2024 Extra Fiction Best Short Story in English Finalist

Angel at My Wake

By Joseph Martinez III


Gaby, sat on the living room floor at the coffee table.  She gripped the safety scissors, cuting three notecards in half, giving her six pages.  In careful and mostly ornate writing, she printed the three prayers she knew across five pages.  On the last page, she drew a happy face.  She folded one notecard in half to be the front and back covers.
    
Six-year-old fingers set and bound each page with a glue stick.  She wrote Prayer Book on the front.  “After you learn them, you won’t need the book.”  Gaby placed the booklet between the arms of her toy bunny, a stuffed rabbit named Puffles, to ensure it was the correct size.  “Tonight we’ll say the Our Father.”  She cleaned the table and carried Puffles and prayer book to her bedroom.

Her parents, Marc and Alyssa, watched Gaby walk down the hallway.  They followed her to her bedroom where Gaby placed the rabbit on her nightstand in a sitting position.  She opened the prayer book and set it between the rabbit’s felt paws.  “Follow along, Puffles.”  She made the sign of the cross on the bunny and then crossed herself.  “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”  She held the arms of Puffles the bunny together with her left hand and put her right hand over her heart.  “I have to hold your hands for you so you can pray, too.”
    
Marc smiled and caressed his wife’s back.  “Gaby’s so precious,” he said, “Darling, go tuck her in.”
    
Alyssa walked to her daughter’s bedside where Gaby was already in bed, but kicking the sheets for more legroom under the covers.  Alyssa pulled the blanket to Gabriela’s neck.  “Grampa is smiling at you, sweetie.”

“Why, mommy?”  Gaby blinked her eyes.
    
“Because you prayed for him.”
    
Gaby tilted her head, “It’s not for Grampa, mommy.”
    
Alyssa grimaced, “Oh!  I’m sorry.  It was for Aunt Becky.”
    
“No, mommy.”  Gaby shook her head, “It’s for the Devil.”
    
Alyssa wanted to yell, scream for her husband.  She just sat on the bed.

Marc was in the doorway.  He squinted and held his eyes tightly, wondering if he’d heard correctly that his daughter was praying to Lucifer.
    
Alyssa brushed imagined bangs from her daughter’s forehead.  “Baby girl, why are you praying to the Devil?”
    
“No, mom.”  Gaby rolled her eyes.  “I’m praying for the Devil.”
    
Alyssa straightened the lace collar of Gaby’s pink nightdress.  “Okay, precious… why are you praying for the Devil?”
    
Gaby sat up and looked into her mother’s face.  “Because nobody likes him.  He must be very lonely.”
    
“But he’s a very bad man.”  Alyssa knitted her brow in mock anger.  “He deserves to be lonely.”
    
Marc moved to the bed and sat next to his wife.  He gently squeezed his daughter’s leg through the blankets.  “Yes, Gaby.  He’s the Devil.  He does bad things.”
    
Gaby rolled her eyes at her father.  “Daddy, he only does bad things because he’s sad.  Like El Goony Man.”
    
Marc rolled his eyes at his daughter.  “Gaby, El Goony Man is a wrestler.  He’s not the Devil.”
    
“And the Goony Man is not real,” Alyssa added, “wresting is just pretend.”
    
Gaby’s eyes opened in shock.  “He’s not real?”

“Ixnay on the ake-fay.”  Marc pinched his wife and interrupted, “Why don’t you check on Jaime?  I thought I heard him crying.  He probably spit out his pacifier.”
    
Alyssa curled her lip where she flared one nostril.  “Don’t dismiss me in front of our children.  Ever.”  She then turned to Gaby, corrected herself, “I mean, the Goony Man is on TV, uh, but he has friends that help him.  The Devil doesn’t have any friends.”
    
Gaby crossed her arms.  “That’s why he’s sad.  If he had friends, then he would do nice things.”
    
Alyssa was about to speak, but Marc interrupted, “Okay, Gaby.  You’re right.  Now you have to go to sleep.  You can tell us more tomorrow.”

Gaby lay down to go to sleep and pulled the blanket up under her arms.  “Yes, Daddy.”
    
