Dec: A Devilishly Good Christmas
© Jane Harvey-Berrick
It was Christmas Eve, and Sophie was having a really bad day. Of course, a bad day for a demon was pretty much a good day for everybody else, and Sophie was a Level Two Chava demon. She hated Christmas: apart from having to go and spend time with her family, there was just so much goodwill floating around on Earth that she felt positively nauseated.
So she’d jumped on the Waterloo Line tube all the way to Bank underground station in the City of London. She hated travelling by tube but didn’t currently have the funds for a taxi. And besides, taxi drivers had the annoying of habit of using one of London’s many bridges to cross the Thames – and running water was anathema to Sophie’s kind, and could be deadly. So although the tube was noisy, crowded and dirty, Sophie had little choice. It really was revolting how happy all these miserable humans were; some of them were even singing Christmas carols, and in public, too. Disgusting! Utterly selfish – not everyone enjoyed this time of year.
Several humans glanced her way, drawn by her stunning beauty and luxuriant red curls swept to the top of her head, her porcelain white skin and hour-glass figure; but they were also repelled by the waves of evil that emanated from her, although most humans didn’t understand the feelings of revulsion if they drew to close to her. And the complicated hair-do hid her horns which had grown back after her last spa treatment and hornectomy.
Sophie’s gaze was drawn to a man hunched over a newspaper, his lips clamped in a tight line, his face folded in a frown. He scowled at the headlines, swore at the small print, and spent the whole journey casting furious and disparaging glances at his fellow humans. He was clearly miserable with a Bah-Humbug demeanour. His eyes met Sophie’s amused gaze and he shivered.
Then her attention switched to a young man wearing torn, black jeans, heavy work boots, and a wool beanie that made him perspire in the overcrowded carriage, a bilious green complexion on his waxy cheeks.
Sophie smiled, revealing a hint of fang, and the Level One demon blinked rapidly, unable to meet her glowing eyes, retreating further into his scuffed leather jacket.
There were several more demons in the carriage, all making their way to Bank station, and Sophie could see their dark, roiling auras above the rainbow colours of the human herd.
It seemed as if every demon in London was fleeing the city.
Sophie sighed. She hated her family and detested returning Down Under for family gatherings. It had taken decades to get her Passport stamped so that she could come back to Earth, and she resented returning to the Dark Realms. It was so boring. Once you’ve witnessed a couple of centuries of pain, chaos and torture, there’s little novelty to be found in the whole Shadow World.
Recently, she’d started working for Detective Sergeant Max Darke of Scotland Yard’s Demon Division. They’d had a rocky start after she’d tried to eat him and he’d killed her for the second time in her unlife. It was only at the insistence of the Powers That Be that they’d managed to work together to save the world from a couple of apocalypses. To her surprise, she’d thoroughly enjoyed cleansing the world of demonic presences – present company excepted – and it had been such a thrill battling the Mother Of All Evil and slaying untold numbers of Level Three demons.
She licked her lips hungrily – she was simply dying to kill something.
Her bad mood worsened as she stood in a long line at the Bank of England, tapping her talons impatiently, waiting for her turn on the escalator to Hell. Then her old fashioned clamshell phone beeped with a text.
Merry Christmas, pardner
Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to have to kill you again. I’m on holiday.
Max
She cracked a smile. She really hoped she’d be able to rip his eyeballs out one day – but then again, life would be much duller without demon-hunter Max Darke in the world. Still, a girl had to have her fun.
Sighing, she tucked her phone away and started the long, hot descent to Hell.
Most of her family had already arrived by the time she reached the rivers of boiling blood in Hell’s Seventh Circle district. She curled a lip as she spotted the other spawn to whom she really didn’t want to be related.
A few neighbours recognised her, waving a claw or hoof.
“Watch your back, human-lover,” sneered a beautiful blonde demon whose muddy aura was at odds with her golden beauty and cornflower blue eyes.
