Lord Foulgrin's Letters

\ \ \ \ \ Chapter One\ \ \ IT DOESN'T GET\ ANY BETTER?\ \ \ \ Shirtless, Jordan Fletcher kicked back on the lounge chair on the sunny deck of his new house at Sunriver, basking in the high desert beauty of Central Oregon. He'd always longed to have a special place of his own. Now it was his—and no one could take it from him.\     Jordan's wife, Diane, sat five feet away reading her novel, but it may as well have been five miles. They inhabited two different worlds. He found it easier to avoid conversation, since it usually ended up in a laundry list of ways he'd let her down or things she wanted him to do. High maintenance, he thought. He breathed in the scent of fresh pine and contemplated the mountain peaks framed by the huge blue sky.\     Well, she can't accuse me of blowing it on this place.\     "I'm walking to the store." The voice from behind startled him. Jillian? It didn't sound like the voice of a little girl—maybe because his strawberry blond daughter was now seventeen.\     "Okay," Diane said weakly, eyes not moving from her novel, the story of a life far more interesting than her own.\     Jordan looked disapprovingly at his daughter's skimpy outfit. He started to grumble something about not talking with strange boys, but by then she was gone. She seemed always to vanish these days, outrunning his words. Jillian never asked permission for anything anymore. Half the time she never told them where she was going.\     He looked over at fourteen-year-old Daniel, his hairin a stiff black bang against his pale skin, earphones permanently attached to his head. He sat under a desert pine, still pouting because his best friend couldn't come with him and he was stuck with the family. He wore his perennial black T-shirt featuring some rock singer, with an embossed "Hail Satan," blood spurting out of the words. Daniel gazed at a magazine Jordan didn't recognize, probably about computers or vampires or who knows what.\     What's he doing wearing those stupid boots on a hot sunny day? When will he grow up, take some responsibly?\     Jordan stood restlessly and ran his hand across the smooth deck railing. He looked at the tennis courts where he could barely see someone practicing serves. He watched carefully, trying to figure out if the guy was good enough to beat him. Finally he turned around and studied the house, his latest symbol of success and happiness. The shutters screamed at him.\     Idiots.\     The builders had installed the wrong shutters. He'd left a message and hadn't heard back from them. He wouldn't let them get away with it. Still though, the place was beautiful.\     Wait till Hal sees this. It makes his mountain chalet look like a bungalow. And Matt's little beach cottage? No comparison. I'll buy a barbecue and have it going Friday night when they get here. A few cases of beer on be. Everything'll be perfect.\     He looked at the vacant spot under the tree where Daniel had been a moment ago.\     Oh, well He's fourteen. Not like he needs a babysitter.\     Jordan went inside to get his briefcase off the shiny oak dining room table. He pulled out the monthly sales figures. He'd gone over them already but wanted to study the numbers again. He returned to the deck and settled back in his lounge chair, sipping lemonade.\     Yeah, it was true. He'd outsold everyone. He'd come out on top again.\     I can borrow a little more, get that ski boat. No problem.\     It felt great.\     Yeah, great. Everything's great. It doesn't get any better than this.\ \ \ * * *\ \ \ LETTER 1\ Our Working Arrangement\ \ \ My newly assigned subordinate Squaltaint,\     I'm recording these instructions despite the misgivings of my assistant Obsmut, who believes it's too risky.\     As you've heard, there's been a reshuffling of the chain of command in your geopolitical sector, precipitated by the removal of Ashtar for his reprehensible acts of disloyalty against Lord Beelzebub. I've been assigned to command your region. You and your cadre of six tempters now fall under my authority. So do all your current subjects, including the vermin assigned to you, Jordan Fletcher.\     In our kingdom's multilevel marketing structure you have now come in under me. I will be the beneficiary of your successes. I will also be held responsible for your failures. Make sure there are none.\     Since I have vested interests in your success, I'll offer my keenest advice and monitor your progress. I'll aid you in deceiving and destroying Fletcher. Together we'll share the spoils of victory.\     I'm a master of strategy and tactics. In my letters, I'll tutor you in the fine art of deception. I'll begin with Foulgrin's Basic Training, or if you prefer, Temptation 101.\     These half-spirit, half-animal hybrids who inhabit this planet, our planet, are an endless source of fascination and frustration. They're such creepy little things, misshapen balloons of flesh, bloated bags of liquid and alloy. Grossly inferior to spirit beings, they should be our servants—yet the Enemy would have made us theirs!\     As you deal with Fletcher or any of them, remember in the end they are but raw material, to be used by us against Him or by Him against us. They're weapons to wield in our jihad against heaven, that oppressive citadel called Charis.