It had been a miserable couple of months at work, ever since Upper Management, whoever they were, had replaced our beloved manager Mr. Withers. We were all told that Mr. Withers had retired, but it happened so suddenly that no one was really convinced. Then Ardella Winthrop, the office supervisor, unexpectedly retired, too.

It was into an atmosphere of suspicion, distrust and apathy that the replacements for our dear old bosses arrived one morning and life took a dive.

Now, Mr. Withers had occupied a position of some authority, but Ardella Winthrop's job could have been eliminated years ago with no impact on the business. However, our company operated on the principle of never letting the authorized head-count drop, and a position left vacant sometimes had the effect of advertising its own redundancy, so to fill the spot and restore the headcount, we got Stacy. Instead of kindly old Mr. Withers, we now had Ray. I don’t like bosses who want everyone to call them by their first names.

Stacy was a small-framed pretty blonde who could easily have been mistaken for a simple fluffhead. And it wouldn't have been too much of a mistake, but her innate dimness was overshadowed by other qualities. She was unpredictable, narrow-minded and mean-spirited. She ought to have been a success in the business, except for the fact that she always seemed to make exactly the wrong decision at any given time. Perhaps with a good manager Stacy's supervisorial shortcomings wouldn't have been so serious. But the constant fan of staff turnover caused a big breeze of discontent.

Ray, of course, was even more of problem. Mr. Withers had been firm, patient and generous, the kind of manager who made the job look easy and the department look good. Ray, on the other hand, was a coward with a malicious streak, and not very bright to boot. Lest this seem like the alienated ramblings of a dissatisfied employee, let me explain that I didn't care one way or another at first, but as people quit their jobs and the department began to suffer, I became concerned.

One morning, I decided to take some positive action. So far, Ray hadn’t really annoyed me much. He was never there when you needed him, and always poking around behind you when you were busy, but I had managed to stay out of his way. Stacy, however, had been getting on my nerves. She had requested some ideas, which I thoughtfully supplied in a literate and detailed memo. Imagine my irritation when my very same memo came out under Stacy's name. I arranged for a meeting with Ray to discuss the problem.

But things didn't work out. Ray and Stacy had already made up their minds that I was just one more person who could easily be replaced, and I was ordered back to work, this time on some sort of probation lest I enjoy my job too much.

Well, to get to the good part, they made me angry. My job was now not only its usual difficult and demanding technical self, but also had the added dimension of being downright unpleasant. Every day became worse as Ray reached new heights of obnoxious behavior while Stacy developed an annoying smug attitude to go with her normal snottiness.

I looked at the faces of my co-workers, the people who had once been an eager and dedicated team, and now saw the empty looks of wage slaves in bondage. It was a shame, and I realized that if anything was to be done, I would have to do it.

I considered quite few options at first. Quitting my job was the first one, but that was too easy. Besides, it was what they wanted, and I would have to start looking for a new job, the thought of which I didn't relish. I thought about murder, but aside from the obvious legal problem, there was the fact they probably wouldn't know what (or who) hit them, and the satisfaction of the act would be diminished. I thought about kidnapping, burning down their houses, infecting them with deadly viruses, tampering with their brake lines. But nothing really seemed quite right. I wanted them to enjoy a little prolonged suffering, and not just fry to a crisp in a sigalert on the 91 freeway.

So I was wandering around one night in Pasadena, up on Fair Oaks where all the little book stores and antique shops are, when I saw something in the window of a store that made me stop for a second look. In the unwashed window of one of the more decrepit antique stores, lying in a corner and dusty with time, a small book caught my eye. It was off to one side, half-obscured by a set of Fiestaware dishes and a chrome plated spittoon. Its embossed leather cover had a strange glow which I mistook for the reflection of the parking lot lights across the street. I don't know why I stared at the little book for such a long time, but I was finally seized with a desperate urge to examine it more closely.

I looked up at the store's sign, a battered piece of rotting wood with faded gold letters that read "CURIOS" and went in. The shop smelled as though a thousand dust bunnies had gone there to die years ago. It was very dark, lit by a single bare bulb which glared but didn't shed much light. I coughed and made a little noise, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. I went to the window and took out the book.

