The Devil Came to Rockville
By David Accampo
Midsummer oily heat haze on the black asphalt roads when the devil came to Rockville, and Henry was the only one who noticed, out of breath, pushing his black-and-chrome silver Huffy bicycle across the sidewalk and into the flat gray parking lot of the Savings Corner Market. Out of breath, pumping up and down the gentle wave of Snipes Road, hot air scorching his mouth and lungs, watching the shimmering obsidian heat mirage in rhythmic time, foot down, breathe in, foot down breathe out and finally, the Exxon station comes into view, then Harmony’s ice cream stand, then the post office, and then the Savings Corner market.
Henry eyed the devil carefully. He was sitting on the old wooden bench just outside the market, He looked like a pack of chamois stitched together and slung over a pile of wire clothes hangars. The angles of his face were wide and plentiful, and the skin was almond leather stretch tight almost to breaking. The devil was eating a banana, slowly peeling down the yellow strips of skin. His jaw, jutting out sharply, was moving like he was talking to the banana. Henry pushed his bike up against he wall on the opposite side of the automatic double doors. He jammed his hands into his pockets, fumbling for the two quarters there. Enough to get The Mighty Avengers comic book where the Black Panther fought the Man-Ape, the book he read on the stand last week while his mother was picking up eggs for quiche night. And twenty-five cents left over for a blue cream soda to dampen the dry stickiness in his mouth.
The devil looked up at Henry and stopped peeling his banana.
Howdy, said the devil.
Hi, said Henry.
Hot enough for yeh, said the devil, like it wasn’t a question at all.
I guess, said Henry.
Yep, said the Devil. Cooler in there. He nodded to the glass doors.
Henry’s fist clenched around the quarters in his pocket. He liked the way it felt, squeezing as hard as he can.
Y’look thirsty, said the devil.
An overweight woman with a wide brown perm and a formless blue and brown housedress pushed past Henry to walk into the market. She didn’t pay mind to the devil; which surprised Henry. He looked at the devil, at the small, white bone bumps protruding from the skin there.
I know who y’are, said Henry in a quiet voice that surprised him a little.
Oh, do yeh? The devil’s face stretched into something that looked like a smile made by a a person who had only ever heard the description of a smile. This time it was actually a question the devil was asking.
Yeh, said Henry.
Then the devil did something that really surprised Henry. He reached out a thin hand, his fingers quick to slip around Henry’s wrist like a noose. He lifted Henry’s hand, pulling his arm toward him. Henry didn’t move. The devil examined Henry’s arm, his pale blue eyes scanning from wrist to elbow, turning over the freckled brown bits to inspect the pale underneath. And where it purpled and yellow up near the bicep. The devil looked up at Henry. Henry tried to swallow, but his mouth was too sticky now and his tongue just clicked and he made an odd mewling sound.
He did that to you, did he? Last night?
Henry didn’t move.
I could hear, yeh know. When my porch is quiet and the summer night is still. Yeh aren’t that far away. Just up past that ring of oak trees where you like to play, right?
Henry managed a nod.
I could hear him screaming something awful, said the devil, and then he let go of Henry’s arm. He leaned back on the bench, his head lolling back against the wooden paneling of the storefront. He regarded Henry. His eyes never seemed to blink. They were full of liquid.
Well go on and get y’r comic book, said the devil.
Henry dropped his hand back to his side. The quarters still pressing into this flesh. Stinging . He stepped to the side and pulled open the door. The cool blast of air conditioning washing over his face. He could feel the sweat on his brow start to dry. He entered the store and walked slowly over to the rack of comics just past the three lanes of checkstands. He thought he’d get The Mighty Avengers, and maybe a Master of Kung-Fu, too. Or a Legion of Super-heroes. He’d have to flip through to see which one had more fighting, but he wasn’t in a rush.
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