The Demon of the Strait
A local legend foreshadows the fate of lost souls.
Josiah Thibodaux parted the blinds and peeked out the window, hoping to see the same empty porch, barren lawn and buckling sidewalk as he had the last dozen times he looked. Instead, the familiar dilapidated landscape now included another ornament, life sized and animated, pounding on the door. It was DeAndre Wallace, hoodie on, head down, backpack full of God knows what slung over his shoulder. DeAndre, the wrecking ball, destroying everything in his path, including Josiah.
“Josiah, let me in, man.” DeAndre said.
“Why you comin’ around here! The 5-0 knows it was you that held up that bank, and now you’re going to get me busted, too,” Josiah shouted.
“You still owe me for keeping your nose clean on the 7-Eleven job. I need a place to crash. One day max, brother. Let me in before they spot me.”
DeAndre could have snitched. Josiah drove the getaway car last year, but his friend and partner kept silent and served six months as a result. DeAndre called often from the joint and described the horrors of living in lockup. Josiah wouldn’t last a day in prison, so he went clean — got a full-time job and his Great-Aunt Lisette provided him a place to live. Josiah’s only family.
Lisette was living out her final days in Detroit, the last of a Creole generation to migrate up from Louisiana. As an orthodox Catholic she held strict religious beliefs. When her nephew moved in, she said, “You stay on da narrow path, Josiah, or dat demon come callin’.” Josiah took her to mean screw up, and you’re gone. Too bad Lisette didn’t understand street debt.
Josiah opened the door. The two friends hugged, DeAndre pulled down his hood and plopped on the couch, the weight of being on the run still heavy. Josiah remained standing, anxious and unsure what his aunt would say after waking from her nap. Navigating DeAndre’s mad impulses required tact, but he couldn’t hold back after having heard the news.
“Tell me you didn’t shoot that man,” Josiah said.
“Come on, get a brother something to eat and drink. I’ve been on the street the last two nights,” DeAndre said.
“Nah, man, not ‘til you tell me what happened. You a murderer, now, too?”
DeAndre stood up quickly and gave Josiah a dead eye stare, the kind that says I love you, but I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the back of your head. While the two were friends, the relationship strained when Josiah decided not to accompany DeAndre on the last crime spree.
“That security guard tried to be a hero. He fired on me when I was already outside the building. I wouldn’t kill nobody for no reason. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been distracted by…” DeAndre paused, looked out the window and paced back and forth.
“What — some tail?” Josiah asked.
“Nah, this is going to sound like I’m crazy, but is there a convention in town, you know cosplay or something?”
“DeAndre, what did you see?”
“Some freak dressed in a costume, but slick, man, like an expensive pinstripe suit, dress shirt, blood-red tie and gold chains. He had a red mask with black horns coming out of his head. Tall, too, probably seven feet… it just… threw me. That’s why I stopped outside the bank, giving that guard just enough time to do something stupid. After I emptied my clip, I looked over and it was gone.”
Josiah didn’t know if DeAndre was playing with him. He wanted to laugh, tell him that his nerves from time spent inside finally got the best of him. Lisette walked into the room and did the talking before he could respond.
“You shouldn’t be here! It be Le Nain Rouge you saw, and he be tellin’ you dat you gonna die soon. You gonna bring death on dis whole house,” she said.
“Auntie, he’s not staying long. It’s okay,” Josiah said.
“I don’t believe in any of that Creole superstition,” DeAndre said.
“No superstition. An omen of death. You see,” she said, turning to Josiah. “Why you hang with dat man. You see da demon of da strait, then you stop and change your ways.”
“Auntie, why don’t you go back into your room. Watch some TV. I’ll bring in lunch for you after I talk to DeAndre,” Josiah said.
The old woman shuffled back into her room, muttering French under her breath. While Josiah didn’t believe in demons, the concern in his aunt’s voice gave him a reason to cut DeAndre loose for good. Without a place to stay, a life of crime would be Josiah’s only choice for survival — a risk he was no longer willing to take.
“I changed my mind. You can’t stay here. I’ll spot you some cash and you can get a night or two outside the city,” Josiah said.
DeAndre reached into his backpack, pulled out a gun and pointed it at Josiah.
“You’re an insurance policy now. You’re going to help me boost a ride and leave the city. Let’s go, my brother,” DeAndre said.
DeAndre ushered Josiah out of the door and down the porch steps. He scanned the street for a vehicle worth picking over and shoved the muzzle of the pistol in Josiah’s back. The two men walked in the direction of an Escalade parked in the driveway of a burned-out building, a contradiction all too familiar in the area.
Detroit’s West side had been decimated by downturns, crime and city politics. Even if a neighbor called the police about the theft, it would be at least an hour before they arrived on the scene. DeAndre took a chance the drug dealers inside would be too distracted to notice them peeling away.
Josiah froze before they got any closer to the vehicle, aware of the pressure at his lower back. He didn’t need to say anything. DeAndre saw the demon standing near the SUV’s passenger door as well, just as before, but this time with a long smile across its face, flashing pointed fangs, pearly white and gleaming.
DeAndre stepped out from behind Josiah, walked toward it, shouted obscenities and opened fire several times. He shattered the windshield of the Escalade and blew out the front tire, but the demon stood still, smiling, unaffected and undeterred by the barrage of bullets. When the entire clip had been emptied, DeAndre reached into his backpack, got another clip and reloaded. He stood up, surprised to find the demon gone. Drug dealers emerged from the house, and thinking they were the target of the violence, shot DeAndre dead.
Out of sight, Josiah ran back into his aunt’s house, where Linette sat at the kitchen table eating a sandwich, calm, yet fully aware of what just happened. Her nephew walked over, sat down, rested his arms on the table and put his head down.
“I call da police. Day be here soon enough. Now you know. Le Nain Rouge is for real. If you see him, you on da wrong road,” she said.
Dear Reader: The Nain Rouge (Red Dwarf), or “Demon of the Strait”, is a local legend around Detroit, Michigan. The creature is a harbinger of unfortunate events in the city and is usually spotted before tragedy strikes. While not classified as cryptozoological in nature, it has a longer history than The Michigan Dogman. If you’re in the area and you see the Demon of the Strait… bad things are coming.
Very cool. I wondered after reading this how it would work in first person POV, but you do an amazing job of getting under the skin of your protagonist even in third person. You'll have to give me some feedback on my upcoming story. It's 3rd person and it's fantasy. Two areas I don't usually hang out in. 🙂 I also think you managed the dialect and speech elements really well. It was just enough--without being too much--to get it in my ear. Or the ear part of my eyes, because I was reading it. 😂 Nice work.
Oh Wow! This is excellent writing Brian Love loved it!