Chapter 1: Freedom

Friday, August 30th, 2013 – Paris, Texas

"Staying out of trouble, Scotty?" Mitchel Craig, my parole officer, asked me.

"Yessir, boss," I lied.

It was complete bullshit that I was here. What was the harm in taking a few photos up a few girls' skirts. I mean, they were wearing panties. Hell, those girls probably wear skimpier bikinis when they go to the beach. But the judge disagreed, particularly with my prior, and gave me three years. I was paroled in eighteen months, and had to report to this slug once a month.

"You still livin' in Paris, son?" he drawled. Craig had a fat, ruddy face and he wiped at the sweat beading his forehead every minute with a grimy handkerchief he pulled out of his back pocket. "At that halfway house on Sperry Street?"

I nodded. It was the shithole that all the sex offenders were sent to. You had to be home by 8 PM, and your room could be searched at any time for 'contraband': porn, drugs, weapons, and booze. If you had a job, you could stay out past eight, otherwise you were confined to your room or a shitty common area with a broken TV, a couch from the fifties that had lost all of its padding, and a chess board missing half its pieces.

I ground my teeth as the fat sack of shit drawled on and on. I wanted to mosey my way over to Boone High School and watch the cheerleaders practice. It was the Friday before Labor Day weekend, and there wouldn't be any school until Tuesday. It was bad enough having to go three days without watching those fine young things shaking their stuff, let alone adding another day because my PO liked to hear himself talk.

I wasn't, strictly speaking, supposed to be watching the girls. I was a voyeur, and over the years my tendencies has landed me in a mess of trouble. When I was nineteen, I got a job at Boone High School in my home town of Paris, Texas, as a janitor. Well, I drilled a hole in the girl's locker room and enjoyed the sights for a whole month before I got caught. That landed me my first stint in prison. Sentenced to six years; out in three on good behavior. I thought I got smarter, after I got out, thought I got more careful. But at twenty-seven, I was caught in the Paris Commons, the local mall, with my digital camera hidden in my shoe taking upskirt shots.

I just couldn't stop. I loved watching girls. I often fantasized about being a fly on the wall, just watching them, up close. Or one of them superheroes that can turn himself invisible. I would just sit in locker rooms, watching the gals and jerking my pecker. I just had to see the ladies naked, I couldn't help myself. Since my parole last month, I had already snuck a camera into the locker room at the Y and for three days got some delightful footage before the memory stick filled up.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you, Scotty Adams," my PO warned. "Don't think you can be peeping on the girls under my watch."

"Sure thing, boss," I nodded. The dumb sack of shit had no idea what I've been up to since I got out. I glanced at the old, analogue clock on the wall; there was still time to watch the practice.

The cheerleaders were jumping around when I arrived. Their pretty legs flashing as they cartwheeled around, their firm breasts jiggling beneath their red tops. And when those gold-and-black pleated skirts flipped up and you could see their black, tight spankies that hugged their asses, well it was like I died and gone to heaven. Their school mascot was the lion, and the cheerleaders called themselves the Lionesses. But, it was over all too quick, and I wandered over to the public library. Maybe I'd surf some porn, or check out what was happening on reddit. You could always fine some girl posting a titillating selfie.

I browsed some porn for an hour, receiving a few dirty looks from a mother. Luckily, the first amendment protected pornography as free speech so the shrewish librarian couldn't do anything about it. But, I couldn't jerk off either, so I switched over to a few sites I liked to visit. One was called the Unearthed Arcana, a forum for people who loved the occult to post theories on, or to inform people on the latest revelations from spirit channelings and the like.

My first love was spying on pretty young things, my second was the occult. I just ate that shit up. I read Alice Bailey, Madam Blavastky, Alestier Crowely, David Icke, and all the rest. At night I would listen to Coast to Coast AM with George Noory. They were always preaching the truth about the government and aliens and the like. I loved it.

I started browsing the forum of UnearthedArcana. com. Someone posting as attaboy-simon claimed that the rising power in the Northwest, Mark Glassner, had sold his soul to Lucifer as outlined in the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. There was quite the lively debate. These Miraclists that worshiped Mark as a God were quite the fervent defenders, deriding the original poster for even suggesting that their God would consort with demons. attaboy-simon said he was going to prove them all wrong and his final post simply read: "I did it haters, fuk you and fuk your god! Lucifer gave me entire cheerleading squad!! *-)" It was accompanied by a picture of a man and more than a dozen smiling, naked girls holding pompoms.

My heart stopped.

Lucifer gave me an entire cheerleading squad, echoed over and over in my mind. What if this worked? I devoured the Magicks of the Witch of Endor, printing off the pages on how to summon Lucifer. It was well worth the thirty cents the library charged for printing if this actually worked. My hands shook. I could get three wishes for my soul. I was going to hell anyways, just ask my pa the Baptist preacher.

