Claire was convinced that the Virgin Mary could be located in the telephone directory. This was important to her because she was also convinced that Satan had usurped her home, rendering every corner unspeakably evil. She had no idea how she knew this, but there was no question, no question at all. A sudden overwhelming terror had awakened her. Everything she believed was wrong, and her home and family were no longer safe.

Claire knew better than to frighten the children. This was no time for hysteria. She woke David and the kids and rushed them outside, still in their pajamas. She didn't explain about Satan having claimed the house. Instead, Claire told the children to wait in the driveway with their Dad. She would make them all a lovely picnic breakfast, she said, As she ran inside to call for help.

David followed her into the kitchen. "What in hell are you doing?"

"I'm finding the Virgin Mary in the phone book. The house is possessed by the devil, David! The Virgin is the only one who can help us, and I have to find her and tell her."

Up until that point, the Virgin Mary had never really come up in conversation. Neither of them was Catholic. Now here was Claire clutching the telephone, feverishly scanning the directory for listings of women named Mary, in hopes of finding the Virgin quickly for help in reclaiming their house from the Archfiend. This was too much for David-- he had to get her off the damn phone.

He tried to talk to her. When she frantically signaled him to quiet down while she was on the telephone, he grabbed for the receiver. Claire abandoned her search for the Virgin and dialed 911.

"My husband... my husband is acting very strangely. I have reason to believe he's been possessed by Satan. I can't talk any more, just send someone, send the paramedics."

The paramedics were indeed dispatched, but to Claire's dismay their goal was clearly to remove her, not David. As her two children sat cross-legged on the lawn, quietly viewing their mother's passion, Claire tried desperately to convince the emergency personnel that the problem was inside the house, not inside her head. David loped back inside to phone his mother.

"Claire thinks the devil has taken over me and the house. The paramedics are here, but she's arguing with them. We need you to come over -- she listens to you."

Meg was there in five minutes. She talked quietly, soothingly, with her daughter-in-law. She promised to take the kids if Claire would go along with the paramedics for a restful little overnight psych
evaluation. Claire pointed out that David was now clearly an acolyte of the Dark Lord. Meg agreed that her son should stay at his own house until he got his allegiances sorted out.

Everyone but David drove off. He walked back inside, poured himself a Pepsi, and settled down in front of the television. Queenie the Dog ambled her lustrous black labrador self in through the open patio door. Settling herself comfortably next to him on the sofa, she looked up at David with an openmouthed doggie grin.

"That was close," she commented, "why don't you slip something nice and hot into the VCR and we'll make an afternoon of it, kiddo?"

David complied. He actually had no choice in the matter, but it was nice of his Dark Mistress to phrase her demand so gently. That, he supposed, was his reward for getting rid of Claire right away, just as
soon as Queenie called it. The lab moved her head onto his lap. He felt her flames penetrate his shorts. He sighed, perfectly contented. It was a damned good thing Claire never made it to the right listing in the phone book.

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