Lucifer's Mercy

A chance meeting with Lucifer one terrible night changed the lives of all involved that night. Years later the ramifications of that night still haunt the narrator.

Lucifer’s Mercy

 

 

Between Bakersfield and Lake Isabella is a jagged gash that slices through the Sierra Nevada’s called Kern Canyon. It was carved out by the raging Kern River and in mid-summer the river is at its highest and deadliest. About halfway to Lake Isabella and deep down inside the canyon next to the river is a set of sulfur-hot springs that some mason in the distant past built into a set of native stone tubs. These tubs are constantly filled by the spring’s hot water with the effluent spilling out into the cold river just inches away.

    It was to these hot springs, simply known as “the Tubs” that my two best friends, John and Basil, my dog Tammy, and I traveled to on that hot summer night, of June 30^th, 1978. Tammy rode with me while my friends rode Basil’s powerful CB 750 motorcycle. We took two cases of beer in a cooler. Our plan was simple: drink cold beer and party all night while sitting in the hot tubs with our feet dangled over into the cold river water. We’d done this before, so the steep trail from the parking area hundreds of feet down to the tubs was familiar, and even though it was dark, we knew the way. Tammy was romping up and down the trail in a state of canine bliss. All of us had worn shorts and happily got into the hot water without delay.

    Soon after midnight, Tammy began acting strangely. She wasn’t an aggressive dog, but like most German Sheppard’s she was a protective breed, but not on this night. She began to whine and grew inexplicably frightened until she finally tucked her tail between her legs and ran off into the night. I got up and called out for her, but in the absolute darkness she was had disappeared. After a few minutes, I gave up and went back to the tubs knowing that she would eventually return. 

    As soon as I returned to my friends, a man suddenly appeared out of the moonless of night. His appearance wouldn’t have been entirely strange if it weren’t for his clothes. He had climbed down that steep trail in the dark dead of night wearing a full tuxedo complete with a tailed coat and a top hat. He was friendly, congenial, unthreatening, and asked if he could join us; despite the outfit he seemed somewhat normal. He introduced himself to us as Louie�"short for Lucifer. It’s a name distinction that has haunted me ever since.

    At the time, however, we had no objections, since there was plenty of room, and if someone wanted to party with us, then so much the better. He seemed grateful for our open hospitality; removed his hat, set it down, and got in the water with us still wearing the rest of the tuxedo. He realized that must seem rather odd to us and explained that had been on his way to a wake, but for some reason decided to stop at the tubs. He sat next to me, and through the strong sulfuric odor of the hot springs I could detect a feint smell of death on him. Since he had mentioned something about a wake, I associated the odor with his being around something dead and gave it little thought.

    We drank, told jokes, laughed, howled like wolves, and enjoyed the freedom of being out of Bakersfield with all its’ filth, all its’ turmoil, and all its’ oppressive heat. We were looking for an escape that night, but what we found instead was the road to Hell.

    After a couple hours, Louie told us he had to leave. He was still sitting next to me and I suddenly felt his hand on my knee. It didn’t feel sexual, it something was so much worse. His fingers felt like animal claws as they dug into my naked flesh. I was instantly paralyzed. I couldn’t even breathe. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. His breath stank of ancient death, “I’m unused to being welcomed, and since you’ve all given it to me so unconditionally, I’ll extend to you a warning, be assured that this is a very rare mercy from me. Don’t leave until after daybreak. If you do, you may not be able to save them, and your cowardice could kill them.” Only my ears heard his words of warning. His claws finally let go of my leg, and it took a moment, but the paralysis disappeared, and I was able to breathe again. He was already out of the tubs by then. He bade us all goodnight, and then vanished into the gloom of the night. It was 3:00 AM.

    John soon noticed that Louie had left behind his top hat. He grabbed it and we took off to catch him. John was eighteen and I was twenty years old; we were both in very good shape and literally raced up that steep canyon bank. But when we got to our vehicles, no one was there. It had taken us less than two minutes to make the climb, but Louie was already gone. We decided to place his hat on the hood of my car, so he could easily find it in case he came back. We then returned to the tubs and when we got there, Tammy had also returned, cautiously wagging her tail.