Marc stood, “Good girl.”  He put his hand on Alyssa’s shoulder.  He whispered in her ear, “Let’s go, hon.”
    
Alyssa stood and walked out of the room and into the hallway.  She waited for Marc to join her.  She looked at her husband, “Why did you just tell her to go to sleep?  Don’t you know how big a problem this is?”
“Darling, you were going to argue theology with a six-year-old.”  Marc shook his head slightly and looked at the floor.  “I just thought we could do a better job if we waited until tomorrow.”
    
She crossed her arms, then nodded in agreement.  “Okay, maybe we need more time to think about what to do,” she stuck her index finger in his chest, “but you better not cut me off like that, again.  It diminishes my authority in front of her.”
    
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”  He shrugged and opened his arms to hug her.
    
She cocked her left eyebrow at him, “This is your fault because we don’t go to church more often.”  She turned and walked back to the living room.
    
---

The smell of roasted walnuts filled the kitchen.  Alyssa mixed several spoons of finely crushed pieces into a pot with cornstarch, cinnamon, sugar, water, vanilla, and evaporated milk.

Marc walked into the kitchen guided by his nose.  “I love that smell.  To what occasion do we owe this bounty of atole?”

“It’s December.”  She turned to him, “And it’s Gaby’s favorite Christmas drink.”

He winked at her.  “You’re going to bribe her for information.”

“No, I’m going to persuade her with kindness.”

“Jaime?

“Letting him sleep late.”

“Well then, darling, good luck.  I’m off to work.  I’ll sneak out so you can have some private time”

“Call me at noon.”

“I always do.”  Marc blew her a kiss as he walked out the door.

Alyssa took the pot off the stove before it began to boil.  Letting it cook for a while creates a thick film on top.  Marc liked it, equating it with pudding.  Alyssa thought it had the texture of skin and always threw it away.  “Gaby!  Hurry up!  I have a surprise for you before I take you to school!”

Gaby ran into the kitchen and took a deep sniff.  “Atole!  Is it nuez?  I love nueces!”  She pulled a chair and sat at the kitchen table.  “Nueces!  Nueces!”

“Of course!”  Alyssa slowly poured atole into Gaby’s favorite plastic red cup.  “With extra pieces.”  She used the spatula to spoon larger pieces from the bottom of the pot.  When the cup was a little over half-full, she set it in front of Gaby.  “Careful baby.  It’s hot.”

“Sí, mami.”

“So, Gaby,” Alyssa sat next to her daughter, “how long have you been praying to the Devil?”

“Praying for the Devil, mommy.”

“Excuse me, mija.  Praying for the Devil.”

Gaby blew on her atole.  “Awhile.”  

“Did you see one of Daddy’s scary movies?  You know you’re not supposed to, but just tell us next time and we’ll watch it with you.”

“No.  I just thought about it.”

“Ay, dios mίo.”  Alyssa rapped her fingernails against the table, “praying to the Devil.”

“Praying for the Devil, mom.”

“That’s right, baby.”  Alyssa puckered, “Why did you decide to pray for the Devil?”

“I told you.  Because he’s lonely.”

Alyssa scrambled for questions a first grader could answer.  “Did somebody tell you to?”

“No.”  Gaby took a sip of her atole.  It was still hot.

“Is there someone at school who likes the Devil?”

“No, mommy.  That’s why he’s lonely, remember?”

“Nobody told you?  A teacher?  The coach?”

“No.”  Gaby gently stirred her drink.

“One of the big kids?”

“No.”  Gaby tried another sip, this time using a spoon.

“Is it someone’s mom or dad?”
“No.”  The drink was just right.
    
Alyssa stopped guessing.  She closed one eye and ran a list of Gaby’s friends and associates.  She thought of one name, stopped, smirked, went pale.  “Gaby, dear?”
    
“Yes, ma’am?”  Gaby had finished the drink, tilted the cup to her lip, and scooped the softened, walnut chunks into her mouth with the spoon.
    
“Is it Mr. Puffles?”  Alyssa cleared her throat.  “Does Mr. Puffles talk to you?”
    
