Phantoms

he watched the truly miraculous transformation of the demonic visitor.
    Restricted to the caves since Sunday, Jeeter knew nothing about what had happened in Snowfield. Kale recounted what little he knew, and Jeeter was thrilled. “You know, what it is, it’s a sign . What He did in Snowfield is like a sign tellin’ the world His time is comin’. His reign is gonna begin soon. He’ll rule the earth for a thousand years. That’s what the Bible itself says, man—a thousand years of Hell on earth. Everyone’ll suffer—except you and me and others like us. ‘Cause we’re the chosen ones, man. We’re His apostles. We’ll rule the world with Lucifer, and it’ll belong to us, and we’ll be able to do any fuckin’ outrageous thing to anybody we happen to want to do it to. Anybody . And no one’ll touch us, no one, ever. You understand?” Terr demanded, gripping Kale’s arm, voice rising with excitement, trembling with evangelical passion, a passion that was easily communicated to Kale and stiffed in him a dizzying, unholy rapture.
    With Jeeter’s hand on his arm, Kale imagined he could feel the hot gaze of the red and yellow eye tattoo. It was a magical eye that peered into his soul and recognized a certain dark kinship.
    Kale cleared his throat, scratched his ankle, scratched his calf. He said, “Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I really do.”
    The column of slime in the center of the room began to form a whiplike tail. Wings emerged, spread, flapped once. Arms grew, large and sinewy. The hands were enormous, with powerful fingers that tapered into talons. At the top of the column, a face took shape in the oozing mass: chin and jaws like chiseled granite; a gash of a mouth with thin lips, crooked yellow teeth, viperous fangs; a nose like the snout of a pig; mad, crimson eyes, not remotely human, like the prismed eyes of a fly. Horns sprouted on the forehead, a concession to Christian myth-conceptions. The hair appeared to be worms; they glistened, fat and green-black, writhing continuously in tangled knots.
    The cruel mouth opened. The Devil said, “Do you believe?”
    “Yes,” Terr said in adoration. “You are my lord.”
    “Yes,” Kale said shakily. “I believe.” He scratched at his right calf. “I do believe.”
    “Are you mine?” the apparition asked.
    “Yes, always,” Terr said, and Kale agreed.
    “Will you ever forsake me?” it asked.
    “No.”
    “Never.”
    “Do you wish to please me?”
    “Yes,” Tell said, and Kale said, “Whatever you want.”
    “I will be leaving soon,” the manifestation said. “It is not yet my time to rule. That day is coming. Soon. But there are conditions that must be met, prophesies to be fulfilled. Then I will come again, not merely to deliver a sign to all mankind, but to stay for a thousand years. Until then, I will leave you with the protection of my power, which is vast; no one will be able to harm or thwart you. I grant you life everlasting. I promise that, for you, Hell will be a place of great pleasure and immense rewards. In return, you must complete five tasks.”
    He told them what He would have them do to prove themselves and please Him. As He spoke, He broke out in pustules, hives, and lesions that wept a thin yellow fluid.
    Kale wondered what significance these sores might have, then realized Lucifer was the father of all disease. Perhaps this was a not-so-subtle reminder of the terrible plagues He could visit upon them if they were unwilling to undertake the five tasks.
    The flesh foamed, dissolved. Gobs of it dropped to the floor; a few were flung against the walls as the figure heaved and writhed. The Devil’s tail dropped from the main body and wriggled on the floor; in seconds, it was reduced to inanimate muck that stank of death.
    When he finished telling them what He wanted of them, He said, “Do we have a bargain?”
    “Yes,” Terr said, and Kale said, “Yes, a bargain.”
    The face of Lucifer, covered with running sores, melted away. The horns and wings melted, too. Churning, seeping a puslike paste, the thing sank down into the floor, disappeared into the river below.
    Strangely, the odorous dead tissue did not vanish. Ectoplasm was supposed to disappear when the supernatural presence had departed, but this stuff remained: foul, nauseating, glistening in the gaslight.
    Gradually, Kale’s rapture faded. He began to feel the cold radiating from the limestone, through the seat of his pants.
    Gene Terr coughed. “Well… well