The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,61

drooped down and touched the floor behind him. His horns were small, his stomach wasn’t. The bottom of it bulged out beneath the pyjama top and hung hairy and bare over the waistband of the pyjama trousers.

The demon wasn’t much taller than Angelo. What was left of his thinning hair was scraped across a head that looked to be around twenty per cent larger than it should have been. All in all, he would’ve just looked like a slightly odd, middle-aged man in an ill-fitting Halloween costume, had it not been for the tiny flickering flames at the centre of each of his eyes.

“There you are,” said the demon, more cheerfully than might have been expected. “At last. I’ve been wondering when you’d turn up.”

Angelo screamed and turned to run, but there was no door behind him, just a blank bedroom wall. Pressing his back against the wallpaper, Angelo faced the demon.

“Wh-who are you?” he gulped. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

The demon glanced back briefly over his shoulder. “What, me?”

“Yes, you!”

“Right, yes,” said the demon. “Sorry.” He drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “I am Murmur, Earl of Hell, and I have been tasked with—”

“My poster!” Angelo cried sharply. He stared in horror at his poster of Jesus. A moustache and beard had been drawn on to Christ in black marker pen. “Who did that? Was that you?”

Murmur’s eyes went down to the pen in his hand, then back to Angelo. He quickly hid the hand behind his back. “Uh... nope.”

“It was so! You drew a beard on Jesus.”

Murmur looked mildly embarrassed. “OK, yes. Well, I’m a demon. I had to do something to it. What would everyone else say if I’d passed up a chance like that?”

Angelo shook his head in dismay. “But, I mean... why did you draw a beard? He’s already got a beard.”

“I know, I know,” Murmur said. “Well, I mean, I didn’t want to ruin it, did I?”

“Didn’t you?” asked Angelo, surprised at that.

“Course not,” said Murmur. He leaned in closer, forcing Angelo to press himself harder against the wall. “Between you and me, I think it’s one of his better ones. He’s usually all crucified and that. Nice to see him cracking a smile for once.”

Angelo looked the demon up and down. So far, he didn’t appear very demonic.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

“What? Oh, yeah, right,” Murmur said. He raised a clawed finger, then began patting across the front of his pyjama top. “One sec. I know it’s here somewhere. Aha, here we go.”

There was a rustle of paper as the demon unfolded a yellowing sheet of A4. He gave a shy smile as he positioned a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Here we are now,” he said, leaning his head back and squinting down at the paper. “By order of Lucifuge Rofocale, Grand Governor of Hell, upon encountering an intruder I am instructed to tear their flesh asunder and rip open the very...” Murmur’s voice trailed off. His lips continued to move as he read in near silence. “Disembowl,” he mumbled with a frown. “Feast on...”

The demon’s puffy red skin paled a shade. He brought the page closer to his face, as if unable to believe what he was reading. “That’s a bit much,” he concluded, and he quietly refolded the paper and slipped it back into his inside pocket. Next he took off his glasses. The arms gave a click as he folded them together. “No, don’t think we’ll bother with that,” he said. “Not really got the stomach for it these days.”

Angelo was still pressing himself flat against the wall. His legs were beginning to ache from the effort. “So can I go, then?” he asked.

Murmur gave a long, sad sigh. “No, ’fraid not.” He glanced up and around, as if checking they were alone. “I don’t have much time. I’m not really supposed to be here, but, well, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He lowered himself down on to the end of Angelo’s bed, idly picked up a comic from the bedside table and flicked quickly through it. He put the comic back down, then quietly cleared his throat.

“Tell me, Angelo,” the demon said. “Gabriel and Michael. What did they tell you about your father?”

“What’s it got to do with you?” Angelo asked.

“Please,” said Murmur. “What did they tell you?”

Angelo faltered. “That he was human. They told me he was human.”

Murmur stood up. He nodded,