Gaby tilted her head and rolled her eyes at her mother.  “No, mami.  He’s just a toy.”
    
Alyssa scooted her chair closer to Gaby.  “Then why did you make him a prayer book?”
    
“Because,” Gaby wiped her mouth with her napkin, “it’s for pretend.”
    
  “Of course it is, baby.”  Alyssa stroked her daughter’s hair.  “I’m just worried that you like the Devil.”
    
Gaby got up from her chair, put her hands on her hips.  “We’re just friends, mom.”
    
Alyssa stared at her daughter.  She couldn’t remember when she was called ‘mom.’  Up to then, she was ‘mami’ or ‘mommy.’  Even in her birthday cards.

“Are you mad, mommy?”  Gaby asked.
    
“No, baby.”  Alyssa stood up from the chair.  “Go get ready so I can take you to school.”
    
“Yes, mom.”

Alyssa waited for Gaby to leave before studying the salt shaker, wondering if it wouldn’t shatter if she squeezed it.

---

Marc made his daily call home at noon.  “Hey darling, how did it go?”

Alyssa was back in the kitchen, squeezing the salt shaker.  Puffles was set in the center of the table inside a circle of salt.  “I called St. Augustine’s.”

“And?”

“The father said he doesn’t do exorcisms on people or toy rabbits.”

“I would think so.”

“He also said we should go to church more often.”

“Really?  Father Mike?”

“No, Father Raphael.”

“He’s the boring one.   Did you try anyone else.”

Alyssa stared at the toy rabbit.  “I went on the internet and found some information and a few numbers.  There was this one preacher.”

“And…”

“He could drive the demon out of Gaby and Puffles for three-thousand dollars.”

“Hon, you just do what’s best.”  Marc paused to let Alyssa yell, curse, scream, whatever.  The silence unnerved him.  He tried a little humor.  “But, uh, try to keep it in our budget.”

“Por qué estás siendo un pendejo?”

The humor didn’t work.  Marc tried the direct approach.  “What triggered you the most?”

“She called me mom.”

“She’s called you mom before.”

“She’s never called me mom mom.  She always calls me mami or mommy.”

“Yes, she has.  She calls you mom whenever she thinks you’re not listening.”

“It’s dismissive.”

“Sort of, I guess.”

“Like when you call me hon.” Alyssa paused to let Marc reorder his thoughts.

“No, darling, I call you hon when you’re too serious.”

“Whatever.”  Alyssa picked up Puffles.  “We’re going to church every Sunday from now on.  And we are going to make regular donations.”

Marc coughed.  “I’m not tithing to a random church.”

Alyssa responded in deliberate syllables.  “We are going to put something in the basket every Sunday.”

Every coin and bill they found was donated to the church until Marc convinced Alyssa to place it in Gaby’s angel bank.  At Candlemas, the account balance was not $666, but $40.11.  Puffles got a real prayer book and had a patch of St. Benedict sewn onto his back.  Veladoras of Saints Michael and Joseph were placed in every room.

After spring break, some of the forty dollars was used towards Gaby’s campaign for mayor of her class.  Her teacher, Ms. Weaver, called her class “Weaverville” with all the students as citizens.  Elections were held for every major office.  Gaby won by the wide margin of 25 to 6 on a snack-based platform.  She encouraged regular snacks throughout the day because that’s what was done at her daddy’s job and he was happy when he got home from work.  Ms. Weaver agreed to the initiative and placed a basket of nutritional treats on her desk.  Marc was flattered that he was asked to be assistant mayor.  Alyssa waited for something bad to happen to counter the good fortune.  The bathroom sink got clogged two weeks into Gaby’s term, and Alyssa was satisfied.
    
From that point, random good fortune was attributed to demonic pacts and misfortune was considered divine justice.
    
---

The night of Good Friday, Marc heard laughing from Gaby’s room.  He pressed his ear against the door.

Gaby yelled, “And the big bad wolf ate all the enchiladas!”
    
Her laugh had a deep echo.
    
