---

Dinner with a Devil

Chapter 4

---

The next morning, Marian, Esther, and Herbert slurped down their eggs, bacon, and strawberries in the kitchen. Being a teacher-work day, they didn’t have to face Aaron or any of the other awkward confrontations again for three days. Opposite the dining-room, Mrs. Dolor rested her feet on the coffee table and watched the News, sipping coffee and nibbling on a biscuit. Mr. Dolor had left earlier for work.

“Do you think the ghost will come back if we go up to the gate again?” Esther asked.

“Do you think it’s still open?” Herbert asked. 

Marian ignored them; in her heart, she had hoped that it were all a dream, but her brother and sister’s comment drew a slow, despondent feeling from her heart—a feeling that quietly aches when we realize our dreams are not real, or our nightmares are; she had planned to finish writing her play today and hadn’t any desire to enter the forest, especially under the guise of seeing the gate, open or closed. Now she wrestled with the notion of whether she should even speak to her siblings about it. Perhaps not looking at it would make the gate close on its own, or some neighbor or forest ranger would find it and she could act ignorant of all that came of it. From the living-room, she heard the loud and awful speech of a very flamboyant anchor dashing all hope of her problems resolving on their own.

“It’s Halloween in April!” A woman with blonde curly hair, wearing a red blouse, reported from an obscure pasture on the southeast side of Maryville. The wind was blowing through the stringent grass, and a loud red and blue semi roared by on the far side of the forty-acre pasture. “…Reports of Tsul ’Kalu, also known as the Cherokee Devil have begun popping up in the Blount Country area over the last twenty-four hours. Those unfamiliar with the legend will know the monster as something akin to the Smoky Mountains’ Bigfoot.”

The Dolor children looked at one another and sprung from their chairs, hurrying to the living-room to hear more; they crouched behind the couch and watched anxiously. The video cut away from the Blonde Reporter and showed images around Maryville, Montvale, Chilhowee, and Happy Valley; street signs and four-way stops, local Mom and Pop shops and rough bars, schools and homesteads. Her voice continued, “Reports seem to be sporadic and random in location and persons…”

The video cut to a clip of a skinny man, with no shirt and a Tennessee Volunteers hat, standing in a field along Six Mile Road. His lips were moving, but the audio wasn’t up on his clip. 

“…Local reports,” the Blonde Reporter’s voice continued over the clip of the mjuted Skinny Man. “…came during the midnight hour of Thursday night—”

The man’s volume rose. “That’s what I seen, yeah,” he said confidently. “It looked like a big hairy man—but he was humongous—standing right there, right over there, on toppa Jeff’s house…”

A second clip appeared. This one of an obese elderly woman in what appeared to be a nightgown with pink and purple flowers, holding a chihuahua. “Oh, I’ seentit many timesin ma life.” The woman closed her eyes like she was remembering. “…eight, ten-fee’-tall, easily. ’t can jump ’s high as a five ‘tory building. And ‘tit’s mean a ‘sa far’cracker. I ‘ouldn’t be surprised if ‘tit’s mad a t’all ‘em loggers and killin’ all t’e elk.”

The video cut to historical looking images of drawings and stock-footage of Cherokee people, both from the West and East Nations; the drawings showed what was imagined to be the Cherokee Devil;it looked like a snowy-white Bigfoot with bright white eyes and massive shoulders. The children thought Tsul ’Kalu’s eyes looked strange because every drawing showed them slanted; but they remembered seeing him with normal rounded eyes, yet slanted pupils inside.

The Blonde Reporter’s Voiceover sounded much clearer as if recorded in a studio somewhere: “The Cherokee Devil, or Tsul ’Kalu, is the ancient Cherokee myth of a creature that stands several feet higher than a man, is covered in hair like an ape, and has slanted eyes that, quote, ‘shine like the sun’. Tsul ’Kalu which means, ‘he that has them slanting’, is the ‘lord of the game’ and considered the greatest hunter of the Cherokee Nation.” 

The images showed Tsul ’Kalu bringing dead deer to an old woman and her daughter at night; and another of him walking away into the forest with the young woman. “Said to once deceive and marry a Cherokee girl; later, he attacked the girl’s grandmother and took the girl off to his home in the mountains.”

The stock footage disappeared and the Blonde Woman was back on the screen, holding her mic and smiling pleasantly. “Blount county officials are asking that any sighting of what may be the Cherokee Devil be reported immediately and that citizens try not to engage. Sheriff Kirk refuses to comment on his personal beliefs, but does, however recognize the strong possibility that this animal should be considered dangerous.”

