This Third Party

I'm afraid that won't do, says the voice with no source, not devilish, not godly, not mellow or coarse. The moment I send you to Hell, I'll be finished! Job done, powers gone, and it's right back to business! Oh, Satan would love me to THINK I'd be freed, but I've known him too long to forget to take heed-- Promises made out of hatred and greed never manage to end where they'd promised to lead.

You raise a left eyebrow and cock yourself sideways. (Expression is hard for a Head, but you find ways.) "I don't think I follow you, bodiless voice... Are you saying, you're a demon, who's not here by choice, but sent here by Satan to taunt, disembowel, and torture ole innocent C. Thomas Howell?" 

The voice giggles slightly, so girlish in pitch, when it quivers and squeals, not a demon, a witch. Rather like a secretary, I work down in Hell. Torturing is secondary, but I do it quite well!

And then she appears, an old hag in a robe, with a BANG that goes straight to your temporal lobe. Her skin is all wrinkled, hair almost metallic, and her voice is now plainer and much less italic: "Not that the Boss thinks I taunt worth a damn... with his arrogant, narcissist, ignorant plans, oh the THINGS he would say!" she exclaims with a slam, "if he knew what an evil old witch I am!"

You watch her in terror as she rants and raves. Who knew Satan's helper could be so depraved? "For example!" she yells, and she kicks you like a ball, puts her boot in your eye, and you crash into the wall. "I could toss you in the river, and you'd drown like a stone! I could take you to the desert and leave you alone... Take you up in a plane, tell your mother on the phone, watch the pavement get splattered with Head bourguignon. But I'll save that for later as I don't have an airship... but for now, methinks Head needs a nice little... hairlip!"

She says the last word with snap of her fingers, and you instantly feel a strange tingle that lingers, your lip now contorted, the bane of your face! Oh what a disgrace, OH! What a disgrace!

"I'll get you, you b---" you begin to berate, but your poor mouth can no longer enunciate. Your voice is just awful, every word is "falafel", so you give up, and let her continue to waffle.

"And what would Dear Lucifer think," the witch snarls, "if he saw, that your TEETH are now crusty and gnarled!" You whimper, and feel the disgusting sensation, now officially the grossest head in all of creation. 

"And for kicks," and she kicks you again with a thud, "let's take you to a place where there's nothing but mud! You can't roll around, can't give up and drown, just a head in the mud feeling icky and down. And welllll," she considers, "that's good, I suppose, but it'd be a lot better with a sick runny nose! Oh Head, you're so FUN to repeatedly injure! How Satan would cackle if I made you a ginger!"

You close your poor eyes, but you cannot ignore, the nose, so annoying! The mud with no floor... You'd cry, but that'd make your nose run even more, so you sniffle and silently count up to four. But when you're a ginger, see, pain starts to thrill you. 

And as the witch disappears, you declare, "Ife willf killf you."

The End

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