Substitution

[23:47] <J0hnDo3> ”We're all nothing but the sum of our own lies.”
[23:47] <J0hnDo3> That was the last thing she said to me before she died. 
[23:47] <J0hnDo3> I don't know what she meant, but none of that matters anymore. 
[23:47] <J0hnDo3> Nothing does.

Her electric eyes in the dark. Four feet dangling from the familiar bridge.
Two bottles glittering in the synthetic lights of the city below.
”I can’t do this anymore.”

[23:48] <J0hnDo3> This room is dark and silent. The darkness is not something new, but the silence is. 
[23:48] <J0hnDo3> She was the talker, the player of music and games. 
[23:48] <J0hnDo3> Now there's just me, and I was always the quiet one. The thinker, the brooder. 
[23:48] <J0hnDo3> And nothing of that has changed, although everything else has.
[23:48] <J0hnDo3> I'm not sure if I'm drinking to honor her memory or to forget.

Give me your hand.”
A knife suddenly, without a smile, without a joke.
Something real, something since long weighing heavy
on solitary shoulders.
My confused hand in hers.
”Remember how we mixed blood as children?”

[23:49] <J0hnDo3> My computer is my only window to the outside world now, the only thing that grants importance to my days. 
[23:49] <J0hnDo3> She was always the outgoing one, the force that sometimes made me leave the virtual world for the physical. 
[23:49] <J0hnDo3> That force is gone now, and I have none of my own. Even less so now than before, actually.

Pain. The neon reflections in the blade, in the crimson liquid emerging from the paleness of my hand.
”See, your blood’s still red.”
Another scar, another wound. Glittering darkness like velvet quicksilver.
Little stars twinkling from the midnight oil in her cupped hand.
”Mine is not anymore.”

[23:51] <J0hnDo3> She always told me that we were going to change the world, one circuit at a time. We were going to salvage what was worth saving and tear down that which was not. 
[23:51] <J0hnDo3> Then we were going to stand by the crater and watch it all burn. 
[23:51] <J0hnDo3> She was on a crusade to steal it all back from the world's rightless powers and to uncover all their lies. 
[23:51] <J0hnDo3> I always followed, because as far as crusades go, she was mine.

I found something, Jonathan, and I went too deep. Now it is changing me.”
Eyes usually brave, defiant, now filled with fear – and something else not readily apparent without looking dangerously closely;
twinkling, twinkling little stars draped in mercury midnight oil.

[23:53] <J0hnDo3> I don't know where she got the gun, or why I still have it. It is a sick thing to have, right, and an even sicker thing to keep. 
[23:53] <J0hnDo3> I made a half-hearted attempt to clean it, but it still has specks of her burnt, dark blood all around the muzzle. It just won't come off. 
[23:53] <J0hnDo3> Well, it doesn't matter to me. It will do it's job again just as well anyway.

I can’t explain it. I’ve tried to understand what is happening, but I can’t.
I think I’m going mad.”
Three deep breaths, barely held back tears and panic.
”I can’t feel things like I used to, and I know things I shouldn’t know.
Like it’s someone else’s knowledge that I don’t know how I have.
And I have stopped sleeping, Jonathan.
I just lie there in the darkness, like in standby mode.
And the itching… I think there is something under my skin.
Something… not organic.”

[23:54] <J0hnDo3> When she met me on the bridge that night it was the first I saw of her in several days. 
[23:54] <J0hnDo3> I want to remember her as she was, not for the fear and panic and absence of her last three weeks. 
[23:54] <J0hnDo3> After she found that shit on the Tor dark web, that is. 
[23:54] <J0hnDo3> She never told me what it was, if it was tools or drugs or information. Perhaps all three of them. 
[23:54] <J0hnDo3> But whatever it was, it drove her mad and killed her. 
[23:54] <J0hnDo3> And one could say that indirectly it's now killing me too.