It was old and dusty, like I said, and had a sort of luminosity about it. The cover was embossed with swirling designs which seemed to move in the half-light of the shop. I opened it to the title page and with some difficulty made out the words written there in a flourishing script. "Minor Magic" it read.

Since no one was around I suppose I could have just slipped it into my purse and hiked on home, but I am a basically honest person and there was always the off chance that someone was watching. I put a five dollar bill on the counter and left.

When I got home that night I started reading the book, slowly and painstakingly at first on account of the script in which it was written, but more easily as I became accustomed to the letters and the archaic language. It was a wonderful book, full of really useful stuff. It was an instruction manual for summoning a demon to do your bidding.

I had never before considered summoning a demon to help me out with the work situation. Actually, I had never considered summoning a demon at all, any time, for any reason. But things at work had reached the unbearable point, the point where even something like this sounded plausible, or at least worth a try. It was a scary thing to consider. I mean, I had seen The Exorcist. I knew that if you got mixed up with that sort of thing you were likely to pee on the floor and throw up. Still, what's a little housekeeping if you can get some real help? I read on.

There didn't seem to be anything particularly difficult about getting a demon up or out of Hell, or wherever they stayed most of the time. Evidently, the only really hard part was making sure it was under your control all the time and could be sent back down when you were done. If you just followed the instruction, it should be easy.

I set up shop in the spare bedroom and marked a star shape out on the floor, per the book's instructions. I lit the candle, did the little dance and chanted the weird poems. I sat down in the middle of the pentagram and waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

Well it had been worth a try, I thought. I mean, what can you expect from an old book anyway? I was tired and went to bed that night thinking about the book. I decided to re-read it the next day and give it one more try in case I had missed something. After all, I had been in a hurry to try it out and maybe I hadn't done everything right.

The following night I came home exhausted. The workday had been even more miserable than usual. I had spent most of the morning composing a good resignation letter and most of the afternoon contemplating the prison penalties for manslaughter. I was in no mood for light conversation when I stomped into the kitchen for a cold drink, muttering to myself about untraceable poisons. After a long pull on a cold Coke, I decided to have another go at the book.

I went over the summoning ritual very carefully, marking the floor, doing the candles and the dance, and reciting the poetry as clearly as I could. I sat down in the middle of the star and closed my eyes for a few moments. I was so tired that i must have slipped off for just a second before I started choking on the most incredibly foul and stinking smoke. It billowed up, yellow and acrid, from the five points of the pentagram.

Oh, shit! I thought. The house is on fire! I thrashed around, trying to get up, but found that I was unable to move from the center of the star. It took me a few minutes to realize that the house wasn't on fire after all. No, I was just going crazy. This magic stuff and all the stress of that stupid job had finally driven me right over the edge.

Abruptly, the smoke cleared away and I got an eyeful of something really weird. It (he?) was about two feet tall, tiny, spindly and malevolent-looking. I mean, I had never even thought of the word "malevolent" before, and here I was looking at it in the flesh. Or whatever it had on its wretched body - it wasn't exactly flesh and skin, but more like some kind of shiny and scaly plastic coating, like something from the B-2 bomber. I looked at it in awe with a mixture of fascination and disgust. It glared back at me with impatience.

"So, you woke me out of a sound sleep for what?" Its scratchy little voice cracked with irritation. "Money? Fame, whatever the Hell that is, you'll pardon the expression? Love? And let's not get ridiculous here!" It squinted and grimaced. "Well?"

"Uh, uh . . . " I stuttered. Hey! It worked! I got a real live demon! And it wanted to do my bidding! Okay, it was a little small, but what the heck. "Okay," I said, "I want revenge."

"What? Revenge? You nuts or something, lady? I don't do stuff like that. For that kind of stuff you need the big guys. I do little stuff, you know, greed, lust, like that. But revenge. Hah! If I could do something like that I could really make a few creatures squirm!"

