Screwtape kept his demons waiting for an hour. They shuffled nervously in their chairs and glanced at the clock. Rumors were whispered around the long dark mahogany table: “What’s it about? Why did he call it? What does he want? It’s too soon. He said one year. He promised us one year; he can’t want it now, can he? Can he?
Glubwart kept worrying about that runaway girl in Clayton County, Alabama. Mary was her name; hard name to forget; so many Marys; so many. And the One; they all had something with the One. But Glubwart’s Mary was different; something there; something troubling. He kept trying to get deeper into her dreams, but something was preventing him. She seemed to have more than her fair share of the Enemy’s power. He knew he had to give priority to his master’s demands -- but the matter of Mary kept distracting him, making it hard to concentrate on Project Sugarloaf.
Screwtape sat in his office, twirling a pencil. There had been no reply from the Chief of the Eastern District about Glubwart’s problem child. Glubwart was obviously making a mountain out of pimple. If the girl presented a serious problem, the Chief of the Eastern District would have some information on her. An insignificant case; let it go.
Finally, Screwtape got up from his chair and strode into the conference room. He chose the precise moment his overlings were engaged in office scuttlebutt. He banged open the door and was inwardly pleased to see the terrified looks on their startled faces.
“Well, you mighty, terrible demons,” Screwtape snarled. “What have you got for me? You seem to have time to gossip -- do you have time to fulfill your duties that our Underworld requires of you?” The demand was met with silence. The master demons representing every part of the United States, Earth District hung their heads and cowered before their lord.
After a long silence, Glubwart summoned his courage. “We are working on Project Sugarloaf, Your Lowness; but the deadline--” “IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK!” Screwtape howled. He strode vigorously up and down behind the backs of the seated, quivering devils.
“B-but sir,” another demon spoke up. “You gave us a year...”
“The Magnificent Underlord giveth, and the Magnificent Underlord taketh away,” Screwtape said, pleased with his clever twisting of the Enemy’s vocabulary. “What profiteth a demon to hoard treasures, when his very life may be demanded of him today?” Screwtape grinned wickedly.
“You,” Screwtape said, pointing at the demon sitting beside Glubwart, “What progress do you have to show?”
“I’m working on a juiced-up version of crystal meth,” the demon answered. “It should be a real killer.”
“A real killer. That’s rich,” Screwtape said. He continued his pacing while the demons squirmed. Suddenly he stopped behind the unlucky demon’s chair, opened his gaping jaw with the glistening teeth, and bit off the head. A fountain of blood drenched Glubwart. The terrified demons heard the crunching sound of their colleague’s skull being crushed by Screwtape’s powerful jaws.
“A word to the wise, gentlemen,” Screwtape said after he had swallowed his snack; “Underworld deadlines can be flexible. Let that give you incentive to try harder. I do hope you’ll try harder.” Screwtape smiled politely, as if he were offering tea to an honored guest
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