The day after moving into my new home with my Doberman, Einstein, and my tuxedo cat, Cleopatra, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. I chanced to hear a neighbor gossiping about the house next door to mine. She said that strange things happened there, strange noises, weird sights. She called the place evil, haunted. I decided that it was best to stay away from it.

One night a few days later, I noticed the red curtains next door shaking violently. They were soon ripped away. Despite my previous attempt to stay away, my curiosity was up and running, so I sneaked closer to the house, watching.

Holy cow! Attila the Hun was sword fighting with Napolean! Jezebel jumped on the back of Stalin while he was shooting at Richard the Third. He flung her off and began stomping her head. When he walked away, he left boot prints of blood on the floor and Jezebel's head.

Richard the Third lay there moaning until Marquis de Sade finished him off with a ball bat. Marquis de Sade's grin of triumph ended when Benito Mussilini walked over and smacked him full in the face.

There was Julius Caesar with blood on his toga. He was kicking Brutus in the behind. Brutus thought it was funny until the kicks grew harder, and Caesar's foot went through Brutus' backside and came out in front, destroying his manhood. Brutus danced around in a whirl of agony, finally falling to the floor, screaming.

I was startled by a tap on my shoulder. I could see by light coming from the window that it was Satan.

"Have you seen anything interesting yet?" he inquired.

"Uh, I was looking for my cat, Cleopatra. Have you seen her?' He rubbed his grizzled chin. Smoke arose from his face.

"If your cat was around here, someone might have eaten her," he chuckled.

"But you are welcome to spy on me and my goings on anytime you please. I think they will enliven your mind." As I stared at him, he grew dimmer, then disappeared.

I made a decision then to stay away from that house. What was being said about it was true, that strange incidents occurred there.

Time passed peacefully until one morning there was a knock at my door. It was Adolph Hitler with a hole in his head where he had shot himself. His clothing was charred from his long-ago cremation, which must have only been partially successful, and his tiny mustache had been burned off.

He held a dirty hat against his body as he asked me if any Jews lived there. He drooled as he tried to peer inside my home. Without warning, he violently shoved me aside and entered. Before he knew what was happening, Einstein attacked him. Hitler screamed and ran for the door. Einstein bit him on the behind, taking large chunks of putrid flesh. The last I saw of him, he was headed for the black mansion next door with the seat of his trousers completely ripped away.

I gave Einstein a dog biscuit as a reward for his good deed. Then, Eva Braun showed up, still blue-faced from cyanide she had taken many years ago. She was looking for Hitler, but I told her he was not here. I invited her in for coffee which she gratefully accepted. She took hers with two lumps of sugar.

"I'm so tired of that place!" she lamented, gesturing toward the black house. I stirred my coffee.

"Why?"

"There's nothing to eat there, and all we do is fight, argue and try to please "der Teufel." (Which is the name she used for Satan.)

We keep hoping he won't send us back to our graves." She took a tiny sip of her drink.

"But he will," she added. I set my cup carefully on the table. She looked as though she wanted to talk, and I was more than eager to listen and ask questions.

"What is Satan's reason for housing dead, famous people?" I asked

"He pulls new ones from the grave every so often after he has slung the ones already resurrected back into eternity."

"But why?" She shrugged, then took another sip of her drink.

"I think he is bored and wants to see what we cadavers will do or be forced to do. Sometimes he makes us touch his throne which is red hot. It sits in a room by itself, and it is his favorite place to sit. He laughs because even though we are dead we can still burn. When he makes us touch it, it is always our tongues that he grabs and burns. When we run away howling, he jumps up and down with glee."

"Can't you escape?" She gazed at me, her eyes, rotted and slimy.

"No, we cannot. He holds us with an invisible power. We can only go a few yards from the black house. Soon, he will be ready for a new batch to torment. Then, it's off we go, where the grave is cold and dark."

I looked out my window where I noticed the sun had risen higher.

"Shouldn't you be getting back? Hitler will be looking for you." She waved her hand dismissively.

"Pooh on Hitler. He is the cause of my premature death. I was merely looking for him to tell him his dog, Blondi, showed up. She has a big hole in her head. She should see a vet."

"It's probably too late for that," I told her. Then I saw Satan walking up and down his yard as though he was looking for someone.

I pulled her out of her chair and pushed her toward the door. I had no use for Satan appearing, looking for her.

"Come back for coffee anytime," I told her, although I hoped she never would. When she returned home, Satan gave her an exasperated glare.

Uh oh, I'll bet she's in for it now.

As time passed, my morbid curiosity often got the best of me, and I ventured next door many times, usually at night since I could see the panorama of evil much better. Satan never invited me in but often put on a show that seemed to be for my benefit.

I saw Vincent Van Gogh being forced into a large wood shredder by Satan. When the shredder was activated, blood spewed everywhere. The remains of the artist came out as ears that quickly reassembled themselves into Van Gogh. His tormentor performed this brutal act many times before he stopped. Van Gogh went away limping and cursing.

All was quiet for the next few days. My next encounter was with Mata Hari. She pecked on my bedroom window in the middle of the night. I had no way of knowing who was out there. I hurried to the front door, and there she stood, bullet holes in her long, gray dress from the firing squad that took her life so long ago.

"Hi! May I come in?" How could I say no when she had always been a favorite of mine? I allowed her entrance, even though parts of her hair were gone, and she was missing all her teeth. I told her she could sleep on the sofa, and I went back to bed.

About an hour later I felt something cold and clammy next to me. It was she. We snuggled and kissed all night. Our hands were all over each other. Cuddling with a dead woman was not too bad.

When morning came, she was gone. I noticed filthy, black leg hairs on the bed, and I scrambled out quickly when I saw the things were crawling.

Three days later, what was left of Elizabeth Bathory appeared at my door. She stood there on two stumps that once were her legs, dirt and blood around the edges. Wondering what had happened to her legs, I looked her over and asked what she wanted. She looked me dead in the eyes and said,

"Maiden blood!"

"Lady, you do not need maiden blood. Bathe with water like everyone else does." She pouted, turned and hobbled away.

Satan was in the front yard killing crickets with a blowtorch. When he saw Elizabeth, they began to argue. I had gone outside by then, and heard Elizabeth screaming at him about something I could not quite decipher. Suddenly, he bit her nose off! She fell to the ground, drumming her stumps.

You have ruined my looks!" she wailed. Just before Elizabeth, Satan and the entire house disappeared in a big puff of smoke, leaving the ground black and charred, Satan turned to me and winked.

I have often wondered if the Evil One still lives in that black house somewhere, still doing his dastardly deeds. Other than wishing he would return and remove Jack, the Ripper, who has holed up in my bathroom, holding a big butcher knife and chasing me when I try to enter, I would rather not know.

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