The devil, you say

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'Hell, no!', Norman screams as he gets closer and closer to the fire. 'There is no hell. I don't believe in it!' The furnaces roar, spit out flames. A devil with real horns and a pointed tail push him nearer, nearer. He can't bear the heat. His heavy sweating will not help him escape.

 

The early morning sun, brighter than usual, wakes him. Feeling how wet his under arms are, how his p.j.s cling to his body, for a moment his senses go berserk. As he steps out of bed, his foot collides with something metallic. Picking it up, the bright red toy pitchfork instantly puts him back in hell. It falls out of his hand like a hot potato. 'Jonas, get in here right now!', he calls to his son. A sleepy voice answers, 'What do you want? It's Saturday. I don't go to school today.' Norman replies, 'You'll find out what I want, when you get your tush in here.'
Jonas, still in his bear-de-boo p.j's, rubs his eyes and obeys his dad. Holding the red toy pitch fork in two fingers, Norman wiggles it in his son's face. 'Why is this piece of junk on my bedroom floor? Isn't your room big enough for you? ' Curling up inside himself, Jonas asks, ' You woke me up for this? Bejesus, Dad, I never saw it before. Christ, I'm nine years old. Do you think I still play with baby toys?' Norman merely waves his arms wildy and sends him back to bed.

 

Marcia already has the washing machine going. It's swish swish sound can be heard from the basement. 'Jonas, in case you remember where you got the pitchfork, I'll be downstairs.' My wife comes upstairs to the kitchen when she hears me open the fridge. She has already set the Saturday breakfast table. When Norman gives her cheek a short peck, she feels his wet p.j.s and must, of course, ask Norman why he didn't shower and put on his garage cleaning outfit before coming down.
That is all he needed. From his pocket he pulls out the red toy pitchfork. With a scowl and rough voice he asks, 'What the devil is this junk doing on my side of the bed? I woke Jonas and he said he never saw it before. That means you must have put it there. Right?'  Marcia is bewildered. 'I told you I never saw it before. Calm down. Throw it in the trash and forget it. I'll hold your breakfast until Noah comes down.' At that, Norman's blood pressure soars. 'Oh, no, either he comes down to eat with us or we eat without him. Do my eggs over light. First give me the apple juice.'

 

Marcia takes the eggs and butter out of the fridge and tells Norman her lips are dry. She needs her mauve lipstick and will be right back.
'Noah, Noah, get up quick. Daddy's waiting downstairs for breakfast. Here, don't tell him I told you. Put on this old T shirt and jeans and skedaddle down, fast.'

 

Nitpicking from morning until night is not unusual but this time it destroys any chance of peace. Norman fingers the pitchfork and breaks off two tines. His hand begins to sweat, burn. He decides a cold shower will make him feel better. Naked, he opens the shower door and sees something red on the floor tile. It is smokey, starts to rise, becomes big enough to push him against the door.

 

All he can remember after that is the noise, the roar of furnaces and then he remembers nothing.