Marc walked in her room to see Gaby playing with piglet finger puppets.  She had three on her hands.  He walked in and sat on her bed beside her.  “I like that ending better, mija.”
    
Gaby smiled at her dad.  “So does the Devil.”
    
“The Devil?”  That would explain the deep-voiced echo in the laughter.
    
“It was his idea.”  She pointed at her dresser.
    
Marc looked over at Gaby’s dresser.  “Is he there right now?”  From his angle, the only thing he could see was the top of his reflection in her mirror.  “I don’t see anyone.”
    
“He laughed so hard that he fell backwards.”  She rolled from side to side in a belly laugh.
    
Marc stood and walked to the dresser mirror, looking past his reflection, waiting for the jump scare.  He saw the reflection of Gaby talking to the piglets on her fingertips.  He reached towards the glass, slowly, like in every horror movie had ever seen, wondering which of the usuals would happen: his hand going through the glass like water; a monstrous hand grabbing his own and pulling him through the other side; grinning apparitions appearing behind him; or shadows slowly smothering him like oil. 
    
“Daddy?”  Gaby’s interrupted Marc’s paranoia, “Do you think the Devil likes verdes or rojos?”
    
Marc forced a tight grin to cover the palpitations his daughter had just spiked.  “I don’t know, Gaby.  He’s red, so probably the rojos.”
    
“He’s not red, Daddy.”  She pulled the puppets off her fingers.  “Don’t be racist.”
    
“I’m not racist, sweetie.  It’s just how he looks in all the pictures.”  If he hadn’t leaned forward onto the dresser from anxious giggling, Marc would have missed seeing the hand puppet of the big bad wolf lying on the rug next to his feet.
    
Marc didn’t tell his wife anything about what happened that night.  He did, however, spend some hours looking on the internet on how to close mirrors.  To settle his mind, he waited until Gaby was asleep before putting an egg under her bed.

---

Three months and two dozen white eggs later, Alyssa had finished continuing education classes on parapsychology and demonlogy.  She dropped the one on Introduction to Wicca because it wasn’t about witchcraft but used the free, fourteen-day trial coupon for an online exorcism course.
    
Gaby and Jaime were at a Summer retreat/catechism class so Marc took the day off so he and Alyssa could come up with a new plan of action.
    
She had made some simple sandwiches for lunch and set the serving plate in the center of the dining room table.  Marc placed two small dishes and poured them each a glass of hibiscus tea.  They sat to eat and talk.
    
Marc put two sandwiches on his plate while Alyssa was saying grace.
    
She reached across the table and put his sandwiches back on the serving plate.  “You’re still not taking any of this seriously!  Our daughter has invited the Devil into our home!  She started by just talking to him.  Now, she says they watch movies together and play games on her tablet.”
    
Marc quickly crossed himself and reached for the sandwich he had already taken a bite out of.  “Hon…I’m sorry.  Preciosa…it’s been several months.  Gaby doesn’t tell her friends at school about it.  She hasn’t told anyone in the family.  At this point, I think he’s just an imaginary friend.”
    
Alyssa stood and slapped her hand on the table.  “Have you ever heard of a child, any child, having the Devil as an imaginary friend?”
    
“Maybe she got the idea from a cartoon or a movie.”  He grabbed another sandwich.  “I remember seeing him in Looney Tunes.  I even think he was in Chapulίn Colorado.  I think.”
    
“Since she was born, she watches only what we watch.  She listens only to music we listen to, and she reads only the books we buy her.”  Alyssa tightened her hands into fists and pushed them into the table as she sat down.  “We didn’t invite the Devil into this house and I don’t know how he got in here!”
    
Marc finished that second sandwich and took a good gulp of tea to swish his mouth clear before speaking.  “That’s just it.  He has to be an imaginary friend because the real Devil would be in here doing all kinds of evil things…to you, to me, to us, to anyone who visits.”
    
Alyssa reached over to caress Marc’s hand.  “Maybe you’re right, but maybe you’re wrong.”
    
“Mi amor,” Marc put his hand on top of his wife’s, “I got a promotion last month.  Why didn’t the Devil have me fired?”
    
