The woman who lived alone at number thirty-four was a nasty piece of work.
She had caused so much trouble and bad feeling in the street for several years. Gossip, particularly vicious gossip, was what she liked to spread. It was a wonder that anybody ever listened to her prattle on, but they did. That was the trouble. Once they had started, the rumours just grew. The woman who lived at number fifty-seven with her family in the same street, had often had bad thoughts about her. Of late, they seemed to be getting worse, and louder. Yes, louder, she thought. They were voices now, or maybe several voices, it was hard to tell. They would tell her to do things that she was sure she would ordinarily not even consider thinking about.
The real trouble began one afternoon coming back from the shops, she noted that the woman’s car was not in the carport. She paused, looking at the concrete lion that was mounted on one of the gate columns. It wasn’t cemented in place and she considered pushing it off. She went to move on when a voice said, ‘Go on, do it.’ So, she did. It went with a crash, but didn’t raise any attention. She hurried home.
She had trouble coming to terms with the fact that she’d actually done it, but at the same time was really surprised by how good it made her feel. Of course, she made no mention of it. Nothing seemed to come of it, and the statue wasn’t replaced. The next thing that happened, quite late in the evening, after her children had gone to bed, the voice, probably the same, was suggesting she take the can of weedkiller from the shed and pour the contents over the woman’s front flower bed. At first she was shocked that it had entered her head, but the voice became more and more insistent. Finally, telling her husband that she needed to sort items for recycling, she went out and did exactly what had been suggested. She had found the experience gave her such a wonderful thrill.
It was well over a week later, when the flowers were all dyeing nicely, that she heard the voice again. It was the same voice, she was sure of that now. However, this time it was really troubling. It was the desire to burn the woman’s house down! This thought was completely preposterous and she could never do such a thing. But, as before, over a number of days the voice became more commanding and the idea more appealing. The voice had told her several times how it should be done… in the early hours, petrol used for the mower, where to splash it, how to arrange the quickest getaway, everything.
So it came to pass that, in the middle of the night, the sound of sirens sounded in her street. Many of her neighbours came out, some in their dressing gowns, to watch the firemen try to get the blaze under control. However, the fire was so widespread that this was going to prove impossible. The best they could do was stop it from spreading to the nearby properties. The woman that owned the house had suffered badly from smoke inhalation and was taken away by ambulance.
It was well over a month later, when the affair had died down, that the voice returned. Over the weeks that she’d heard nothing, she felt a strange sense of loss creep in. She was almost asleep when she heard it. She slid gently out of bed so as not to wake her husband. Silently, she went through to the lounge where she settled into her armchair. It seemed to her that the voice knew what she was doing, being prepared to wait for the right time to talk. She sat listening carefully as the voice introduced itself as Beelzebub. It said how pleased it was with what she had done so far. It explained that this was only the very beginning and how it would be. It stated that there were far greater, more exciting, and much more important things that lay ahead for her.
When it had finished, she felt very tired. She returned to her bed soundlessly. She lay for a while considering the thrill of it all. Then, she turned over and went back to sleep.