"I’ll flay you alive if let them near the jack-o’-lanterns that power the portals," snarled the voice of the demon who led them to the basement. Pretty Caddy glanced behind her; a malevolent face glowed with an eerie dark light. Flames danced on the floor behind it. A demon grabbed her by each arm, and yanked her off her feet. She aimed a kick at the jack-o’-lantern, out of spite, but her kick fell short.
Two more demons in red pajama hoodies ran out of a dark corner where they had been lurking. One demon seized Caddy’s feet and the other one immobilized Galaxy’s feet, and they were carried to the back of the basement. The demon holding Pretty Caddy’s feet lifted her legs above her head, wrapped a plastic tie around her ankles, and secured her feet to a post. Two more demons held her down while a third demon stretched her arms along a cross pole and tied her wrists and upper arms to the cross pole.
The demon in the hot red bikini stood over them, gloating. "I am so glad you decided to stay. Satan chose you to be the guests of honor for our little sacrifice tonight."
* * *
Hanging upside down and squirming in her bonds Pretty Caddy did not analyze the semiotics of a satanic inverted cross, nor was she inclined to engage demons in a discussion of the principles and hidden meanings of their arcane rituals and eschatology. The ergonomics of her cross sucked and she was too busy cogitating about her impending sacrifice. Besides, they were demons, they’d lie.
She could turn her head and did so, and saw Galaxy hanging upside down on an inverted cross beside her. "Do you have plans for tonight, or are you just going to hang around here?" Galaxy asked her with a straight face.
Pretty Caddy groaned.
"I was hoping to cap the night off with fireworks," Caddy replied in a voice laden with innuendo.
"Good one! Consider yourself high fived." Galaxy was determined to keep their spirits up.
"Consider it done." Pretty Caddy looked up at her open toed shoes, and wriggled her toes. "I’ve never seen my toenails from this angle. I need a pedicure."
"The color of your nails doesn’t do you justice."
"I woke up on the wrong side of the mirror. What can I say?"
"Maybe it’s the lighting in here."
"Ghastly. Isn’t it?"
"You’d think a director would know better."
"Shut up!" The director stomped across the basement and glared down at them. "Shut up," he shouted, redundantly. "You’re going to be human sacrifices. Act terrified. Scream! The camera is rolling."
"Pleeze. I’m a glamour model. I don’t scream." Galaxy said indignantly. "Get Pitchfork Betty, over there, to scream for you. She seems like the type."
"Galaxy, did you sign a contract or release I don’t know about?"
"No. I didn’t sign anything, Caddy."
"Didn’t think so. I’m the official videographer of the Bikini Girls."
"Yeah; she’s the official videographer. You can’t film us, it’s illegal. It is, isn’t it, Caddy?"
"It definitely is. He can’t film us unless we sign a release. It’s the law."
"Okay. Okay. I’ll get a damn release." Moore turned to go get one and Lilith smacked him up the side of the head. "Moron. They’re screwing with your head. Now get back there or I’ll screw it right off your neck."
Moore leaned over them, squinting, nearly blind. "Scream. Damn you! I don’t need your release. Demons of Hollywood is a sure hit. The Devil guaranteed it."
"Ain’t never gonna happen," Pretty Caddy told him, all serious-like. "You’re camera angles are all wrong. Putting your cameras up high, I mean, really, what were you thinking? Shooting down makes your characters look small. Set them low and shoot up, it makes your characters larger than life."
"It’s a documentary."
"Fine, shoot at eye level; it creates a realistic effect. I do it all the time."
Turning her head to face Galaxy, since everything else was tied up, Pretty Caddy said, "He doesn’t even know the basics about cinematography. No wonder his films always flop."
"He is fundamentally flawed."
Pretty Caddy groaned.
"If I have to listen to one more of your bad puns, I’ll scream. I mean it, Galaxy. I will scream."
"Shut up! Both of you. My film won’t flop. Demons of Hollywood is going to the biggest drawing documentary of all time. The Devil guaranteed it."
"Fat chance. Even YouTube rejects your videos."
"Ooh; that was nasty, Caddy. I like it."