“Nerissa, darling! How are you?” Sophie gushed, narrowing her eyes.
“Absolutely vile,” the demon sighed. “I really am cross with you for killing me. I hope your entrails wither.”
“Don’t sulk, darling,” Sophie simpered. “Technically, I didn’t kill you – I just didn’t tell you that the Mother Of All Evil’s amulet might kill you. Live and learn.”
“You mean die and burn.”
Sophie gave a silvery laugh. “You know me so well.”
She sauntered away with a jaunty wave, keeping her (spare) eyes in the back of her head in case Nerissa decided to do something (more) stupid and attack, but the blonde demon merely spat on the ground, the spittle sizzling then evaporating in the heat.
Sophie was nearly at the family lair, when a massive, shaggy figure roared in her delicate ear, and hot fetid breath trickled down her neck.
“Hello, Drog. How are you, darling?” Sophie yawned, patting the Beast of Bodmin on his hairy head.
He growled a bit more, complaining that she’d broken his neck when she’d killed him (true), and that she didn’t love him anymore (also true), but he was willing to give their relationship another chance.
“Hell, no,” Sophie said kindly. “Let’s just enjoy our gory memories, there’s a dear.”
Oily tears fell from the Beast’s eyes and he scampered away with tail between his legs.
Sophie watched him go.
At least she’d made one creature’s Christmas a complete misery – things were looking up.
An hour later, Sophie was ready to kill every member of her family, starting by removing their limbs (or tentacles) one by one. She was so bored, she couldn’t even be bothered to cheat at Vatican Monopoly or play charades with the titles of Dan Brown books. The entrails were overcooked and clearly not fresh; no one had remembered to bring the bat wings; and there was only one eye of newt between the 666 members of her family.
“Do you remember when Christmas used to be fun?” she complained to her half-sister Zofia.
“I know,” her sister nodded sadly. “We haven’t even got a sacrificial animal – but those nasty humans that you hang around with get to slay a turkey at the winter solstice. Why do we have to sup on year-old entrails? And please don’t say the C-word, sister dearest – you know it brings me out in hives.”
Sophie scoffed quietly but held her tongue, chewing on an air-dried one that she’d brought with her for the journey.
“At least we’ve got the Revulsion Revolution to look forward to,” Zofia added as flames flickered behind her eyes.
Sophie almost missed the quietly spoken words. Almost.
“The whichy what?” she asked, her pointed ears perking up.
“Sister! Don’t you ever read your emails?” Zofia chided. “Don’t you ever check the demonic message boards?”
“If you mean Twitter, it’s been renamed X,” Sophie said with a snarl.
“How apt!” Zofia chortled. “Who’d have thought that a human had such a tricksy sense of humour.”
“I think your brains have been addled again,” Sophie said nastily. “What’s this Revolution thingy that you mentioned?”
Zofia grinned, her fangs dripping with excitement.
“Well, it’s really going to be a hoot! You know how humans are so revoltingly happy on C-day? And you know how wonderfully horrid and fractious they are by Boxing Day? All those hangovers, all those family arguments, all those bad stomachs from gorging until they pop? All those re-gifted gifts and the Boxing Day sales?”
“Get to the point,” Sophie sniffed.
“Oh, there’ll be lots of points,” Zofia tittered. “Lots of pointy points with little humans wriggling on the end. Well, dear old Lucy, I mean Lucifer, had this idea that since Boxing Day is simply a splurge of ill-will, we should use it to force open a Hell Mouth near Guildford, and start a new apocalypse. Won’t that be fun?”
Her eyes glowed with malevolence, and Sophie had to admit that Lucifer’s plan had a certain je ne sais quoi elegance.
“Fun,” Sophie echoed, forcing a smile.
Max Darke loved Christmas – it was the one day of the year that demons on Earth were few and far between, and the ones who stayed preferred to keep their heads down, especially if they had more than one.
