The Paperwork Of Beelzebub

Short black comedy story

Not unusually for a Thursday, it had begun to rain frogs. Which would have been fine, of course, except Glunk had left his umbrella back at the Department of Minor Inconveniences. As he hurried through the screaming mass of newly arrived traffic wardens, geography teachers, and tax collectors, all of whom were rather alarmed by the sight of fat, angry frogs raining from the heavens, he reflected on his disorganisation.

This would be yet another example of his rampant apathy towards efficient torturing, Minister Binfire would say over his thick glasses. Then that dreaded word: disappointing. Glunk did not consider himself wholly a disappointment.

Yes, as devils went, he lacked the natural sadism, but he was hard working, dedicated, and in many ways an exemplary citizen of hell. He enjoyed contemporary jazz, dropped litter with ease, and insisted on reading his erotic fiction to the human underlings in HR. It was entirely unfair to dismiss him as a candidate for Advanced Devilry ministerial positions on the grounds of being a little too cheerful and good natured. His mother agreed.

“Excuse me,” said a round faced man in a bowler hat, straddling the pavement in frustration. “I’ve been standing here for fifty-six minutes.” Glunk sighed, eyeing the man’s umbrella.