The doormat said ABANDON SHOES ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE.
There was no door. Just a space between two pillars made of human spines.
Chad Hardwick stood on the mat, body turned at a precise forty-five-degree angle. The angle the great sales masters teach. The angle that says, I won’t come in unless you want me to.
The masters all agreed on this - never make the prospect feel threatened.
The thing between the pillars was twelve feet of blood-seeping exposed muscle and antlered skull. It wore an apron and was holding a paring knife.
“Good day, sir. I’m Chad Hardwick. I was just in the neighborhood, Mr...?”
“I AM XTHR’GTHRLL’MVTHRXX’QRR’THNN. RENDER OF MARROW. RIPPER OF SPINES. NAMED IN THE VOWEL-LESS TONGUE. LOOK UPON ME AND DESPAIR, FLESH-THING, FOR YOU STAND AT THE THRESHOLD OF—”
“Lovely branding! Do you mind if I call you XTHR’G?“
“NO. I GUESS THAT WOULD BE FINE,” said the lesser torment demon.
“Great. As I was saying, I was chatting with R’GRTTXT just down the lava flow, and he said I should definitely come speak with you. May I come in?”
“WELL IF R’GRTTXT SENT YOU...” the demon stepped back to make a path for Chad to enter.
“Thank you, I’m sorry if I interrupted you while in the kitchen.”
“I WAS JUST MAKING TEA AND A LIGHT SNACK. JOIN ME?”
Chad used a pocket shoehorn to slip off his Allen Edmonds Maxwell Reserve Crocodile Derby dress shoes. “Tea would be lovely. It’s hot as hell out there.”
“I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE. THE PRIMORDIAL JOKES ARE THE BEST JOKES.”
The home was one enormous dome, thirteen arched pillars meeting thirty feet overhead.
“You had the load-bearing pillars removed.”
“I OPENED IT RIGHT UP MYSELF. SOMETHING OF A DIY GUY,” he called, pleased, from the kitchen. “FEELS BIGGER.”
Chad rapped a knuckle on the nearest outer pillar. “This isn’t composite, is it.”
“GENUINE SPINAL COLUMNS. ONE VERTEBRA, ONE SOUL.” Faintly proud now. “COMPOSITE IS FOR CONDEMONIUMS.”
“I knew it. Most of what’s out there now is pressed with a fake grain stamp. Fools people.”
“BUT NOT YOU.”
“Nope. Not me.”
Three throw pillows sat on the sofa on top of a flayed-skin dust cover from Restoration Horrors. They depicted cartoon animals in mid-dance, grinning. A fox. A frog. A porcupine. Chad had seen this collection in four homes this week. Cozy Critters. Somebody was moving units.
Above the mantel, there was a carefully arranged display of objects. “You collect thimbles?” Chad said warmly.
“COLLECTORS CALL THOSE THUMBLES,” the demon approached, carrying a serving tray, a dish towel over one muscled arm. “A THIMBLE WITH THE THUMB STILL IN.” The paring knife indicated the middle three, gently. “THOSE ARE COCO CHANEL.”
Chad leaned in to study one of the thumbs. A tiny burn mark on it said: 3/100.
“LIMITED RUN. NUMBERED BRANDS FOR PROVENANCE.”
“Three thumbs, though?”
“REGENERATION.” The demon set down the tray. “THERE’S AN IMP OVER IN HARVESTING. TAKES THE THUMB, GROWS IT BACK, TAKES IT AGAIN.”
“Infinite inventory.” Chad nodded, slowly, with respect.
“THEY CAP THE RUN AT A HUNDRED PIECES. THAT’S WHAT MAKES IT COLLECTIBLE. I’VE GOT NUMBERS THREE, TWELVE, AND THIRTY-ONE.” A pause. “I’M AFTER NUMBER ONE.”
“Naturally.”
“A SLOTH DEMON IN OPERATIONS HAS IT. WANTS AN ARM AND A LEG FOR IT.”
They sat. XTHR’G poured.
The tea was the color of tea. Small white blobs drifted in it, turning slowly.
