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deeper into my chest and I smelled burning flesh and chest hair.
I strained against the leather straps, wanting desperately to rip the hot
metal off my body.
"Ah, yes, that should stay in place quite nicely," said Mr. Burke, observing
Witch's handiwork with satisfaction. "We'll just let it cool before we attach
the camera."
I found myself frantically blowing on the metal, as if that would help. Mr.
Burke and Witch seemed to find this terribly amusing.
Roger was still struggling to break free of his chair, but making no
progress.
"I think we're ready for the injection," said Mr. Burke. He leaned over me
and spoke tenderly. "Now, this is going to hurt just a little bit, sort of
like having your flesh shredded with a cheese grater from the inside and
thenmicrowaved . But don't worry, it's not addictive."
Witch patted my forearm to get a vein.
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I struggled with every ounce of strength I could muster. In all of the times
I'd been tied up or strapped down or otherwise prevented from enjoying freedom
of movement, I'd never successfully managed to break free through the use of
superhuman strength, and I was due. I visualized myself breaking free. I
visualized Roger breaking free. I visualized Samantha breaking through the
door and breaking us free. I visualized Kyle breaking through the ceiling in a
superhero cape and breaking us free.
I remained strapped to the bloody operating table.
Witch held up the hypodermic needle, squeezing some liquid out to avoid
injecting an air bubble into my bloodstream. She brought it down slowly toward
my arm.
I was concerned that my final thought in this world might be something stupid
like my seven year-old son breaking through a ceiling in a superhero cape, but
I couldn't force myself to think of anything else.
Witch slid the needle into my skin.
A warm, almost soothing feeling flowed through my arm.
Followed immediately by the most devastating pain I'd ever felt in my life. A
dozen times worse than, say, chopping off my finger or having a red-hot piece
of metal pressed against my chest.
I screamed and screamed and screamed.
Then, for a change of pace, I shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.
I may have said "Ow!"
It really, really hurt.
"My, my, listen to Andrew scream," said Mr. Burke. His chuckle echoed
throughout the room.
It didn'treally echo, did it?
Yes, it did. In fact, it was still echoing.And getting louder. I heard it in
stereo.
Mr. Burke smiled, revealing oversized teeth.
I looked at my straps and gasped in horror. They'd transformed into ... well,
they were still leather straps, but they were unexplainablyscary leather
straps.
"Is it working, Andrew?" asked Mr. Burke, his voice dropping an octave or
two. "How do you feel?"
"I hurt."
"How does your mind feel?"
"I don't know. I think it hurts."
Mr. Burke held up his hand in front of me. "How many fingers am I holding
up?"
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"Three," I said. Suddenly that seemed amazingly funny. Three fingers! He was
holding up three fingers! Right in front of my face! I giggled.
Giggling was so much more fun than screaming. But screaming had its positive
aspects, too, like giving your lungs a workout and keeping them healthy, and
alerting people to your presence who might otherwise ignore you, and...
I giggled some more.
I raised my back as much as I could. "Something is swimming in Goblin's
blood."
"And what do you think that might be?"
"Idunno . You tell me." I giggled at my joke. "It's a little man swimming in
there.A tiny little man swimming in Goblin's blood. I hope he doesn't pee in
it."
"I hope he doesn't, either," said Mr. Burke, still smiling at me with those
oversized, way-too-white teeth.
"You've got funky teeth" I told him. "Pull them out for me."
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Oh.Bummer."
I looked at Roger, who looked hilariously miserable. He almost looked like he
was going to cry. And he was a grown man!
I laughed at him.
I suddenly realized that I didn't hurt anymore. And that there were now
several tiny little men swimming in Goblin's blood. One of them was doing the
breaststroke.
"You know," I told Mr. Burke, "it takes a lot of work to kill a man with
paper cuts, but I'm patient."
Mr. Burke kept smiling. All of his face was gone except for his teeth.
"You know what?" I asked.
"What?"
"That's what." I frowned. "That wasn't funny. You know what?"
"What?"
"That's what." I laughed hysterically, and then I slammed myself against the
table a couple of times to crush the millions of tiny little men swimming in
Goblin's blood.
"Tell me, Andrew, are you afraid of demons?"
"Dee-mons!Dee-mons!"
"There are demons everywhere, you know."
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"Spooky scary demons!"
"There's one in this room."
"Creepy crawly demons!"
"You hate demons."
I nodded. "Demons suck."
"Indeed they do."
"Yanking off a hangnail with a staple remover is overrated."
"Indeed it is."
"Doesn't it hurt just having teeth for a face? What if you have to blow your
nose? I don't understand how it works, I'm sorry."
"Look over there," said Mr. Burke, pointing. "Do you see the demon?"
I did indeed. It was a female demon, wearing a white lab coat spattered with
blood. She was one serious babe, even though she had red scaly flesh and eyes
that literally smoldered.
It was clearly a succubus. Or was it an incubus? I always got those two
confused. It was a continual source of shame and embarrassment.
The demon hissed at me. I hissed back.
"You want to kill it, don't you?"
"Nah."
"Andrew, it's a demon. Aren't you the mighty demon slayer?"
"What kind of dumb shit are you talking about?Demon slayer,hemon slayer. I
need to slay morehemons . What's ahemon ? I'm hungry."
"The demon is looking into your soul, Andrew."
My God.He was right. The demonwas staring right into my soul. It was learning
my secrets, laughing at them, mocking them, sharing them with its demon
brethren. The demon's evil was exploring inside me, wriggling around like
worms, devouring its way into my heart.
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