 

***

 

Another hour passed, and everyone was tired and ready to leave�"everyone but me. I suggested waiting until daybreak but was overwhelmingly overruled. I didn’t want to go but left anyway.

    When we got back to the vehicles, Louie’s hat was gone.

    My friends led the way on the motorcycle, and I followed in my car. We were traveling west on Highway 178 back into Bakersfield when Basil started weaving on his bike. On the last hill before entering the city, he swerved into the oncoming path of a Cadillac, and although he managed to slightly angle the bike away, they still hit the car’s fender at about 70 mph. It was like an explosion. Instantly their tumbling bodies were in my headlights directly in front of me. I swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting them and then slammed on my brakes and slid to a halt. I quickly leapt out and ran back to where they lay entangled, screaming, and writhing in pain. Tammy howled inconsolably but refused to leave my car.

    As I approached the horrible carnage on the roadway, I saw that their left legs had been the point of impact and both had been ripped off at their knee. I wanted to leave them there. I wanted to cowardly run home to the safety of my bed, go to sleep, and pretend that when I awoke this would all be just a bad dream, but the nightmare was all too real.

    I stood there immobile just staring until Basil stopped screaming long enough to tell me, “Mark, if you don’t tie our legs off, we’re gonna die.” His plea finally broke my stupor, and I quickly found some cord in my car and tied the tourniquets that stopped the blood, muscle, and bone fragments that were flowing out of their ravaged legs.

    Suddenly, I heard a big truck hit his air brakes. I sprinted to it and begged the driver to call an ambulance. I then returned to where my friends were screaming in primeval pain, knelt in their gore to hold their hands. Within a few minutes, I heard an ambulance in the distance, glanced up at the sound of its wailing siren and noticed the dim glow of light bleeding in from the east. Daybreak had come.

 

***

 

22 years later I was living by the beach in Ventura I had been gone for a month and came home to a stack of letters on my desk. One of the letters was from Basil. I opened it as I began listening to my answering machine. One message was from John. He sounded upset, and it seemed like he was at a party where no one was having any fun. He angrily demanded to know why I hadn’t heeded Louie’s warning all those years ago, then hung up. When I looked down at the letter in my hand, dated two weeks earlier, it was John’s obituary. His funeral had been the day before the phone call, and his voice on the message machine sent a chill down my spine, because it was the voice of a dead man. That, and the fact I had never told him, or anyone, about Louie’s warning that fateful night.

    It was a blustery rainy evening, and I gasped in terror as a powerful gust of wind pounded the window above my desk. When I looked outside, for the briefest moment, I saw a top hat sitting on the wet sand. The wind quickly blew it away where it disappeared into the darkening gloom.

 

 

Author's Note

This story was originally submitted to a short story contest that had a 1500 word criterion. This created a need for trying to get all the elements of the story constrained by a frugality of words. So, if it sounds like something was left unsaid...it probably was.

Reviews

[Gerald Cox]

These sort of tales are often some of my favourites, and I enjoyed this one immensely. I'd love to read the non-truncated version.

[Tobin]

I'm sincerely flattered that a writer of your caliber enjoyed this short story. Thank you. Unfortunately the non-truncated version went to my editor, who proceeded to slice it to pieces. It's an editor thing. However, since this was simply a lark of a short story I didn't keep the original manuscript, but simply made the changes as dictated by the editor. I always follow her advice lest she beat me back and blue. Not to mention that she's always right, and her suggestions always make the story better. I.E, better pace, eliminating redundancies, and weeding out the fluff. I call her 'teacher', and never submit anything until teacher gives me a A, which is why it takes me a year per book.

[Les Terry]

I read it twice and on the second read picked up some elements I had missed. Full of beautifully crafted imagery. I love Faustian tales and folklore involving the Devil etc.
Fantastic and thank you for sharing.