1An evil woman crawls out of a basement crawl space. She eats the heads of several small infants. Rats accumulate on her feet and lick the boils clean. There is one child in particular. She hates this child terribly. For each of his meals, she feeds him a single poison apple. But the poison is mild. The woman does not want to kill the child in a single dose. She wants him to linger over the peel. She wants him to fade into the core. Then she will feed his father sausages. Ripe links of cured meat. Seasoned
with her own favorite blend of death peppers and salt. The sort of flavoring that might destroy a cardiovascular system. She imagines heart rates escalating to the point of hyperactivity. The woman is always angry. The boy tries to eat her favorite bananas. She gives him mangoes but he insists on ripping open the fruit jackets. He leaves her the salty, unripe ones. The starchy strands catch in her teeth. She spends hours cleaning the spaces out. Then he steps on her toes. This is always done while smiling. Her feet are rarely left exposed. She keeps them in a pumpkin shell. The cinnamon flavoring makes her ankles swell. The boy tries to scoop the rind out. That is my cushioning, she says. The boy does not care about the woman's comfort. So she sits at a small sewing machine and practices sharpening her knives. The apple peels gather around her legs. They turn brown. She knows to pour lemon on them but saves the acid for the boy's eyes. I hate him, she says, drinking the sour juice. She hears fly sounds in her head. Give him the apples, a voice buzzes. The evil woman knows warnings about these things. Do not go near the devil. Do not touch the unholy fruit. Do not feed the children poison. But the boy asks for it. Her knees are always locked together. She sprinkles extra salt on his food and gives him less water. His tongue turns dark brown. He tries to push the tip against a bottle's condensation. Seven thousand apples later, the boy is gone. She throws him on a table. Her carving is done carefully. She rounds the knife around the shoulder blades. The meat falls away. She uses vinegar to cure the fat. Her husband sits at the dining room table. Where is my meal, he asks. Where is the boy? She gives him the fried links and he forgets everything.
2
Some evil things live in a hole beneath a music house. They have cat heads and scratch long furrows into the wallpaper. A woman presses her ears to the floorboards. Buzzing flies tell her about the girls living upstairs. One beat herself in the face with a gun barrel. The other got pulled into a ditch. Another one lost her head. It happened suddenly. A man took a knife and worked it around the contours of her skull. Then he pried it off. No one found it again. Her shoulders remained bare. An imaginary cranium was thrown down the well. It cracked when striking a rock. The cat faces rose out of the dirt and licked the eye sockets. Several of the feline demons meowed. They wanted bloody catnip. The head was meant to have plenty of food. The demons changed faces. They peeled around the edges and pried the flesh off. There was a moth head beneath. It sucked on wool sleeves. The girls were somewhere in there, trapped beneath the hems. They kept moth balls in their mouths. The girls wanted to poison everyone. Especially the moths. The girls hated the furred mouth parts. There was a forked tongue in those jaws. The end of the muscle was a set of genitals. The male half was erect. The female part was moist. Both twined together. The reproduction happened behind the forehead. A woman leaned in too close and the forming children drew her in. They lived inside the thin flesh for nearly nine years before coming out. Each had a double coyote head. A music man played a guitar upstairs. The demon children wailed. They hated the chords. They wanted to hear running water. Maybe a few female screams. Some masculine shouts. Anything but the combined melodies and harmonies. They hoped a string would snap so they could handle the sounds better. The man just kept playing. The evil thing oozed green. This was a stereotype it had seen in movies. Ordinarily, it was just a solid mass pressed to a wall. But the fuming liquids seemed to frighten people so the demons adopted them. The buzzing flies were taken, too. Even the fermented meat smell. Everything mankind thought was frightening. The demons weren't impressed by all the theatrics. They believed a hideous face and thrown rock was enough. Even the skeletal birth of a damned child.
3
A thick black tar subdued an entire ocean mass. Almost immediately, bloated bodies floated to the surface. An evil face grew out of the tar. I am anoilslick, the demon said. It chewed on just cooled magma stones. Fish stuck to its waist and drown. The monster traveled. It moved many miles in only a few minutes. Its bulk increased as it waded. Dead eyes bobbed around its torso. Priests arrived at the seashore. Their goal was to subdue the creature with rosaries. A biblical passage might have been enough to slow the monster. The men shouted their prayers. The tar mass giggled and knocked them aside. The holy men drowned in the low tide. Instead of a white foam crest, they were beaten with a thick black substance. The tar got in their facial orifices. The priests sputtered. They blessed coral stones and took them as a final communion. Sharp points punctured their throats. The oil demon laughed. Did you think trinkets could eat away at my body, it asked. It slapped its hands against the water. The slick splashed up. It ate parts of itself. I taste salty, he said. Oh my, do I taste lovely. Other holy men came. Rabbis. Preachers. Prophets. They stood on a cliff facing the oil spill. We will send your evil back into the earth, they shouted. The demon knocked them down. They drowned in the stickiness. The demon watched closely. You remind me of turtles, it said. The holy men struggled on their backs. Their arms twisted around their necks. They kicked their legs repeatedly. Their heels broke open bits of the tar. The demon splashed them again. Their eyes turned dark black. Crude poured out of their eyes and noses. When they opened their mouths, their tongue was streaked with black. They spit on the beach. The demon covered the sand with his bulk. He let the holy men bathe in him. They scrubbed but couldn't clean their skin. Soon, they were submerged to their chins in his back. He waited until they were fully inside before standing. It wasn't something he wanted to do. It was just that he was hungry. He needed to inhabit skin to survive.
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