. "After pancakes, you aren't the only one who'll want some explaining!"

"That goes for me, too, Daughter," said Dad. "I can't say that I've ever experienced a morning quite like this in my life before. But one thing seems right, and I agree with Joe...."

"Mother," interrupted Joe, "how about the pancakes?" He stepped over to his father-in-law and whispered in his ear. The older man started, looked at his wife, then grinned. "You're right, son. What she doesn't know, won't hurt her."

"What I don't know, doesn't matter much," she returned, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"I can't tell you who you are, just at this moment," he began, "but when Dad gets the tractor out, we'll go down the road and pull your car out where it's stuck...."

"Yes. It's a Mercury, and your name ought to be on the ownership card fastened to the steering wheel. That'll be a start. Once you know your name and address, you can go on from there. Somehow, you have suffered amnesia. Maybe you had an accident. Anyway, you came rushing in here and caused a commotion, and in the scuffle, you knocked yourself out against the refrigerator."

"For a moment it looked as though you were a dangerous maniac," admitted Joe. "You can't blame us for not taking chances."

"Of course not...." The young man drew a hand across his forehead. "I certainly must have had a real blow. I just don't remember a thing. You say I own a Mercury, but it means nothing to me. I know a Mercury is a car, for instance, but that's about all. I seem to know how to talk, what pancakes should taste like ... except that I'm almost willing to wager that I never tasted any as good as these before."

"I shouldn't wonder if your past way of life would all fit into place in your mind, and even though you might not regain full memory, you'd be able to take up where you left off. When you get back to your family...."

The young man shook his head. "I don't think I've got a family. It just doesn't register. Not like the pancakes, or that a Mercury is a car...."

Joe got to his feet. "Come on, Dad, let's get the tractor and get that Mercury out. Once our friend here knows who he is, maybe he can remember the details, and be on his way."

The young man got to his feet eagerly. "Yes, let's go. I do have a burning curiosity, and you can hardly blame me, can you?" He turned to Pearl's mother. "I want to thank you for your hospitality, and I want you to know I'll never forget those pancakes, no matter what else I've forgotten!"

He turned to Pearl, bowed slightly. "It has been nice meeting you, and those lovely children of yours."

Joe led the way out the kitchen door and waved back at Pearl. "Don't worry about a thing," he said. "I'll be back just as soon as we get our friend out of the sand."

Later, Joe sat in the living room, and he was surrounded by three human question marks.

"The children are up at Aunt Margie's," said Pearl. "And now you'd better tell us what all this is about?"

"It's simple," said Joe. "The Devil has a case of amnesia. As long as he has it, we're safe. If he recovers his memory, we may be in for it again. But I have a feeling he won't recover it—perhaps not for a thousand years."

"Well, in the first place, the Devil isn't gone. That is, he didn't suddenly leave the body of that young man, as you all seem to think."

"Yes. The Devil traded places originally with a mouse, and then traded places with this young man. But the mouse was dead, so the mouse's body was empty of a mouse, if I make myself clear. Thus, the mouse is still the young man, and always will be. The Devil will be the young man, because his own body is dead. That is, he'll be the young man until he recovers his memory, if he ever does, and then he could be anybody. I hope it never happens."

"Yes. Remember when I whispered to him? Well, I asked him if the man still had horns, and he did. Then I told him that it was a very important secret, and that he was never to discuss it with anyone, except me. You see, I didn't want anybody to blurt out the word Devil while the young man was here. Such a thing might be just the key to bring back his memory."

"But won't he remember, anyway, just as soon as he gets to putting things together, when he gets back to where the young man has his home and friends?" asked Dad.

"Why should he? The stimulus of his name, his family, his home should only serve to add to his subconscious memories as the young man. He now has the brain and body of a man who has lost his memory. The Devil can't remember anything but what's already in the young man's mind. If his own memory is never stirred, the chances are he will never realize his true identity. He will gradually take on the only one handy, that of the young man, and he might well turn out to be a model citizen!"

"So that's what you mean by him being an amnesiac for a thousand years?" asked Dad.

"Yes. The Bible says the Devil will be bound for a thousand years, cast into a pit. Must we take that literally? Can't the binding be a mental one, and can't the pit be amnesia?"

"It could be," said Mother suddenly. "Even hell, I believe, is a state of mind."

Pearl started. "Does that mean that now we'll have no more crime on earth, no more evil?"

"I'm afraid not," said Dad. "I know one thing for sure, the Devil is not the author of all evil. Mankind is cussed enough in his own right, and even with the Devil suffering from amnesia, I feel sure there'll be plenty of trouble going on."

"But not quite as much," said Joe, looking at Dad. "With one less evil companion, things should be a mite better, don't you think?"

Pearl looked thoughtful. "What if the young man meets a girl, falls in love, and she him, and marries her? She'd be married to the Devil, in actuality."

Dad grinned at her. "It wouldn't be the first young man to be reformed. In that case, I'd say, the Devil would be better off with amnesia!"

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The devil downstairs

THE DEVIL DOWNSTAIRS

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