FIVE
Such a strange turn of events, Davis mused. Was it really just over twelve short months ago that he was bankrupt? (Morally as well as financially if he was honest.) Holed up in some seedy London hotel wallowing in his own self-pity, waiting to reap all the pain and misery he had caused throughout his cursed career. Michael Davis, that Michael Davis had been little more than a pornographer back then. A peddler of some of the most degrading filth imaginable.
It hadn’t always been that way. When he had started his film career, back in the late nineties he had dreamt of being the next David Putnam. But as it turned out he had neither the know-how, contacts, or to be fair the talent to realise that particular dream. The films he had managed to scrape together were low budget affairs, nasty little horror flicks with increasingly violent and sexual themes.
So, gradually as his debts rose and his reputation plummeted, Davis’ productions had become little more than torture porn. Some towards the end quite literally so. It still made him shudder when he thought back to the depths he had sunk to make a quid or two.
The lives he had forever tainted because of their involvement in his obscenities. Bright eyed young starlets reduced to the most depraved of barely legal acts that towards the end even he couldn’t stomach to watch.
So many damaged lives, so much money owed to some of the lowest most violent scum Europe could offer. It all had a sickening inevitability to it. He deserved his fate, Davis had fully accepted that.
He had been expecting a hitman to come creeping into his room one night, but what he got was in fact the most unlikely key to his salvation. The irony was so thick you could choke on it if you weren’t careful. In the end it was Mister Minx who had come to despatch him that night, conjured up by whom Davis didn’t know. Not that that really mattered in the end.
He winced inwardly as he remembered that night and how Minx had been taunting him with the drawn out sadistic luxury of a thing with all the time in the world to carry out its mischief. That in the end had been the creature’s own down fall.
Davis it turned out had been little more than live bait for the demon. In truth he had little recollection of what had happened when the trap was sprung by that crazy German, Hauser. One second the monster was on his chest promising all kinds of hell to come, the next it was on the floor writhing in pain.
Apparently, the German had been tracking Minx’s creator, waiting for him to strike. It was something he did from time to time when he got wind of such an abomination to come. ‘Which is more often than you would like to think’ he had said.
Then as Davis had sat draining a newly opened bottle of whiskey with the German whilst watching Mister Minx gradually stop fitting and slip into a coma on the floor of that non-descript hotel room. An insane idea began to form in his fear addled mind.
“What are you going to do with it?” He had asked.
“Fuck knows,” the German replied. “I hadn’t expected it to last this long. They have usually exploded or something by now.”
“Can you control it?”
This had won a look of suspicion from Hauser. “I can, why?”
At the time Davis had no clue what he was going to do with the thing, but he knew this was a sign, a demonic gift horse if you would. And he wasn’t going to look it in the mouth (Once was enough for that as it was sitting on his chest promising pain and lots of it.) The plan would come in time he knew that.
It had been the German who had given Davis all the paraphernalia he needed to imprison Minx, at a hefty price of course but the man had nearly bitten his hand of at the offer.
After all like he had said, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with the creature as it was, now that it hadn’t just up and died as he had expected it to do. So after half a bottle of cheap booze they had agreed it was a win-win for both of them.
And so thanks to that unlikely visitor and fifty grand of stolen money, Michael Davis got the biggest break of his life. A second chance, not at redemption, Christ no he was too far gone for that. No, a second chance to have it all.
“Life on a knife edge is better than no life at all,” Davis said out loud as he thought about how things were now. His life was still far from easy, there were still those who wanted him dead, or damned, or both and he would certainly never be respected as a broadcaster and entertainer. But as tonight’s figures showed, what he could be was rich. And on the balance of things he would take that above all any day.
He felt the front door of the house open before he heard it. And his fingers instantly tightened around the box. With all the lights in the house turned off, it was pitch black inside. Davis instinctively scanned the threshold for the charms, which he could just about make out nailed around the door frame. He was safe enough, but still he held up the box like a priest might hold up a crucifix in the presence of vampires.
