TWENTY-SEVEN
“I can make nightmares flesh,” Mister Minx had once told Michael Davis. “Or, I can simply use these.” The creature had grinned and tapped its claws on the door frame of the house and Davis had sworn he had seen a glint of mischief in its soulless eyes when he had involuntarily flinched at the noise as much as the action. Despite the fact the thing was safely trapped behind the charms nailed to the doors and windows.
That had been just after the first show when the thing still had the slight pretence of power to it. It was a shadow now of that maleficent bastard, not that the public at large could possibly tell. To them it still was and perhaps always would be, the fearsome Mister Minx.
It was shortly after this that Davis had come up with the idea of researching into the past of the priests before letting them enter the house. He had no doubt Minx could dream up no end of horrors to torture these holy men on its own but still, knowing the fallen priest’s own personal little peccadillos never failed to surprise and alarm both the contestant and the growing audience alike.
When he had first suggested it to the creature, Minx had simply shrugged and said; “Why waste your time? You want horrors? You want me to torture the Christ lovers? That is the easy part. All I have to do is imagine the collar wearing cocksucker is you. That is motivation enough for me to cause them mischief.”
Then it had actually winked at Davis and that was without doubt the one image of the creature he would take to his grave. Not its first appearance that horrible night months ago now. Nor when it loomed over him ready to visit it’s terrors upon him. That slight tilt of the head almost human in its execution then that wink. Shudder.
Despite the demon’s taunt Davis had taken to compiling a short dossier on the next priest, then leaving it on top of the box holding Minx when it was placed into the house just before the show. Of all the surreal sights associated with the creature, seeing it sitting on the box reading the papers like a diligent student preparing for his final exam was perhaps one of the greatest.
Davis almost felt sorry for Father Ross as he tossed the three page document onto Minx’s box. Ross had been a drug addict before his rebirth and as such Davis could only imaging what horrors the little shit would conjure up for him later that night.
The producer shook his head ruefully. He was going to hell and when he finally got there he wondered if Mister Minx would be waiting there to finally fulfil its raison d’etat.
He thought back to when he had first told the creature what he was going to do with it now that it had failed its mission and it was under his control, well perhaps never under his control but it was Davis’ prisoner nevertheless.
Minx had gone ballistic and had begged and screamed for Davis to let it die. It was humiliation enough that it had failed its one and only reason for existence without being paraded in front of a public it was so eager to avoid.
Davis glanced up at the ceiling, there was still a stain from where the blood had seeped through the plaster from the other night’s mayhem. Davis started and took a couple of staggering steps back as the creature shifted slightly in the box.
He had recited the incantation to stir the demon some ten minutes previous so it would be fully wake in perhaps another half hour. He tried to regain his dignity and was damn glad the thing couldn’t see him from inside that coffin.
He let out a soothing breath and lifted the walkie-talkie he was holding up to his lips. “Nico, what’s the status on the audience?”
After a moment the Russian’s voice came through loud and clear. “Inbound, boss. Should he here in about an hour.”
Gorodetsky was in the first of eight coaches that had picked up the nearly five hundred strong crowd from the pre-arranged meeting place just outside of Barcelona.
“Good. Let’s get everyone set. We start the show half an hour after everyone is in their seats.” Davis told him.
“Roger that boss,” Gorodetsky replied and the walkie-talkie fell silent once more.
Davis backed out of the room superstitiously keeping his eyes on the box and only finally turned his back on it when he had passed the charms placed on the front door frame which kept Minx trapped inside.
And as he made his way passed the still empty main grandstand and towards the small production village that was tucked away from the public area, he did what he always did just before a show. He lied to himself. “Last show, this has got to be the last fucking show.”