Otherworld Management

Otherworld Management

By Jack Morton

Art by Arnold T. Blumberg

Gran shuffles over from the stove, a thick, home-knit cloth protecting her hand from the black iron handle of the kettle. She pours over the dried brown leaves, and a thick, musty, homey smell rises with the steam. It smells like a hug from the bony old woman made soft by the layers of clothing she wraps herself in, even in summer. She pulls out a chair, begins to lever herself down across from me, when— 

“Oh, sugar! Not again, the wee devil, I’ll have his…” 

I turn to look, but only see a pair of muscular, black-haired hindquarters and snake-like tail disappearing into the trees at the edge of her property. 

“Gran, sit down. It’s gone anyway.” 

She ignores my request and hovers by the small square window, face pinched as she watches to make sure it’s gone. 

“Easy enough for you to say,” she mutters. “You’ve never had to deal with demons in your life. Your generation has it easy…” 

“Gran, I saw two on the walk from the train station. I learned about them in grade school.” 

The snort that greets that could have come from the prolonged snout of one of the beasts in question. “Sure. In the city school. I’m sure they taught you some lovey-dovey approach to make peace with them.” 

“No. They warned us they were dangerous. But they also taught us about how they’re endangered. Horned Demons are a keystone species. Without them to keep cosmic balance in check, the angelic population skyrockets.” 

“What’s wrong with a few angels?” 

“When an ecosystem gets too holy, it scares off the nature spirits that make the trees grow.” 

“I’m not trying to grow trees! I’m trying to keep my goats alive!” 

I turn the handle of her mug towards her, hoping it’ll tempt her back to the table, but she keeps up her vigil. “I know, Gran, I’m just saying we need a more humane approach to managing demons and all otherworldly creatures.” 

She laughs, at first a humourless reaction to the idea, but a cheeky chuckle takes over, and she says, “Go on, then. Let’s see the humane approach.” 

“Huh?” 

She nods into the yard. “He’s back.” 

She’s got a no-excuses-to-your-grandmother face on, or I’d have backed out. I try an encouraging sip of tea but just get a burnt tongue, as I stumble through the kitchen door out into the yard. 

As I trot to the goat enclosure, I try to look up how to get rid of demons on my cell, but the reception out here sucks. 

He’s already hopped on a fence post, so I shout before he can go for one of the animals. 

“Hey, you!” 

He looks over his shoulder. A puff of hot, wet breath that reaches me ten meters away bursts from his mouth as it splits into a toothy grin. A long, dripping tongue lolls forward, and he turns and steps down from the fencepost.  

They usually kind of squat on all fours. Plus, I’ve never seen one this close. Hunched over it’s still easily twice my height. 

“Be, uh, begone! Foul one!” 

A rumble, like shaking from deep in the earth. It rises through tones I might associate with a dog, through roars like I’ve only heard in nature documentaries from bears or big cats. It goes beyond earthquakes, beyond thunder, until I feel it throbbing inside my skull, and on the point of causing pain it begins to modulate. It’s only then I realize this isn’t a roar. It’s a laugh. 

The demon snorts steam from its nostrils, extends footlong claws, and bares cruel, hooked fangs. 

“I invoke the spirits of the forest to aid me.” 

The laugh returns. I make an unhopeful glance to the treeline. Nothing. 

The voice seems to come from inside my head yet bounces into my ears from all around. No one can help you, little girl. 

The pounding in my head drives me to my knees. It’s all I can do to look up. “I invoke… I invoke the angels? Please, if you can hear me? Someone hel—” 

“Oh, you’re pathetic.” A wrinkled hand, nothing but sinew and scar tissue, lands on my shoulder, leaning a bit of weight on me as Gran moves in front of me. She doesn’t have her cane to lean on, she’s using it to— 

WHACK 

“Get!” 

WHACK 

“I told you!” 

THWACK 

The first two caught the demon on its meaty legs, but it made the mistake of cowing, and this third one cracks off its head between the horns. With a yelp, it runs for the trees, Gran shaking her cane after it. “And dinnae let me catch ye here again!” 

I lower my hands to the ground and push myself to my feet. Then I feel another hand on my shoulder. A soft, warm hand. As I turn to look, a gentle white light gleams from it. I follow the flawless skin of the arm back to a shoulder draped in flowing ivory robes, and a pristine, kindly face ringed in golden curls smiles down on me. “Did you pray for me, child? In times of need, faith will always—” 

It isn’t another whack, but a good enough prod to the chest to promise one if ignored. “Away with you!” Gran snaps. “We’ve no more need for you than that there demon. My granddaughter says you lot scare off the forest sprites.” 

The angel looks to Gran, affronted, before shimmering out of sight. 

Gran catches my surprised eye. “My hearing’s no gone yet. I listen.” She scoops up my arm and starts stumping back to the cottage. “Come on. Our tea’s getting cold.”