Satan in the Suburbs: Part I

WHEN Regulus picked her up again, this time from the treehouse, that damned statue was still sitting on the backseat.

“You’ve been spending much more time with your newfound club than your own family,” he greeted her as she climbed onto the passenger seat.

Heather rolled her eyes. “What can I say? I’m a social butterfly with a very busy social life.”

That made her brother chuckle. From a year of living together, she discovered that out of the six of her siblings, Regulus was the one who’s very clingy. He always made sure to check up on the others, even took the duty to personally drive them around here and there. She asked him once why he did that, and his answer was: The thought of letting any of you out of my sight is very nauseating. He was also the most dramatic. 

“So what’s up with the treehouse today? Doing anything fun?”

The road was empty this time of the night and Regulus drove slowly. He liked driving at night. Heather was always his first go-to person when he was in the mood for a night drive; they usually went to a 24 hour diner in the neighbouring town, or the gas stations either in the east or north side of Oceanside.

Tonight, though, she had an inkling they wouldn't go to those places.

“Some of them were fighting,” she answered. Her eyes went up to the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the other ‘passenger’ in the back. The statue was as still as … well, a statue. “Alright, Reggie. You have to tell me what’s that thing in your backseat.”

“Fighting?” he mused, seemingly ignoring the rest of what she said. “What do they even have to fight about? Who gets to be sacrificed first?”

“Why do people keep saying someone’s going to be sacrificed in the treehouse?”

“There won’t be any sacrifice?”

The genuine surprise in his tone piqued her curiosity, but he quickly added, “the treehouse is so mysterious, and creepy, it’s hard to not assume the worst thing to happen in that place.”

“So  like our family,” she retorted. “You know, most of them don’t actually seem to know the stories that circulate about us. Or care.”

Regulus snickered. “Well, they’ve been accustomed to our presence now, so I imagine they realized how ridiculous they all sound when they say things like we hunt people at night.” 

“That thing, though,” she turned her head to the back, “that’ll get people to spread rumours again if they saw.”

“Then it’s a good thing they won’t.”

She cleared her throat. “I … might’ve let a few of them see it earlier.”

Regulus turned to face her, then shook his head as if he was disappointed. “I expected better from you, Heather.”

“Hey, you’re the one who won’t tell me what that thing is, I have to be creative to figure it out.”

Only then she realized they weren’t in the path to their house. Her eyebrows furrowed. She saw the ‘YOU’RE LEAVING OCEANSIDE’ sign on her left side, then the car sped up.

“Regulus,” she started, “where are we going?”

But his only reply was the Barebone-trademark-smile; the weird, unsettling, not-quite-a-smile smile. In the 14 months they knew each other, Heather had only seen him fixing that smile on the day she arrived.

Her heart thumped, the beats quickened; but she wasn’t sure whether it was adrenaline, fear, or excitement.

Come to think of it, she was still in the dark about the ‘talents’ Regulus Barebone possessed.

While the others who didn’t tell her outrightly on her first day she eventually knew of, Regulus’s was still as clear as the night sky.

“You never told me about what it is that you do.”

“I’m telling you soon,” he replied solemnly, “like, in fifteen minutes.”

She was too surprised to ask what he meant by that. Regulus did things at his own pace; his daily schedule (when he got out of bed, what time he took a shower, meals, and such) didn't follow a routine, it was always different one day and another. How he drove his car, how he walked, how he read—everything was in the speed that's up to his liking. Nobody rushed him and by the second week of living in the mansion, Heather too respected that choice of his. 

So she kept her mouth shut, waiting for his explanation.

“Father owns the lands that surround our house, and some parts of the woods.” His voice was calm and detached, like someone who'd been reciting the same words again and again. “The place we're going to is out of his reach, it's safe.”

Safe. He made it sound like their Father was something—someone dangerous. She only sees him every two months and for only three days when he's back from his trips. She never asked where he went and he nor her siblings never tried to inform her, either. Maybe she should've.

“I hunt monsters.”

The car slowed to a stop in what looked like what's left of a burned field. There were no other vehicles around, or houses, or any buildings. Just a huge field in the middle of nowhere.

“What you see in the backseat was once a living gargoyle. I paralyzed it long enough, but it may wake up anytime soon. We should hurry.”

Hurry. Hurry to do what, exactly?

“Regulus.” This time, she let her emotions—confusion, excitement, fear; all of them mixed together—seep through. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well.” Regulus flashed her a wide, manic smile. “We’re going to summon the devil.”