I could realize my dream. I could become invisible, and spy on women. But that was only one wish, what could I do with the other two? I smiled, thinking on the possibilities. I had to do this, it was the chance of a lifetime. I would have to break curfew, but it'd be worth it. Curfew wouldn't matter if this actually worked.

I bought a steak, stole a grill out of someone's backyard, and squatted in an empty house on the outskirts of Paris and waited for the sun to rise, a case of Coors to keep me company. I fell asleep. Luckily I remembered to set the alarm on my cell phone and woke up before dawn. I lit the grill and watched for the sun to rise. According to the book, if I offered a heifer as a sacrifice at dawn, I could summon Lucifer. Well, here's hoping this steak came from a heifer and not a bull.

The wait for the sun seemed to be an eternity. The horizon lightened, fading from black to dark blue to light blue to gray. Hints of rose and orange started to appear. I was shaking with anticipation, my hand holding the bloody steak above the lit grill, just waiting for the first ray of the sun. When that golden light touched my eye, it was like the crack of the pistol at a race; my hand opened and the steak dropped, sizzling on the fire.

"The Shining One, Son of the Morning," I shouted at the sun. "I give this pleasing offering of flesh and ask that you appear before me. The Shining One, Son of the Morning, appear before your humble servant so that he may beg three favors from you!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Disappointment curdled in my stomach. And then a wind rose up, whipping dust into my face, and I saw a dust devil racing across the dry fields towards me. I stepped back in fear as the brown whirlwind seemed to be bearing down right at me. The wind was howling as the swirling dust roared closer. This wasn't natural. It stopped, just a few feet away, and I licked my lips in fear. Dust devils never stayed in one place. Then it stopped, and out stepped a handsome man in a dark suit, immaculately clean despite the dust falling around him.

"Hello, Scotty Adams," the man greeted, a friendly smile on his face. His eyes were scarlet and I swallowed, my heart up in my throat, as he calmly strode up to me. "What's the term they use these days?" he asked, pursing his lips. "Oh yes, you rang?"

I swallowed. "You're Lucifer?"

"Really, son, I thought you'd be brighter than that," he sighed. "You said the words, made the offering, who did you think I was?"

I gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right, hoss."

His scarlet eyes stared at me and I shifted uncomfortably in his gaze. After a minute, he asked, "Well, what do you want? It's a very busy time for me."

"Yessir, I guess," I shrugged. "I mean, Halloween just 'round the corner, right?" Lucifer's eyes narrowed in annoyance and I quickly said, "I wish to be able to turn invisible. Like, with just a thought."

"Really?" Lucifer asked, a slight smile on his lips. "That's a first."

"Well, I mean, I'm pretty average looking. No-one ever gives me no second glance." I shrugged. "Even still, I get notice far too much. Bein' invisible, well, that'd just make things easier on me, hoss."

"Okay, Scotty," Lucifer grinned. "One down, two to go."

"Well, when I'm invisible, I'm gonna molest women and I want them to enjoy what I do and not freak out somethin' terrible," I said. It came to me last night that spying on women was fun, but touching them, feeling their most intimate parts, well that would be even better. Lucifer nodded. I was surprised to see understanding in his eyes, not disgust. "For my last wish, I want to be immune from exposure when I'm invisible. Y'know, no sunburns, no frostbite, no hypothermia, or that heat stroke."

"Done." There was a flash of scarlet light and yellow smoke that smelled of rotten eggs and a contract printed on yellowing paper appeared in his hand. "Read it, then sign on the dotted line."

I quickly read it. It was surprisingly straightforward. Lawyers could learn a thing or two. Lucifer pricked my thumb with a black, old-fashioned fountain pen, and I signed in my own blood. Lucifer signed in his, then he nodded to me and vanished in a gust of swirling dust.

Did it actually work though. I held out my arms before me, concentrated, and then to my delight, my arm vanished. There was just the sleeve from my Megadeath T-shirt. Holy shit, it worked. I went back into the house and checked out my reflection. I was just clothes around nothing. It was like that movie, Hollow Man, with Kevin Bacon.

I whooped in delight.

I peeled off my clothes, I didn't need them anymore, and walked out into the street. It was exhilarating. I was naked and no-one could see me. This was freedom! No-one could see me, could judge me, or tell me what I was doing was wrong! I was free of all the bullshit morality that sent me to prison twice just for a little bit of harmless fun. It's not like I touched any of those girls, just looked at their fine, taut bodies.

Well, I had the freedom to touch them now!

The street was warm on the soles of my feet as I walked down the black asphalt, the sun warm on my naked back. I quickly missed my shoes, but I sucked up the pain. People used to go barefoot all the time back in olden times; my feet would toughen up, I told myself.

There were, however, other problems.

I had to dodge out of the way of pedestrians. When I went to cross the street, a car almost ran me over making a right turn. And just because I was invisible, it didn't stop dogs from barking at me. It was an adjustment; I needed to learn to be careful. But it was all going to be worth it as I walked up behind a woman waiting to cross the road.

Chapter 2 »