Dealing with the Devil

In our culture, there are two main stereotypes for the Devil.

The first is the bright red, cloven-hoofed, horned and trident-carrying beast of Medieval art. The one who growls gleefully as he dunks you into hell's fiery pit.

The second is the suave, rather vain gentleman in a dark suit, its cloth giving off a little sulphurous smoke when you look sideways. A bit of a Vincent Price. Loves to wind you in slowly, with charm and a contract. The pit comes later.

However, both these images are wrong. The real Devil doesn't look like them, at all.

I've met her.

She's a librarian.

I know. That doesn't seem right but, stay with me.

I'm a semiologist. I study signs and symbols. I'm not actually 'qualified' but I'm brilliant at it, at reading between the lines. Always have been. Anything from the patterns in clouds or stars to numbers, colours, images - anything. Even facial expressions. I've had the talent for as long as I can remember. My mum will tell you - I still live with her by the way.

As you can imagine, I have also found it difficult to get around in this world. Nothing is what it seems; there's always something else going on. You wouldn't, for example, believe the number of conspiracies I've uncovered!

And messages of course. Lots of messages. Over the years I've found messages from planetary visitors and signs from Masters of Ancient Wisdom. And, for a while now, from God himself: "... It performs great signs ... and by the signs ... it deceives those who dwell on earth ... " That's Revelation 13:13-14, by the way.

Recently the clues, the harbingers of the future, have grown clearer. My head feels inflated with the input of warning signs and messages: from the television, from the news and posters on the wall; from what I hear people saying in the street.

More and more ominous. More warnings. I can hardly stand it.

The Devil is coming.

The Devil could well be here already.

In the 'home' in which I was made to live - made to live, actually, and for quite a while - I had someone I talked to. Of course, I could see right through them. I always can. I tried to help them read the signs and messages themselves, but they wouldn't open their minds. All they wanted to do was take away my powers, my abilities. To shut me up. So I pretended - but never took their drugs.

I got to move back in with my mum about a year ago, but I'm essentially on my own, on my own mission. I always have been, really. My mum never understood.

Anyway, I've been homing in, delving and looking particularly for the signs, the marks of the Devil.

And I found her.

So. The library.

It's not far from my mum's. I'd been going regularly, making copious notes and reading whatever I needed for the book I'm working on.

My book. I should say more about that.

I'd been getting nowhere telling people about who's coming. Trying to warn them. I'd stood for hours on street corners talking loudly to passers by, enumerating what I've found in some detail, even shouting sometimes - until the police visited my mum's to get me to stop. (Why wasn't I surprised? Part of the conspiracy growing against me.) So I took to writing, to everyone I could think of, from the newspapers to members of parliament. Again, made to stop. (And, anyway, my mum complained about the cost of postage! She can't help.)

So, I'd been writing a book!

Quieter, cheaper, more private; less fuss from those who want to silence me. Quite a dense read of course - so much to say and tell - but it would change the world, warn everyone about what's in the offing, who's coming.

That morning when I walked into my local library - I always go very early, when it's quietest - I found a new librarian behind the counter, sorting books and quietly humming to herself.

She looked up as I entered, regarding me acutely. I was nailed to the spot right there in the doorway.

And, with all my knowledge and experience, I could tell instantly that she wasn't whom she seemed to be.

I knew, just knew, who she really was.

For a start, she was dressed in red. All red. Red hair too, dyed the colour of sunset and rippling over her shoulders. Red: a bit old-school for the Devil perhaps, but still significant.

Then she was wearing thick, red, horn-rimmed glasses, with ends that curled up - like horns! I mean, who wears that sort of thing any more? Obviously another sign for those who can read them.

Then again, the jewelry: the pentagram necklace; the silver moons falling from her ears; the black agate ring. All marks. Oh yes, the Devil's a bit vain.

She had the palest blue eyes. Another signifier! Everyone knows that in many cultures 'blue eye' is another name for 'evil eye', right? Her own, magnified by those red glasses, fixed on me in the doorway. I could tell she recognised also me for what I was: the prophet come to call her out.

And then, the clincher, the strong pull of desire I felt of seeing her. Sudden and overwhelming. The devil can do that of course. Temptation. She was striking; beautiful, sensual. I'd never felt such an attraction, such potent stirrings in my body before. Well, to be honest, I'd had nothing to do with lust, or women. Only my mum. Women always frightened me; I'd been better off on my own.

The librarian's blue eyes pulled me into the room like the sky drawing a bird from a tree and I stumbled up to the counter.

'Hello,' she said, fondling the book in her hand. 'Have you read this?'

Her voice was rich and low, as I'd expected. Its power netted me right there in front of her: the bird, caught by the gamekeeper.

She held out the book. Thick, glossy; a pentagram on the cover. Something, something... Wicca.

There it was. And me a witchfinder.

I had read it. I'd read pretty much everything useful in the library. So I nodded - I couldn't speak.

She smiled and my heart jumped alarmingly in my throat. My face must have soaked up some of her red dress.

'Good for you' she said. 'I see you're a writer.'

I looked down at the thick folder of papers I had under my arm.

'What's it about?'

I exerted what willpower I had left, resisting her spell, and made myself answer.

'I expect you know that already?'

'Well, let me guess,' she said. 'You've been looking for me for years. And now you've found me.'

She laughed. An easy, relaxed, captivating roll of sound. 'I've heard of you. Didn't you used to spend hours outside, telling passers-by about the second coming or something? You're quite famous here at the library. How did that work out?'

Was she teasing me? Of course she was. She would.

I remained silent, fascinated by her mouth; her full lips like moist, red curtains opening and closing over shiny white teeth.

'Excuse me a moment,' she said, putting down the book and turning aside to a customer who'd arrived behind me.

I'd never been completely sure what the devil would look like should I meet him. Probably hoofed, or suited. I certainly hadn't expected him to look like a spellbinding Wicca woman.

I'll be honest. She deeply frightened me. The power with which she'd summoned my emotions, my desire, was almost overwhelming. What a clever trick! I'd never thought of it. I'd imagined that when I eventually found the devil I'd be terrified. But not so stirred. Not so deceived. So beguiled.

But she was the devil and I should have expected something like this! I was so dumb!

As I looked at her talking to the customer, red hair caressing the shining moons hanging from her ears; her hands stroking his books; smiling at him, drawing another man in - I could feel anger taking hold in my gut, gathering heat alongside my intense fascination.

Of course she would laugh at me. The power was there. Why shouldn't she laugh? I was nothing. All my years of study, of watching, were nothing once she'd taken hold. In the same way she was taking hold of that man (and who knew how many others).

A librarian. What an incredible bit of deception by the Devil. Oh yes, I could tell who she was really.

I stood there, waiting, my heart thumping, becoming hotter, sweating. Eventually, the librarian turned again to me. Her blue eyes - Evil Eyes - seemed again to bore into mine.

'And how can I help you?' she asked.

Again, the mocking smile. My tongue was locked in my mouth so I could only look at her, at her seductive lips as she spoke.

'What? Nothing to say?' she said after more moments regarding me. 'Never mind. Help yourself and I'll see you here later.'

She tapped the counter with her red finger nails, beamed another smile and turned her back on me.

And the spell broke.

See you here later.

What did that mean? What plans did she have for me. The arrogance. I could hardly contain my emotions as I turned around myself and walked out.

Oh yes. I'll see you later. Here. After work. When it's dark.

There is only one way to deal with the Devil.

When I've got my special knife.