“Guess where I got to go this week,” The Devil challenged excitedly as he burst into the living room as if shot out of a cannon. “I’ll even give you a clue: it’s someplace I haven’t been allowed to set foot in for a couple of centuries.”
He was impeccably dressed as always in a suit that cost more than I currently had in my 401K.
“If people knew better, you wouldn’t be allowed to enter anyplace on this planet,” I countered.
“Lucky for me, people aren’t very smart,” Lucifer quipped. “Now guess.”
I shrugged because I hadn’t a clue, but I knew I had to play along or this annoying game would continue for the entire afternoon.
“The White House,” I guessed. “Steve Bannon and you are roomies, and you have bunk beds close enough to the President’s quarters to rush to Trump’s side whenever you hear him yelling out the nuclear launch codes in his sleep.”
“So hilarious,” The Prince of Darkness replied with mock laughter. “You’re actually a lot closer than you realize, though.”
He sat down on his end of the couch, grabbed two bottles of Snapple from the cooler, and handed one to me.
“Well, are you going to tell me or what?” I asked after taking a sip of my iced tea. “I’m waiting here with bated breath and whatnot.”
“I got inside the Vatican!” Satan bragged as a devilish grin swept across his handsome face. “It’s built like a fortress to keep me out. They have Swiss Guards and all sorts of special gadgets to detect evil, plus the Nuns are all witches who can sense my presence.”
“How did you get in?” I asked in a state of semi-shock. Lucifer had no place in the home of the Pope.
“President Trump,” Lucifer snickered. “He didn’t realize it, but I slipped in with his entourage. Just another handsome prick with slicked back hair, wearing an expensive suit, acting like he belonged, and pointing to the counterfeit White House ID around his neck. I’m sure all the super sensitive security devices were shrieking out warnings and the eyes were rolling back in the Nuns’ heads, but as I suspected, Vatican security just wrote it off to Trump’s presence.”
“You piggy bagged your evil with Trump’s,” I whispered in awe. “It’s brilliant.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled that Pope Francis is willing to accept that Trump’s evil is at the same level as mine,” The Prince of Darkness groaned, “but I’ll take it if it gives me a chance to wander around a place that’s been off limits to me for so long.”
“Is there anyplace on Earth that you go in your true form?” I asked as I tried to picture Satan, horns and all, walking down the corridors of the Vatican.
“Jut Klan meetings,” The Devil responded without hesitation. “No one can tell it’s me under the sheets and hood, so why bother changing my look, you know?”
I looked at him absolutely dumbfounded as that was not the answer I was expecting.
Lucifer burst into laughter. “I’m just messing with you, Austin. I don’t go to Klan meetings. I know those good ole boys are coming to me when they die, so there’s no need to check on them. But to answer your question truthfully, I have been to known to venture out to one place as my true self.”
“If you’re waiting for me to guess, I’ve got nothing,” I admitted.
“Sometimes, I’ll go au naturel to a New Jersey Devils game,” The Prince of Darkness told me with a smile. “Especially during the playoffs. Those fans are so intense, and many of them will paint their faces and put on fake horns to try to look like me, so I fit right in. It’s pretty awesome.”
My Sunday guest was full of surprises. I took a big gulp of my Snapple and wondered what it would be like to spend just one day in his cloven hoofs…
If you want to read more about my weekly visits from The Prince of Darkness, you should follow me on my blog and on Pinterest, where you can find the Sunday short stories pinned to their very own board.