A grim fog had settled over the Pearson Airport of the Toronto metropolitan area. No doubt this eldritch mist was the product of this urban blotch upon the serene pastoral landscape of Canada. Sir Simon Milligan was pleased. No doubt the atmosphere was ripe... for Evil.
He had arrived on these verdant shores – assuming they were still verdant, and had not been burned away by the fog of Satan – to exploit new avenues for such evil. Here he was, in virgin territories, ready to spread his wings of utter wickedness with a new television contract. It might even be viewed in all the provinces. And why not? He came from a long line of Satanic peers and real estate developers. True, he had only lately convinced Her Majesty the Queen's office to knight him for his fine work in masking the Earl of Wessex's bald spot. Though perhaps it was the incriminating photographs from It's a Royal Knockout. Either way: evil.
Besides, there was entirely too much competition in jolly olde England. The tabs were insatiable beasts of unholiness, and Sir Simon found there was no room for the classics. For true, candle-dripping, skull-tossing evil. It was a shame, truly. That, and he had apologized a thousand times to that Sun columnist, to no avail. Sir Simon was a good sport; he had to applaud her tendency for Evil and for extortion. Now he was back in fair Canada, hell-bent on despoiling these helpless souls. It would undoubtedly be a time of great Evil.
"Excuse me, ma'am. That, that was my cart! Hey! Stop! I paid for that!" Sir Simon yelled after the miscreant grandmother. He shook his fist. "Did you see that? Evil!" Everyone stared. "I'm despoiling all of you! You're all going to be despoiled! Just standing there while she putters away... Evil!"
Then came the let-down. It made one want to give up on evil.
"Simone, chickadee, the solo deal is not going to fly. CBC viewers are sophisticated. They'll flip to reruns of SCTV the minute they see no minion. No buts! Listen, gumdrops: you promise the Evil, you better deliver the Evil."
Sir Simon dropped the phone receiver. He flopped backwards on the hotel quilt. No doubt it was crawling with disgusting egg-laying parasites, but who cared? Sasha was right. It had been years since he'd summoned a minion from the pits of hell. Ripped them from their cradle of brimstone. Sent a strongly-worded telegram requesting a daemon, or perhaps a small imp. Worse yet, he was once again horny. It was that stewardess's fault for not accepting cheques. Sir Simon let out a wheezing sigh. It was hard work being evil.
He watched some porn, and put the charge on his expense report. At least he could have a little bit of evil.
Would he spend the rest of his life in a log cabin, trapping beaver with unsavoury French speakers? Thought after treacherous thought tormented his murky soul. At last he fell asleep in his lucky hornéd beast pyjamas. And then! From the deepest chasms of Hades, something very heavy and very hot landed on his chest. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't move his arms! He couldn't see! Though his silk beauty mask might have something to do with that. Was it some shadowy hag come to crush his ribs? "Mother! Is that you!? Am I not evil e–"
"Hello, Master!" said the interloper cheerfully. He shifted his feet a bit, which was slightly painful. Sir Simon also felt a growing, roiling sense of Evil.
"What are you?" Sir Simon took in the quizzical expression on the creature's face, and realized he had erred. "Art thou a figment of my naked madness? Wherefore did thou'st come? Came? Come. Are you picking your nose? Eeugh, evil!"
"Aren't you supposed to know my name? By the by, 'wherefore' means 'for what reason or purpose', not 'when.'" The insolent grin widened. "Everyone knows that! You're not exactly as advertised, O Master of Evil."
Sir Simon could smell the faint traces of brimstone. "Who called on you? Thee. Get off me, my nipples are cracking. And I'll have you know," he said, pointing the tip of his nose at his or its pale face, "Poor semantics is a cornerstone of Evil."
"True enough." The creature rolled off him like a stone. He, or it, propped his cheek on his hand. "You did. You called me, Master. You talk in your sleep. Quite a lot! Evil this, evil that, evil, evil evil."