Alyssa pressed her hands against her face.  “I was thinking about that and I believe that he is tempting us with success.”
    
“Then I’m going to buy a lottery ticket tonight.”
    
“Cabrόn!”  She pulled at her hair, “This is the Devil we are engaging.  The father of lies, prince of hell, the ultimate evil force.  He will do anything to take our little girl!”
    
“Maybe our daughter just wants someone who believes in her imagination!”  Marc almost lunged forward but caught himself, “I mean, maybe she’s just acting with us.  Maybe she wants attention.”
    
“I know it is the Devil.”  She crossed her arms with her fists digging into her armpits.  

“We will know by next August with the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, won’t we?”

---

August never came.  On Fourth of July weekend, the police report read that a female driver of a blue SUV exited a restaurant parking lot.  Her driver’s side view was blocked by a wall, so she moved slowly down the entryway.  She could not remember why she did not back up when she saw the oncoming car, just that her foot froze on the gas pedal allowing her vehicle to block the right lane of a two-way street.
Marc was driving under the posted 50 mph speed limit.  When the lady in the blue SUV moved in front of him, his options were to either drive into the wall on his right, swerve left into oncoming traffic, or slam his brakes and skid into the taller SUV.  He turned the car slightly to the right, so when he skidded, his side would take more of the impact.
    
The morning after the accident, the wall blocking the woman’s line of sight was immediately torn down.  Eventually, the city reduced the speed limit on that street from 50 mph to 30 mph.  The ER doctors reported that the driver of the SUV sustained no injuries, but was shaken by the incident.  
    
Marc’s back injury was due to his body being turned when he struck the driver’s side door upon impact.
    
Alyssa’s neck lacerations were caused by the seatbelt scraping across her skin as she looked down into the back seat.
    
Jaime was secured in his five-point harness, and sustained a few bruises on his chest.
    
The EMTs on the scene determined that Gaby would have survived if she hadn’t unbuckled her seatbelt to get her toy rabbit which had fallen to the floor of the car.

Alyssa decided the funeral should take place as soon as possible, even if they were on crutches.  Marc convinced her to hold off for two weeks so they could give their daughter a proper burial.  Jaime wanted to keep Puffles, Alyssa wanted to throw it away, but Marc convinced them to put in the coffin because that’s what Gaby would’ve wanted. 

After the service and the wake, Alyssa had them go back graveside and spend some private time with Gaby.  The roads of the cemetery were roads in name only.  Most of the remaining asphalt had broken into pieces that settled awkwardly into the ground.  The heavy showers of the week only made the trek more difficult.  They decided to park in the lot and walk.  Marc liked rain and intentionally forgot the umbrella at home.
As they approached Gaby’s grave, Jaime pulled on his mother’s dress.  “Some man is standing next to Gaby.”

Alyssa watched as the man reached into his pocket and removed a strand of black beads.  It was a rosary of obsidian.  The polished black sheen gave the impression that it would crack under the slightest pressing, but he held the rosary in a fist so clenched that his hands turned red.
    
Jaime saw an outline of wings.  A small tuft of gray feathers peeked from under the man’s topcoat.  “Hey mister,” he tapped the man on the back, “are you an angel?  I bet you’re an angel.”
    
“Jaime,” said the man, “I was His first angel,” Lucifer pocketed the rosary and continued, “and your sister is number three-billion, four-hundred and twelve million, six-hundred and seventy-three thousand, two-hundred and nine.”
    
Jaime’s eyes widened.  “Wow!  Really?”
    
Lucifer patted him on the head.  “Yes, really.”

Alyssa looked at Lucifer quizzically, stunned more by the precision than the relatively low number.  “Uh, excuse me, Sir, but…”
    
Lucifer interrupted, “I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, and, well, it’s because angels are made, not born.”
    
Alyssa’s eyes widened.

“For almost two years, she was my grace.”  Lucifer looked at the small headstone.  “She was my joy.  And now, I’ve lost her.”  Tears beaded on his left cheek.  “She was so good.  Beautiful.  Amazing.  She didn’t deserve this.”