They both burst into laughter, enraging Moore further. His neck bulged and his face turned red, pustules popped and secreted, and the veins in his eyes stood out and throbbed.
"Scream or I’ll sacrifice you right now!" Moore shouted angrily, and leaned over them and stared into their faces, willing them to scream in terror and beg for their lives.
Pretty Caddy and Galaxy broke into fresh peals of laughter.
"Scream!" Moore bellowed hysterically, stuck in an anger loop.
Pretty Caddy’s eyes were getting watery from laughing so hard. "Why do evil villains always expect everyone to tremble in terror and beg?"
"And scream. Don’t forget the screaming."
"They can’t stand people laughing at them."
"I could never date a villain without a sense of humor," Galaxy quipped between sobs of laughter.
"Me neither."
"You’re ruining my documentary!"
Moore snapped. "Sacrifice them now!" He screamed at the political demons.
Sacrifice them! Sacrifice them!
Red-horned Satan wants them
Satan orders you to slay them!
Sacrifice them! Sacrifice them!
"Isn’t she ever going to get to the second chorus?" Pretty Caddy complained.
The pajama wearing demons leered at them and pulled out sacrificial knives that had sent heretics to hell, sacrificed wealthy Moors and unrepentant Jews, and sealed the fate of more than one political rival, including, for some, the demon standing beside them.
There was a loud crack of splintering wood, the door burst from its hinges and crashed to the basement floor. "Trick or Treat!" The Avenging Bikini Model from Cheyenne stood in the doorway, crossbow raised in firing position. She swept her crossbow around the room, pausing momentarily at every demon, hoping it would make a threatening gesture and give her legal grounds to squeeze the trigger. "Unhand my friends you fiends."
Cynthia Sand ambled through the doorway and struck a thoughtful pose. "Melodramatic; but you got their attention Bullet."
"Cut!" The director jumped up from behind the editing board, in an apoplectic rage. "You bimbos aren’t in the script. Get out!" Moore screamed, in his habitual exclamatory style. "Get out, right now!"
Sacrifice them! Sacrifice them!
Red-horned Satan wants them
Satan orders you to slay them!
Sacrifice them! Sacrifice them!
"Shoot the background singer, Bullet. I hate that song." Pretty Caddy hollered from the far side of the pentagram, her face hidden from Bullet’s view by jack-o’-lanterns and flames, the only sources of illumination in the basement.
Bullet turned her bow on the demon clad in a blood red bikini. It started to raise its hand. "Shoot it quick, before it casts a spell on you," Pretty Caddy warned. Bullet didn’t need urging. Raising a hand was the threat gesture she had been waiting for. Bullet squeezed the trigger and an arrow flew across the basement, right on target – like there was ever any doubt. The silver-plated tines of the demon bolt impaled Lilith before it could cast a spell, and the demon exploded in a mini-mushroom cloud of yellowish-black smoke.
Whips cracked, and political demons rushed at Bullet to avenge the death of their mistress and primary torturer. Bullet fired bolt after bolt with the speed and accuracy of legendary Mongol archers, minus the horse, obviously. There wasn’t room to ride in the basement and the ceiling was too low. Her horse was running free on the range in Wyoming, pining for her to return.
One by one, Bull
et’s relentless fusillade turned the political demons and their hideous red flannel pajama hoodies into clouds of smoke. The sixth and last demon burst into a cloud of smoke a scant six feet in front of Bullet.
The smoke was so thick the Bikini Girls couldn’t see each other across the room, and the air reeked of acrid, sulfurous fumes. But the Devil wasn’t done yet. It hadn’t claimed billions of souls and ruled Hell since time immemorial by being a quitter. No. No. No. The head of a horned demon rose through the flames burning inside the pentagram. Firelight danced on its scales and its burning red eyes were visible through the clouds of smoke. Bullet shot it before its cloven hooves touched the concrete floor. Another rose to take its place, and Bullet shot it, too.
Hanging upside down on her inverted cross Pretty Caddy saw a third demon emerge and knew something had to be done soon. Bullet would run out of arrows before Hell ran out of demons. Of that she was sure.
