Chapter 15: Below quota

 Something was not right. Screwtape had been feeling it for several days now. He felt uneasy; like something was creeping up his spine. It wasn't just a mood; this was bad. This was worse than he had felt when Mahatma Ghandi turned his back on violence; worse even than when the black humans were freed from slavery; when that dear old “Peculiar Institution” faltered.

The last time Screwtape felt this bad was when...was when it all began ... when the Enemy stopped fighting fair; suddenly gave the miserable humans a free lunch -- a ticket out -- that damned carpenter! Talk about a bully! It could have been the end of the Boss' Kingdom right then and there -- lucky not so many of the human stench found out what was going on -- cashed in their winning lottery tickets -- out of Screwtape's clutches forever.

Yes, it was bad -- real bad. This was getting under his scales. Screwtape shivered. A jangling went through Screwtape to his innermost blackness. He shuddered, reached into his secret drawer, and picked up the red phone.

His hot blood stopped pumping, chilled with sudden terror. The boss' voice was bellowing at him, unannounced. No intermediary, no warning. No mock-polite, ominous “The Boss will be speaking with you in a moment, Mr. Screwtape.” The sheer unexpectedness of it, the uniqueness made Screwtape know instantly something awful, terrible was happening.

“SCREWTAPE! the awful voice from the nether regions shrieked. What are you doing up there -- going to mass, church socials and bar mitzvahs? Are you trying to out-goody the goody two shoes? I want jewels, Screwtape, jewels -- and if I don't get them...” a black fist smote Screwtape on the jaw so hard he fell out of his swivel chair. The threat was awesome, potent, palpable.

“Sir, I --”

“Don't suck up to me, Screwtape! Just deliver! If you can't, I'll get someone else who can -- after I've gnawed your bones clean and sucked out the marrow.”

There was black silence on the other end of the line. Screwtape was shaking. He felt weak, ready to vomit. He had felt the Boss' ire before, but nothing like this. Something must really be eating him. Hah. No pun intended. He picked up the phone, dialed and shrieked at Glubwart. “GLUBWART!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yes, sir, sir, sir,” Screwtape mocked. His voice was shaking with fear and rage. “You're below quota, Glubwart!