The video cut to a man in uniform with a crewcut standing in front of a gas station and Gondolier Italian Restaurant. “Look, I’m not saying this is or is not real. Obviously we have received a lot of phone calls last night and this morning…” The footage quick-faded to another clip of the Sheriff. “—Very real possibility it is a large predator, maybe a black bear, and has lost its fear of man…” Quick-fade. “—Also strong possibility this is a person dressing up, whether for a prank or even mental issues…” Quick-fade. “—Call your local law enforcement, keep a distance and don’t try to get a great story for your friends.”

The ended clip cut back to the Blonde Reporter, smiling. “Tsul ’Kalu’s legend is famous all over the Smoky Mountain region,” she said. “And though sightings have been reported in the last decade, nothing has come close to the proportion and volume of sightings occurred in Blount County last night, with over sixty-three calls made to local law enforcement officials, so much so that they have this reporter wondering if this is, in fact, not a hoax. Only time will tell if Tennessee’s new mystery resident is one of fact…or myth. I’m Wendy Lawrence, reporting live from Maryville, Tennessee.”

The shot cut away to the studio. A man in a suit with black hair was smiling. “Wow, that’s incredible stuff, Wendy,” the man said, patting a stack of papers in line with each other and placing them on the table in front of him. “In other news—the weird just keeps getting…well, weirder. Reports from members of the Chilhowee Equestrian Center for Beginners and Youngsters say they witnessed a unicorn riding alongside various ponies and stallions this morning. Yes, that’s right, the famous mythical beast that is every young girl’s favorite fantasy-animal is said to have been spotted running alongside other stallions and mares. While no official photographs were taken, this eyewitness drawing from 7-year-old Olivia Barnhardt gives us an idea of what it may have looked like.” A shot of a little girl holding a crayon drawing came onto the television. Her voice was muted, but she pointed to her drawing of a black horse with a white mane and long silver horn on its head. 

Click! The television turned off.

“Well, that’s a bunch of nonsense.” Mrs. Dolor took a sip of coffee and stood from the couch. Turning around, she was amazed to discover all six of her children’s eyes glued to the blank television. “You alright?” She asked.

“Uh, yes!” Marian replied. 

Mrs. Dolor laughed. “Hey, I’m sick of unpacking boxes,” she said. “Let’s do something fun! How about we go for a drive through the mountains?”

The mountain peaks rolled over the horizon like blue and green waves; slate and sandstone faces jutted out in wild shapes of brash strength and angry fortitude; a bald eagle hovered on the wind like a frozen monument of glory. Down the road and through the valley, the Dolor children traveled with their mother, up high hills and creeping down steep faces; a flurry of green, brown, and gray were the trees and rocks that passed by. The children laughed and stared in wonder at the Smoky’s majesty. The car sped through a tunnel and the world became dark and mysterious; the children cheered. An hour later, the children had forgotten every ounce of their worries and fear. And the ice-cream cones Mrs. Dolor bought them were icing on the cake. 

But all pleasant moments eventually fade and behind them can come ominous ones. In this case, it was a terrible evening that lie ahead, which started as soon as they pulled up to the house and saw two vehicles waiting, that had, apparently, just arrived ahead of them. Mr. Dolor stepped out of his Ranger and a stranger got out of the other sedan. 

“There’s my family!” Mr. Dolor cheered, and reached out his arms wide, as Mrs. Dolor turned the Explorer into the yard under the poplar. The family exited the SUV, and the children ran to hug their father; they noticed the strange man standing behind him and felt uneasy at his presence. The man wore a tight black blazer, black slacks, and a black long-sleeved shirt tucked into them; there was so much dark clothing that he looked like he must have come from a funeral home. His dark hair was slicked straight back and shimmering in the sunlight. When he smiled and greeted the family, two long sharp cuspids shown through on the corners of his mouth like a Great Dane, and his voice had an East European lilt. 

“I’ve got a special guest for dinner tonight. It’s my new boss, Mister—excuse me—Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. He just started today, and we really hit it off.”

Mrs. Dolor smiled like she did when she wished Mr. Dolor asked before he made a decision. “Oh, wonderful,” said she.

While the kids cleaned themselves up, Mrs. Dolor hurriedly prepared dinner for the family and guest. Mr. Dolor and the Professor spoke in the living-room, seated on the couch and reclining chair, about business and inconsequential drivel that adults seem to always find themselves confabulating about; Government and leadership, foreign affairs, and weather, weather, weather. The living-room smelled of cigars and liquor.

