Devil's Visitation

On that day, of all days, the devil came to town. And I was in no mood to welcome him.

“Go. Away.” Fists propped on my hips, I glared at him as he stood on my doorstep.

“Mrs. Albert,” it does not surprise me he knows my name, “I have come for my due.”

“I know full well that you’ve come for my son, but you may not have him.” Glass broke in the house behind me, a child wailed. The devil listened to the sounds of discord and smiled.

“Ma! I need another beer!” his voice drifted from the depths of the house.

“Later, Johnathan,” I called back, my eyes never leaving the devil.

He smiled at me, a greasy, oily smile. “I have come for my due,” he repeated. “Surely your son can be nothing but a burden for you. Give him to me.”

“No.”

Surprise crossed the devil’s face at the iron in my voice. But he hid it quickly and snapped on another slippery smile. “Mrs. Albert, your son is on the run from his gang. He will bring you nothing but trouble.”

“He is my son. You may not have him.” I glared at the devil as the sound of the crying child grew closer and footsteps scuffed on the ground behind me.

“Ma, he won’t shut up.”

I kept myself between the devil and my family, but half turned to look back into the house. My son stood in the hall, stubbled face, rumpled shirt, a squalling child on his hip.

“He won’t shut up, Ma, and I need another beer.”

“He is your son, Johnathan. Rock him, walk with him, do not hit him, and get yourself a beer. I am busy.” I turn back to block the doorway, but not fast enough. Johnathan catches sight of the devil over my shoulder.

“Who are you?” he demands, striding forward. “What do you want with my Ma?”

“I am the devil and I have come for you, Johnathan Washington Albert, former henchman of Logan Williams.” The devil stretched his mouth in a terrible smile and held out a hand.

Johnathan went pale. His bluster vanished. He gave the devil a terrified look and fled into the house. I breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared from view. The devil laughed softly.

“What a good son he is, leaving his mother to face the devil alone. Surely, Mrs. Albert, you will let me take him.”

“No.” I crossed my arms and glared at the devil.

He stared back at me, the laughter fading from his face. “What do you gain from harboring him?” he demanded. “He is a slob, lazy, a drunk, on the run from a powerful gang, and he loves neither his child nor you. Why do you protect him?”

“He is my son.” I plant myself in the doorway, feet anchored, chest out, head thrown back. “That is reason enough. You may never have him.”