The knife is gone, and now there’s a gun.
Chrome surface reflecting the cityscape just as well as
eyes and bottles and blood ever did.
Panic in my mind suddenly.
”What are you doing with that? Put it away!”
I grab her hand tightly, feel pulsing red and black blood
intermingling between our palms.

[23:56] <J0hnDo3> I cannot stand this silence and darkness anymore. I cannot stand being on a crusade that means nothing to me now that she is gone. 
[23:56] <J0hnDo3> The world is so empty and pointless without her, not even worth burning or tearing down. 
[23:57] <J0hnDo3> I've realized that even if I didn't understand it at the time, this is why I kept the gun. Why I picked it up and hid it when the sirens approached. Why I lied about it when the police came by. 
[23:57] <J0hnDo3> Why I'm typing this with its chrome surface reflecting the blinking prompt on my screen.

I’m sorry, Jonathan. I can’t do this anymore. There’s a voice in my head, and it’s telling me things I don’t understand.
Things about me, about the world, about… About everything.
It’s never quiet, Johanthan – it’s never quiet!”
Words from my mouth, gestures of my hands, but they do not reach her.
I do not reach her.
Panic. Pleading. Tears. All mine now.
”Amanda, don’t do this. Please.”

She looks at me, stars twinkling clearly now in mercury midnight oil.
Some kind of calm suddenly.
”It’s all a lie, Jonathan. We’re all nothing but the sum of our own lies.”

And then the world explodes.

[23:58] <J0hnDo3> I don't know what she wanted to tell me, and I don't know why those last words plagued my dreams every night after that until I stopped sleeping and feeling altogether. 
[23:58] <J0hnDo3> My hand hasn't healed well either – did she infect me with something? I keep hearing her voice inside my head and I think I'm going mad as well. 
[23:59] <J0hnDo3> But none of that matters anymore. Nothing does. I feel like a mangled hard drive that's slowly being written over, and I actually don't care.
[00:00] <J0hnDo3> I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. I guess I just wanted to leave a piece of me somewhere out there, before there are pieces of me everywhere so to speak. Perhaps someone will hear the shot and find me before things get too nasty. Or perhaps not. 
[00:00] <J0hnDo3> And perhaps nobody will ever even enter this old channel and read this crap anyway. 
[00:00] <J0hnDo3> But if you do, well, consider this my letter of resignation. To the crusade, to life, to everything. 
[00:00] <J0hnDo3> Goodbye, World.
[00:00] <Am&_A> Don't.
[00:00] <J0hnDo3> ???
[00:01] <J0hnDo3> Wtf who is this? This is not funny.
[00:02] <Am&_A> Just don't, Jonathan. You'll regret it. I know.
[00:02] <J0hnDo3> Amanda? Is that really you?
[00:02] <J0hnDo3> How? You died. I saw you die.
[00:02] <J0hnDo3> Amanda??
[00:04] <Am&_A> There's still so much that you don't understand, and it will get worse. I'm sorry.
[00:04] <J0hnDo3> What? For what? Amanda, where are you??
[00:05] <J0hnDo3> ????
[00:06] <Am&_A> Here. Or, I don't know. I'm not sure. Everywhere.
[00:06] <J0hnDo3> What the hell's that supposed to mean???
[00:07] <J0hnDo3> ???
[00:09] <Am&_A> I hear it has started for you too. It's my fault. I didn't know.
[00:09] <J0hnDo3> KNOW WHAT?? Amanda, please!
[00:10] <Am&_A> There's a place downtown called Cellar Door. 
[00:10] <Am&_A> It's a bar. Don't ask me how I know this. 
[00:10] <Am&_A> Go there. Ask for Vincent. 
[00:10] <Am&_A> He will explain everything.
[00:10] <J0hnDo3> What is this, the fucking Matrix??
[00:10] <J0hnDo3> Hello?
[00:11] <J0hnDo3> Amanda??
[00:13] <J0hnDo3> Amanda, please don't leave me again.
[00:14] <J0hnDo3> Please
[00:21] <J0hnDo3> Amanda?
[00:33] <J0hnDo3> Ok then. Fine. Fuck it. I'll go there.

