The sounds emanating from the broken drive-thru intercom vacillated between clarity and tongues and on the other end sat a demon with a headset saying, “Welcome to Taco Hell, what is your desire?” Customers ordered Crunchwrap Supremes and Chicken Chalupas with extra Diablo sauce — “So fresh you will feel the grit of brimstone between your teeth.” An ordinary day at the Taco Bell drive-thru took a turn. The interaction began like any other. They wanted a Mexican Pizza with a side of Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes, but there was something off, an edge to their voice. Charnokc could recognize hanger when he heard it, sense their rage ready to ignite. “Mortal, I sense your discontent through the speaker system.” There was an empty fuzz of static before the voice responded: “What?” There was a sharp annoyance to the tone, a terse staccato. The “t” jutting out like a knife. “You seethe with unrighteous anger.” “What the hell— ” “I compel you, Mortal.” Unwillingly, annoyance oozed out of them like lava ready to burn the world down, to encase the planet in igneous rock, to make the surface of the earth into a new level of hell. They hated everyone and everything, but especially the people closest to them, and especially people who were happier than them. “How terribly lonely that must be,” said Charnokc. “Let’s ruminate on that.” After twenty minutes of conversation, siphoning their dismay, Charnokc surged with power made visible, an electrical current that made the overhead lights flicker. They were crying now, tears materializing as storm clouds that gathered over the curved, bell-shaped roof of the Taco Bell. “I just wish that my dad would apologize, you know?” they sniffed. “The pain of childhood never leaves us,” Charnokc coaxed. “The world must know your pain. They must suffer as you have suffered. We should set ablaze the— ” “Charles, my dude, what’s the sitch?” Corey interrupted. “There’s a line of cars outside. This isn’t In-N-Out.” “This customer is in deep distress.” “Try to communicate a sense of urgency, please. We’ve got to get this line moving.” “Your lack of patience is admirable. I will comply. Apologies, hungry Mortal. This is the end of the line. What manner of feast do you crave?” “Oh, right, it’s just so nice to have someone to talk to. I, uh, I guess I’ll have those Fiesta Potatoes.” “Would you like to make a pact with that?” With the demon out of the way, Sybil opened windows. She cleaned, she cleansed. She vacuumed around Deb, a lump wrapped burrito-style in blankets only moving to change a channel or pick up her phone again. Sybil filled the apartment with protective crystals, Demon Be Gone candles and sacred sigils. Charnokc returned after a long day of work to find Sybil lying in wait. As soon as the demon crossed the threshold, she burst out, brandishing a rosary: “Be gone, Devil! I banish thee! Return from whence you came!” Charnokc glared, sniffed the air, shrinking slightly from the warding scents, from the fresh air circulating through the open windows. The demon hissed. “Charnokc, is that you?” Deb called from the other room. Thereby summoned, the demon dropped its dirty apron on the floor in defiance, and said to Sybil, “You fail to understand my nature so you will never destroy me.” Trudging past her to the living room where Deb waited, Charnokc held out a crumpled, greasy paper bag. “I have brought sustenance. It is called the Supreme Taco Party Pact.” Deb reached out to accept the bag. Charnokc went to the kitchen, took one of Sybil’s organic sodas out of the fridge and opened it with a clawed finger, slurping down the viscous contents. The next day at work, Corey told Charnokc, “This is so weird, my dude. I cashed out your drawer yesterday, and every order came out to exactly $6.66, and the grand total was $666. What are the odds?!” The grievances were delicious. Most people were tired. Many were hangry. Some were on road trips, trying to escape cults, arranged marriages, families that didn’t accept them. Their friendships were broken. Their romances were disappointing, fleeting, and laden with drama. Their dreams didn’t pan out. Their stomachs twisted with a hunger that went beyond physical emptiness. After Charnokc had been there a week, word got out. The parking lot filled with people making videos from their cars. TikToks that started, “I can’t believe I’m crying.” Then, ended, “… and then a little green demon in a Taco Bell hat handed me a Mexican Pizza, and I just felt better.” They said, “This Taco Bell gives a new meaning to the phrase ‘comfort food.’ Not a sponsored ad.” Or, “Te quiero a side of therapy with your Taco Bell? Not sponsored.” Or, “Avocado Verde Salsa, Fire Sauce and someone to listen to your problems? Not sponsored, but my DMs are open.” Sybil finally convinced Deb to take a walk for her mental health. As depressing as it was to walk alongside traffic amidst chain restaurants and strip malls, it seemed to help. When they got to the corner, they could see 29
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