At suppertime, Mr. Dolor let Ludwig sit in his chair at the head of the table, and took his seat next to him. Mrs. Dolor had prepared spaghetti and meatballs with garlic toast; the kids’ favorite. Marian loved the meatballs. Esther loved Mom’s special sauce. Herbert loved to slurp the noodles from end to end through his lips.

“Oh moy,” said Professor Ludwig Wolfgang. “I din’t know we woo’d be sareved garlic toast.”

“Is there something wrong, Professor?” Asked Mr. Dolor. Marian noticed the tinge of fear in his voice.

“I’m terribly ‘llergic to the stuff,” he replied.

“Honey, why did you make garlic toast?” Mr. Dolor asked spitefully.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I had no idea,” Mrs. Dolor replied. “Let me take that from you.” Then she turned to Mr. Dolor and glared at him. “If I had a little time to prepare, I could have cooked something a little more appropriate.” 

“Thank you, no, it is quite a’right,” replied the Professor, shaking his hands in the air. “I believe I ‘ave a bit on my sleeves, though. Where is the restroom, please?” 

“Herbert, can you show our guest the bathroom?” Mr. Dolor asked with a smile. Herbert’s eyes widened, for nothing in him wanted to be alone for a moment with the strange man; but he furrowed his brow, puffed out his lower-lip with a sigh, and put his fork down. He led Professor Wolfgang around the corner and down the hall toward the guest bath and study.

“I thought you already had a new boss,” Marian said, spinning her fork in the air and the speared meatball with it.

“Yes,” Mr. Dolor replied excitedly. “We—well, the executive team—just hired the Professor today out of Europe—Romania, if I remember correctly. He is…a very brilliant supervisor with an incredible outlook of our nation and current climate. I believe he will really take us places as an organization! I’m very excited about his vision and we plan on looking at new real estate as soon as—oh, here he comes—hush about all that.”

The Professor sat down gracefully at his seat and picked up his fork, showing disgust on his face. Herbert sat beside Marian and mouthed something to her that she could not read, but it was apparent that he had something important to tell her.

“Professor,” Mrs. Dolor said, “my husband tells me you are from Romania. That’s interesting. When did you move to East Tennessee?”

The Professor pushed his fork through his noodles and separated the meatballs. He cringed and pulled a noodle off of the meatball, before stabbing the ball abjectly and shaking the sauce from it; he smiled curtly and shoved the thing into his cheek; it squished under his powerful bite and a spurt of sauce came from his lips; he gulped a draught of wine and placed the glass down sternly. “Yes,” he finally replied. “I ‘rrived late last nigh’.”

“Really?” Mrs. Dolor replied, and Mr. Dolor’s expression showed a hint of embarrassment. “And so suddenly you are working at my husband’s factory?” 

“The work was paramount that I begin today,” said the Professor in his deep, thick accent.

“Do you not like spaghetti, Professor?” Mrs. Dolor asked, noting his bizarre method of avoiding the noodles and sauce. 

“I find it disdainful,” the Professor remarked bluntly. “I must be excused.” He stood suddenly from his seat and left the room for a second time. 

After dinner, The Professor seemed more hospitable as he entertained the Dolor parents with the piano in Mr. Dolor’s study. Meanwhile, the children huddled in the downstairs bathroom like a group of prison inmates. Not one of them felt well of Professor Ludwig Wolfgang and needed to tell the others why. 

“After dinner,” Marian began, “when he excused himself the third—or was it the fourth? No, it was the third time, because I remember Herbert had that fork balancing on his nose during the fourth time—”

“Marian!” Esther shouted retrieving her older sister’s focus. 

“Sorry,” Marian cowered into her shoulders playfully. “I saw him go round the corner toward Mom and Dad’s room. I peeked around because it felt odd. He pulled something out of his pocket and was chewing on it. I am absolutely sure of it—it was a dead rat, and he was biting right into it.”

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” said Herbert. “And plus what I was telling you—

“Yes, what were you mouthing to me after you came back?”

Herbert shook his head and put it into the palm of his hand. “The Professor is weird. When I showed him to the bathroom the first time, he called me ‘delectable’. That what Grandma always calls her oatmeal chocolate cookies!”

Marian smirked and nodded her head at her little brother. “Yes, well, it doesn’t mean he thinks you are a cookie.” 

Esther tapped her lips and thought out loud. “Shiny long teeth,” said she. “Allergic to garlic. Thinks kids look tasty. And chewing on a rat. It’s settled, we know who—or what—the Professor is. And we need to tell Mom and Dad.”

