text: “Linda!” Tom said, without looking away from the television. “Bring me another beer!” She’d heard him but pretended not to, busying herself with the dishes. He had one too many already, she thought. The kids were already asleep and she didn’t want him getting out of hand. Not again. Not after last time. She touched the scar on her forehead and felt sick from the memory. “Linda!” She flinched this time. His heavy boots shook the house as he stomped into the kitchen. “Didn’t you hear me? Bring me another!” He stood in the doorway, arms stiff against the frame as if being held back. His eyes were locked on hers, wide and red and terrible. “Tom,” she said, backing into the corner of the kitchen. “There aren’t anymore. You drank them all.” She was lying and she hoped to god that he’d believe her. Before he got home, she dumped them all out back. She hoped they’d share one sober night but hadn’t accounted for him stopping at the bar before he’d gotten home. He stood there, silent, considering that possibility. After a moment, he turned and walked back into the living room without a word, apparently convinced he did indeed drink them all himself. Linda exhaled and loosened her grip on a knife she was holding behind her back. She was ready, but was grateful it went without use. She was hopeful now. Perhaps he could sober up and they could have something close to a normal night. She filled a glass of water, set it beside him and sat down on the other end of the couch. “What’s that for?” he said, never looking over at her. “Just thought I’d put it there in case you got thirsty, is all.” “I am,” he said, reaching for the glass. “But not for that.” His finger made contact with the rim and he tipped it over. Water sank slowly into the carpet. Linda stood to get a towel but before she took a second step, Tom stopped her. “Leave it.” Linda froze, unsure whether to just give up go and to bed or sit down and keep trying. Tom turned to look at her. “What are you doing, Linda? Why are you always so damn weird. Sit down or take your ass to bed, damn it.” Linda was tired. Her heart more than anything. She couldn’t understand how Tom didn’t see what he was doing to her. To their kids. Tears began to stream down her face. She was too tired to hold back. “What’s your problem, Linda? Huh? You are so damn uptight all the time.” “I hate this,” she said, finally able to get out a few words between sobs. “I hate what you’re doing to me! To our kids! You’re sick, Tom. This isn’t living! This isn’t a life!” Tom lunged at her. He was drunk enough that he stumbled onto the ground after she took a step back. “Fuck you, Linda. Come here! I’ve had it,” he said, straining to get to his feet. She looked down at him. Angry, yes, but also felt sorry for him. He wasn’t the man she’d met years ago. He used to be sweet and caring and honorable. The man before her was hollow. Just as he consumed the drinks, they too consumed his spirit. “I wish you’d die, Tom. I wish you’d just go away. I wish the devil would just take you!” Just as she finished the words, the lights flickered. Despite closed windows, cold air filled her lungs. A dark mist began to filter into the room from a window. She looked down at Tom. He was silent now, his face frozen in a scream but still reaching towards her. A snapshot of a clawing drunk. “I’d be happy to take him,” a voice said. The mist began to rise up into a column. The voice came from the mist. Linda screamed as the mist began to take shape. A hooded figure. Skin red as if badly burnt and two empty places where you’d expect eyes. “I can take him. Just say the word. I’ll take him with me,” said the figure. “What are you?” Linda said, unsure whether her fear had grown since it arrived. “This world has given me many names. Iblis. The Tempter. Lucifer,” it said. “Why have you come here? There’s enough evil in this house!” Linda said, clutching the rosary at her neck. It began towards Linda, not walking but moved without needing to step. It stood beside her and whispered into her ear. She felt a dead chill on her face. “I’ve only come because you yourself called me. Devil is the name you used. It is always my pleasure to take souls to my home. Give him to me. Rid yourself of this burden.” A tear began down her face, between herself and the devil. It froze before it reached her chin. “If you take him, do you promise peace for me? For my children?” “Once he is gone, all you’ll have is peace.” “Take him,” she said. In an instant, the devil became mist once more. It collapsed around Tom and the mist retreated to the window. Linda looked where Tom was previously and saw nothing there. The glass and water stain were gone. Beer cans no longer littered the room and even their stench was missing. The rest of the room looked untouched, as if Tom and the devil were never there. Tom came to with his face against a flat wooden surface. He wiped the drool from the side of his face and looked around. He was at a bar, except, it was one he didn’t recognize. His head pounded and he thought hard about what happened before blacking out. All he remembered was being in his living room. And Linda nagging him with a glass of water. The bartender noticed that Tom was up and came over to him as he wiped a glass clean. “Welcome,” he said, trying hard not to snicker noticeably. “What are you having now?” “How long was I out?” Tom said, face buried in his hands. “And can I get a water?” “You haven’t been here long. And we don’t serve water.” Tom wasn’t too upset to hear this. Besides, he needed something to take the edge off. “Whiskey. Neat,” he replied. “You got it,” said the bartender as they reached for the bottle. “Gimme’ a sec,” Tom said, reaching for his wallet. “You already got a tab open. Here you are,” said the bartender, placing the glass before Tom. Despite the headache and despite not knowing where he was and how long he’d been there, all Tom could think about was the drink. He licked his lips and felt his mouth water. He held it up to his lips and took in the aroma. Tom tipped the glass and worked a bit in his mouth before swallowing. He may be a drunk, but he thought himself a whiskey connoisseur. Only slobs take it in without appreciating it first. He was better than that, he thought. But that was always only the first sip. He took the rest in with one gulp. Didn’t even flinch. Tom had a few more before the thought of heading home finally crossed his mind. He struggled to keep his eyes open but the whiskey-laden stench of his skin kept him awake. “Hey Barkeep. Close me out, would ya?” Tom said as he struggled to get to his feet. “No, Sir. You’ll have another,” said the bartender as he put down another whiskey. “Take a seat, Tom.” “What the fuck? Gimme’ my tab, man. I’m done.” “You’re not. Drink your whiskey, asshole.” He felt his face flush and sat down, despite being against the thought. Tom felt a chill at his wrist. The sweat on his face froze. Something cold gripped him. His hand advanced towards the drink. The cold clamped hard until he opened his hand and only subsided when he gripped the glass. He wanted to go but something compelled him to keep drinking. And Tom never stopped drinking. His pleasure became his curse.