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| Give the Devil His Due | |
| By audrie | ||||||||||||||||||||
| 01 October 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||
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Give the Devil his Due by audrie © Charlie Wilson was fed up. Here she was sixteen years old and not yet famous. It was a craving she’d had since an early age, to be famous. It had started when one of her cousins, Jemma, had won an award. She had quite forgotten why, only remembered the intoxicated pleasure which had suffused her cousin’s face at the cheering and applause. Charlie still felt the sharp stab of impure envy, and the way she had wished her hardworking cousin would drop dead, so that she herself could take Jemma’s place on the stage. Not for the award, that was totally unimportant. No, it was the adulation she had craved. And still did. Staring gloomily out of the window at the heavy, slanting rain she felt it suited her mood. She had tried everything over the past few years, cheating, lying, bullying but to no avail. There must be something she could do to make herself famous, short of going to bed with some revolting politician, or letting Simon Cowell make a stupid fool out of her. But every scheme she had come up with had faded like fairy gold, each time she’d tried to grasp it. The trouble was, most of the famous people Charlie knew of had worked for their fame. She certainly wasn’t prepared to actually do that.Hard work was for morons. Anyone could be a success if they worked themselves spare for it.Heaving a deep sigh, Charlie flicked through the strange New Age magazine someone had left on the window-seat, gazing blankly at the pages. Suddenly, her eyes focused sharply on a small item. She picked up the magazine and read with avid interest, then stared out of the window once more, this time with fierce concentration. Her tongue came out and fastened on her top lip which was a habit when she was thinking deeply. So she stayed for quite a few minutes until a triumphant smile spread over her crafty features. The following weekend, Charlie packed a sports bag with a picnic lunch. Various other items followed swiftly into its depths. Items which she had been gathering all week and keeping well hidden in her wardrobe. The day was fine and warm. She had told her mother that she was going out with a friend but that wasn’t true. Setting off in one direction she doubled back through an alleyway, in case her mother was watching her, and headed in the opposite direction.Waiting for the traffic to ease on the main road, she tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Come on. Come on!’ she grumbled, anxious to start the proceedings which would lead to her fame. Eventually, she made a dash for it then headed straight for the lane which led into the depths of the forest. Trees met over her head and made a cool bower of dappled shade. The only sound was of birds chirruping. A peaceful place of beauty and solitude. Charlie laughed, not for much longer, she thought. Following a small trail that she’d found years ago, and had visited many times since, she came to the clearing which appeared untouched from the last time she was here. There was the old board on which she had written Charlotte Grove. It seemed this was still her secret place. Great! Setting down her bag she felt a sudden thrill of fear. Was it worth the risk? She chewed her finger anxiously but, if she wanted to be famous… To hold up proceedings for a while Charlie decided to have her picnic first, but found she couldn’t eat a crumb. She blew out a deep breath, feeling sick with apprehension as her heart threatened to leap right out of her chest, but she pushed the fear aside. It was worth a bit of terror in order to be famous. The trouble with most people was that they actually took pride in their work. Fools! They wouldn’t step out of line. Twits! Nobody that she could think of would dream of calling on such a powerful source of energy for aid. Scared rabbits! Well she, Charlie Wilson, would show them. She spread the cloth, which she had marked with weird symbols, on the ground in the centre of the clearing. Taking up the cross and dismissing the twinge of guilt, she placed it upside down by pushing it into the small opening in the top of a coke tin, and placed it in the middle of the cloth. It rocked slightly but then it was still. As if waiting! Charlie looked around her in puzzlement. The forest, which had been filled with bird song and the rustling of the leaves, was suddenly silent.No bird sang. No leaf moved. No