[04:47] == J0hnDo3 has quit [Ping timeout: 264 seconds]

We’re all nothing but the sum of our own lies.

That was the last thing she said to me before she was gone.
Gone, not dead. Because that’s not how the world works anymore.
Perhaps it never really worked that way, but I was too blind to see it.
Well, I don’t want to be blind anymore.

And if we’re all the sum of our own lies,
I want to know what those lies are.
Because my blood’s not red anymore either, and the voices…
the voices are never quiet.

Twinkle, twinkle, more and more
let’s go down that Cellar Door.

Chris Smedbakken, 2018-02-16

This story was written in response to a title writing prompt, 

It is also highly inspired by a dark urban folklore/RPG setting created by my good friend Stellawainwright. Check out his site, will yah?

I have, by the way, previously written two other short stories set in the same universe. If you want to read them as well, they are called The Sound of Silence and The Forest.


 

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The Forest

”Have you ever been to the Forest before?”

She struggled through the underbrush as she tried to fight off the dizziness and the haze that prevented her from seeing anything but dark, blurry shapes in the murk around her.

”Which one?” She didn’t know who she was talking to, or even where she was.

The voice in front of her – something not quite human – laughed quietly. ”Oh, but there only ever was one”, it said.

”What? No, I’ve been to several–”

”They are all connected, child”, the voice interrupted her. ”All the forests of the world, connected. There’s only one Forest, and you’re in it now.”

”How did… I don’t remember getting here. Who are you? Did you bring me here?”

”You don’t even have the sense to be afraid, do you?” That soft, purring laughter again. ”Well, good. Then you might be ready for what I’m going to tell you.”

She tried to walk faster, to catch up with whoever was walking before her, but her whole body felt strange and slow.

”Something’s wrong with me”, she said. ”It hurts.”

”Yes, I know it hurts”, the voice said. ”That’s part of the beauty of it.”

”The beauty of wha–”

”Don’t speak now, just listen. What you think you know about the world, yourself and reality is a lie. A carefully constructed lie, composed long ago by creatures far wittier than you and I, but a lie nonetheless. It is a lie that tells little children what they need to hear in order to remain sane and alive. A lie that holds human society together, and a lie that protects that which needs to dwell in darkness from the merciless light of day. It is a lie that I myself dread see exposed. But tonight I shall still dare whisper secret truths to you, truths that you shall then help me protect.”

”Me? Help you? I’m sorry, but should I know you?” The trees around her glowed silver and the air smelled of darkness and glass.

”No, but you will. In fact, let me begin by telling you my story”, the voice said – and begun.

”There was a time when I, too, believed in the lie that had been fed to me. This was a long time ago, however, and I have learned my lessons well since then. I was always alone, but I preferred it that way. I never understood other humans, and they did not understand me. I would have been happy to leave it at that, but they were not. For reasons that are more relevant to my own sentimental memory than to this story, they turned on me and I was broken.”

”They… attacked you?” She felt a sudden anger rising up, seemingly from nowhere. The surprising surge of emotion scared her.

”Yes. But as I said, that was long ago and none of them are alive anymore. I have seen to that.”

”You’re not saying–”

”Yes I am. But be quiet now and listen. I was broken and hurting and they left me in the forest for the animals to do their part. But as I lay there, half adream and half awake, I could feel something changing. Slowly, slowly, my mind and body melded with something dark that might have been part of me all along – and suddenly I was not broken anymore. I was not hurting.”

”And what did you–”

”No, this is my story. No more questions. But yes, I killed them. All of them. Grown ups and children just the same. Oh, it was glorious.”

There was such mirth in the voice at this that she didn’t dare inquire further.

