by Jean Marie Ward

The flies massed in battalions inside the window screens. That would never work in today’s real estate market. Catherine searched her uncle’s house for the cause and found Beelzebub in the basement freezer.

His presence explained a lot about her uncle’s death—not to mention the flies.

“Release me,” he buzzed, “and the handsomest man alive is yours.”

“Too late,” she laughed. “Been there, done that, couldn’t divorce him fast enough.”

“Release me,” he droned, “and you’ll know wealth beyond a banker’s dream.”

“In exchange for my soul?”

“It’s the usual deal.”

“Uh uh. I saw what was left of my uncle.”

He considered her a moment.

“Release me,” he purred, “and I’ll take revenge on your former employer.”

That was tempting, especially for a woman of a certain age and a certain weight with no prospects. A particularly large fly zipped past her ear. Catherine shook her head.

She found a book on exorcisms in her uncle’s library. Mr. B was soon gone. Thanks to a bit of honey and a few self-sealing plastic bags, his flies were, too—removed to her ex-boss’s mansion by the sea, where they flourished. After she settled her uncle’s affairs, so did Catherine.

No flies on her.

(This story was originally published in the Samhain blog, May 28, 2010.)