He’d spent Christmas Eve at the pub with his friends, other coppers that he’d gone through police training with, (even if they didn’t know that the ‘D’ in Scotland Yard’s D-Division stood for ‘demon’). He’d enjoyed spending time with humans for a change.
Then he’d inhaled a kebab on the way home, met his gran for Midnight Mass at their local church, and planned to sleep late, and enjoy his grandmother’s Christmas lunch without worrying that the world was going to end again. Nice stuff. Normal things.
So he was annoyed when some muppet started banging on his gran’s front door at 2am. If it was drunkenxx carol singers, he was going to arrest them on principal.
But as he plodded down the stairs, he felt a cold wave of evil trickle through the front door and he was immediately on high alert. He relaxed only fractionally when he recognised Sophie’s dark aura.
“What do you want?” he called through the door.
“Max, you are abominably rude!” Sophie yelled through the letterbox, her voice shrill. “I’m here to do you a favour and save mankind. You could at least open the door and invite me in.”
Max’s grandmother approached, holding a candle in trembling hands. He knew that she wasn’t scared of Sophie, she was just old and tired.
“Let the creature in,” she said in a quavering voice. “She won’t hurt us.”
“I don’t like being called a creature,” Sophie snarled.
Max rolled his eyes.
“Fine. But my Holy water pistol is loaded and I’m ready to use it.”
He opened the door cautiously. Sophie was silhouetted by the streetlight, looking impossibly beautiful and immaculately dressed.
“Enter, creature,” his grandmother said with a faint smile. “Blessed be.”
Sophie stared haughtily at his tiny, white-haired grandmother, but gave her a wide berth. Sophie recognised power when she saw it.
Max showed her into the small, cluttered living room, uncomfortable to have Sophie in the home he shared with his gran.
“What’s this all about, Soph?” he yawned.
“The Revulsion Revolution is scheduled to start in 22 hours,” she smiled, showing her fangs. “Lucifer has chosen Boxing Day to open a Hell Mouth and kick-start a new apocalypse. Such fun!”
Max blinked, hoping he’d misheard.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “And you want me to stop it because…?”
“Because we’re partners and we always do good!” Sophie said brightly.
Max just stared at her.
“Okay, fine. I hate doing good, positively loathe it, but you have no idea how boring Hell is these days – full of social media influencers. Vanity used to be my favourite deadly sin, but ugh, tedious – they’re all so self-involved. We hardly have any politicians or bankers anymore. What happened to the bad old days, that’s what I want to know?”
“Sophie, focus! Which Hell Mouth is Satan going to try and open?”
She threw him a dirty look. “I already told you – near Guildford.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I’m not going to do all your job for you!”
Max sighed. “Fine, I’ll look it up.”
“No need, Maximilian,” said his grandmother, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “There’s only one place in Surrey which has that size of demonic portal: the Devil’s Punchbowl.”
Max immediately knew that she was right. The site was a 700 acre depression in the Surrey hills, a natural amphitheatre of suppressed demonic energy. And just off the A3 road, only 90 minutes from London.
“Of course! Thanks, Gran! I’ll cast a heavy-duty sealing spell on it.”
Sophie snorted elegantly. “Do you really think your pathetic little human-sized sealing spell will work this time? It’s Lucifer – he used to sit at the right hand of God, and he learned or thing or two in his time, believe me!”
“She’s right, Maximilian,” said his grandmother, nodding slowly. “You’ll have to go there in person.”
Which was why Max found himself speeding down the A3 towards Surrey with a pissed off Level Two demon sitting next to him, vomiting quietly into a paper bag as he drove over Tower Bridge.
As his car sped through the darkness, Sophie began to perk up. “Oooh yummy! I can feel all the negative energy,” she said excitedly. “It’s calling to me. Do hurry, Max. You drive like your grandmother.”
Max frowned at her but put his foot down, the speedometer hitting 100mph.
