{"id":568,"date":"2020-08-24T17:12:31","date_gmt":"2020-08-24T17:12:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=568"},"modified":"2020-08-24T17:29:08","modified_gmt":"2020-08-24T17:29:08","slug":"the-devils-music","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/the-devils-music\/568\/","title":{"rendered":"The Devil’s Music"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey Belial,\u201d Lilith shot the demon a furious glance, \u201cwill you quit your beatboxing, or I swear to Dog I\u2019ll beatbox your ears.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His single, vein-etched eye widened as she swept a taloned claw inches from his snout and he tumbled backwards in mid-beat into a vat of moral turpitude soup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWatch it, mam,\u201d he coughed, picking lumps of jellied depravity out his hair, \u201cyou nearly had my eye out then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She skewered him with a look that would have frozen sunspots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat,\u201d she snarled, \u201cdo you think I was TRYING to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tensed expecting another wave of maternal violence; she was always grouchy at this time of the millennium.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere,\u201d he simpered, \u201chave a kitten, it\u2019ll calm your nerves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAwww thanks, honey,\u201d she cooed as she stuffed it into her maw, \u201cI\u2019m sorry. It\u2019s bloody Lucifer putting me on double shifts. There\u2019s only so many tormented souls you can flay in one day. Why don\u2019t you go out to play and I\u2019ll fix us some gruel?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not wanting to miss an opportunity to escape, Belial slithered to the door and disappeared into the corridor that led to the mortal realm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The walk took an eternity, but it was just a stroll to Belial and he used the time to transmogrify into a facsimile of Biz Markie, the clown prince of hip-hop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPtch-cha-cha-boom-chuka-wah-wah,\u201d he warbled as he emerged into the dank environs of Dead Horse Bay, a favoured spot for demons. He breathed in the acrid air and sighed contentedly as he crunched across broken glass. Happily, he noted, gamma radiation levels were up and the capped-off landfill bordering the beach was burping its contents merrily into the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey dickwad,\u201d a woman\u2019s voice called furiously, \u201cget off the beach. Can\u2019t you read?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She pointed angrily at a sign reading, \u201cDanger \u2013 Area Closed\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yanking a lanyard from inside her jacket, she held up an ID.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNational Park Service,\u201d she snapped, then did a double-take. \u201cSay, aren\u2019t you Biz Markie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw,\u201d he said, \u201cI just look like him. Boop-fatcha-oor-bramp-wakka-wakka-weewoh.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are, aren\u2019t you?\u201d She prompted. \u201cI\u2019ve got all your records.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah well,\u201d he said, \u201cI might…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI knew it,\u201d she squealed. \u201cCan I have your autograph?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure,\u201d he said as she handed him her notepad. Their fingers touched, time slowed and her demons streamed through her fingers into his mind. \u201cThe rent, my boss, politics, war, my cheating boyfriend, daughter doing drugs, global warming, my debts\u2026 desperation\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Belial inserted the solution: “insurance claim” and smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere you go,\u201d he purred. \u201cYou take care, I have to dash.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll show you the way off the beach,\u201d she said and gestured to the car park. She turned, and he was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere the hell did he go?\u201d She whispered to herself as an icy chill rode her spine. She looked at the notebook, in perfect gothic script it said, \u201cThanks for everything, see you soon. B\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then a ghostly \u201cboom-chaka-wah-wah\u201d echoed across the empty beach and she fled.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cHey Belial,\u201d Lilith shot the demon a furious glance, \u201cwill you quit your beatboxing, or I swear to Dog I\u2019ll beatbox your ears.\u201d His single, vein-etched eye widened as she swept a taloned claw inches from his snout and he tumbled backwards in mid-beat into a vat of moral turpitude soup. \u201cWatch it, mam,\u201d he […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"A new #flashfiction from SWANSEAWRITERS: \"The Devil's Music\" by Martyn R Winters\n\n#fiction #shortstory","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[121,303],"tags":[304,305],"class_list":["post-568","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-121","category-september-2020-demons","tag-devil","tag-music"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-9a","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/568","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=568"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/568\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":570,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/568\/revisions\/570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=568"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=568"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=568"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}