A Harmless Little Visitor (Part 1)

He showed up in my car again while I was driving down Palatka.

“You should swerve into this truck in the other lane,” he said.

I jumped at the wheel — because hell, I didn’t know he was there — and you know how twisty and winding Palatka is, so in that split-second I lost control and the car drifted about a foot across the line. I managed to catch it and swerved back before the truck rumbled by.

But still.

His voice came from the back seat — where I keep that trash bag full of old clothes I’ve been meaning to give to charity for hell, more than a year now. I resisted the urge to look back at him, because I was still driving at a good forty-five miles an hour.

Mostly I was curious what form he’d decided to take today. My money was on Big Black Dog, because that’s his favorite and can you blame him, really? It’s a classic. He’s been rocking that look since 1808, at least, and it still hasn’t gotten old.

Sometimes he’ll show up in the horns, hooves, and pointy-tailed look, but I think he only does that to mess with me because I tell him it’s lame and super old-fashioned.

Of course my favorite (least favorite) is when he shows up as a beautiful black-haired woman with pale skin and I don’t recognize him at first. And then the two of us hit it off, have a few drinks, watch Old Yeller or some shit, and eventually we end up in my bedroom. And she starts verbally abusing me and telling me I have a tiny unsatisfying cock and I get on my knees and start crying and say, “No, it’s not tiny, it’s actually slightly above average, and premature ejaculation is a real medical condition.” But then he just laughs and kicks me and tells me to kiss her feet, which I do — only because I find it degrading and humiliating, though, not because I actually like feet (because eww).

But to make a long story short, eventually she pulls off her skirt and then my eyes pop out like Donald Duck’s when I see her monster 12-inch cock jump out and bop me on the nose. And that’s when I realize he’s fooled me again, the infernal bastard…

(Of course I still let him rail me up the ass, but not because I enjoy it, or anything.)

But anyway. Back in the car headed up Palatka.

“God damn it to hell,” I say, “What are you doing here?”

“You could at least say hi. Ask me how I’ve been, even.”

“I don’t care how you’ve been. It’s damned rude for you to just appear in people’s cars while they’re driving. And anyway, whatever you’re here for, it’s bad news for me.”

“I’m just trying to spice up your life,” he said. “I know you’ve been so bored lately. It’d be a nice change of pace to have a fatal accident on your hands.”

“Dying isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

He scoffed and I had to resist the urge to turn around and smack his face — which would have looked silly if he was in his Big Black Dog form, I know. It bugged me that I couldn’t take a look at him. With every traffic light I drove past I prayed it would turn red, just so I could turn around and take a look at what was in my back seat.

But no…

“Well, you’re in a picky mood today, aren’t you?” he asked.

“What is it you want?”

He sighed. “Okay, you know what? I see I was wrong. Fiery death in a senseless auto accident clearly isn’t enough for your discriminating tastes. How about you rob a bank?”

“Fuck me, I don’t even know how to rob a bank. I’d just get caught and locked up and spend the rest of my days getting screwed by black dudes twice my size.”

“Quit that,” he said.

“What?”

“You can’t say that, that’s racist.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Anyway, what are you doing right now?”

“I’m uh… I’m delivering some chicken wings to a warehouse worker for his lunch break.”

“Sounds riveting…” he said. “Come on, is this really what you want to be doing with your life?”

I made the left turn onto Southside Drive. Still no chance to look behind me because of this lousy string of green lights. Couldn’t help but wonder if he had something to do with that…

“What do you think?” I said.

“I’m just saying… maybe you should go into child sex trafficking?”

“No.”

“Come on, don’t be lame… you know you want to.”

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

“It’s illegal. I can’t do illegal shit because I’d get caught. I have a big mouth and I hate keeping secrets. Plus I get off on getting punished. And anyway, the main reason is that I don’t wanna get ass raped by black dudes in prison.”

“Stop that, that’s rude. It’s frickin racist.”

“I don’t wanna get ass raped by white dudes either.”

“What about Mexicans?”

“Not Mexicans either.”

“How about Asians?”

I thought for a long moment.

“… are there any Asians in prison?”

“Stop it, that’s racist too. Next thing you’ll be saying they’re good at math. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is the only reason you don’t want to do child sex trafficking is because it’s illegal and you think you’re too much of an idiot to get away with it. Right?”

“Obviously.”

“So what I’m getting here is… you wanna do horrible, horrible things, but you want them to be legal and you want a nice story you can tell yourself about how you’re actually a good person.”

“This is sounding kinda scary… are you trying to get my soul again?”

“Of course I’m trying to get your soul. But I’m patient. Today isn’t about me, it’s about you. So what is it you want? You wanna be a dirty cop and shoot people and take bribes?”

“Uhmmm…”

“You wanna test experimental drugs on poor people so you can watch the side effects?”

“Kind of…?”

“You wanna be a concentration camp guard?”

“For the love of God why are you asking me all these questions?” I asked, spinning around to face him.

The fluffy little white rabbit in my back seat shrugged and said, “Simple curiosity.”