insect fluttered. Everything had stopped, all was utterly still. She felt her flesh creep. Her heart set up a new faster tempo as her throat parched and her scalp prickled. It was as if Time itself had stopped and was…waiting! Taking a long, shuddering breath, Charlie felt she couldn’t go on with it. It was just too scary. Not a bit cool as she thought it might be. But, if the alternative was a lifetime of work, then nothing venture, nothing gained. As she came to the end of her ritual, Charlie heaved a huge breath of relief that nothing untoward had happened. But that relief was short-lived. There came a blinding flash, a suffocating smell of burning and a blazing heat which singed her eyebrows. Charlie clearly heard them sizzle. When she could see again, her blood ran cold and she started to shiver. There, leaning nonchalantly against a mighty oak, was a weird and terrible figure. Charlie knew at once that this was the Devil. The red, glittering eyes flared and sparked. The tiny horns, the goat-like feet, the metallic three-pronged staff topped with tiny heads, all gleamed with a fierce incandescence. Little puffs of smoke rose about his person. The Devil looked at Charlie and she had never been so terrified in her life. Her hair rose of its own accord from her tingling scalp. ‘Well, Charlotte Wilson, you summoned me. What for? ‘ The voice was a blast from deepest Hell, coarse and grating. As he spoke, thick sulphur fumes swept over the girl’s rigid frame. Her eyelids seemed to be fixed at the back of their sockets. She tried to speak but no sound would come out. The Devil’s eyebrows knitted together angrily. The enormous blast of his voice shuddered over Charlie. ‘Do not play games with me, Charlotte Wilson, Let those who summon me have the courage of their convictions. Otherwise, I destroy them!’ He thumped his staff on the ground. Flame leapt out and consumed a small bush. It’s blackened stumps impinged on the periphery of Charlie’s transfixed gaze. Her skin crawled. She tried to swallow but her mouth was as dry as a desert. Perspiration dripped from her. Her mouth opened and closed several times, before the appalling alternative forced the words through her bared teeth, set in a rictus grin of terror. ‘P…Please…S…Sir,’ Charlie gasped for air and nearly retched on the pungent sulphur fumes, ‘I…I w…want to…b…be famous.’ ‘Ha! You want to be famous, eh?’ roared the Devil, in a voice that almost shredded her skin, ‘As what?’ ‘I d…don’t know, Sir, I’ll l…leave that t…to you.’ Even in the midst of her abject fear, Charlie thought this would be an astute move. Perhaps if she ingratiated herself with him, she might be even more famous than she’d hoped. The Devil immediately saw through this ploy but appeared to consider. He bellowed again, ‘What have you done, so far, to make yourself famous?’ ‘Well…’ what had she done? Nothing! That was the whole point… The Devil thumped the ground again making another tongue of flame crackle out. Charlie flinched as she felt the incendiary heat. ‘I’m waiting! ‘ he boomed, crimson eyes glitterly feverishly, ‘I have a full schedule these days. Many calls to make. People wanting to make a pact with me. Politicians. Footballers. TV monsters. Come on, what have you done?’ ‘Well, nothing, I suppose.’ ‘Nothing!’ he shrieked, ‘You can’t be bothered to work for your fame, is that it? You aren’t prepared to put any effort into it, am I right?’ Charlie had to acknowledge the truth of it. ‘That’s right,’ she spoke with new-found courage, ‘I thought if it was you who helped me, then I wouldn’t have to work for it. I don’t want to spend my life like my father, nose to the grindstone. I want to avoid all that.’ She stared at him boldly, ‘If I’d wanted to work for it, I would not have asked you, I’d have asked the other one.’ She jerked her head upwards. The Devil threw back his head and roared with dreadful laughter, which echoed through the forest. Leaves danced and shrivelled in the heat. Grass seared and died. Birds fell from the trees and lay in charred heaps. Charlie’s heart almost stopped but she joined in with a shrill burst of noise. When the raucous sound was done, the Devil looked appraisingly at Charlie. He nodded his head and glowing sparks fell from his eyes. She decided to push her luck. ‘Can you do it?’ she asked eagerly. The Devil quivered with outrage, ‘Can I do it?’ he rasped, ‘Do you doubt it?’ The cloth seared and became a pile of ash. ‘No!’’ yelled Charlie frantically, ‘No, of course not, Sir. W…What I meant was, er, will you do it?’ Somewhat mollified, the Devil considered. He appeared to be lost in thought. Then, almost as if talking to himself, he murmured strangely, ‘There is only one thing the Devil cannot do.’‘ What is that?’ Charlie asked, curiosity getting the better of her. The Devil raised sardonic eyes to the sky. He lifted his staff, as if in acknowledgement. ‘Put out the flame!’ he answered enigmatically. Another burst of ironic laughter destroyed the undergrowth. Charlie had no idea what he was talking about so she just repeated her question. ‘Will you do it?’ The Devil stared at her with his brilliant flickering eyes until she felt as if she too, would be consumed. ‘You are not prepared to work for your fame?’ ‘No, I’m not.’ She hadn’t come this far for nothing. ‘Truly one of my children,’ he muttered to the three pronged staff. To her horror, the three little heads nodded in agreement. ‘You know there is a price to be paid?’ Charlie sucked in her breath. Her scalp prickled in alarm. This was the point of no return. She nodded quickly before she lost her nerve. ‘Yes, I know. What is it?’ The Devil grinned wickedly, ‘I’ll let you know. Very soon.’ He hit the ground once more. There was a thunderous roar and a blinding flash of red light. The ground opened up and swallowed him. Charlie was knocked backwards by the force. She lay there for a while. The smell of sulphur was sickening. If it wasn’t for that, she might have thought she had dreamed the whole thing, but that, and the charred ashes all around her told her it was definitely real. A feeling of elation swept over her. She kicked her heels in the air and waved them excitedly. At last! All her dreams of fame would now come true. She would be the envy of all her friends, well she didn’t exactly have any of those. She’d show them, all those who said she was mean and nasty. They’d soon come running when she was a celebrity, and she’d do it without doing a day’s work. Brill! Charlie lay there for some time dreaming dreams and wondering what form her celebrity would take. She swelled with pride and self-esteem. She’d had the courage of her convictions and would reap her reward. There weren’t many people who would dare to call on the Devil himself for help, but she, Charlotte Wilson, had done it. They who dared… Jumping up, she picked up the cross and flung it as far as she could. The various other items followed, each in a different direction. No one would ever suspect that she had made a pact with the Devil. Besides, she wanted to take all the credit herself. The charred trees and seared ground slowly came into focus but she shrugged. Not her problem. She swaggered along the trail, passing a number of small burnt corpses, but felt no compunction. What did a few animals and birds matter compared to what she would get in return, it was a small sacrifice. Charlie left the forest in deep, prideful fantasies. What would she be? Who would she be? So deep in images of herself draped in ermine and diamonds, that she didn’t hear the blaring horn. It was only when the speeding BMW hit and flung her up into the air that she was painfully wrenched back into reality. Charlie hung, for the briefest moment, on the apex of her curve through the air. In those few seconds she heard the grating words. Something for nothing, Charlotte Wilson? Never! ‘ Then the dreadful sound of mocking, raucous laughter burst through her head. It was still echoing as she plunged under the wheels of an articulated lorry, coming from the other direction. Charlie Wilson was the hundredth victim at that particularly notorious black spot. The hue and cry that was raised from the public, at the death of an innocent young girl, made the authorities finally do something about it. They placed some traffic lights there. A small metal plaque commemorating the event is fixed to a post at the side of the road. Originally, it had been made of wood and painted but, strangely, the paint kept blistering and peeling off, as if somebody with a very sick sense of humour had taken a blow lamp to it. Ever since the accident, this particular set of traffic lights has been known as ‘Charlie Wilson’s Crossing’. You have to give the Devil his due, he kept his promise, didn’t he? AJA © Sorry, this is my first attempt at cpoying and pasting! Unfortunately, it has come out in the first section instead of this one. However, I am pleased that I was able to do it, but I guess I should have clicked on paste in this section! It's all a learning curve. This is the story that 'disappeared' a while ago. So finally got here! The Devil may have had a hand in it!
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