“Boba?” Chad would do almost anything to close a sale. Almost.
“GOD, NO. THAT’S DISGUSTING.” The demon looked briefly ill. “ORGANIC FLY LARVAE. LOCALLY SOURCED.”
“Oh, nice.”
Chad drank it.
“SO. I PRESUME YOU’RE HERE TO SELL ME SOMETHING.”
“XTHR’G,” said Chad, “I have a question for you. And be honest with me.”
He leaned forward, staring intently into the empty eye sockets of the demon’s goat skull.
“Have you heard the good news about the miracle of air conditioning?”
The silence was just short of uncomfortable.
“SO CHAD...IT WAS CHAD, YES?”
“Yes, Chad Hardwick.”
“YES. YOU SEEM LIKE A SMART GUY.”
“My mother thought so.”
“SO, I ASSUME YOU KNOW WE’RE IN AN INFERNO.”
“One hundred percent. And it’s only getting hotter, which, when you think about it, makes no sense.”
“IT IS HELL.”
“Right, but follow me here.” Chad set down his tea. “Brimstone. What’s brimstone? Sulfur. And sulfur, this is well documented, XTHR’G, sulfur cools. You put more sulfur in the air, the temperature goes down. That’s chemistry.”
“...HUH.”
“So riddle me this.” He spread his hands. “We’ve got more brimstone than we’ve ever had. Record brimstone. By the numbers, this place should be getting colder.“
“...IT IS DEFINITELY NOT GETTING COLDER.”
“It is not.“ Chad let it land. “So where’s the heat coming from, XTHR’G? Because it’s not the brimstone. Somebody turned up a dial somewhere, and they are not telling us the truth. Ask yourself, who profits?”
“YOU’RE NOT SAYING...BIG THERMOSTAT?”
“You’re a sharp guy, and I don’t just mean the rending claws.”
“YOU’RE TOO KIND. I’M JUST A REGULAR WORKING-CLASS JOE.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t working Joes be able to afford the good things in the after-life too?”
“THAT’S THE DREAM.”
“And what could be better than being comfortable in your own home?”
“I CAN’T THINK OF MANY THINGS.”
“Imagine it. You come home, you step out of the 666-degree heat, and it’s a perfect 70.”
“OR MAYBE 68 DEGREES WITH A LIGHT SWEATER.”
“Sure. The important thing is that your talons would be on the dial. I’m not just talking about comfort, I’m talking about taking back control.”
This time, the silence was exactly the right length.
“BUT MY ABODE HAS NO WALLS.”
“Lovely views by the way.”
“THANK YOU. IMPROVES THE VALUATION.”
XTHR’G paused for another sip of his tea.
“SO. HOW WOULD THAT WORK THEN? ARE YOU SUGGESTING I ENCLOSE THE PLACE? BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO AIR CONDITION THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD...”
“No, of course not. Let me ask you this. If walls weren’t an issue, would comfort be something you’d want?”
“OBVIOUSLY.”
“And if you could cool only the areas you actually use, what then?” Chad already had the brochure out of his briefcase.
“I WOULD WANT TO KNOW MORE.”
“This is the Cold Comfort 500 floor unit, our latest model. It’s new FroZone™ technology keeps any thirty-foot area at the perfect temperature, regardless of the surrounding environment.”
“FROZONE ISN’T THAT ALREADY TRADEMARKED? LOVED THE INCREDIBLES.”
“Nah. Different IP class. Appliances. We’re fine.”
XTHR’G stared intently at the product information.
“SORRY, I ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT. THAT’S WHERE THEY FUCK YOU.”
“Take your time,” Chad said, sitting back and crossing his legs.
The demon finally lowered the brochure.
“YOU KNOW WHAT, I’LL TAKE THREE.”
This was genuinely funny, and the atmosphere was on point. Great story!
Ha ha ha... Ha ha ha ha ha ha... Ha ha ha ha ha... Ha ha... Ha...HA!
I honestly don't think there's any way this could have been funnier.
Thank you!