Alessio Zaccaria
Unsplash image source
“What did you say, Wicked? Did you say that this stuff is called coffee? Damn good stuff and it’s the perfect temperature; blood warm.” The Devil cracked a rare grin, turning his grim countenance towards Wicked, the werewolf.
“Coffee! Yes, it’s called coffee, but this isn’t just any coffee, take a look at the name it’s called ‘Devil’s Brew’. I thought you might like it. It makes a change, don’t you all think, from the sour sinners’ blood we usually gorge on?” Wicked returned the Devil’s grin, hoping that Cruella, the witch and Death, the zombie would agree.
Wicked felt devilishly good when all heads nodded in unison. He knew that his plan was in motion. Quite a relief, ‘maybe this year. Maybe.’ he thought to himself, hiding his delight behind a feigned cough. After all, he’d been attending these Halloween meetings for years without much success.
The Devil brought the meeting to order with a loud bang of gravel on wood. The table rocked with the impact of his blow and all attention turned instantly towards him.
“We gather here this year, as we do every year to celebrate evil. To take account of the progress of horror and count the transgressions of man with the aim of improving our hold over humanity; of insinuating wickedness into those that resist our way…Damn, Wicked, that coffee is totally delicious, could you, possibly get me another cup. Please?” Wicked noticed Cruella’s jaw drop and Death swung his head around with such force that one of his ears fell off onto the table; none of them had ever, ever heard the Devil say ‘Please’. Wicked sprang up, “of course, if the Devil may care for another, I’m on top of the mission pronto!” He raced to fill the Devil’s cup.
“Would either of you guys like another cup?” He asked, trying to look casual.
When they agreed, he filled their cups’ too, taking extra care to pour a cup for himself, so that the whole play looked good.
“Now, what was I saying?” The Devil said between long sips. “What?”
“You were talking about the souls of sinners, if I remember correctly.” Cruella offered helpfully. Wicked noticed that the Devil looked pale and that lines on Cruella’s face had softened. He wished that his friend Merlin could get a glimpse of his view of the Devil.
“Well, yes…sinners.” The Devil mused, holding his cup out for a refill. Wicked wanted to high-five, he wanted to dance on the spot, he wanted to sing at the top of his voice.
Merlin had been sending him into the Devil’s lair, undercover, as a werewolf each year hoping one or other of potions would work, and now finally…
Wicked put the pot of coffee in the middle of the table so that everyone could drink from its endless supply, then he slipped out of the Devil’s lair unnoticed and went straight to his friend's castle.
“Thank God, for coffee! Merlin, you’re just such a grand mage. You’ve done it; poisoned the Devil’s mind with good, sweet thoughts.” Wicked patted Merlin on the back and then they joined hands and did a victory dance to spread their joy.
CCC writing challenge. Prompt 17
I chose option 1. A witch, a zombie, a werewolf, and the devil are sitting around a table drinking coffee
Find the challenge here