”Silence, good”, the voice chuckled. ”But as I said, that’s not part of the story I’m trying to tell you. What is, however, is that I have been living in the Forest ever since, observing, protecting and sometimes hunting. ‘Hunting what?’, I sense you want to ask. Well, sometimes I hunt animals and sometimes I hunt other things. There are other things out here, and the deeper you get into the Forest, the darker and sharper grows the prey. But enough about that.”

The creature cleared its throat with a deep, growling sound, but never slowed down the pace.

”A big part of the lie that humans tell themselves is that the world is simple and logical. There is logic to it, sure, but the logic is not theirs. They limit themselves to seeing only part of reality; build themselves into a confining box, if you will. That box is what the Night Children call Zenith –the world under the sun.”

”Night Children? Zenith? Wait, I don’t–”

The creature growled, and she silenced. ”You have to stop doing that. Asking… Questions. I don’t like it. Zenith is what you perceive as the real world, but it’s not. Reality consists of many worlds, and Zenith is just one of them. But humans cannot handle the thought of this, and they cannot handle the thought of there being truths and creatures and realities outside their own limited perception. And that’s why most often they refuse to see them – and us. Especially those of us who do not blend in well with their narrow scope of the world. We simply become invisible to them.”

”And who are ‘we’?”

”Oh, that’s a good question finally. Maybe the only one that truly matters. We, my dear cub, are the Night Children I mentioned. Those who once were, or at least thought we were, humans – but who fate has proven wrong. We are cursed to live outside the lie and to protect it, thereby protecting ourselves. There are many types of curses that can befall those unlucky enough, but they all end us up outside the box. And outside the box, outside Zenith, is only the darkness of Midnight where few dare tread.

Or that’s not entirely true. Between the two realms is the crossroads twilight of Dusk, and that’s where we are now. It’s the shadow of reality’s hidden nooks and crannies, including forgotten parts of cities and the true parts of the Forest. These places tie all the sunlit woods, towns and corners together. There are doorways here, and pathways and thresholds, that tie secret parts of Zenith together with Midnight. From here you can go anywhere in the sunlit world, but you can also end up terribly, irrevocably lost.”

”And… Am I lost?” There was some kind of fear inside her, but not one that she could easily place and recognize as her own.

The creature laughed again. ”No, dear, you are not lost. I would not have that. It was I who brought you here, and I know these parts inside and out.”

”But… Why? Why did you bring me here? Why are you telling me all of this? I know your story, sure, but I don’t know you.”

”No, that is true. But I, on the other hand, know you rather well. I have been watching you for many moons now, sensed the change in you as soon as it started. You have felt it too, have you not?”

”No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She knew this was a lie, but could not clearly remember why.

”You sure? So the increased growing of your nails and teeth, the sudden surges of emotion and the inescapable hunger for raw meat did not strike you as anything outside of the ordinary?”

She remembered something like that, but it felt like it had happened to somebody else, sometime very long ago. ”Well, I guess it did, but I just thought…”

”That you were going mad? Don’t worry, we’ve all been there. But you don’t have to hide the change anymore now, it is done. Finished. You are what you are now, and your little stunt there couldn’t stop it.”

”Stunt?” The memories were starting to come back, but very, very slowly.

”You tried to do something really stupid to yourself, but I stopped you. I told you I have been watching you, didn’t I? Well, I was waiting for something conclusive to happen to you, like it once did to me. And then I stepped in. Lifted you out of that bathtub and carried you here.”

She stopped walking. ”Wait, what? You were in my apartment? You… lifted me out of the bathtub? No. No, this is too much. Sorry, but I have to go. I’ll just, I have to go home now.”

She started turning around, but stopped and jumped as the voice spoke up again – right beside her this time.

”You could do that”, it said. ”But I would not recommend it.”

”Why not?”

”Because we are here now.”

And just in that instant the moon far above them left its nest in the clouds and cast its cold, merciless light down upon the forest. Suddenly she could see the world around herself clearly – including the still surface of the lake right in front of her feet. The water was so dark and quiet that it flawlessly mirrored the forest, the moonlit sky – and the two creatures standing by the water’s edge.

