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The Prime of Darkness waited until the sun had completely disappeared from the desert sky before enshrouding himself in darkness and hauling the wood and rope out of Gracey’s garage to the side of her yard where the big oak tree waited patiently for him.
Materials in hand, the Prime of Darkness stood before the tree, looking up though its leaves to the glittering stars that peeked out from behind the tree’s foliage. How this oak had managed to thrive in the middle of the Chihuahuan desert baffled the demon. Was it the soft, dense undercurrent of magic that he felt circulating throughout the entire town that allowed this majestic tree to grow here amid the lechuguilla and mesquite? He could think of no reason for any kind magic to keep a tree alive, but he was wise enough to know that as much as he knew of the world, there was much he might never understand.
He’d visited Earth hundreds of times over the course of his ancient existence, but the demon had never before climbed a tree and was unsure how to begin. But the oak was knotty with dense bark and low-hanging branches, and after only a few unsuccessful starts, the demon soon found himself up in the tree, tying the ropes around one of the large branches, giving his knots a good, strong pull to test their strength.
The knots held. The demon grabbed the rope with both of his hands and then with his knees, wrapping his legs around it like a fireman on a pole, hanging on as though for dear life, his brow creased in concentration as he waited for gravity to do its worst.
But the rope held.
He smiled in satisfaction before he realized that suspended as he was from a rope twenty feet off the ground, he was quite unable to get down. He was a demon, but he was not superhuman, and the body that he currently wore was either not capable of pulling him back up to the branch or he simply lacked the know-how to tell the muscles how to make this feat happen. He unwound his legs from the rope, trying to throw them upward to latch onto the branch, but succeeded only in swinging to and fro like Tarzan. The best he could do was dangle from the tree branch like the sad remnants of a forgotten piñata.
The demon found this situation utterly unacceptable. And so with a sigh and bitter resolve, the demon simply let go.
It was a longer way down that it looked.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and he slammed into it with a jolt that shook his ankle and knee joints and he toppled to the ground. He groaned in pain, doubling over, hands clutching knees, grimacing into the darkness. How much longer would he have to endure this corporeal contraption?
Still, as long as he was burdened with the body, he might as well put it to use. He hauled himself up and brushed himself off. Grabbing the ropes in either hand and settling his backside onto the suspended plank of wood, the Prime of Darkness propelled himself forward, chest out, elbows back, a slow but steady beginning. Pumping his arms and legs, the demon pulled on the ropes, kicking his legs out, leaning backward to gain momentum. The swing picked up speed and height, and in a moment the demon was gliding through the air, full of grace, accompanied only by the low creak of the great oak branches and the silent trailing of his red cape.
From his bedroom window where Marco watched this glorious scene, the demon looked spectacularly like a superhero from a comic.
The boy smiled. He knew without needing to be told that the Prime of Darkness had built the swing for him.
Too excited to sleep, Marco arose early the next morning, quietly pulled on tennis shoes so as not to wake his brother, and dashed out the front door. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his pajamas. The night’s coolness had not yet been displaced by the irascible sun, and Marco’s skin pimpled over just a little as he darted across the street to the wooden swing newly dangling from Gracey’s oak tree.
It was a beautiful sight made the more glorious by his having seen the Prime of Darkness use it to fly through the air, his red cape streaming behind him like Superman himself. Marco envisioned himself similarly heroic as he positioned himself at the seat, which hung ever-so-slightly higher off the ground then was ideal for the boy. A clumsy but sufficient running start, and Marco jumped up, catching the edge of the swing seat with his butt and scooting backward until he was properly positioned. The swing’s ropes were long, and Marco was strong despite his skinny stature, and before long he was sailing high into the sky, head back and laughing, his red pajamas a smear of color across the golden desert horizon.
He swung with gleeful vigor until his thighs began to ache, and with reluctance he let his velocity slow. It was only when the swing had almost come to a stop that he noticed the Prime of Darkness sitting on the ground, his back propped against Gracey’s house, watching Marco with a soft smile.
“Do you like the swing?”
Marco grinned, nodding. “I’ve always wanted one,” he said. “But we don’t have a tree in our yard.”
The demon nodded. “I meant to build this for you a while ago. But time got away from me.”
Marco gave a carefree shrug. “My mother says that happens to grown ups. El tiempo vuela!” Marco kicked his feet, twisting the swing from side to side. “You put in the swing last night. I saw you.”
The demon narrowed his eyes at the boy. “You saw me last night?”
Marco grinned again, nodding. “I saw you swinging. You were great. Your cape was going like this.” Marco held his arms aloft at his sides, flapping them like a bird’s wings. “Like Superman.”
The demon shook his head. “You should not have been able to see me, Marco. I was supposed to be hidden.” He paused a moment and added, “But you can see things that other people can’t see, can’t you?”
Marco dropped his gaze, looking down at feet dangling just above the ground. “I guess so,” he said quietly. He shrugged his shoulders and when he looked up again, he was smiling, light dancing in his eyes. “I saw you fall out of the tree,” he said. “You shoulda just teleported.”