"Cythnia!" Pretty Caddy yelled because she couldn’t see Cynthia for smoke. "The jack-o’-lanterns power the portals." She didn’t say anything else. Cynthia was smart; she’d take it from there. Pretty Caddy could do nothing more, being tied up and all.
Cynthia was guarding Bullet’s six when she heard Pretty Caddy holler. She saw the black lit face of the nearest jack-o’-lantern glowing eerily through the haze, and shivered. It was the most evil thing she had ever seen. She could feel the evil force the jack-o’-lantern radiated at light speed. She wanted to scream but couldn’t look away. It was the Song of the Sirens in Pandora’s jack-o’-lantern.
Cynthia tore her gaze away from the face of the jack o’-lantern with pure willpower. She knew it had to be shut down. But how? She counted five jack-o’-lanterns, all seemingly identical, all electrical.
The breaker box! There is always a breaker box in the basement. I have to find it.
A red-eyed demon rose out of the flames burning between the jack-o’-lanterns. Bullet shot it. How many is that now, four or five? Cynthia thought. She’d lost count, didn’t know how long she had stared into the face of the jack-o’-lantern.
"I have to shut down the jack-o’-lanterns, Bullet."
"Do it."
"You’re back will be unguarded."
"Go." Bullet ordered, and stepped away from the doorway and reached into her quiver for more demon bolts.
Cynthia searched along the front wall first. She was afraid she would miss the breaker box in all the smoke, and searched systematically with her hands as well as her eyes. She knew that if she missed it she wouldn’t get a second chance. Bullet would run out of arrows and demons would erupt through the portal, kill them all, and terrorize the Carnival. Or worse yet, possess them and use their bodies as instruments of terror.
Cynthia forced herself to concentrate on her search for the breaker box. She came to a corner and began to search along the side wall. The smoke was thicker away from the doorway, the air foul and choking. She could barely breathe and feared for Pretty Caddy and Galaxy hanging out of sight at the back of the basement.
The side wall was longer and time dragged. Every once in a while a quick, orienting glance at the pentagram revealed another demon emerging through the portal and bursting into a dark cloud, adding yet more smoke to the congested air. Cynthia was forced to rely more on her hands than her eyes to search for the breaker box, and every addition to the cloud brought them all closer to the end of Bullet’s depleting supply of arrows.
Near the far end wall Cynthia found a set of abandoned stairs leading to a sealed door. The area under the stairs was a shadow in the darkness, the home of terror, every fiber of her being rebelled at the thought of entering it.
Cynthia thought of the breaker box under the stairs in her granny’s house, remembered other old houses she had prowled through as a kid, and forced herself, mentally kicking and screaming against it, to step under the stairs.
It was too dark to see anything. Her hand bumped against an unseen object and recoiled instinctively. Flinching all the while, she forced her hand back and traced the outline of a rectangular box. She felt a catch and opened it. Cynthia reached inside and her hand froze as she thought of another fear to add her growing list: electrocution.
Trying to counter her fear, she extended a single finger and felt the familiar shape of a circuit breaker, and breathed a smoke-filled breath of relief when sparks failed to shoot out from it and fry her.
But which breaker was the right one? Cynthia thought of throwing them all and reached higher. Near the top of the breaker box she felt the large double breaker of the main switch. She put her thumb against it. The tenants would be mad as hell when their televisions quit working, but lives were at stake. She turned her head, hoping a blue moon was out, and popped the main breaker.
Looking between dusty stair treads, she saw the fluorescent black light inside a jack-o’-lantern go out. The fires died down to licks of hellfire flickering along the floor inside the pentagram. "No!" Moore screamed. His scream turned into a prolonged wail of terror, as he was sucked through the air and into the pentagram, amidst a dense cloud of smoke. The licks of hellfire died instantly.
Cynthia walked out from under the stairs. "That put out their pumpkins."
Pretty Caddy screamed.
"Not you too, Cynthia."
Cynthia stopped and stared at Pretty Caddy in complete bafflement. "What–" Cynthia shook her head. "I don’t want to know," she muttered to herself, and went to help Caddy and Galaxy.