Creatures, not people, because their skin was clad in grizzly fur, their eyes glowing and their pupils little more than horizontal slits. Their hands and feet were adorned with big, monstrous claws and gleaming fangs protruded from their too-wide mouths.

She just stared, too shocked to scream or run or even say anything. The creature to her right, the one who had been walking in front of her this whole time, calmly met her eyes through the reflection in the water.

”You could go back”, it said in a low voice. ”But it would not be the same. I do not know why you have been blessed or cursed with Night, but life as you knew it is over, gone.”

She looked at her own reflection, at the face that she did not recognize but which still reminded her of something she might deep down have known for a long, long time. She shook her head. ”So this is what I am now? A… a monster?”

”Not a monster, dear. You have been blessed with the Wilder heart, cursed with the beast’s mark. This is your true form, yes, but you can still blend in, regain your past form for a while.”

Relief surged through her strange body. ”I can?”

”For a limited time, yes. But it comes with a sacrifice.”

”How?” She turned to face the creature for the first time, grabbed its ragged shoulders and stared into its terrible eyes. ”Just tell me, I’ll do anything!”

The creature met her gaze in silence for several heartbeats. ”The price is beyond ‘anything’ to many whose humanity is still intact”, it said. ”And that is also part of the curse’s irony. To retain the appearance of humanity, you have to commit monstrous acts and ingest what we call vitalem – human flesh and blood.”

She started to say something, but stopped as the meaning of the words suddenly sank in.

The creature nodded solemnly. ”Yes, that is the sacrifice. To give up your inner humanity in order to keep up the semblance of your outer such.”

”But you, you…”

”Yes, I stooped to it initially. I killed those who had wronged and hurt me, and that act kept me human – for a time. But then the realization of what I had done drove me back into the Forest, and for shame and guilt I have seldom left it since. I have been so very alone, but now I am not alone anymore.”

She let go of the creature’s shoulders and backed away a few steps. ”What, so you mean that this is it now? That I am to stay here with you, looking like this, feeling like this, for the rest of my life? Until I die?”

”You will not die. Not in the sense that you appreciate the word, anyhow.”

She let out a frustrated scream that resounded off the surface of the lake and far beyond the slowly dancing treetops. ”No”, she then said as she continued backing away. ”No, I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t be like this, I can’t live here and I definitely can’t stay here with you.”

”You’re not thinking clearly”, the creature said. ”You haven’t thought this through. I told you about the alternative, and I’m sure–”

She laughed manically and shook her head, still slowly walking backwards. ”You don’t know me”, she said. ”You don’t know what I’m capable of. This isn’t fair, this shouldn’t be happening to me. None of it. I’ll have my life back, even if it means drinking blood or whatever. I–”

”You don’t know what you’re saying”, the creature growled. ”I have suffered through the consequences of that road, and I can tell you that it changes you. It makes you into something that–”

”So let it!”, she screamed with a wide gesture of her arms. ”Let it change me. As long as it also changes me back. This isn’t me! Fuck this thing, fuck Dusk and fuck you. I’m going home and you can’t stop me.” She backed a few more steps, then turned around and disappeared between the trees.

The creature remained by the water’s edge, a melancholy glint in its glowing eyes. As the sound of running steps abated and finally silenced altogether, a black bird landed on its right shoulder.

”You’re not very good at this, are you now, Ira? You’ve just lost us another one”, it croaked.

”Virdis, please don’t”, the creature said lowly. ”I did what I could, but she just wouldn’t listen.”

”Well”, the bird called Virdis cawed mockingly, ”Let’s just hope that she’ll at least calm down and listen to her own reason before she kills anyone in Zenith, or worse.”

”Hopefully the Organization will get to her before that. But they will not be happy about it”, Ira sighed, staring into the woods where the other had disappeared.

”I’m sure they won’t mind”, Virdis mused, but the bird’s sly eyes said otherwise. ”Well, I’d better be off then. Gotta let Vincent know that there’s another one coming. Can’t wait to see his reaction. Seeyah.”