It was still hours before dawn when they reached the Devil’s Punchbowl, a lake of empty blackness in the bright moonlight.
Max prepared his herbs, spices, Holy water and sacred candle, and began to cast his most powerful sealing spell. But the candle flickered in the breeze and went out.
Sophie snickered softly. “I don’t think that worked. You need some more steam in your stride, Max darling.”
“Fine, I’ll contact the Powers That Be. I’ll get them to…”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “They’re just middle management – you need the CEO on this one.”
Max gulped. “You want me to…?”
“Yes, go to the organ grinder, not the monkeys. What are you waiting for? You’re one of those wretched Defenders of the World – don’t you have God on speed dial?” Sophie asked impatiently.
“Not now you mention it,” he said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “But I’ve got a friend on WhatsApp who can help us.”
Sophie pulled a face. “I hope you’re not talking about who I think you’re talking about.”
“’Fraid so,” Max grinned.
“Then I’m off,” Sophie snapped, standing abruptly and stalking back the car, her high heels sinking in the mud.
“Want me to tell him hi?” Max asked slyly.
Sophie didn’t answer.
Holding his breath, Max sent a message to the Angelic Host, hoping that they didn’t take Christmas Day as a holiday.
Max waited, but nothing happened. He grew cold and started to nod off, only waking when the sun began to rise.
No.
Not the sun.
Max glanced at his phone – it was still only 4am on Christmas morning, and the sun wouldn’t be rising for hours.
The light grew brighter and brighter until Max was squinting, his eyes watering at the sudden glare.
The scent of Spring flowers flowed over him and he felt an incredible sense of peace settle into his soul as the most beautiful being he had ever seen stepped out of the light.
“Thank you for coming,” Max said, his voice shaking slightly.
“You are a Guardian, Maximilian Cyrus Darke – we will always heed your call.” The Angel Gabriel peered down at Max. “Although Christmas is our busy time.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but Satan is planning a surprise revolution on Boxing Day. I tried to set a sealing spell on this Hell Mouth,” said Max, pointing at the dark pit below, “but I don’t have the mojo.”
“It’s a good thing I am full of mojo,” said Gabriel with a smile so bright that Max had to close his eyes. “And I shall plant the tree of life at this place, forever sealing this portal to the Under Worlders.”
The Archangel Gabriel placed a small acorn in the soil, and Max watched with a sense of awe and wonder as the acorn became a sapling that soon grew into a tall and magnificent oak tree.
Gabriel let some soil trickle through his fingers and sighed with pleasure.
“Thank you for your call, Maximilian. It’s always so refreshing coming down to Earth.”
“Actually, it was Sophie who told me about the Revulsion Revolution, so really you need to thank her.”
The archangel nodded slowly. “And so I shall.”
He unfurled his wings of pure gold and drifted towards Max’s car where Sophie was sulking in silence.
“Walk with me, Sophie Judas,” said the archangel.
Sophie’s flickering red-black aura was eclipsed by the sun-bright light of Gabriel’s golden halo and cascading silvery curls, but demon and angel walked sided by side in peace and harmony.
Another apocalypse had been averted … and Max would still be home in time for his grandmother’s Christmas lunch.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed this paranormal comedy short story. If you enjoyed reading about Max and Sophie’s adventures, you might light to check out the two novels in this series.
Merry Christmas! See you next year for a new set of short stories!
THE DARK DETECTIVE #1: VENATOR
Max Darke is the youngest detective of D Division at New Scotland Yard. He didn’t know that ‘D’ stands for demon. Work is Hell.
THE DARK DETECTIVE #2: PAUKÚNNUM
Max Darke isn’t happy when his Superintendent volunteers him for a job that will take him to New York City. He hates flying and it means leaving the demons of London unsupervised. What secrets are hidden in the corridors of power? Who is trying to stop Max from finding out? Is there anyone who doesn’t want him dead?