This creature was breathing on Sir Simon's sleeping cravat. "I incanted in my sleep? I mean, of course I did! My dreams are nightmares, my snores are the chantings of arcane languages – abla raku ragubaba! I command you to reveal your name!" Now free, his slightly under-moisturized hands made the sign for Ultimate Evil.
"You might have just asked. It's Hecubus." He, or it offered a hand. Hesitantly, Sir Simon shook it. "Nice to meet you. Spawn of Satan. I like long walks on the beach and fruity cocktails. I also like to bathe, so I hope you weren't expecting some sort of malodorous, head-crushing Evil."
Sir Simon laughed in what was presumably a wickedly amused manner. "Of course, of course. Not everyone can swim in the lakes of fire, right? I am Sir Simon Milligan, beholder of daemons, humble servant of the dark lords of... darkness. Hecubus, eh? Not a succubus. What am I saying," he muttered to the ceiling. "It's never a succubus, oh no, why would it ever be a succubus. Reap the fruits of madness, they said. Cavort with the wicked, they said. Liars. Evil."
Hecubus seemed to roll his eyes. "Yes, quite naturally, Master. Very, very evil."
"Ehehe. So, what's the plan, my diabolical guest? Are you going to suck out my soul and drain me of all my juicy Evil?"
"Actually I was hoping to suck your cock, if that's not too evil f–"
Sir Simon was quite skilled in the forbidden magic of the Egyptian tomes, or at least the first three chapters. "Leba! Sebal! Cootie!" He might have added a little shriek of 'Begone, Evil!"
"Oh, damn." Hecubus rolled over. "Stupid sleep of ages... Master... maybe you are evil after all..."
Sir Simon Milligan heaved a few breaths as though he were still on his inhaler. "You're damn right, baby," he said. He cracked his knuckles. He was back in the game! After all, it was on his business card: Evil.
To have a black-hearted manservant was one of the greatest perks of wickedness. There was a little trouble with the summoning at first – concrete sidewalks chafed the delicate organs – but once that was cleared up, Sir Simon began to thoroughly enjoy his new infernal charge. It wasn't like those fiends in his great-aunt's house, who were always pissing on the tapestries and putting the blame on him.
They went grocery shopping:
"You should take these potato chips, Master."
"But I prefer the new cool ranch flavor."
"These ones come in a canister. And they say they're good for you, but actually they're quite fattening."
"Well, aren't they the devious ones! Look at those ingredients– Hecubus, did you break the seal on this? Are you... eating them before we've paid?"
"Oh, that's evil."
"Why, thank you, Master."
They furnished Sir Simon's new apartment:
"Come forth, Hecubus!"
"Oh look, down comforters!"
"No, over here. We need a new towel rack for the master bath. The old one snapped under the weight of my shower caddy."
"You're going to need a sturdier one than this, Master. It should screw into the stud, and take the weight of a full-grown man. Or a Great Dane, it's really all the same."
"Why a whole man? Are we hanging on to the rack?"
"Well, I suppose you're right. Better safe than sorry! There could be a grievous accident with a bar of soap, after all. Hecubus, why are you smiling at me?"
"Oh, this? This is my usual face. You know what, Master, we could simply go to Ikea."
"Good idea! They don't even sell furs in this place anymore..."
And between broadcasts of their pageant of Evil, they went on outings:
"You see, Hecubus, I was only telling her that packaged goat's blood so often comes from a holy preparation, which defeats the purpose of an unholy sacrifice. Then she wouldn't have lunch with me."
"The lake is quite lovely today, Master."
"Hm? Oh yes, yes. How's your gut? I used to get seasick on ferries all the time, and then my Nana taught me this wonderful cure."
"Nothing a shot wouldn't fix..."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Shall we stake the umbrella here, Master?"
"Sure, this is a good spot. Stick it right here. Stick it in dee– Are those men wearing thongs?"
"Oh no, Master. They're not wearing anything."
"Hecubus! Did you take us to the nude beach!"
"Traitor! Vile purveyor of lies! That is... really quite evil... Get a load of the tattoo on that one!"