And with that the black bird left Ira’s shoulder with a strong beat of its huge wings. It quickly soared into the air and was soon gone into the night, off to whatever strange places crows and ravens use to cross between worlds.

Ira remained alone by the lake, staring at the reflection in the water and wishing, not for the first time, that the world were indeed as simple as the lies from a far away childhood had once made it out to be.

Chris Smedbakken, 2018-02-15

This story was written in response to a title writing prompt, 

It is also highly inspired by a dark urban folklore/RPG setting created by my good friend Stellawainwright. Check out his site, will yah?

I have, by the way, previously written another short story set in the same universe. It is called The Sound of Silence, and you can find it here.

The Missing Limb

When John put his mother’s ring on my finger we both knew it was not a promise of a future together. I harbored no illusions of that kind – I knew he only dared do it because we were both aware, deep down, that we were never going home. We were going to die out there in the cold trenches, together or separated, and did not have to worry about conventions, laws and consequences.

I wish I still had that ring.

The war had been going on for ages, or so it felt. When I was first sent to the front I was young and stupid with my head full of star-spangled dreams and lies. When I met John what felt like a lifetime later, we had both seen, felt and heard enough to have learned that this was not our war – that it was no-one’s. And still we fought in it; I because I was afraid of the alternative, John because he had nothing to go back to.

I wish I could say that we gave each other hope, that us being together made the terror we lived more bearable, but that would be a lie. We suffered and we wept and despaired, and when there was pain that pain was not to be dulled by anything except sleep or death or the poisons we drank to attain one or both of them.

But John sang to me when I was drowning in panic, and I told him stories from my childhood when he hurt too badly. And we grew to love each other in a way reserved for the mad, the desperate and the dying.

I have never loved anyone since like I loved him.

It had been raining heavily that night, and when dawn came the world was drenched in mud and blood. This was the morning of long dreaded advance, of finally pushing desperately forward. The secret solace from the night before seemed like a long ago dream, and not even the ring hidden by my left glove could fully convince me that I had not in fact imagined it all.

It did not matter, however, because everything was to end very soon. I just did not know it at the time.

We left the relative but treacherous safety of the dug trenches and moved forth. I tried to keep close to John in the stealthy turmoil, but repeatedly kept losing sight of him. The sun rose behind the clouds and suddenly there was fire and explosions everywhere. We had been sighted. Our numbers scattered without any real semblance of order, and despite my best attempts to keep calm and sharp I found myself lost and terrified. I panicked.

That is how John found me. He screamed through the clamour that our unit was falling back and regrouping, that we had been ordered to take shelter in the ruins of a nearby church. He grabbed my left hand and started running, leading me towards safety.

It was then that the ground around us detonated, and everything turned into panic, pain and blackness.

I awoke to blindness in a world of horror and agony. There was not a part of me that did not hurt, and I could not see at all. Half convinced that I was in fact dead I lay there on my back, listening to the moaning, hurting voices of my compatriots all around me. Part of my mind realized that it must have been a bombshell or a hidden mine – the rest of me did not think at all.

Until I felt John’s firm grip on my hand again, that is. The pain in my entire body was excruciating when he helped me to my feet, but his warmth was so relieving that I almost did not acknowledge it.

“I can’t see”, I said. “Please don’t let go.”

“I will never let go”, he replied.

And then he led me slowly, carefully through the nightmare that I could not see, but the sounds of which will haunt me to the end of days. People were dying everywhere around us, screaming for help or relief or for people long gone. If someone had told me at that time that we were in fact walking through the fires of Purgatory, I would have readily believed it. Sound becomes a merciless paintbrush when employed on the canvas of the unseeing.