On the way, Cynthia walked by an unlit jack-o’-lantern and gave it a good kick. The top went flying and the side caved in. It felt really, really good. The jack-o'-lantern was evil. Cynthia kicked it again and went berserk, kicking pumpkins, ripping electrical cords from wall sockets, smashing black lights, and stomping on fragments of glass and rind, until the faces of evil were toothless and every jack-o’-lantern was utterly destroyed and laying in a thousand pieces.
Recovering her senses, she stood in the middle of the desecrated pentagram and surveyed the damage: pulp, shards of pumpkin skin, and shattered glass littered the floor and stained the walls. The basement looked like a pie factory after a tornado: Cyclone Cynthia.
"You done?" Pretty Caddy asked.
"Yeah; I’m good."
"How about cutting us down?"
Cynthia pulled the knife with an imitation pearl handle from the sheath strapped to her bare thigh. "I can do that."
With Bullet’s help Cynthia released Pretty Caddy and Galaxy, and soon had them standing upright on their feet. While they massaged their arms and ankles and gravity returned their blood to its natural pathways and body parts, Bullet collected her spent demon bolts. Just in case...
Galaxy picked up one of the arrows, saw the fork mounted in place of an arrowhead and broke out laughing. "These sure are funny looking arrows. Where did you buy them, Granny Clampett’s Grill and Armory? Or did you order them from an infomercial on late night television: ‘With Nugent’s Magic Two in One Arrows you can you kill your game and eat it too.’ "
Bullet marched across the basement and snatched the arrow from Galaxy’s hand. "It saved your overexposed ass."
"Bullet, you’re my hero." Galaxy grabbed Bullet’s head in both hands and planted a wet one on her lips.
"Ugh!" Bullet wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "That’s disgusting."
"And my ass is not the only one overexposed." Galaxy administered a playful backhand slap to one of Bullet’s nearly bare cheeks.
"I was talking about how many websites you show it on."
Galaxy aimed a haughty profile at Bullet. "I sell more photos than you do."
"Can we get out of here? I’m sick of this place." Pretty Caddy said in a tone of voice that brooked no dissent. She was 27 and still did some modeling and sold her share of photos, but sometimes she felt like a babushka babysitting the grandkids.
* * *
When they were back on Santa Monica Boulevard Pretty Caddy decided it was time for the babushka to take char
ge. "We should patrol for demons. Stay together this time."
"How much are we getting paid for this job?" Bullet wanted to know.
"It’s pro bono," Pretty Caddy replied.
"Yeah; great, we risk our lives and get boned."
Galaxy giggled.
Bullet shot her a scornful look. "That’s not I what I meant. Crawl out of the gutter, Glamour Girl."
"Pro bono means done for free, as a public service," Cynthia explained.
"I didn’t sign up for charity work. We’re supposed to get paid. This is America, the land of the fee and the buck."
Cynthia was appalled. "It’s ‘the free and the brave,’ " she corrected, tersely.
"I can’t be free and brave if I’m broke." Bullet lapsed into a sullen silence.
They patrolled the Parade from La Cienega to Doheny Drive. The crowd was more crowded, the drunks drunker, the catcalls and whistles more frequent and obnoxious, but there was nary a witch, nor demon, nor red pajama hoodie to be seen anywhere. All the demons on the boulevard had apparently been sucked down to Hell when the portals closed. The only sign of the demons earlier presence was an abandoned camera. That is until a squad of ghouls from the USC film school spirited it away. Then there was nothing left.
"It looks like we averted supernatural disaster. I think we can go home," Pretty Caddy said, "unless you want to stay and check out the guys."
They made a perfunctory survey of the inebriated primates around them. "Nah!" They said in unison and slapped their hands together above their heads. "We’re outta here," Galaxy declared.
Walking away, Cynthia glanced back and saw Bullet standing alone in the street, staring up at the sky. Cynthia nudged Pretty Caddy and nodded toward Bullet, and they walked back to her.
Cynthia stopped beside Bullet. "I’ve never seen a fireworks show like this. It doesn’t burn out." Bullet sounded mystified, and a trifle awestruck, which was not at all normal for Bullet and prompted Cynthia to look up.
Hundreds of thousands of lights were streaming across the sky, and they were nothing like fireworks, they were all of a color, a faintly bluish white, and blurry, and they weren’t falling to earth like fireworks.