"My eyes may bleed, Master."
"It's like a black candle left on the radiator grille. I'm all for a few marks of the Beast, but that was freakish. Truly this place is the Third Circle of Hell."
"It's much cooler here."
"Well, I'll spread out the towel, and you slather the sunscreen, and we'll mock these bastards till they expel us."
"Excellent plan, Master. Back or front?"
Evil struck one evening after taping their Boxing Day Special. Sir Simon returned to his abode to find that his vehicle had been towed for blocking the snow plow. Immediately he summoned Hecubus to the living room for a thorough chastising. "Granted, it was quite evil to flaunt the municipal laws, but I was going to go out! Perhaps I'd grab something hot at Timmy Horton's, then take in a boys' choir. Hm? Doesn't that sound like fun?" Sir Simon shook his finger down at his attentive manservant. "You were supposed to move the car, and you didn't. Now we're stuck indoors. Evil doesn't sit around on a night like this."
"'Evil' could take the bus, Master..."
"'Evil' could also freeze its balls off!" Sir Simon then noticed that Hecubus was still half-sunken into the floor. "What's the matter? Did I not summon you fully? Arise, Hecubus!"
Evil was writ large and with a grin on Hecubus's visage. "Oh, I am, Master."
"Ha! Evil," said Sir Simon fondly. "Is there no end to your perversion?"
"'Evil' didn't cancel the pay-per-view porn, either."
"The evil plot to pirate the Brazilian satellite didn't work, all right!" Sir Simon threw himself on the nearest velvet armchair. "Come on, Hecubus, arise a little higher, if you don't mind? The princes of Hell will start thinking I'm not really corrupting the masses with a hit television show. Of Evil. Ah, aha, what are you– Hecubus, are you disintegrating my zippers again?"
"Evil, right here," answered Hecubus. He did rise a few centimeters higher, so that he was level with Simon's inseam.
"Filthy Evil... uhm, that's my knee, watch it, it's the arthritis that runs in the famil– ah. Ugh. Wicked. Evil. Horribly," Sir Simon said, squirming.
"Doth 'Evil' need some spanking tonight?" inquired Hecubus.
"No! 'Evil' does not need spankies..."
Evil leaked from every pore; then it faded as Hecubus raised his brows. "Master? Would you rather prank-call a telethon?"
Well, Evil of the defiling kind did have a place in the home, especially with proper preparation and supervision. Whatever mischief Hecubus had in store, he was always meticulous about hygiene and procuring the cigarettes afterwards. Sir Simon steepled his fingers. Above all, he strived for fairness with his minions. "Aw, what the Hell. It's not like the sky's clearing up any time so-oo-oh, oh, damn... the teeth, Hecubus, watch the teeth! Evil! So evil!"
An evil laugh emanated from deep in Hecubus's throat.
Whatever Evil lurked in his intentions, fortunately for Sir Simon's spine they did adjourn to the bedroom. Hecubus did all the work, of course. It was a little bit dodgy when the cloth ties came out, but that was just to prevent any gestures of power on Sir Simon's part. "Ahaha, this is futile, Hecubus. You do realize I am able to command the forces of ultimate darkness with only my mind?"
"How evil of you, Master. Now upsie-daisy...!"
"Too evil," gasped Sir Simon, when he could form coherent words again. "Is this... beyond the pale? Have I reached my upper boundary of debauchery? Are you... are you double-dipping? Hecubus! That better not be your tongueunghuhuhgh. Well, uhm, I suppose there's no such thing as too evil, r-right?" He wriggled his wrists.
"This? Evil? Of course not, Master." Hecubus sat up slightly. "Why would this be evil? Two gentlemen co-habitating in a country with the best health care system in the world?"
And Evil would spread throughout the land. Sir Simon cackled till he coughed. "No sin in that, eh?"
"Nah, that's not a sin. But this is!"
"Oh my unholy Father!"
"You mean my Father," said Hecubus.
"Yes, yes," agreed Sir Simon. "Satan. Satan!"