♫Woo-hoo!♫

When I was a kid, Mom used to say: ‘Nathan, your kindness will get you killed someday.’

It wasn’t a matter of kindness. It still isn’t. There’s right, there’s wrong, and all you can do in life is try and know the difference between the two. People who can tell would – no, should – act in favor of the good. At least, what they believe is good. There are no inherently bad people. Only people who are indifferent to seeing the line.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

I am a good person.

My intentions are good.

I know this in my heart of hearts.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Even as I am huddled in the corner of this bedroom, my hands pressing against my ears to keep the music out; even as I desperately try to remind myself this is still, somehow, my world; even as I desperately try to tell myself I am not insane; even as I am very aware of the fact that I still haven’t found my sister—

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Even as the music keeps on going—

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Even as the people keep dancing in the streets—

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Even as this night never seems to end—

♫Woo-hoo!♫

I am a good person.

I just don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Most people would’ve turned their back on my sister. Hell, most of the people she’d known did. Rehab after rehab, relapse after relapse. Tried as me and Mom might’ve not to, we kept finding ourselves back at the starting point – Sarah, sobbing on the floor, half-lucid, half-delirious, but entirely fucked up from the drugs.

‘This is the last time.’ Mom said it, and we both knew she meant it. ‘If this happens again, I’m sorry, I love you, you are my daughter, but this is as far as I can go with you. I know it’s hard. I know, I know, and I know but – you are still in control. You are still responsible for your actions, Sarah.’ she told her.

I thought it was a crushing blow. I was almost convinced those words would lead to another, equally crushing relapse, and that I would lose my sister forever.

Yet, Sarah surprised us.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

She moved to Jersey. Got a job as a waitress. It wasn’t much, but it was stable enough to give us hope. She found a boyfriend – Brad, likable enough of a guy – and they lived together. It was clear he was the one keeping her grounded. Even sober, she wasn’t always easy to deal with, but Brad seemed to take everything in stride. Always calm, always willing to hear her out, always calling us to tell us how she’s doing when she wouldn’t.

He cared.

We cared, too, sure. But we cared no matter what. We were family. Brad was an outsider. He had no obligation to stay. And yet, he did. He saw all the wounds, half-closed and ugly, and told her: ‘Hi, I’m Brad. It’s okay. I like you. You’re a good person, in spite of all this. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here.’

I liked Brad.

I like him a bit less, now that he’s doing… this.

“Woo-hoo!”

I peek out the window.

Sure enough, Brad’s still out on the front lawn. Dancing. Singing along.

I look around. Sure enough, all of the other houses still have their lights on. Sure enough, their residents are still outside. Singing and dancing, just like Brad. Husbands, wives, children, grandpas and grandmas – all dancing and dancing and dancing.

“Woo-hoo!”

Yeah. Woo-fucking-hoo.

I check my watch. Of course, it’s still 7:34. That’s where it stopped. That’s where all the clocks in this house stopped. Electronic or otherwise.

I can’t get online. I can’t find a single computer that will even turn on. My phone doesn’t work. And I’ve gotten no phone calls since it began.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

I need to think about something else. Anything to keep the music out.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

Three days ago, I got a call from Brad.

‘I’m calling you first, since I know your Mom said she’d call it quits then and there,’ he said, ‘and I’d try to avoid that, if I can. Especially since I… I don’t even know if it’s… you know. I mean, from all we’ve talked about, it doesn’t seem like it, but—but this look in her eye, it—’

‘What’s up?’ I got straight to the point.

He sighed. ‘She says she’s started seeing this… therapist, I guess? At first, it sounded like a good idea – I’ve been trying to get her in therapy for months now – but the more I listen to her talk, the less I’m convinced… about any of it. She’s acting… different. Weird kind of different. I understand your shrink can be helpful and all, but it’s all she talks about. Doctor Elma this and Doctor Elma that. And—God, it sounds weird—but, as I said, she’s got this look in her eye. It’s… they’re hollow, Nate. I don’t know how else to explain it. They’re not dilated, so it’s not like I’m saying it’s DEFINITELY the drugs. It’s more… Even when she’s staring at me, it’s like she’s not looking at me. You know?