\     Never forget the reason we revoked our citizenship—to establish the new and greater realm of Erebus, that mighty domain of which hell is but a junkyard, a ghetto for human slaves. (The Enemy claims we shall one day join them there—I think not, but if the worst proves true let's first do all the damage we can.) Our kingdom is being built each day with the bony bricks and bloody mortar of the Enemy's precious image-bearers—including your cockroach Fletcher.\     Picture it, Squaltaint: The sludgebags are caught in the crossfire between Erebus and Charis. Skiathorus, what they call earth—that festering wound, that canker sore of the cosmos—is the battlefield where two rival kingdoms vie for the allegiance of puny men. The delicious thing is, the vast majority of them don't have a clue about the raging battle. How can they prepare for a battle they don't even know they're in? And how can they win a battle they haven't prepared for?\     Foulgrin's rule number one: Keep them in the dark.\     The central question is always this—how can we exact revenge on the Enemy? It was He who evicted us from our rightful dwelling, He who chose the sludgebags over us. He made ours a government in exile, driving us out to the hinterlands of the spirit realm, where we have no place to call our own until we colonize Skiathorus.\     What can we do to inflict pain on this Creator who at first glance appears untouchable?\     Intelligence gathering yields the answer. The Carpenter gave it away when He asked that vermin Paul, "Why do you persecute me?" Well, who was he persecuting but Christians?\     There you have it, so simple it's elegant: To persecute them is to persecute Him. By striking out at them—and at all His weak and vulnerable image-bearers—we kill the Enemy in effigy. Better yet, we actually inflict harm on Him.\     In and of themselves the vermin are utterly insignificant. But because the Enemy places such value on them, they become immensely useful to us. They're the objects of our aggression and the means of our attack against Him. What better way to hurt the divine parent than to kidnap His children, brainwash and torture them?\     Delightful, isn't it? As you hatch your plots for Fletcher, Squaltaint, never lose sight of the big picture.\     As you're doubtless aware, I'm known throughout Erebus as a highly decorated agent of Beelzebub. Indeed, from time to time I've traveled with the Master himself and served as his confidant. I am an experienced tactical instructor. My sage advice and counsel to field-workers is legendary. You'll find me far more accomplished than Ashtar.\     Count yourself privileged to be the recipient of my advice. Know that many would give their right arm to receive my counsel. Know also that many have given their right arms when they failed to heed it.\     Despite Obsmut's reservations, my sending letters to subordinates has many advantages over our conventional communication. Something vital gets lost in oral transmission, and you can never fully trust the messenger. (The Enemy has the unfair advantage of being present in more than one place at a time. The rest of us must make do.)\     Our methods of thought-projection have also proven imperfect. Enemy warriors—those bootlicks with whom we once served—sometimes overhear our messages. And occasionally our emotions—rage in particular—blur our thoughts and create some unfortunate misunderstandings.\     I have before me your résumé, Squaltaint. I see you've had only mixed success with the thirty-eight sludgebags assigned to you in the past seven centuries. No less than six of these became Christians, and only three of those did you manage to derail from serving the Enemy.\     My standards are higher than Ashtar's, and my tolerance for failure lower. Trust me when I say it is in your best interests to serve me well. Sit at my feet and learn, or you will lie on my plate and be devoured.\     The scientist must know the lab rats or he will not be able to use them to greatest advantage. Guided by my keen eye, you will come to understand the human prey. You will learn to stalk them, developing the keen instincts of the predator.\     Submit immediately detailed information on Jordan Fletcher. In my next letter, I'll advise you concerning my strategy of team temptation. Bear in mind I may pay a visit to the field at any time. Unannounced.\     To get you started, here are Foulgrin's Rules of the Sting:\     1. Never lose sight of your goal—Fletcher's enslavement.\     2. Find just the right bait, tailor-made for him. Be sure the hook is well hidden.\     3. Use as many lures as you can. He may pass on one but bite on the next, or spend his life moving from one to the other.\     4. Make him promises and actually keep a few now and then, so he doesn't catch on to the setup.\     5. Tempt your prey with what he wants to have, but give him what you want him to have. Lure him, coddle him, reassure him all will be well, even as you fatten him for Lord Satan's altar.\     If you're somehow unfamiliar with my past campaigns and decorations, you should review the attached sixty-page vita, which summarizes a smattering of my accomplishments over the millennia. Attached also are Foulgrin's 66 Rules of Temptation, an acknowledged classic. Read, marvel, and obey.