Satan
I was having far too much fun with this already. Debbie had proved quite the little mover in the bedroom. Seemed after she insisted on having a ‘heart-to-heart’ with me, that she had felt we were drifting apart and that it had taken her threatening me with divorce for me to see the error of my ways. What-ev-er. Her poor husband. I bet he was glad I’d taken over his body, stuffed him deep down inside himself where he ceased to exist. At least he didn’t have to listen to her. If I got fed up with her talking, I’d taken to filling her mouth with something to shut her up. However, I’d just seen the buxom brunette at number 22 put her bins out in her sheer pyjamas, so Debbie might have to be dealt with another way soon.
According to my wife, the only thing they all knew about the war was there would be one, and that it might involve a sausage roll. I’d never heard anything so stupid in my life and believe me when you’d been Satan you’d heard every excuse under the fiery, burning, excruciatingly painful rays of the sun while the new recruits tried their best to be freed from their new home in the bowels of hell.
This morning I had not been able to resist calling in at the coffee shop. I wanted to know if she could detect me, but no. As I thought I only registered as Mark Linley at the moment while I still didn’t have my powers. Now that was a problem I needed to sort out at my earliest convenience. I couldn’t exactly get Withernsea back without having some kind of power. But then they’d talked about holding a wedding reception for my lovely and completely traitorous, backstabbing ex-assistant Lucy and the arseswipe she’d married. I’d killed him and then that bloody vampire had brought him back to life, well un-life. Hmmm, there’d be a wedding buffet. Maybe war could start with a sausage roll after all… especially if I poisoned them. I could rid myself of the do-gooding bastards in one fell swoop if I got the recipe right. It was food for thought. In the meantime the dim-witted Samara had given me the perfect idea to distract them all.
Taking over the body of Mark Linley had been an act of genius. Not surprisingly, no-one noticed he’d been taken over because he was a rancid slug of a man anyway. In fact I’d done Hull and Withernsea a huge favour.
Tonight had been the icing on the cake. A tour of Wyvern Sea. Permission to go under the water and see what I could also command under there. I’d had to endure an hour with the extra do-gooding Polly and her new boyfriend, but it was all worth it for the information I had gathered.
Then I’d suggested Debbie and I go for an Indian where I’d had far too much fun tormenting my old colleague Rav. Yes I was having a devil of a time. All I needed now was to secure the return of my evil powers. There must be a way and I would find it. It was quite a problem with my current plans for Withernsea domination that I didn’t actually have any power. In the meantime I would just have to concentrate on the fact I was wicked to the core.
I rang the Cupid Inc headquarters. “Oh hello there. One of your Cupids, Rebecca. She set me up with a beautiful woman who I’m pleased to say I have just proposed to. Could you give me a telephone number for her so I could thank her?”
A happy sing-song voice came down the line. I was almost sick on myself. “Oh we can’t give out personal information, but I can give you an email address for you to send your thanks. Now which Rebecca is it? Do you have her location?”
“Yes, Hornsea.”
“Ah, do you have a pen and paper?”
“I do.”
“Okay, that’s rebeccawilkins, all one word.” She spells it out for me, “atcupidinc.com. That’s inc for incorporated with a c, not ink like in a pen.”
I hung up.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Samara
Rebecca
I heard about your incident with Samara. Basically she was in Jax's coffee shop in Withernsea telling everyone within listening distance about your unfortunate mishap down under (and we know I don’t mean Australia, don’t we?)
Here are my suggestions, as a secret supporter of everything you do in your role as Cupid representative for Hornsea.
1. Go to your bosses about Samara being helped by the Dating Agency.
2. Let anyone else know. Is there a company magazine?
3. Samara detests sausage rolls. Send her some to her grooming salon with a note that if she wants to bring it, you can too. (Anonymous of course, but she’ll know who did it.)
4. Anything else you can think of to annoy her. She’s far too loved up and happy and who wants that? (Yes for everyone else, but not for her, hey?).
From: someone else she picked on. Just because she’s a pet groomer doesn’t mean she can tell us how to shave our pussies, right?
I signed off. This should do the trick. Let the games begin. Samara had annoyed me by becoming loved up with that husband of hers, becoming the first couple of that damn dating agency, so she deserved what she got.
Now I just had to see what happened…