The demon raised an eyebrow, wondering first why he hadn’t thought of that himself, and then wondering how Marco knew about this ability. “You’ve seen me do that, too?”
Marco only shrugged.
The demon chose not to pursue this line of questioning. He had gathered all the information he needed for the moment. “You’re up early,” was all he said.
“I couldn’t wait to try the swing!”
The demon grinned — he never laughed — and Marco, having rested his legs sufficiently, began to swing again. “It’s a little bit too tall,” he complained genially.
“You’ll grow.”
“Did you ask Gracey before you hung this?”
“No.”
“Do you think she’ll get mad?”
“No.”
Marco laughed. “Me neither. I like Gracey. She’s awesome.”
The demon nodded. “I like Gracey, too.”
The demon was surprised at his own words, but now that they were spoken he couldn’t very well retrieve them. Not that it seemed to matter, as the boy had either not heard or not thought the statement particularly strange. And why should he? He supposed that to a young boy, it was obvious that a man — even a blue-skinned man who never changed his odd clothes — who perpetually appeared at a woman’s house would like that woman.
The demon frowned. If only reality were so neat and tidy.
“Who was the little girl you were playing with yesterday?”
Marco continued swinging, but his smile thinned and he didn’t meet the demon’s eyes. “What girl?”
“The girl with the pink shirt. I saw you with her yesterday.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Marco.” The demon sighed. “You saw me when you weren’t supposed to. And I saw your friend when no one else can. Some would say that makes us allies.”
“What’s allies mean?”
The demon decided to try a new tack. “You can invite her to play on the swing. I don’t think Gracey will mind.”
Marco seemed to consider this a moment. “Her name is Alma,” he said. “She’s my friend.”
“How do you know her?”
“I just know her. How do you know Gracey?”
The demon admired the boy’s spitfire, and was in no mood to enter a pissing content with a little kid, so he let the situation be. At least Marco now had an opening to talk about the invisible little girl when — and if — he wanted to.
Her armload of laundry quite forgotten, Gracey watched Marco swinging from the little window of her laundry room. It was just after 6 AM; she’d come home from the bakery to unload the laundry machine, sure that Tiny couldn’t be relied upon to do it, and she needed a fresh blouse for tonight’s date with Simon. Mitsuo was alone at the shop, and while Gracey was sure of the boy’s capabilities, he suffered from typical teenaged lack of self-confidence. Gracey didn’t want to leave him long, but the scene before her caught her rapt attention.
She’d known nothing of the demon’s intention to hang the swing and had not seen him do it, so its appearance was as mystifying as it was wonderful. She watched Marco swing with expert grace, babbling to someone Gracey could not see. She assumed he was talking with this invisible friend, for she couldn’t see the demon who sat just beneath her window.
She should have thought to hang a swing for Marco ages ago. The boy frequently assaulted her porch swing with or without an invitation. And he was such a loner. The swing would undoubtedly provide him a needed respite. Why hadn’t she thought of it?
She opened the lid of the dryer, throwing the clothes into the machine with a small grunt. She closed the lid, turned the machine on, and left the laundry room. She walked through the kitchen and down the hallway toward her bedroom.
But as she walked through the hallways, something pricked at the back of her brain. She stopped, looking at the line of grave stone rubbings Tiny had made when she’d first moved to town. She examined the names: Rose McGovern Allen, Mark Carlton Howard, Minerva Katherine Auckland.
Gracey’s breath caught in her throat as she read and re-read the third name that adorned her wall. She knew she’d heard it before, knew it wasn’t a name that Marco should have wielded so easily. Of course, Tiny had taken the rubbing from the graves in the Love & War cemetery, and Marco had admitted to playing in the cemetery every now and then, but it seemed strange to her that he should lift such a name from his memory with such ease. It didn’t fit.
Did it?
She thought back to the day before, to the Prime of Darkness saying that Marco had been playing with a little girl that Gracey couldn’t see. She’d suspected there was something special about Marco for some time, but she didn’t know much about the paranormal, her associations with angels and demons to the contrary. She had no idea what else lurked out there in the great beyond, had no idea what Marco’s abilities meant or what he could do.
Or why he’d asked her if Minerva Katherine Auckland had “gotten” Audra Fairgood.
A thought struck her that made her blood run cold. Could Marco see ghosts? Could that be why he played in the cemetery? Was the little girl Gracey couldn’t see the spirit of a deceased child? But he’d told her that there was no such thing as ghosts.
Gracey smiled to herself. Of course he’d said that. He’d said it as much to convince himself as her. She’d done such a thing herself as a child.
She could just go ask him. But what if she were wrong? She didn’t want to spook the poor kid. But as she stared at the grave rubbing before her eyes, she began to feel a sense of urgency coiling up in the pit of her stomach. For some reason, this was important. She needed to know what Marco knew.
October 31st, 2010
I really love the imagery of Prime and Marco on the swing, and it really evokes that feel of the carelessness of youth. Not that Marco’s life fits that mould.
Anyway, I felt relaxed and comfortable reading through the chapter until Gracey got the chills. Now I’m worried for Marco.
It is always a wonderful surprise to discover a new chapter available to read. I’m glad you are still able to make time for it whenever you can.