\     There are many reasons to follow my orders. First is our common commitment to retaliation against the Enemy and aggression against the sludgebags. Second is the punishment I'll inflict upon you if you let me down. I'll celebrate your victories with you, but should you fail, I'll discipline you severely. Mercy is the Enemy's weakness—not mine.\     We are forging the only sort of alliance that works in Erebus, a coalition of mutual self-interest that keeps our house from being divided against itself. For both our benefits you must deceive and destroy Fletcher. As long as you do, we will get along fine.\     When talking to you, I explain, clarify, and enlighten. When talking to the sludgebags, I hide, eclipse, and obscure. You must be honest with me and dishonest with them. Never get it backwards. I eagerly await your first report.\     Remember, Squaltaint, while the vermin have successfully exorcised demons from their daily conversation, they've failed to exorcise us from their daily lives.\     We always work best in the dark.\ \ \ Your indisputable superior,\ —Lord Foulgrin

Acknowledgments12 Note to Readers14 Prelude: The Hunt17 Chapter 1: It Doesn't Get Any Better?19 Letter 1: Our Working Arrangement21 Chapter 2: Voices25 Letter 2: Know Your Prey26 Chapter 3: The Darkness, the Book, the Stain31 Letter 3: Working Behind the Scenes33 Chapter 4: Shutting Doors57 Letter 4: The Vermin's Stinking Family38 Chapter 5: Two Worlds43 Letter 5: Hunting43 Chapter 6: Face-Off49 Letter 6: Shaping How the Vermin See Beelzebub and Us51 Chapter 7: The Deal57 Letter 7: Moral Relativism and Your Sludgebag58 Chapter 8: Fletcher's World65 Letter 8: The Word "My"68 Chapter 9: The Game and the Book71 Letter 9: Truth and Fiction72 Chapter 10:A Little Choice77 Letter 10: Captains of Their Fate78 Chapter 11: Conversation and Coffee83 Letter 11: Making Him Wrong about the Carpenter87 Chapter 12: The Counterfeit91 Letter 12: Disposing of the Evidence92 Chapter 13: The Message97 Letter 13: The Ultimate Insult98 Chapter 14: All the Same?101 Letter 14: Twisting the Forbidden Message103 Chapter 15: What Would It Mean?107 Letter 15: Footholds108 Chapter 16: The Blue Blur111 Letter 16: The Sting111 Chapter 17: Appointment115 Letter 17: Your Unthinkable Disaster116 Chapter 18: The Squadron119 Letter 18: Cinderella with Amnesia122 Chapter 19: Getting Started127 Letter 19: All Is Not Lost127 Chapter 20: What's with Dad?131 Letter 20: Making the Best of a Bad Situation132 Chapter 21: First Contact137 Letter 21: On the Prowl139 Chapter 22: The War Within143 Letter 22: The Battle for HIS Money and Possessions145 Chapter 23: The Invitation151 Letter 23: Eliminating Shame152 Chapter 24: The Bookstore157 Letter 24: Love and the Male Maggot-Feeders159 Chapter 25: Bad News165 Letter 25: Making Sure He Doesn't Get It166 Chapter 26: It Would Have to Be Obvious171 Letter 26: Their Efforts to Take Us Down172 Chapter 27: Surprise175 Letter 27: Love and the Female Maggot-Feeders176 Chapter 28: The Test181 Letter 28: Suffering, the Enemy's Megaphone182 Chapter 29: Options187 Letter 29: Take Him Down188 Chapter 30: Mom191 Letter 30: Postponing Evangelism192 Chapter 31: Dad197 Letter 31: Long Live Our Man in the Pulpit199 Chapter 32: Get Out205 Letter 32: Worship in the Forbidden Squadron206 Chapter 33: The Talk211 Letter 33: Accusations213 Chapter 34: Needing Help215 Letter 34: Message from the Enemy's Agent!216 Chapter 35: The Hike223 Letter 35: Visitation224 Chapter 36: Going to Kill Me227 Letter 36: Our Fairy Tale about Origins228 Chapter 37: Different253 Letter 37: Lard Chemosh254 Chapter 38: Final Answer239 Letter 38: Damned If You Do239 Chapter 39: My Messenger241 Letter 39: The Enemy's Appeal to the Vermin's Self-Interest242 Chapter 40: It's Over247 Letter 40: Choosing a College249 Chapter 41: Enemy Strategies255 Letter 41: Distracting Him from Missions and the Poor257 Chapter 42: Home261 Letter 42: Intolerable Developments264 Chapter 43: Help269 Letter 43: Line in the Sand270 Chapter 44: Confession273 Letter 44: The Vermin's Longing for Pleasure274 Chapter 45: Applause279 Letter 45: Smelling Like the Enemy280 Chapter 46: Shout to the King283 Letter 46: The Final Disaster284 Chapter 47: Survivors291 Letter 47: One Last Hasty Note292 Afterword297

\ Library JournalHard on the heels of Don Hawkins's flambeau@darkcorp.com (LJ 2/1/00), where a demon offers advice to his subordinate via e-mail, Alcorn's repetitious and wordy new work (after Dominion and Deadline) offers homage to C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters. As Foulgrin writes missives to his lackey Squaltaint, he comments on Jordan Fletcher, a businessman so busy looking for happiness that it's passing him by. Fletcher's story unfolds in tiny vignettes between letters as Squaltaint tries to follow his superior's order to corrupt Fletcher so that he will never have a chance at Heaven. While Foulgrin's signatory phrases are somewhat amusing ("The Devil's advocate," "Populating hell one image-bearer at a time," etc.), the basic message behind this book is beaten into the dust. Purchase where Alcorn fans demand, but for satire, flambeau@darkcorp.com cuts to the basics. Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.\\\ \