Short

If he hadn't been there, the stiffness of his brown suit might still have held it upright, standing behind the yellow tape line like a mannequin behind a mime's window. His expression was rigid, so much that it might have been simply an extension of his starched shirt. Yet for all his stillness, a fire danced in his eyes.

Milo's mouth was too dry to speak, much less swallow. He felt his eyeballs being pulled, sucked from their sockets by the gravity of electric gaze pinning him. Breath he didn't realize occupied his lungs was now wheezing out in a disgorged, ugly laugh. "hhhhhhaaaaaaaaa..." His knees angled inwards causing his torso to swivel like a slinky on rubber hips. Milo saw an ocean, a blue billowing sheet of silk, as his head bounced on the linoleum.

The figure in the brown suit did not move. He waited for the next attendant to come along and contemplated what he would try next. His toes nearly touched the line, but remained separated. After all, Milo had told him to stay behind the yellow tape line. And a devil can only do what man allows him.