The Day
David Madison

David Madison's early death, by his own hand, robbed us of much excellent fantasy. He published in Dragonfields, The Diversifier, Space & Time, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy & Terror, Astral Dimensions, New Fantasy Journal, and elsewhere. He gained a surprising reputation especially for his Marcus and Diana, wimp and amazon, heroic fantasies. Many of the M&D stories, together with pieces about Malak the Apostate (sword and sorcery's only impotent muscle-hero) will be preserved in hardcover by Celt Press (3820 Lake Trail Drive, Kenner, Louisiana 70065) in a volume entitled Tower of Darkness: Decadent Tales of Sword and Sorcery, probably available before Tales by Moonlight II is on the stands, so write to find out the price.
His horror tales are less well remembered than his sword and sorcery and, to be honest, not of the same startling brilliance. But "The Day" struck me as that rare bird: an innovative Devil story, and reminiscent of John Collier. It is one of David's rarest items as well, having appeared only in his college newspaper in Texas about 1969.

"It is said, in a certain book written in blood, that once in an age, once in a thousand years, the stars form a pattern which is never repeated, and a day is born which is called Black Sunday. On that day is His Majesty the Devil freed from his kingdom in the pit for twenty-four hours, and during that time if he should seduce a virgin, he will father the anti-Christ who will convert the world to the worship of the Dark Master."
 -- Confession (from the rack)
of Varlack the Damned

