Hellhole by Gina Damico Read Free Book Online Page A

glance. “Oh. I’m Satan.”
    Max blinked. “You’re . . . Satan.”
    â€œWell, I’m
a
Satan. There are six hundred and sixty-six of us, not that anyone’s counting. But you people always seem to want to lump us together into one all-powerful, malevolent being, so I like to give my audience what it wants.” He started to sink into a deep bow, but he burped in the middle of it and the moment was ruined. “The name is Burgundy Cluttermuck, devil-at-large. I do bachelorette parties and retirement galas, but
no
more
children’s birthdays.” He sucked in some air through his teeth. “Too much screaming.”
    Max could no longer feel his extremities. “Burgundy Cluttermuck?”
    â€œPlease, call me Burg,” he said with a smile, his beard widening. It wasn’t a well-trimmed beard, but rather the feral, unkempt kind that resulted from a weeklong bender, with Cheetos debris sprinkled throughout. His forehead was tall, his brow cavemanlike. His hair probably had things living in it. And his horns, while white and polished and slightly iridescent, ended in ragged, cracked tips.
    In short, he didn’t look like the devil. He looked like the kind of early-forties, thrice-divorced alcoholic who owned a grungy car wash and had to become a sperm donor to pay rent.
    Max swallowed. “I’m not—”
    â€œâ€”sure you need a devil in your life? Well, can’t help you out there, kid. You brought this on yourself.”
    Max racked his brain. There
had
to be people on this terrible earth who were far, far more evil than he was. Unless it was because he’d stolen that cat—but it was just a stupid plastic
cat,
for chrissakes!
    â€œThis has to be a mistake,” he said.
    â€œNo mistake. You must have done something to deserve me. What’d you do, kill a guy?”
    â€œI stole a bobblehead!”
    â€œHuh. Well, we can’t all be Mansons.”
    Max shook his head, then shook harder. “No. It
must
have been someone else.”
    â€œPretty sure it’s you. You’re the one with the shovel, right?”
    Max froze.
Ugly Hill.
“Yeah, but—”
    â€œYou even kind of look like a shovel. All skinny in the middle, big head, wide feet. May I call you Shovel?”
    â€œMy name is Max.”
    â€œRevolutionary new tactic, Shovel, if I may brag so myself. Can’t wait to share it with the guys below.” Burg polished his horns. “See, any act of evil can bring up a devil, but the big ones exert the strongest pull; murders are very popular, because they require the least amount of effort on our part. But the smaller ones can work too, with a little advance planning. So I got myself into position close to the surface—loaded myself into the gun, so to speak, which you then fired by stealing. Since you so graciously dug a hole for me, popping out was a cinch.”
    â€œBut I didn’t
mean
to!”
    â€œToo damn bad. What’s done is done. I’m on an extended vacation now, homeslice, and you’re my brand-new pool boy.”
    Max started to feel dizzy. He put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
    Burg pointed to the streak of ash on Max’s hand. “See, there’s your proof right there, Shovel. I’m
allll
yours. It’s like you went down to the pound and picked me out and—oh!” He clapped with glee. “I’m a rescue!”
    â€œYou are not a rescue,” Max said, trying to keep his voice even. “You are not
mine.
I’m sorry I opened up your . . . hole . . . but I swear it was an accident, and what I really need right now is for you to go back to wherever it is you came from!”
    â€œHell.”
    â€œWell, go back to hell, then. Please.”
    â€œToo late for that.” Burg lifted his sweatshirt to scratch his belly. “You’ve been marked. That means that until you find me some shelter of my own,