“It’s perfect!” Johnny Hurley and Robbie Decker stood in front of a small, rundown house that was surrounded by overgrown weeds and enough rusty junk to warrant a healthy fear of tetanus. Johnny stood with one hand on his hip and held a cardboard cup holder with two coffees in the other. He looked like he was offering the hot beverages to the house rather than Robbie.
“That’s…one way to put it,” Robbie said. He stared at the broken shutters and missing shingles, preparing himself for both the amount of work ahead and Johnny’s exhausting exuberance.
“Oh come on,” Johnny thrust the cup holder into Robbie’s hand. He mounted the front steps and posed, a grin of practiced perfection now plastered on his face. “Take a picture. We need some great before shots.” Robbie sighed, pulled out his phone, and snapped some photos.
He swiped through the images. They looked more like stock photos from a D-list horror movie than anything worthy of a press release. He lingered on the last photo, bringing the phone closer to his face. In the image, Johnny’s head was haloed in hazy shadow.
“You coming?” Johnny called, his voice now distant. Robbie looked up to see the front door wide open and Johnny nowhere to be seen.
“Damn it,” Robbie muttered. He crammed his phone into his pocket and hurried to find Johnny.
Robbie needed this campaign manager job if he was ever going to make it in the larger political arena. He doubted his budding career would survive if he let his first candidate kill himself by falling through the floor of a rotten house.
Robbie found Johnny in the front living room. He was busy trying to scrub a spray-painted pentagram from the wall with a dirty rag but had only managed to smear dirt and paint into an out-of-focus smudge.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Robbie asked.
“Stop worrying,” Johnny left the pentagram and placed his hands on Robbie’s shoulders. “It’ll be great. I’ll turn the town’s biggest eyesore into my campaign headquarters. What better way to make a local impression?”
Robbie eyed Johnny’s dirt-covered hands. He sighed and shrugged them off.
“I guess you do need a way to recover from the senior center incident…”
“Hey, it’s not my fault for thinking ‘senior’ meant high school students,” Johnny said.
“Yeah…your TikTok dance to ‘I’m just a Bill’ didn’t quite land with the 65+ crowd,” Robbie smirked. Johnny ignored him and headed deeper into the house.
“Come on,” he called. “Let’s see what else this place is hiding.”
Johnny ran off to explore the upper floor, while Robbie photographed the first floor. Eventually, Robbie found his boss in a small bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall.
“Do you want your coffee?” Robbie asked as he entered the room. He was still carrying the tray with now lukewarm cups. Johnny ignored the question.
“What’s with all the pentagrams?” he said, stepping back from another rust-colored demonic symbol. “This is the fifth one I’ve found.”
“And is this the fifth one you’ve tried to scrub off with nothing but a dirty rag?” Johnny looked at Robbie and then down at the rag in his hand. He dropped the cloth to the floor.
“New plan! Let’s-”
Robbie never heard Johnny’s new plan. Instead, a low rumbling sound cascaded through the house as the pentagram turned from rusty red to glowing orange. Johnny wheeled around.
“What the-” Johnny was cut off for the second time as thick black smoke oozed from the symbol and pooled at his feet. The two men watched as the roiling shadow materialized into the undulating outline of a human.
Robbie was glued to where he stood, while Johnny regarded the new arrival with seemingly oblivious curiosity. Johnny raised his hand and watched as the shadow mirrored his movement. Johnny cocked his head and his living shadow did the same. A grin snaked across his face, the expression hungrier than in the posed pictures on Robbie’s phone.
“Well this is interesting…” Johnny stared at the smoky figure. “How might we use you?”
“Johnny, what the hell are you doing?” Robbie’s voice was a harsh whisper.
“Oh come on, Robbie,” Johnny turned. “Don’t look so dismissive. What did I tell you when we first met?” Robbie’s mouth gaped, more due to Johnny’s idiocy than the supernatural figure before them. “We must consider every opportunity that comes our way. After all, politics are all about who you know.”
The shadow behind Johnny was growing, but he didn’t seem to notice. Robbie raised a hand to stop him, but Johnny turned and the shadow lunged. His head tilted back as thick smoke poured into his eyes, nose, and mouth. He barely made a sound.
As it turns out, being possessed by a demonic force is a relatively quick procedure. After only a few seconds, the shadow was gone. Johnny remained, head still tilted backwards. He heaved a long wet breath, then righted himself. Johnny met Robbie’s gaze, his eyes blinking methodically.
“Hello,” the voice emanating from Johnny’s lips was deep and raspy. Robbie stared, considering his options. He caught sight of the cardboard tray in his hands.
“Uh…coffee?” Robbie asked, holding the tray out in front of him.
“No thanks,” the demon growled from Johnny’s body. “I only drink iced.” Robbie nodded and placed the coffees on a nearby nightstand.
“Well,” Robbie brushed off his shirt and regarded his new boss. “How do you feel about politics?”
Quote from the front page of the Political Post, November 5, 2036:
“The White House is Hurley’s House! Lauded for his silver tongue and
no-nonsense diplomacy, Hurley’s victory speech was the capstone to a nearly flawless campaign. Many attribute Hurley’s win to his trusted campaign manager, Robbie
Decker, a relatively unknown who turned out to be a political mastermind. It’s safe to
say the Hurley-Decker team is a force to be reckoned with.”
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