At long last we must have left the battlefield behind us, as the voices of the dying slowly faded into the distance. I was growing weaker with every step, and the steady flow of warmth down the side of my torso told me that I was bleeding badly from the explosion. Without John’s hand I mine I would have been terrified of fainting, falling or getting lost, but he never let go. Instead he firmly and calmly guided me across the uneven landscape on the other side of my personal darkness, stopping when I needed to but never for too long.

Then, suddenly, I began hearing voices again – but not those of the dying. I recognized those voices, and the relief I felt at hearing them is not to be described in words. I realized that we must have found the church that John had talked about in those final moments before the world ended. Someone called my name, another called for assistance and now, finally, my legs would not carry me any longer. I collapsed there in the mud and felt consciousness drifting away, even as running steps approached along with voices shouting medical commands.

I did not die that day, but was later told that it had been very close. I remained unconscious for a very long time, floating in an endless blackness only occasionally interrupted by brief spells of blurry, partial wakefulness. The only thing that kept me sane and calm during those short, confused moments was John’s reassuring and safe grip on my hand as he kept faithful vigil beside my sickbed.

Then, finally, I awoke one day and the darkness was gone. I blinked in confusion, and everything was made of sharp, searing light. At least almost everything; however intensely I tried to open my left eye, it simply would not obey me. A silhouette was standing in front of me, and at first I thought that it was John. But then the man spoke, and I realized that he was a doctor.

He told me that I had been lucky, that the shrapnel had only punctuated one of my eyes and that they had thankfully been able to save the right one. He then told me about several surgical operations and a long, long time of insecurity as to whether I would have the strength to wake up again. He told me that us even having this very conversation was a miracle in its own right. It was a riddle to all how I had managed, bleeding, blind and dying, to find and trudge my way back to safety.

“It was John”, I said in a voice rough from disuse. “He led me by the hand the entire way.”

I tried to squeeze John’s hand in mine, but I could not move my fingers. I wanted so badly to look at him, to see that he was alright, but my left eye was blind and my neck hurt too much to move.

“John Curtis?”, the doctor said, and even though I could only see him diffusely the tone of his voice betrayed his concern.

“Yes”, I said and even managed a defiant smile. Then and there I did not care what he knew or thought about us. In that moment I could have bravely and foolishly made John all those promises we had been too afraid to make before, and more. I hoped that he could hear this in my voice – that they both could.

The doctor was silent for a long time, and when again he spoke his voice was grave and worried.

“You must be mistaken”, he said. “You came alone. I saw it myself.”

At this I laughed and shook my head, actions both of which sent pain shooting through my body once more. But I did not care, this was all too absurd. Still smiling broadly, I turned finally to my left to meet John’s gaze. But he was gone. I stared in confusion, knowing that he had been there, holding my hand, just a moment ago.

The doctor, mistaking my sudden silence for something else, hurried to my side and put his hand on my right shoulder. “I am sorry, son, I should have told you sooner. You must have lost it in the explosion, and when we found it the day after it was too late to do anything. But everything has healed beautifully, and with some training you should be able to–”

But I was not listening to him anymore. I had let my gaze wander downwards to where my left arm should have been, and was now staring in shocked disbelief at the bandaged stump that had now taken its place.

“But… But John, he was… Right now, I…” I realized that I was rambling, but my thoughts simply would not come together. He had been sitting there, right beside me, holding my left hand. And now they were both gone.

“I am terribly sorry, but John Curtis is dead”, the doctor interrupted me. “He was killed in the explosion that took your arm. In fact, that was how we found it. Even in death he was holding on to your left hand.”

***

They sent me home after that. I do not think that they would have reinstated me into service even if my body had been intact, since it must have been so painfully apparent that my mind was not. I do not know what happened to the ring, and have only presumed that someone must have stolen it. It was never returned to me, at the very least.

I went to John’s funeral and met his estranged parents and siblings. I told them that I was a friend, and saying those words hurt more than I had thought it would. I exchanged a few polite stories with the grieving family, but left soon after when it became painfully clear to me that we were not even talking about the same person.

