The Devil Eats Here (Multi-Author Short Story Collection) Read Free Page B

crumbled to the ground, full of surprise and then indignation.
    "Work, you lazy dog!" a voice growled.
    Dean almost laughed. The absurdity overwhelmed him. A thug in an unrecognized uniform had hit him with a whip. Then anger replaced irony. He recognized a damn labor camp when he saw one. And it was clear he wasn't running it. Personal Paradise Inc. had betrayed him.
    Dean would have tackled the guard. Except Dean’s body had changed too. His attempted tackle degenerated into a wheezing struggle just to regain his feet. Dizziness and aching limbs made movement itself an agony. His body, which had been sleek with gym-worked muscles before the transfer, was putty stretched across bone. That dull pain in his distended stomach -- that was hunger. Starvation. Real starvation, not the damn-it-why-don't-you-have-anything-decent-prepared-I'm-starving starvation he had often bitched about at Colette.
    The whip descended again. Dean Vanch cringed, and felt shame at cringing, but it hurt.
    "If you're too weak to work..." The guard hooked the whip on his belt and pulled out a gun.
    *
    It all took a while to absorb. He drew a deep breath of the clean air in the office of Personal Paradise Inc., which was fragrant with the faint scent of soap and exotic bouquets. His body was sleek and strong and he enjoyed the way breathing didn’t hurt at all. He savored his strength, his health, the wonder of it.
    "So you mean that I switched places with my other self?" Dean Vanch asked Smit.
    "That’s correct," said Smit.
    "My parents didn’t die in carpet-bombing by the Francophones during the civil war?" Dean asked in amazement. "Collette was not shot during the ethnic cleansing? I wasn’t sent to a labor camp because I broke the miscegenation laws by marrying a Francophone? My health is good because I didn’t suffer from malnutrition during the Siege of Dieskau? I’m a wealthy man? And you even expect me to believe I don’t need a passport to travel from California to Louisiana?"
    "All correct," smiled Smit. "Are you happy now, Dean Vanch?"
    "Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "If all you say is true, I’m the happiest man on Earth."
     
    This story has been previously published in Conmergence.
     
     

ROUND AND ROUND THE GARDEN
    by Jonathan Broughton
     
    ‘Round and Round the Garden
    Like a little Devil
    One step, two step,
    And…’
    In the sitting room, Emma sings quietly, and as she sings she sets out the brightly coloured plastic pieces that make the game ‘Mousetrap.’
    Anthony from Sunday-School is coming to play. ‘Round and Round the …’ There is a step at the door, and a shadow dulls the gleam of the bright plastic.
    It is only Mum. ‘Have you done your hair?’
    Emma coughs to cover her singing, because Mum always tells her off when she hears the Devil word. ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you’re wearing your new pink dress I see.’
    Emma stands up and twirls, happy that she looks pretty.
    ‘Very pretty,’ Mum agrees. ‘Anthony will be here soon.’ She glances out of the window. ‘What are you going to do?’
    ‘Play ‘Mousetrap.’ Then, after tea, can we play in the garden?’ The Devil will test him.
    ‘We’ll see dear, you might be too full to run around.’ Mum gives a little cry. ‘Anthony’s here.’ She waves as if he is standing a million miles away, ‘Cooooeeee!’ Then she runs into the hall to open the door.
    ‘Round and Round the…’
    Dad puts his head round the door and she stops singing. ‘Anthony’s here Emma.’ He is very angry when she says the Devil word.
    ‘I know.’ She twirls the red cage on the end of the spiky yellow pole and then lines them both up beside the other pieces. She leans back, satisfied. It’s ready.
    Mum laughs, long and loud, as she greets Anthony and his Mum. ‘Emma’s waiting for you in the front room, darling. She’s got a game ready for you to play. Go and see.’
    Anthony appears in the doorway. He pretends to be shy, which is silly, because he isn’t shy at