Cade’s War
by Jason Frederick Myers
part 1
The demons had won three consecutive battles, sending the Sinclair household into complete chaos. Cade stood in the laundry room doorway, watching his father hurl obscenities at the old washing machine. On top of the machine and the shelves behind it, the demons stood celebrating their victory, weapons raised, with yellow-tooth smiles and leathery skin.
“Dammit!” His father, Mitch, complained. The elder Sinclair moved a group of wires, and the machine came to life, shaking violently and sending two demons flying across the small room. One landed in a basket of dirty clothes. The others laughed hysterically. Mitch didn’t notice. Cade watched the group closely, his baby blues rarely blinking.
“Hand me the pliers,” his father ordered from halfway inside the machine.
Cade opened the red metal toolbox on the floor and retrieved them. Another demon appeared from the depths of the box and grabbed the pliers. attempting to pull them away. More sinister giggles. Cade ripped them free and slammed the box closed.
“Hurry,” Mitch barked.
“Sorry.” Cade handed him the pliers.
The laundry room had been the site of this engagement between the demons and angels, the demons claiming victory. Despite the angels’ loss, the aging washing machine had taken the brunt of the damage. The demons hovered around their prized P.O.W., enjoying the fruits of their labor. They snickered at a frustrated Mitch Sinclair, unbeknownst.
Typically, the two armies fought four times a year: Easter, Halloween, Christmas, and the Fourth of July. The gunpowder and smoke really riled the demons up. While the tiny creatures were invisible to most, Cade’s grandfather had also been able to see them. And it was he who had taught Cade about the importance of balance.
* * *
Two years earlier, when Cade was just ten, the entire family gathered on Christmas to celebrate. It was then that Cade had first seen them, the two enemies locked in a fierce battle, the clang of sword and fork ringing out over the familiar Christmas carols playing on his father’s old radio. Cade had watched in silent disbelief as the rest of the family opened gifts with warm, grateful smiles, oblivious. His grandfather sat in the old, worn recliner, watching Cade thoughtfully.
The war raged on, culminating with the demons commandeering Aunt Lynn’s cat Winston and riding him wildly through the living room like a bucking bronco from Hell. The terrified cat stampeded over angels, knocked Cade’s younger sister Gillian to the floor then finally ran up and into the seven-foot Christmas tree. The tree crashed to the floor with a thunderous boom, green and red balls exploding like shrapnel. The angel topper ornament was broken into pieces, much to the demon’s delight. Cade’s mother had been furious, banning the cat from the house.
While his parents and Aunt cleaned up the mess, Cade sat with his grandfather in front of the fireplace. “Only those with the greatest imaginations can see them,” the older man explained, his deep, aging eyes watching Cade from below thick, furrowed eyebrows. “But the most important thing is balance. One army must never win more than three consecutive fights. You must prevent this at all costs.”
As his grandfather spoke, the demons assembled in rows and marched triumphantly toward the burning fireplace. One by one, they entered the fire, disappearing with a crisp snap like a hot flame on dry wood.
‘What would happen?” Cade asked, watching the demons in amazement.
“If it happens, that army will grow, and chaos and destruction will follow. Those of us who can see must all do our part.” The elder lowered his voice and finished: “Don’t tell your parents; they can’t see them. They won’t understand.” He winked at Cade and hugged him tightly. Six months later, his grandfather was gone.
The demons liked to cheat. They were demons, after all, and they were crafty. You never knew where they would turn up or what scheme they would use. The angels, for their part, always fought with fairness and integrity. They did so, Cade reasoned, because that’s what you would expect of them, and they were nothing if not honorable.
What the angels lacked in tactical trickery, they made up for with the ability to fly. The first time Cade had witnessed the feat, he was in awe. Every boy’s dream was to fly.
Only some of the angels flew, an elite group of angels Cade had nicknamed the Eagle Eyes. While the ground battalions had brilliantly crafted swords, the Eagle Eyes carried an arsenal of long, aerodynamic spears thrown with pinpoint accuracy.
* * *
Last year, Cade sat in the basement captivated as they carried the angel army to victory, swooping in like a squadron of dive bombers and skewering their enemies like kabobs. The flying angels took their impaled enemies to the ceiling and dropped them. The demons hit the smooth concrete floor with a pop and small puff of smoke like the little snapping firecrackers that parents give children. That had been the angel’s last victory. The demons had won three straight engagements.
* * *
“Cade!” his father shouted, snapping him from his thoughts. “Electrical tape.”
Cade opened the toolbox again. The tiny lurker had vanished.
“Unbelievable,” His father muttered. “Always something breaking ’round here.”
Cade glanced at the shelves. The demons watched closely, peering out between bottles of laundry detergents and other oddities. They whispered amongst themselves, black forked tongues darting in and out like tiny venomous lizards. Cade frowned. The balance must be kept. Next time, he might need to be more than just a spectator.
The demons smiled and began to drum their weapons on the shelf in unison, a call to battle. Cade nodded, accepting the challenge. The next war would be on the Fourth of July, giving him time to prepare. He would be ready.
* * *
Every year, the subdivision of Peaceful Pines closed all roads to traffic and threw a neighborhood block party to celebrate. It was a time for neighbors to let their festive spirits shine, an excuse for overindulgence in fireworks, food, and beverage. Cade’s mother, Jan, stood in the kitchen loading a plate of burgers and hotdogs, her dark hair escaping from a loosely tied bun onto her patriotic blouse.
“Cade?” she called, carrying the plate of food to the boy’s room.
His door was closed. A white construction paper hung on the door, yellow electrical bolts colored around its edges. The words Danger, keep out! Were written in black marker.
She knocked. Cade cracked the door and peered out. His mother lifted the plate. “Are you coming out? We’re starting the grill.”
“In a few minutes,” he replied. “Finishing a project.”
Jan frowned. “Okay, but don’t be too long; fireworks are starting soon,” She pinched his cheek tenderly. He watched her leave, then closed the door.
Inside the room, the angels had arrived. The army stood motionless in neat rows, the last rays of the setting sun from the window illuminating their ornate golden breastplates majestically. Cade checked his equipment. He wore a set of used baseball shinpads his father had gotten him last summer, the pads shifting awkwardly around his tiny legs.
“You’ll grow into them,” he had said.
Cade’s left hand was covered in a black and white batting glove, his right hand cradling an old yellow bicycle helmet. His mother’s pink fly swatter hung from a belt on his waist. A large pump water gun sat on the desk nearby. It had taken three Sunday visits to his grandmother’s church to get enough ammunition from the water fountain. He picked it up and slung it over his left shoulder using an old leather guitar strap he had found in a box of his dad’s old things.
Cade’s plan was to get involved only if necessary. He sat on the edge of the bed, nervously surveying the room, waiting.
A string of firecrackers snapped off like machine-gun fire, startling him. Outside, children laughed. The smell of gunpowder seeped into the room through the window, filling his nostrils: the scent of war.
A scratching noise came from across the room, faint, like a rat in a wall. Cade stood and clipped the strap of the helmet under his chin. A pair of horned demon heads were drawn on the helmet in red marker, the images circled and crossed out.
The scratching continued, growing louder. The angels were on high alert, lifting their emblazoned shields in a uniform wave. The scratching sound faded, replaced with silence. Cade closed the curtains.
Suddenly, the demons appeared, hissing as they poured out from beneath Cade’s darkened closet door, like a swarm of angry bees protecting a hive. The angels countered, the two armies meeting in the center of the room with a thunderous clash. Cade watched intently, his heart beating out of his chest.
Copyright © 2023 by Jason Frederick Myers