‘I’m just—I’m worried. I don’t know how to talk to her about it. I mean, we made a deal that whenever she gets the, uh, urges, she reaches out to me. And she hasn’t so far, and it feels wrong to bring the issue, because I don’t want to upset her and if I’m wrong and this is all just in my head—‘

Silence.

‘Nate, man, I don’t know what to do. This is just freaking me out. Like, I don’t know how I’m coming off here, but trust me. Nobody talks about her therapist like this. Nobody talks about anyone like this. Unless you’re, like, in a cult or something. And I haven’t dismissed the possibility. Right now, though, my best guess is that this Elma person might’ve prescribed her something without knowing her history or something.

‘I know this isn’t just my imagination. At the same time, this is something I don’t feel comfortable acting on my own. If—I don’t know if you’ve got the time, but—if you could, I don’t know, maybe come down for the weekend or something and just, I don’t know---’

‘Okay, okay.’ I said. ‘It’s fine. Look, thanks for calling. I’ll board the first flight I can, alright?’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

‘That’s what brothers are for, right?’

♫Woo-hoo!♫

That was three days ago. Maybe.

This night seems to never end.

Who am I kidding? It’s been days. I’ve gone to sleep at least a dozen times now.

For the most part, I keep myself locked in the house. The rare occasions I do head out are mostly out of necessity. Or, obligation, I guess.

Once I noticed people were starting to drop dead – seemingly exhaustion – I started going out and feeding Brad. Just a few mouthfuls is the most I’ve ever managed – he never stops dancing, and those few mouthfuls seem to make up only acceptable length of a break from singing. Any more and he just spits it out.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

It was obvious something was wrong with Sarah the moment I got to the house. Brad didn’t have to say anything. In fact, Brad didn’t say anything – he was acting weird and shit, too. Sometime in the day between him making that phone call and landing, Doctor Elma had become hot shit in the household.

‘She lives just down the street, you know.’ Sarah said.

‘You should go visit her sometime.’ Brad added. ‘She has her office in the city, but people can visit her anytime at her home. Except at night, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ I murmured, searching my pockets for my lighter.

‘She could help you drop the smoking habit.’ Sarah noted.

‘I’ll think about it.’ I scanned the hallway of the house I’d found myself in. ‘So, Brad, you know—you didn’t tell me you’d… moved.’

The two of them had picked me up from the airport. Instead of driving me to their one-bedroom apartment in the city, they went all the way out into the suburbs, into this two-story house that I was certain they couldn’t afford.

‘I know!’ Sarah squeaked. ‘Isn’t it great? Doctor Elma gave it to us!’

‘She gave it to you?’ I asked.

‘She seems to own a lot of the houses here.’ Brad told me. ‘A bunch of people here are actually Doctor Elma’s patients.’

‘I don’t really know the details.’ Sarah admitted. ‘From what she told me, the old tenants weren’t really a good fit for the neighborhood, and so they decided to move, to keep everything heading in the right direction. Or something like that. Ha ha.’

‘Ha ha.’ Brad laughed. In a way Brad would never have laughed. Because Brad was not a ‘ha ha’ type of guy. Brad was a ‘grin politely at everything’ type of guy.

‘Uh. Huh.’ I never found my lighter.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

There are only two houses in this entire place that never have their lights on. The one I’m in and Doctor Elma’s.

Doctor Elma’s has nobody dancing on its front lawn.

Yet, it’s not uninhabited. Every few hours or so, a person – I think it’s a woman – comes out, walks to the middle of the street, and lights a cigarette. In those few minutes, she stares at the dancing neighborhood. Sometimes, she simply crushes the cigarette under her heel and walks back into the house.

Other times, she screams: “YOU ARE ALL FUCKING SHIT! DO BETTER!” Or: “I CAN’T GET IT TO STOP HURTING!” Or simply: “FUCK ALL OF YOU!”

Her voice is deep. And loud. Even when I’m trying desperately not to observe this little ritual, it still somehow reaches me, regardless of how deep inside this house I try to get.

I’ve never approached this woman, in spite of the fact she is likely the only lucid person left here.

The reason is simple:

She’s covered in blood, from head to toe.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

A day and a half was all it took for this to happen. I don’t know how. And I sure as hell don’t know why. I just took a nap. When I woke up, the music was blaring, everyone was out dancing and Sarah was gone.