Marc cleared his throat, took a step towards the Devil, “Why?”

Lucifer squinted his eyes.  “Why, what?”

“Why did you take away my little girl?”

“I didn’t.  I couldn’t.”  The Devil stopped for a second with his mouth slightly open.  “I don’t have that authority.  And definitely not that kind of power.” 

“But you kill people all the time,” Alyssa spoke curtly, “you are evil.”

“Why would I kill her?”  Lucifer was genuinely stunned.  “Where did you think she would go when she died?   As long as she was on Earth, I could see her.”

Alyssa choked words through froth.  “You visited my daughter?”

“I saw her win the mayoral election of her class,” he chuckled, “and every night she said she wouldn’t go to sleep until she saw me smile.”

Marc stepped next to his wife.  “Did you fix the election?”

“Gosh, no.”  Lucifer looked into Marc’s eyes.  “I only help the weak.  She was smart and assertive.  I admire the independent.  They don’t need me.”

“But you still cause people to die.”  Alyssa nudged her husband on his side, 

“Murders…robberies…wars…” 

Lucifer pursed his lips in an angry pout.  “Auto accidents?”

Alyssa echoed.  “Auto accidents.”

Marc’s eyes widened.  “Auto accidents?”

“I don’t make anybody do anything.  You do what you want to do.”  The Devil turned defensive.  “I didn’t invent guns or cars and I definitely did not make that lady get behind the wheel.”  Lucifer quickly glanced downward and took a quick breath.  “And,” he looked into Marc, “it wasn’t my idea to give you free will.”

Alyssa leaned into the face of the Devil.  “You were the snake.”

“Yeah!”  Marc stepped next to his wife.  “I mean, you were there.  Right?”

“There was no Eden.”  Lucifer looked at Jaime, who was sitting on Gaby’s gravestone, making mudpies out of the loose soil.  “Paradise is an everlasting state of love.”  He closed his eyes.  “There was no Adam…no Eve…no Lilith.  But there sure as hell are a lot of jealous Cains and arrogant Abels still around.”  He snapped a tear off his cheek.  
“That’s what set Gaby apart from all of you.”  The Lord of Darkness wiped his eyes with the knuckles of his thumbs.

Jaime stood and offered Lucifer a mudpie.

Lucifer smiled, hid the mudpie in his coat, and made gobbling sounds while pretending to eat it.

Marc wanted to pat the Devil on the back and tell him everything was going to be all right.  He just kept his hands to his sides and pressed them against his legs.

Alyssa used the awkward moment to pull Jaime to her.  She turned, “We should apologize to Gaby.  It was disrespectful to fight here.”

Lucifer stepped to Gaby’s grave and knelt at her marker.  He reached into his pocket for the obsidian rosary.  The Devil looped the beads through well-manicured fingers and pulled his hands apart to form a holy cat’s cradle.  He relaxed his fingers to cup it in his left hand.  He gently set the rosary on the cross that had been carved in the stone above her name.  He manipulated the beads into the shape of a small heart and pressed it firmly into the cement.  No sizzling, no smoke.  “Goodbye, Gaby.  See you never.”

“Mister Lucifer,” Marc pulled Alyssa to his side. “I think Gaby would like it if you came to visit her once in a while.”

Alyssa nodded.  “I don’t think that could do any harm.”

“Thank you, but she’s not here, anymore.”  The Devil looked up into the drizzle.  “This is just a marker for memories.”  He started walking away.

“Bye.”  Jaime waved.  “Bye-bye.”
    
Lucifer tipped his black fedora and walked across the loose earth of wet graves and disappeared into the horizon.
    
There were no hoof prints in the mud.  The earth did not tremble and crack under his step.  The grass did not ignite from the heat of his hellfire.  He left neither stench of sulfur nor smoke of brimstone.

His walk did not leave pools of fire, only size-nine footprints filled with rain.
​
​

Joseph Martinez III has been an adjunct professor of Speech Communication for several years.  He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Texas – El Paso.  He has spent most of his life in the performing arts as an actor, director, writer, and stand up comedian.

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