"What do you mean," I asked, "little stuff? Why is revenge such a big deal if you can do all that greed and lust and whatever? And who or what are you, anyway?"

He spat out a few drops of dark, oily liquid onto my clean floor and picked at his fangs with a filthy claw. "Well, figure it out, dimwit. 'Vengeance is mine, etc.' HE never said anything about 'Greed is mine' or 'Lust is mine' or 'Petty inconvenience is mine' - HE was very specific."

"Who?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talkin' about 'Vengeance is mine saith The Lord' - you should pardon the expression." He looked around with a touch of panic, expecting something really scary to happen. Nothing did.

"Oh. Well, I'm not really looking for veangance, I guess," I explained. "I'm really just looking for a way to irritate some people who have been making my life pretty miserable. I don't think it's really vengeance, or anything. I mean, vengeance sounds like pretty heavy stuff. I think I'm looking more for, uh, petty inconvenience, or whatever you said. Stuff you could handle. And who are you?" I wanted to say "What are you?" but I was afraid I already knew the answer to that.

"Okay, okay, keep your shirt on. Or better yet," he leered, "take it off and let me get a good look at you." I came close to vomiting at this suggestion. He backed off a fraction. "Okay, my real name is a secret. All demons' real names are secret, know only to the Two Big Ones. My friends call me Germ." Right, friends, like he had any.

I wasn't very impressed. "Germ?" He did resemble a germ, tiny and disgusting.

"And I can do all kinds of great stuff," he said a bit defensively. "I haven't been called out in a couple of centuries, but I can do all kinds of useful stuff. I can make people itch. I do a real good itch, the kind you can't really scratch but look really stupid trying. I can make people think about sex all the time, but that one's almost too easy anymore. I can make people clumsy and uncoordinated. I can make them do incredibly dumb things. I can tempt them with money, and make them do almost anything for lust. I can . . . I can . . ." here he seemed to just run out of steam and stop. He looked embarrassed.

"Great," I said. "I call out a demon, probably at risk of my immortal soul or something, and he's a washout."

"Well, you're not exactly Linda Blair yourself, Toots," he glared. "If you want the big stuff why call on the little guys?"

He was right. I didn't have the faintest idea of what I was doing. I wasn't any big deal witch or sorceress or anything. I was damned lucky to get anything at all out of my bedroom floor, much less two feet of stinking black plastic that could talk and make you itch. There had to be possibilities here.

"Okay, Germ," I agreed. "Let me tell you what these two slugs at work have been doing for the past couple of months, and maybe we can come up with something suitable." I gave him a brief rundown of my problems since Stacy and Ray had teamed up to make me long for the peace and comfort of the unemployment line.

Germ's tail switched around like an angry cat's. "They sound great to me," he said. "And I'll bet the Old Guy's got their immortals. This should be easy." He looked at me slyly. "Tell you what, Toots. You just leave it to me. If you're not satisfied with the results, call me out again and we'll talk. Otherwise, just let me sleep in peace, okay?"

"Uh, don't you want anything?" I asked. I figured we'd better set the terms of the bargain up front. I mean, my soul was one thing, but I wouldn't want to have to give this thing anything more personal, like my body, for instance. "Say," I said, thinking of the Magic Lamp, "you want your freedom, or something?"

He spat contemptuously on my clean floor again. "Nah, what would I do with freedom? Make more people itch? Tell ya what, Toots, I'll do this one for free, just for fun. Besides, I think I'm really gonna like this Stacy babe." He cackled and leered. "See ya 'round, Toots!"

In another puff of nasty yellow smoke he was gone and I was sitting on the bedroom floor. Now, I know you're going to think I just dreamed it all up, that I was overtired and all that. And it's true that I was tired, and I know it sounds unbelievable. And I didn't believe it myself, but took a hot bath and went to bed, swearing off Coca Cola and old books at bedtime.

The next day I dragged my unwilling self to work, prepared for the usual mess. I should have know something was up when I saw the small crowd in the lobby. As I went past them they all stopped talking and just stared at me.

