Free Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish by Andrew Buckley

Jones had woken up, and he smiled a warm smile, an almost inviting
can I help you across the road
kind of smile.
    "Glad to see you're awake, Mrs. Jones."
    "What, what happened? Who are you?"
    Nigel got up and offered his hand to her.
    "Detective Reinhardt. Came about your devil-possessed cat. You just dropped off for a moment and you looked so peaceful I didn't want to disturb you."
    Mrs. Jones looked around the room again as she shook Nigel's hand.
    "Oh, I see. Well, sorry about that."
    Nigel smiled and sat back down.
    "It's quite all right, just didn't want to wake you. Now, back to your cat, have you seen him since?"
    Mrs. Jones looked back at Nigel, her tired brain trying to put the pieces together as to what had happened. She felt like she'd just had the most curious dream. Something about a neon sign that didn't make much sense. Confusing.
    "Uh, Mrs. Jones?"
    "Sorry . . . umm, no, he hasn't come back. Said he was off to wreak havoc."
    Nigel nodded.
    "I don't suppose you know what kind of havoc he was looking at wreaking, do you?"
    Mrs. Jones glanced around her room again; something was definitely not right here.
    "Nope, didn't really elaborate too much."

    Nigel watched as, like the sun dawning on fresh grass, Mrs. Jones' memory started to creep back.
Time to make a run for it
. All in one breath and a swift movement, Nigel stood, handed Mrs. Jones his card, and excused himself, adding, "If you remember anything else don't hesitate to give me a call and I'm sure it'll be all right."
    By that time, he was at the front door and Mrs. Jones was shuffling after him.
    "One moment, young man!"
    Busted
was the only word in Nigel's head. He turned to face the old woman, preparing for the onslaught and a possible death by shotgun, if she could find it. He had hidden it up the chimney.
    "There was something else I remember."
    "Oh," said Nigel, taken aback.
    "Majestic Technologies."
    Nigel leaned in a bit.
    "I'm sorry, what was that?"
    "Fuzzbucket," said the old woman, "he mentioned something about Majestic Technologies, don't know what it means, never been much for technology. I'm always getting that TV and that electronic cooking thing mixed up."
    "You mean the microwave?"
    "Yes, that's it. Sat in the kitchen for hours once watching a ham defrost, thought it was a very bad cooking show."
    "Ah, I see. Well, thanks."
    "Glad to help." And with that she slammed the door.
    Nigel watched through the rather prominent hole as Mrs. Jones went off to search for something she was certain she was missing.
    Nigel walked back down the street wondering what, exactly, Majestic Technologies was. Nigel held the firm belief that everything presented itself for a reason, and for whatever reason this information had come to him, he was sure it would all make sense sooner or later. He decided he should probably check in at work.
    The word
elf
slipped through his mind, but only momentarily, as a loud shotgun blast blew out the top of Mrs. Jones' chimney, completely obliterating a poor bird that just happened to be sitting up there at the time.

Nine.
    At around the same moment the obliterated bird had been making himself comfortable upon Mrs. Jones' chimney in London, several thousand miles away in the Bahamas, Dr. Ranja was looking at a most curious patient who had recently passed out at a local beach bar, possibly from the intense Bahamian heat. Dr. Ranja deduced additional causes to be the sheer abundance of margaritas the man had consumed, or maybe it was the realization that the entire Universe, all of it, even the little bits that no one ever saw, was about to unravel itself into an untidy heap of nothingness.
    What he found curious about the patient was that he was a practically perfect human specimen, looked a bit long and drawn, and the dark robes were a most peculiar ensemble, especially in the heat of the Bahamas. No distinguishing marks, no scars, no blemishes, eyes that seemed to change colour, which fit right into the face that appeared