And finally, despite her vigil, the pot came to a boil. Anne slid open the screen door and put on oven mitts. She lifted the pot and carried it to the backyard. Her ankle itched fiercely.

Anne poured the boiling water over the dark hem of the mound. At first the water pooled at the top, scattering thousands, the ants pulling together in small rafts of survival. But the steady boiling cascade broke the surface tension and the mound became a red blanket of death. Still Anne poured slowly and carefully. As the gospel according to Neil Sperry had taught her, the water had to work down deep in order to scald the queen.

December 26

[ DECEMBER 26 ]

Dear Screwtape,

Great news, uncle—we’ve got him back. This junior tempter just earned his horns as a series of distractions I set in our prey’s path led to him breaking the Sabbath and cursing the day.

First, I left a five dollar bill on the ground in the parking lot of the diner where our candidate has his weekend bacon and eggs. This filled him with superstition that today was a lucky day and the Enemy was shining down on him. Your advice about focusing on his fanaticism for the Redskins was heeded—he went to the game instead of services—and working with Scabtree, the devil that runs that accursed Washington team . . .

Dan Malone paused and stared at the green hull of the Remington Quiet-Riter, his fingers poised like cat paws over the keys. It was the day after Christmas, and he was trying to write Wormwood’s reply as a journal entry—typing it up to paste in the notebook like real correspondence. The Screwtape Letters was his theology teacher Father Payne’s recommendation; writing every day (Rule number four: your journal is your life-force) was Mr. Oglesby’s.

Now tomorrow I will feed on the anguish and bewilderment of his hungover soul.

Dan stopped again and thought about this. The tack is all wrong here. Whatever affection Wormwood has for his uncle, it never overcomes his selfishness. Oglesby had warned him about this: Think like your antagonist, Malone. Negative capability is the key to this class, it will be the key to the Game, and it is the key to unlocking literature. But Dan got lost in the double reversal: What would they teach a sophomore at the Tempters’ Training College? How to create enough distraction that you miss the point of life entirely?

I know he is a deplorable milksop who will want to apologize in the morning, but I’m planning a work crisis where our candidate has to figure out who to fire from the airplane factory.

Dan ripped the piece of typing paper from the carriage. A draft nonetheless. Then another thought hit him, and he fed a new sheet in.