Yesterday, the government trucks appeared on my lawn. I didn’t hear the engines growling until I finished brushing my teeth. By then, they had already wrapped my front and back door with chains and heavy iron padlocks. I watched in shock, still in my pajamas, the combination of men dressed in Swat and Hazmat uniforms, religious and business professional attire, scurrying like ants outside, drilling my windows shut before throwing some sort of opaque material over them.
I banged on my door demanding to be let out of my own house. The response was muted sounds of purposeful hurrying and indiscernible voice. Only when I smashed my kitchen window with my toaster did a blaring megaphone wail from the front yard.
“Take a step out that window and we will shoot you.”
From behind the plaster-like material, there were silhouettes, some milling about, some deadly still with extra-long shadows pointed in my direction.
“We have our guns on you.”
I started to plead with them, begging to be let out, that I had no idea why all this was happening and what on Earth or in Hell they wanted from me.
“Now that’s some interesting diction. What we want from Hell is most likely hiding behind those cellar doors, right Faust? We’d like for you to open them.”
The man speaking wasn’t as stupid as his lackeys acted. The only other entrance into my house are the wooden doors embedded in the ground out back. But this was no issue; the seal holding those flimsy, horizontal doors shut wouldn’t allow any man of flesh entry. Not without a hefty price.
I tried once more to shake their confidence.
“My wife and kids. Please, they’re scared, I don’t want them hurt.”
I fell back onto my La-Z-Boy recliner with my eyes closed, stretching my weary muscles. I relished the period of silence; long enough to give me a fool’s taste of victory.
To my surprise I was assaulted by a hail of bullets which shook me rudely from my daydreams. Throwing myself to the floor, I admit, I cowered behind my couch. 14 holes riddled my living room wall where dust had been expelled from. 14 holes I counted, waiting for the haze of dust to settle.
Then 14 souls seems a sufficient price for them to pay. To come to my abode, to stand before me with threats and accusations, tarnish my house and ruin my reputation in front of my neighbors. How long it had taken me to find this place and integrate, inconspicuously into the neighborhood. The best place to hide after all is in plain sight.
So be it. They wish to find the Great Faust. I will show them.
“I hope that didn’t scare your wife and kids too bad,” the megaphone mocked. “We’re interested in your other family.”
I placed my keys into the lock of my basement and spoke some words until there was a click. The door squealed open without any assistance. From inside I heard my deal-broker.
“Faust… they hunger.”
“Good. I’ve brought food.”
“Do not deceive them. We will not be so lenient should you fail to deliver on your promises again. We have held our end of the bargain and it is you we will take next.”
My wounded pride was overwhelmed by the aching fear in my belly. I don’t know where I’ll be taken should I fail. But there will be no escape, that much is certain. I forget sometimes that the daemons I house are not my friends but merely… let’s call them work partners. I must plan this carefully or I’m terrified that eternal damnation will be my fate.
This was yesterday. The fool with the megaphone would not allow me to sleep. But I know they are preparing. And I will allow them entry. They know not what waits for them.
I must go and finish my preparations. If not for the stakes, this would be fun.