5:46 a.m.
18 Wendy Lane, Florida
It was a dark Tuesday morning. Satan and Stan were snuggled beneath a heavy duvet, the previous night's turbulence leaving them tired and sleeping soundly. Unbeknownst to them, a car had pulled into the driveway and its driver, a woman with frizzy brown hair, had gotten out and was stepping toward the garage.
"Stan?" she called out uncertainly. "Stan?"
The worry in her voice was evident. Stan, still deeply asleep, did not hear this display of raw emotion, but Satan did. Grunting, he pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking rapidly to clear his foggy brain.
He heard footsteps coming closer, closer…
The woman opened the bedroom door. She froze when she saw Satan sitting upright in the bed, his tender stare resting on Stan.
Stan sighed and turned over. His wife lay by his side, breathing soundlessly, still asleep. These dreams were coming to him more often now. He was surprised by the extent of his want for Satan. Sure, he knew that he was lucky to have Giles-turned-Sasha as a wife, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was meant for more. That he was meant for Satan.
He stretched and padded softly to the door. His socks were threadbare, and when he wiggled his toes he could see his pale skin scratching against the rough fabric.
Stan slid down the stairs and made his way to the backyard. In the cool morning light, he relaxed. Now that he wasn't under the watchful eye of his ever-present wife, he allowed himself a little more freedom to let his thoughts wander.
Oh, Satan, he thought. Consume me. I'll do anything you desire.
And that was how it began.
two hours later
Hell
"He said what?" Satan chuckled, squeezing Patty's ear in what he thought was an affectionate manner. Patty actually found it more sleazy than affectionate, but she said nothing. She didn't want to incur the wrath of Satan. Instead, she forced herself to giggle, and twirled a piece of her hair around her pinky, looking up alluringly at the devil who was draped so salaciously across the back of her chair, his warm body pressing uncomfortably close.
Patty felt him stiffen. (No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter, pinhead.) "I said," he repeated, leaning in closer, his stale breath smouldering in her ear, "he said what?"
"He said, my lord," she said, hurrying to open the computer file on her laptop, "'Consume me. I'll do anything you desire.' Funny, huh?"
Satan remained motionless. From the corner of her eye, she saw that his lip was twitching.
Something on her monitor beeped. "Oh, if you'll excuse me," she began, seeing that it was a new email from Headquarters, but he stopped her.
"Patty," he breathed. "Find that man for me."
"Uh, sir, I can't– I mean, of course, sir, but you'll have to wait a bit. Soul processing, you know," she added, seeing a small fire begin to form above Satan's head. He really needed to keep his temper in check, she thought. It was beginning to get the better of him.
"Bring him," he recited, " to me. Him to me. I don't care–" he put up a hand, waving away her questions, of which there were many. "I don't care how many rules you have to break. This is my place, after all. And once you've got him, dearie" (here she cringed– 'dearie' was not a name she was particularly fond of) "you might as well bring him to meet me… in the bedroom."
Patty's jaw hung slack. She was vaguely aware that Satan was humming. Eventually, she realized what the tune was. "My lord… I didn't realize you were a Nicki Minaj fan," she whispered weakly.
Satan smiled an obscene smile and wiggled his hips. "I am, as it turns out, particularly fond of anacondas, my dear."
She sagged against the chair. A small part of her realized, now, why all of Satan's meetings with other males in Hell always happened in his bedroom. And why he had soundproofed his walls. And why he had bought such a durable mattress.
"Well, what are you waiting for!" Satan crowed. "Find the man! Bring him to me! And–" he paused to lick his lips. "Bring some vodka."
Patty threw her hands in the air. "Anything else?" She snapped, forgetting that she was supposed to be his subservient little mouse. "I have work to do, you know!" She gestured at her laptop. "Hell can't run properly without me at the keel!"
Satan narrowed his eyes. "You have, my dear," he said finally, "half an hour. To retrieve the man and bring him back there. Any later, and you're fired."
"Fine." Patty thrust herself up and stalked to the door. "I'll be back soon. If anyone asks–"
"If anyone asks," Satan interjected smoothly, "you're on a special errand for the boss."
She nodded and stepped out, rattling the doorframe with a harsh slam.
Satan stroked his chin. Then, realizing giddily that if all went well, he would soon be stroking much more than just his chin, he skipped back to his room to arrange his pillows.
twenty minutes later
soul processing center, northern Hell
Patty's short black pumps clicked against the grubby tile floor as she strutted toward soul processing. When she saw Matthew slouched at the help desk, she exhaled in relief. He was usually too relaxed to care much about what happened to unprocessed souls in his domain, and as Patty approached the sliding glass window that partitioned the inside of his office from the grimy entrance to Hell, she realized from his gentle snores that he was asleep.
A little boy came up to her and tugged at her sleeve. "'Scuse me, ma'am," he said, no trace of shyness in his voice, "Where's the bathroom around here?"
She pointed toward the "Men's" sign and he took off at a run toward it, disappearing inside. Patty turned to face the tide of people standing motionless next to the large double-door entrance. There were folks from every walk of life, colorful shorts and shirts and hair. And quite a few nose rings, she noticed with distaste.
Finally, after observing the silent souls for a moment, Patty removed a key ring from around her wrist and unlocked the door. Inside it was dark. That's odd, she thought. I could have sworn I saw a light on behind Matthew.
Patty flicked the switch and the room was bathed in a stark fluorescent glow. She heard a creak and the swishing of fabric. Slowly, she turned, willing herself not to be frightened.
Satan was posed directly behind her in a revealing leopard-print bikini. His chest hair burst from the top like a bad case of bedhead; his toeless red stilettos revealing crusty, callused toes. One of his hands was resting on the doorframe, the other on his hip, and his lipstick was smudged and streaked on both lips and teeth.
"Hey, darlin'," he said, grinning even wider to reveal some green matter stuck between his two front teeth. "I forgot to ask you for one more favor."
For the second time that day, Patty's jaw dropped practically to her chest. She was speechless with disgust. Satan was truly bizarre.
He twirled an especially thick, oily clump of chest hair around his pinky and fluttered his heavily mascara-clad eyelashes at her. "I need you, Patty dear, to purchase some Veet for me. I need to… ah… remove some unwanted hairs…" he gestured to his face, where his greasy mustache drooped into his mouth. The ends were slick with saliva. "My mustache, I'm afraid, is quite out of hand."
Before Patty could respond, there came a hesitant knock at the sliding window in front of Matthew. He raised his head groggily and slid back the partition.
"H-Hullo, I'm Stan–" the poor man got only the three words out of his mouth before Satan leapt forward, eyes ablaze with passion.
"Stan, you say?" Satan spread his arms wide in what was meant to be a gesture of affection toward the appalled man in the plain white t-shirt. "Call me Satan."
twenty minutes later
Then a large, wrinkly naked mole rat flopped from the sky and crushed Hell. Everybody died and no one cared except the people up in Heaven who were super happy because, you know, they were the only ones to survive.