The Devil was playing chess with Jack the Ripper and had just threatened to excommunicate his bishop, when Dagon, one of the chief demons, entered the throne room. "Your Darkness," Dagon said, bowing as low as his rather peculiar anatomy would allow.
"Yes?" the Devil replied, turning to face him.
"Black Sunday will begin in twenty minutes, Your Unholiness. I have been seeing to most of the preparations."
"And the girl?"
"I think we have a winner for you," Dagon chuckled. "Observe." From a fold of his cloak, or possibly of his skin, Dagon produced a globe of fiery crystal, which he placed on the table across from the chessboard. He waved a claw at the globe, and its fiery mists parted slowly to reveal a Humphrey Bogart movie.
"Sorry, wrong channel," said Dagon, shaking the globe. "Here we are."
The crystal showed a small clear scene of a down-at-the-heels bus station. Its only occupant was a girl who looked, the Devil decided, like a cross between an undernourished owl and the jewelry counter of a five-and-dime store. Her simple child-like dress was ornamented with a great many necklaces, and her closely cropped brown hair fringed the rims of very large, round glasses. She had slender china-doll hands which were made to appear even smaller by huge baroque rings.
"This is a winner?" the Devil said vaguely.
Ignoring him, Dagon went on. "Her name is Lisa Adams. She's on vacation from college and on her way to visit a girlfriend in Texas. To the best of our knowledge she's a virgin. Her main interests are astrology, the supernatural, cats, and boys, pretty much in that order." "Go on. I'm beginning to be interested." "She's feeling a little lonely and vaguely sorry for herself right now because it's been a very long ride and doesn't show any sign of coming to an end. Also, her horoscope said she'd make a new Mend today and so far he hasn't shown up."
"He will."
"You should arrive there at midnight, a few minutes before her bus connection shows up, and, Your Majesty, may I wish you luck."
"You may, and I'll probably need it."
Dagon handed the Devil his bus tickets, slightly scorched, and he rose to leave the throne room. Pausing with his hand on the door, he turned back to Jack the Ripper and threatened him with something quite remarkable, even in Hell, if he should move any of the chessmen during his absence.
He appeared in front of the bus station to discover that it was pouring rain. He hadn't remembered to bring an umbrella, being from somewhere that rain was notably absent, and was drenched in a moment. Stepping under a tattered, flapping awning, he looked at his reflection in a cracked window. He didn't look at all like the pictures of him, but then the people who illustrate Bibles are inclined to be prejudiced. His hair was blond and long, slightly curling around the edges. He had green eyes and the flawless complexion of a porcelain doll.
The bent glass-and-aluminum door creaked open under his hand, and he stepped into the high-ceilinged waiting room that smelled of age and damp. "Hi," Lisa said brightly, glad for the company. "Hell of a night isn't it?"
"You can say that again," he replied, smiling at the private joke. He sat down on the sagging couch beside her, and she drew her feet up under her and turned to face him.
"My name's Lisa Adams. What's your?"
"Devlin. Mark Devlin, and I'm pleased to meet you."
She offered him a hand to shake, which he kissed. "Oh, wow!" she giggled. "I didn't think anybody did that anymore."
"I still do. I think it's a lovely custom."
"And you get to taste of lot of nice hands, too. Where are you going to?"
"A one-horse town named Crooked River."
"I don't believe it! That's where I'm going, too. That's fantastic!"
There was a flicker of lights and a squeal of protesting brakes. "I think our bus is here," Mark said.
The two of them walked to the door. The bus was parked on the opposite side of the street which was an, at least, ankle-deep river of very dirty rainwater. "You don't happen to have a rowboat with you by any chance?" Lisa asked.
The driver opened the door of the bus and motioned for them to hurry. "I don't have a boat, but I do have a strong back. May I?" Looping the strap of her purse over his shoulder, he carefully picked her up in his arms and carried her across.
The bus was like a cool, dark cave in the rainy night, and they were the only passengers. Mark had a feeling that Dagon might have had something to do with that. Sitting together on the couch-like rear seats, they shared sandwiches and sips from a bottle of wine that Lisa had in her outsized purse, talking softly about anything and everything.
Lisa fell asleep with her head in his lap.
They had breakfast in a cafe in the middle of nowhere -- Nowhere was a small town south of Abeline -- and moved on.
They kissed for the first time in a city zoo under the disinterested gaze of a tiger.
According to Mark's watch it was nine o'clock, three hours before midnight and the end of Black Sunday, when the bus broke down. The driver and his two passengers looked at the smoking engine dismally.
"Looks like we dropped the oil pan," the driver said. "Thing like this could take eight or ten hours to get fixed."
"And just what are we supposed to do for eight or ten hours?" Lisa asked sarcastically.
"Do whatever you want. It's none of my business," he said with an ugly smirk.
Mark told him where he could go, which was something he usually couldn't do since everyone he knew was already there, and he and Lisa walked away.
"What are we going to do, Mark?" she asked. "I'm so tired I can't see straight."
He put his arm around her. "You must really be worn out, poor baby. There's a motel across the street. Why don't we get a room, and you can rest until they fix the bus."
"A room, as in one room for the two of us."
"With twin beds, of course."
"That's better. I always knew you were a gentleman."
Lisa kicked off her shoes and sprawled on one of the wide white beds while Mark hung out the Do Not Disturb sign. "Mr. and Mrs. Mark Devlin," she giggled. ''That has a nice ring to it."
"Well, I could hardly have told the clerk, 'Mr. Devlin and Miss Adams,' at least not in this part of the country." He sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. Taking hold of her hand, he leaned over, kissed her lightly, and whispered a suggestion in her ear. She sat up, looking rather sad.
"I'd love to, Mark, I really would, but I'm afraid you have to leave," she said.
"I have to what?"
"Leave. I guess it wouldn't be fair if I didn't tell you that I know who you are. I have known for quite a while."
"But how?"
"I told you I study astrology. I knew this was Black Sunday, and I found out about you when you were carrying me out of the bus station. You stepped in a patch of mud, and the footprint you left was a cloven hoof."
"But Lisa... We still have three hours.... Couldn't we..."
"I'm sorry. I knew if I gave you a chance, you'd be able to talk me into it, and I'm not really ready to become a mother, so while you were asleep, I set your watch back three hours. It's almost midnight now."
"In spite of this, it's been wonderful."
She took him in her arms. "It really has. If only you weren't who you are..." The clock struck even as their lips met. It was like kissing a wisp of fog.
She cried a little after he was gone.
In the first light of morning, Lisa walked up the steps of the newly repaired bus. "Where's your friend?" the driver asked.
"He had to leave."
"Too bad. We picked up a new passenger, though. I think he lives in that little town you're going to."
Lisa walked down the aisle to where the dark-haired, handsome young man was sitting. "Hi," she said brightly. "I hear you live in Crooked River.''
Her horoscope hadn't lied after all. She was going to make a new friend.