like six strides. Its naked skin was as red as ripe chilli peppers and looked tougher than leather. The legs resembled a dog’s but were far longer, with hooves instead of paws. They were still drawn up as though someone had tickled the demon just before it hit the ground.
Its arms were long and curved, the hands elongated with grasping hook-like talons. Every joint of bone to bone was visible and the sinews that strapped the creature together were as thick as woven cables. The ribs protruded and the muscles were spare. No fat inhabited any part of the creature’s body. Relative to the demon’s own frame, its muscles looked thin and scrawny. But beside it, the strongest man in the village would have looked like he was made of matchsticks.
The wings were membranous things. The dirt and rocks pressed up through them and in some places the impact had torn them.
The face of the thing was even redder than the rest. In profile it looked somewhat like the shape of a new moon, a crescent in which the forehead and chin conspired to meet. The nose hooked downwards and its nostrils were flat and broad—I could easily imagine it snorting furious bursts of smoke out through them. Its skull pressed outwards against its skin and every angle of the face was hard and aggressive. The horns were black, short and hooked inwards.
Its lips had drawn back to reveal the demon’s yellow teeth— every one a needle sharp canine and not a molar among them. It looked like it was smiling, which I found hard to overlook. Its yellow eyes, with the oblong pupils of a goat, were also open. This, too, concerned me. Had anyone even checked to see if the demon had been killed by the impact? Perhaps it was only stunned. Worse, perhaps it was just pretending to be dead.
Finally—and this was one detail that, like the smell from the thing, had escaped no one’s attention—the creature’s ‘demonhood’ was not only enormous, it was also studded with fleshy, backward-pointing barbs. And it had three testicles. This made the men of the village darken with jealous anger, the women darken with unholy fantasies. It made the children laugh and point.
It was decided that everyone depart until the worst of the midday heat was gone. At that time Rickett and Wiggery, with the help of Reginald Cleaver, the village butcher, would divide the demon into two equal pieces. Cleaver would then make the necessary incisions and removals to produce ‘edible’ cuts for the first ever Feast of the Dragon.
By the time I got back to Velvet, my lunch was well past its best and though she threatened with great sweetness to paddle my bumcakes rosy, I didn’t have the will to take her up on it. The sun was high in the untouchable and the whole of Long Lofting was either ready for or already enjoying its afternoon nap.
Headless
I woke to the sound of Velvet sweeping the dust from the back porch and lay for a while listening to the stiff, rhythmic swish of her broom on the well-worn boards. Through the shutters, I could see the sun had begun to fall towards the earth, having slipped well beyond its zenith. Wanting only to sleep and sleep, I swung out of bed and rubbed my face to rouse myself. Outside, Velvet laid her broom aside and sat on one of the two rockers facing the field where the crater was. I approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. She laid her hand over mine.
“No one’s come back yet,” said she.
“We must be the first to waken.”
“No. It’s later than usual. You’ve slept near three hours.”
I checked the position of the sun and knew that she was right. Already I was sweating again for only a little of the heat had left the day. I sniffed the air and it smelled hot and dusty but clean.
“Come on,” said I.
In spite of the heat, I almost ran across the deserted field to the crater, with Velvet following not far behind me. The demon was gone and there were ruts in the ground leading out of the field.
“Spulicks! They’ve started without us!”
I ran back to the house to fetch the Ledger and without waiting for Velvet rushed over to Reginald Cleaver’s place where I was fairly sure everyone would be. The pathways of Long Lofting were empty, the cottages quiet but as I ran, the sound of a crowd up ahead grew louder. Cleaver’s place was set away from the centre of the village to minimise the stench of slaughter. Now, his house and abattoir were partially blotted out by the entire population of Long Lofting, about eight hundred souls. The quickest way to get to the front would be to skirt the crowd and Cleaver’s property and push in from the front.
A couple of minutes later I was squeezing between the wall of the abattoir and a smaller throng of onlookers. Reaching the front of the crowd I saw the source of the latest debate. Outside the abattoir was a hoist where Cleaver would shackle and lift larger animals before slitting their throats and allowing them to bleed out into the trough that collected the precious blood. Not a drop was ever wasted. The hoist was designed to handle even the largest cows and wild bison when we were lucky enough to hunt one down, but it was far too small for the demon. They’d got as far as chaining its ankles and raising them, but at full height, the hoist had merely lifted the demon’s legs off the ground.
“Keep those mules harnessed,” shouted Cleaver. “We’ll have to shift it to the bell tower. It’s the only place high enough for the job.”
“Now wait a moment,” said Leopold Prattle, puffing himself up to his full stature, “No one is going to perform a slaughter in the Great Father’s house.”
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“It’s a flaming demon, Prattle. The Great Father’ll thank you for making his job a little easier.”
“When you’re ordained to speak on behalf of the Great Father, Delly Duke, you’ll be priest of this village. Some time after Hell freezes over, I should think.”
Everyone chuckled.
It could have been the heat haze but I thought I saw the demon twitch.
“There really is no other place but the bell tower, Priest Prattle,” said Cleaver, “And I think Mr. Duke does have a point. We’ll be doing the Great Father a favour.”
“What is wrong with you people? You don’t do favours for the Great Father. You love and you serve him. That is all.” Prattle sighed and sagged back into his more usual posture of burdened martyrdom. “However, as there is no other place to perform this task, I authorise you to use the bell tower on this one occasion.”
A happy shout went up from the worried crowd who thought that they were about to be cheated out of their feast in the eleventh hour by a religious technicality. At this rate, there were going to be a lot more faces in the church on the next holy day.
Cleaver lowered the demon’s feet and unshackled them. The crowd parted for the mule team and Rickett and Wiggery assisted the mule runner in re-hitching the demon. They dragged it away from the abattoir across the square to the church. The crowd followed, exhausted and hungry but full of anticipation. Half an hour later, having run a pulley system from the beams in the bell tower, Cleaver gave the signal and the demon was hoisted. This time they hauled it up until its head was hanging a stride and a half above the stone steps of church. Its wings hung outward and open, held at their tips quite willingly by Rickett and Wiggery. Its arms had been tied up behind its back to ensure that every limb would completely drain of its blood before slaughter. Its private parts, which had been a matter for public scrutiny since its arrival, hung down towards its belly and still drew stares and sighs from many of the women.
I grabbed Prattle by his skinny arm, immediately disgusted with myself for touching him, and said through clenched teeth,
“Are you sure you want them to do this?”
“A moment ago you were all for it.”
“No, I was only saying that if you were going to go ahead with it, there was no reason not to do it here at the church. I still don’t think that cutting up and eating a demon is a good idea.”
Prattle turned towards me then and I saw in his eyes what I should have noticed a lot earlier. He didn’t think it was a good idea either. He was frightened. It was obvious that all he’d been doing was chasing popularity and more backsides on church benches. When it came down to it, slaughtering a demon was not something he wanted to be involved with.