It’s possible that the Dolor children didn’t actually believe Professor Wolfgang was a vampire. But it’s also just as plausible he were a conman and grifter, out to seduce their mother and kidnap the children. Or perhaps he were a drug-dealer that was going to the bathroom every few minutes to snort or inject his products, and hoped to hook their father on his narcotics and ruin their lives. Regardless of all of that, the children were sure that he was up to no good, and in spite of what they had seen in the prior twenty-four hours, what with manifested ghosts, galloping unicorns, giant Bigfoots, and enchanted gates that open themselves, the notion that he was a vampire seemed the most reasonable. Let loose from the enchanted forest, no doubt. 

“But I thought he said he was from—what was it—?” Herbert asked.

“Somalia,” answered Marian.

“Romania,” corrected Esther. “That’s just a cover,” Esther replied. “Of course, he’s another monster let loose when I opened that gate.” 

“Stop saying that you opened it, Ess,” replied Marian. “You don’t know that.”

“Give me another reason why it opened then? What were you and Herb doing?” 

The music had stopped. In the silence, the children felt anxious, as if some unseen force were watching them. They found their parents and the Professor in the living-room, drinking wine in front of the fireplace. As they peered round the wall next to the stairway, the Professor excused himself to the restroom. Perfect! Now the kids could talk to their parents in private.

“Mom. Dad. We have something to tell you,” Marian began with her hands clasped in front of her.

“What is it, honey?” Mrs. Dolor replied. She knew it was something serious from the formality. 

Before the question was even out of her mother’s lips, Esther burst out, “Professor Wolfgang is a vampire!”

“Yeah!” Herbert joined in. “He wants to eat me!” 

“What?” Mr. Dolor said.

“It’s true!” Marian jumped in. “Well, some of that. We think.”

“He’s got long teeth!”

“And eats dead rats!”

“And is afraid of garlic!” 

“Kids,” Mr. Dolor said, and held up his palms.

“And it’s not just that,” Marian began. “The news said it, too. A hairy Bigfoot—or Indian Devil—whatever the news said. We saw it. On top of the house last night. And a unicorn with black hair and white mane.”

“—And silver horn on its head!” Esther interrupted.

“That’s right,” continued Marian. “It’s all real.”

“What are they talking about?” Mr. Dolor looked at their mother. 

She sighed. “It was something silly on the television this morning,” she replied. 

“But it’s not silly,” pleaded Marian. “We broke open the gate outside, up the ridge to the forest.”

“Into the enchanted forest!” Herbert explained.

“And the ghost of David Crockett told us that we let loose a bunch of monsters!” 

“And we saw them run free,” Marian said. “Well, we saw the Big-foot and unicorn.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mr. Dolor tried not to shout. “That’s enough. We get it. It’s time for bed.”

“But you don’t understand!” Marian begged. “Professor Wolfgang is one of them! He’s a vampire from the enchanted forest. And you can’t trust him.”

“Enough, young lady! You three are acting like toddlers!” Mr. Dolor’s face immediately turned red realizing his guest had probably heard his outburst; he lowered his voice. “I know it isn’t easy living in a new town and going to a new school, but it will get easier—”

“That isn’t it, Dad,” Marian tried once more. “I mean, no, it isn’t fun—but—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore,” he interrupted. “Get your pajamas on and get to bed. Now.”

Marian slunk her head between her shoulders and shook it. Esther opened her mouth, about to speak, until she saw her mother’s face. Mrs. Dolor looked despondent; though in truthfully her bowed head was deep in consternation, for she had her own slight suspicions of the Professor, albeit with a different conclusion than the children’s outrageous assumption of him being a vampire. Herbert was astonished by all of it. He took the longest to accept the fact that his parents were not going to listen. He stamped his feet on the ground four times before stomping off to his bedroom. 

Marian shook her head, frustrated with herself. She had let herself get carried away with her imagination. She believed the Professor wasn’t someone to trust, and he very well could be a vampire; but she had handled it so poorly with her parents that she feared she lost any opportunity to speak into the matter. It reminded of her the time she had tried to warn her father about a girl at school in fourth grade that she was sure was cheating and stealing. But she had brought the whole matter up without any “concrete evidence” that her dad required. He had told her to stop letting her feelings get the better of her and encouraged her to befriend the girl. It was too late to do anything after the girl had stolen a neckless from her best friend before being expelled from the school. Her friend never got the neckless back and they never saw the girl again. Her dad only shook his head after all the information came out and acted like she hadn’t tried to warn him. It isn’t fair that no one listens to children when they say something contrary to what they believe. But that’s just the way life is. 

The kids stopped at the stairway and waited for the sly Professor to slink between them into the living-room. Was that a smirk on his face? The kids looked at one another; fear crept down their spines, and the goosebumps jutted from their necks.

---