A moment past, then a small bony hand curled its fingers around the door, and then Mister Minx’s face appeared out of the darkness, lit only dimly by the security lights dotted around the high chain link fence that surrounded the field. Its black soulless eyes narrowed all the same and the creature retreated slightly from the light so only half its face was now visible behind the half open door. A small mercy Davis was glad of all the same.
“Good show tonight,” Davis blurted out and instantly cursed himself.
“Let me go,” it sighed.
“Fuck,” Davis hissed through gritted teeth. That voice. The words cut right through him it felt like physical assault. Whenever the thing spoke to him directly, no matter how softly the words were spoken. He found himself taking a sharp intake of breath like he had been sliced with a razor.
“You have my word,” the creature continued. “I won’t seek vengeance for all this, this... Humiliation.”
“Soon,” Davis lied then was cut off by a hideous hocking sound as the demon spat out a mouthful of God only knew what. The dark phlegm instantly evaporated as it crossed the line of charms at the door.
Davis lowered the box, but kept his hand by his side, taking comfort from the power it held over Minx.
“Look what I’ve become,” Mister Minx lamented. “My kind shouldn’t last this long. I should have returned to smoke and misery long ago. I am a travesty.”
No argument here, Davis thought.
“It’s time for you to go to sleep, Minx,” he said. “The next show should be in a couple of months or so.”
The creature moved to speak again, but seemed to think better of it. It slipped back into the darkness of the house and the door gently shut a moment later.
Davis exhaled in relief. It had been hard not to run off screaming during that little exchange. His head was pounding from the sheer effort and it was only now he realised he was shaking. With cold or fear he didn’t know.
“Boss?” It was Tiff. Davis turned away from the house and instantly felt a little better, he could still feel the thing looming over his shoulder, but its hold on him along with that of its sole resident wasn’t as nearly as strong when it was out of sight.
“Tiff?” He had to shout, the woman was standing over by the open gate of the security fence which now surrounded the house. Davis saw she had managed to acquire an ill- fitting pair of glasses from somewhere, still he could see her squinting at him from there.
Next to Tiff was a massive security guard who was loitering by the gate ready to lock up. The only structures left now were the small prefab security hut and the fence, and of course the house. Davis’ BMW was parked a little further away.
Tiff made a ‘well are you coming or not?’ gesture because she sure as hell wasn’t going to come any closer to the house. Davis walked over to the gate were Tiff was hopping from one foot to the next like she needed the bathroom. “Can we go now boss?” He pleaded.
“Of course,” he turned to the security guard. “You speak English?”
“I do,” the security guard answered with a strong Russian accent.
“Good, please take Miss Parker over to my car, would you? I just have to lock up for the night.”
The security guard gave him a quizzical look and held out his keys to the Producer.
“No,” Davis said with a shake of the head. “You can do that after we are gone.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I have to lock up that.” He said.
“Ugh,” Tiff shuddered and took a hold of the security guard’s ample arm. “Don’t ask big fella, don’t ask.” With this she led the bemused guard away and over to the car.
Davis was about to open the box and take out the parchment when Tiff’s mobile phone went off. She answered it and after a moment nodded gravely.
“Boss?” She called over to him.
“Can’t this wait, Tiff?” Davis said testily. He hated using the parchment as each time he did, he always had that nagging doubt that this time he would mispronounce a syllable or two so it wouldn’t work and Mister Minx would come screaming out of the house and straight into his guts.
She took a couple of steps towards him and held out her phone like it was radioactive or something. “I think you should take this, Boss.” She said frowning.
“Okay,” Davis relented and snatched the phone from her.
“It’s the Vatican,” she told him.
Davis looked at the number, it was their man in the holy city, which only meant one thing, he had a new potential ‘volunteer’ for demon time. Perhaps the next show wouldn’t be quite so far away after all.
Over at the house Mister Minx let out a long gut wrenching howl.