"What?" I asked. "What's up?"

They all looked at each other and started to laugh. It was a small chuckle that built up into an uncontrollable howl. Everyone was there, from the head sales guy right down to poor Rusty in the mailroom. Tears were running down the receptionist's face as she held her side and kept on laughing. I looked around to see if my skirt was stuck up inside my pantyhose or something, but it wasn't. "What's so funny?" I asked.

They just continued laughing, pointing toward the Ray's office.

It was pretty quiet in Ray's office. He was sitting at his desk, his size twelves up and his telephone on the floor where he had thrown it. The place was a shambles.

"So, what's up?" I asked, eyeing the mess.

He didn't say anything to me, he just sat there, gripping a stapler and turning a mottled red. He began to shake.

"Uh, oh," I said. "What's wrong?"

Ray opened his mouth to shout at me, but what came out was not his usual rasping cop's voice. He opened and closed his ham fists over the stapler a few times, then blurted out, "I can't talk!"

Well, that wasn't completely true, as he had just spoken to me. But I could see what the problem was. His voice was about five octaves higher than usual.

"I can't talk!" he squeaked again. "It's been like this all morning! It must be your fault! I hate it! They're all laughing at me! I can't go to meetings, no one takes me seriously!" He buried his face in his hands and began to weep, a thin high noise like a child, a girl child.

I smiled, then grinned. I couldn't help it. A snicker built up into a laugh and I was giggling as I left the room. It was too funny.

I went into my little office area still laughing. "Thank you, Germ," I said aloud. "This was better than all of the terrible things I thought of, better than anything!"

For the first time in a couple of months I was able to work without any irritating Ray-interruptions. I managed to get through nearly the whole morning, working steadily and happily, when my telephone rang. It was Carla, Stacy's secretary.

"I can't talk too loud," she hissed into the phone. "I hope you can hear me."

"I can hear you just fine," I said. "Did you hear about Ray's voice?" I asked.

"No, no," she replied impatiently. "That can wait. I've got something to tell you about Stacy, but I'm afraid she'll hear me. Listen!"

Uh,oh, I thought. Germ again.

"Stacy stinks," Carla said. I wasn't sure I heard it right, and she repeated it. "Stacy stinks." This time she enunciated very clearly.

"Yeah, so?" So what else was new? "Anyone could have told you that, Carla," I said.

"No! I mean she really smells bad! When she came in to work this morning, everything seemed okay, then after about an hour she started to smell terrible. She went home around ten, took a shower and came back, but now it's starting again. There's something really wrong with her!" The last sentence came out of Carla in a squeal.

Germ, my little buddy, I thought. You really know how to make my day! Ray sounds like a member of the Vienna Boys' Choir and Stacy was emitting noxious fumes.

"Listen, Carla," I said. "Get a grip on yourself. So she stinks. It'll make her a hit at meetings. And maybe she won't be around much longer. Now, go to the store and get yourself some Glade or something and make the best of it. And listen to this! Ray has something wrong with his voice. He sounds like a girl, a little girl. He has this sweet, high-pitched voice and it's driving him nuts!"

I had a few things to finish, so I didn't rush right over to Stacy's office, but as soon as I got the chance, I sauntered over to that end of the building for a personal look. It was even better than I had imagined. Carla had gone out to the store and picked up about two dozen different kinds of air fresheners. She had Magic Mushrooms, Airwick, Glade, Stick-Ups, you name it. They were everywhere, but they couldn't disguise the foul odor seeping out from Stacy's private office. It smelled something like a cross between a dirty wet dog and an old kitty litter box. The stench was very strong near her doorway. I took a breath, held it, and peeked into her office. The stink hung in the air like cigar smoke. My eyes started to smart and sting.

Stacy was face-down on her desk, arms over her head, shaking. I think she was crying. Well, you'd cry too, if you smelled that bad.

I went back to my office and worked peacefully until five o'clock. The only time I was interrupted was by my happy co-workers who were once again devoting their energy to their tasks. The office hummed along with a harmony we'd almost forgotten could exist.