Seven Demons Aidan Truhen (reading an ebook TXT) 📖

in fact I believe some even quite like the—yes quite so do not worry for one instant I am entirely cognizant there will be no harm to the dog I can assure you. No indeed I understand entirely leave it with me I will instruct the children to utmost respect—”

Loud Banjo Telemark playing the fool.

Quiet Doc in the background moving her chess pieces.

And Mrs. Van der Zee laughing at us both and thinking I do not see her.

And that is fine.

—

Big boots like a cavalry officer and jeans by Yamamoto and a midnight sou’wester coat borrowed from Bruno in the Black House, which still has Z-Vat and what I suspect is Charlie’s lip gloss on the zip fastening. The coat is so much bigger than I am that it comes off my shoulders and I am basically wearing it like a cloak like a medieval tabard and I am on my way to steal the ducal hat of Burgundy—I love this country I honestly do ANYWAY anyway I am working now I am focused like a razor on the neck I am in the zone—I am in Bruno’s coat and an aqua shirt that is mostly undone and I have a cane with a rat skull on the top which I am motherfucking TWIRLING yes twirling like music hall like Fred motherfucking Astaire.

The Banjo is IN.

Walk up glass stairs with everyone looking at me and don’t know just throw that fucking door wide open on its expensive cantilevered modern art hinge and hear something pop in the mechanism so it hangs there—

“Hi Director Desirée baby it is BAAAAANJOOOOOO! Are you pleased to see me don’t answer that I can already tell that you are.”

“Oh goodness! Mr. TELEMARK what are you doing here?”

“O I am sorry you must be super busy I really came to say hi and let you know everything is shaping up supercoolio for the EVENT I am putting on at Kircheisen and I am of course not under arrest.”

“I was sure that you were—”

“That is my art Madame Director and I am not the first and greatest of exponent of Ambiguitionism for no reason. In doubt and dismay and the sense of a world gone mad—that sense which touches the edges of our minds at all times in this runaway century—that is where I live. I am Banjo Telemark and that is my truth now show me yours.”

“I—I am not sure I have one ready.”

“Perfect! Please tell Hans the bulldozers will arrive tomorrow by helicopter he should be ready. And some other stuff. O do you know who I talk to at the Swiss Air Defense Force to let them know there will be fireworks?”

“Well yes but the Air Force they do not fly during the nighttime it is against noise regulations.”

“…I love this country Madame Director. I truly do. Ciao! Baci!”

“…Yaawuhhh. Baci. Yaaawh. Absolutely. Quite.”

—

Since I am out anyway this will be an opportunity to return Bruno’s coat. It is not nice to keep things people have loaned you and if it rains he will need his enormous coat and Charlie would be cross with me. Plus I like Bruno I do not want him to be wet. I am an international villain bajillionaire murder kingpin bank robber that does not mean I have to be a prick.

Plus there is just something I would like to ask no big deal but I would quite like a few bags of Z-Vat and some user instructions maybe a little help practical assistance in exchange for an intro to Mr. Friday and a serious motherfucking upgrade to their revolution if they’re serious about it.

So I go to the Black House to return the coat.

—

I open the door on a scene from a horror movie and not one of those nice black-and-white or early color ones where the horror is basically a woman in a nightdress shouting fuck but one of the modern ones which are a lesson in trauma anatomy and the audience is mostly medical students and snuff perverts.

Leclerc has been here.

Charlie will be—I don’t know what this will do to her I honestly do not. It’s on another order of things.

I don’t know what it’s doing to me.

There is Loob and he’s just dead like mercifully if that makes any sense, which it does not. There is a hole in the middle of his face but no one tortured him. Rosa has been shot a bunch of times because obviously a woman who makes cakes really needs taking down hard. Thing and Thong are face-first on the sofa and someone walked a pistol up their spines from pretty close range so I’m guessing they surrendered and Leclerc’s people thought that was hilarious. I’m not going to go on because you can make it up you won’t get it wrong. The blood is like oil on water in the dark.

For a yawning moment I wonder if the farm house looks like this too and I will go there and find Doc dead and Charlie and Rex and even Saul and Lucille but no. You cannot just walk up on my Demons. They frighten me. They are strange and even quirky and bad things would happen in unpredictable ways: you would explode and pigs and doors would devour you. Strange diseases would melt you and then a walking knife collection would open your veins and a scary commando would blow you away and you would cease to exist across a whole range of media and your body would never be found. This—this is just—this is just to be unkind. François Leclerc is writing his name on the world. On Charlie.

Hell is other people they say and in this one instance it is exactly true.

—

I stare at hell for a while. I make myself look. Look Jack look. The world has this in it do you understand? The world has this man who did this. People pretend that it does not and they live and have children and if