Brad hasn’t been particularly helpful in answering that. Much like with anything.

Of course, it’s easy enough to figure out where she probably is.

The house with the woman covered in blood from head to toe.

My sister is there. And all I’ve done is just stay here.

I am a good person.

My intentions are good.

But I am not kind. Kindness is for people who can only ever think of others.

But I cannot do that. Not now. Not with this music.

I’m scared.

I’m scared and I want to get out of here.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to leave!

When I realized I wasn’t getting through to any of these people (and trust me, I tried), when I was convinced there weren’t a sane person left in the nearby houses (and trust me, I looked), when I was absolutely sure that we seemed to have almost been stranded in time (and trust me, I waited) – I got in Brad’s car and just drove. I drove to get help.

I drove and I drove and I drove.

Yet, somehow, even though I could only drive straight, I found myself approaching the same driveway I’d left just a few minutes earlier.

♫Woo-hoo!♫

It never stops.

I don’t know where it’s coming from. But it never stops. It never changes.

Just again and again and again and for God’s sake, are there even any fucking lyrics?!

♫Woo-hoo!♫

“Enjoying yourself, Nathan?”

I blink.

The woman from Doctor Elma’s house is now standing at the door of the bedroom, cigarette in-mouth. Blood dripping from her hands.

“How did-did-did y-y-y-you get in?” I ask, raising to my feet, my back pressed against the wall.

“B-B-B-By th-th-the door.” The woman chuckles. “Hey, relax, man. If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it a while ago.”

I notice the crude stitches around the woman’s neck. “Who are you? What the hell is going on here?!”

“I’m the Devil. Some people made the mistake of trapping me in a human body. A mistake, I assure you, they are paying for very dearly. As for—”

♫Woo-hoo!♫

“—That, it’s mostly just for the nerves. I’m frustrated. This body hurts. Being hacked up and re-assembled does that to a body, believe it or not. Anyhow – how are you? Your sister’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. But you don’t seem to be in a huge rush about that, and frankly, that’s a whole other can of worms that I don’t feel like talking about.”

“I just want to go home.” I admit.

“Mhm-mhm.” she – he? – nods along.

We stare at each other, in the darkness of the bedroom.

“...Are you really the Devil?” I ask.

“The one and only.” He – he – gives a light bow.

“Is this Hell?”

“Ugh. You people are always so dramatic. Of course not. This is still Earth. Duh. I’ve merely... sliced off the piece we’re on. Temporarily. That’s all it is. Think of it like a pocket dimension. It’s the most I can do, being in this form. I’d rather not deal with an invasion from the big man upstairs for exposing my existence like this. And I’d rather not deal with the embarrassment of anyone knowing I’ve ended up in a situation like this.”

I look to the window. “These people—“

“The mind control is something that silly witch left the door open for. Honestly, these people can hardly be called people anymore, if you ask me. Just puppets hungry for someone to pull their strings now, poor things. One likely doesn’t even need any special powers to make them susceptible to suggestion.” He points to me. “You’re lucky she never got around to you. You’re unlucky in many other things, of course, but one should look at things positively, I suppose.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.

“I might.” he says plainly. “I might not. I will admit that I’m getting a bit desperate here. In spite of the aforementioned punishment, the individuals who brought me here are determined not to tell me the exact ritual they used to trap me here. Without that, I have no clue how to leave. Obviously, as you can imagine—“

♫Woo-hoo!♫

“—I am not meant to be here. I am needed in Hell. The longer I am here, the more irritated I will get. The more irritated I get, the louder the music will get. At some point, people’s ears will start bleeding. Assuming they don’t die from fatigue first. Eventually, they’ll be bleeding from everywhere, because I’ll begin to tear them limb for limb. As one does.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.”

He extends his pack of cigarettes to me. “Want one?”

“N-No. I’m good. Thanks.”

“I will make you a deal, Nate. It’s a very simple one. No fancy contracts, no signature in blood, no loopholes. Very simple:

“Convince my captors to tell me how they brought me here, and I will leave. Once I do, everyone here will be freed, you and your sister included. Deal?”

“I—“

“Refuse and I tear your head off.”

“You’re not leaving me much of a choice.”

“That’s what makes it such a simple deal.” the Devil grins.