This was all a long time ago now. I eventually learned to live with one arm and one eye, and nowadays I barely reflect upon the loss at all. The only reason, however, that I am able to live with a heart irrevocably split by sorrow, is that I know that the other half of it is never far away – just as despite all I still know that John Curtis saved my life on that cursed day.

Because every day and every night since then, however far I walk and wherever I may go, as soon as I close my eye I feel it; John’s strong fingers lacing together with those of my missing, left hand, as he walks beside me to the end of days.

Chris Smedbakken, 2018-01-18

This story was written in response to a title writing prompt, 

The Underground Kingdom and the Living Dead Statue

This story is part of my ongoing dark urban fantasy series about the character Vanessa Riley. You can find the previous installments here: IIIIIIIVV, VI,VII and IIX. It is also part of my #NaNoWriMo-project for this November.


He wakes up, and the whole house is eerily quiet. Devin Murdock smiles widely and lies back against the pillows again for another couple of minutes of wonderful snoozing. He has just had the first night of undisturbed sleep in a very long time – ever since he came back to L.A, in fact. The house has been silent the entire night. No mournful moanings or wailing whispers have woken him up from his well needed sleep.

That weird character Seth Pascal has definitely done their job well, Devin thinks. And this despite the fact that he or she definitely lacks even the most basic sense of humour. He shakes his head as he remembers the exorcist – or freelance priest, as Seth him- or herself was very particular about being called – walking around the house with a ball of incense and calling the ghosts out by name. How the hell did they even know what to call them? Anyways, the job has been done. No ghosts have bothered him since the priest left the house just before midnight, and no ghosts can be seen or heard now. Win.

He looks at the clock. 1:42 P.M. He’s overslept slightly, but to hell with that. He feels he needed it. As he puts his feet down on the cold floorboards he half expects icy, skeletal hands to wrap around his ankles. They don’t. As he walks across the room he is still not able to entirely shake off the paranoia that he has always felt in this house, ever since coming here. Still he stops in front of the large mirror next to the stairs and meets his own gaze in its hazily reflective surface.

Carlito had warned him last week as he gave him the keys to the house: “Don’t look into mirrors. Don’t turn on the TV. And don’t, for fuck sake, ever go into the upstairs bedroom. The old woman sleeps there.”

Devin hadn’t broken any of these rules, and still the ghosts of the house had plagued him for days up until Vahri’s sudden appearance at his gate. And he had not actually been into the upstairs bedroom until she, as well, had informed him about “the woman upstairs”. Tonight, after Seth’s departure, he had slept in the huge four poster bed for the first time – just to prove to the house (and himself) that he could. And no old, bony woman had made him company. Not that he is aware of, at least.

Fuck you, he writes across the dusty mirror with his index finger. Then he pauses for a moment and listens closely. The house creaks silently in the autumn wind, but no indignant ghosts retort with a creepy comeback. He hopes that this is not for lack of coming up with one, but that that ghosts have actually left the house. He hurries down the stairs before he can be proven wrong.

***

He sits in the kitchen with his bag turned over in front of him. Books, notes and pictures lie scrambled on top of the table with not even a real semblance of order. Devin picks up one note, page and image after another, studying them and taking notes in a worn notebook.

Visiting Teneo’s last known haunt was the first thing he had done when he had returned to Los Angeles one week earlier. Of course he had found nothing useful there, apart from lethal traps and empty potion bottles. Teneo had not been known for making things easy on his wards when he was alive, and Devin had not expected his old master to be any less difficult as a dead man.

Having ruled out that place, Devin had gone on to visiting all the previous hiding placed he knew Teneo to have frequented over the years. That had not given him much to go on either, except the knowledge that nothing was to be found there.

Now he sits here studying every bit and piece of information about his old master that he has been able to collect. Photographs of Teneo together with different unknown people, verses on rhyme found scrawled inside books Devin has stolen from the man’s old study and lists of names of people that might know something.

In his hand right now, he holds a picture of John Harpist. Devin feels his teeth clench together at the mere sight of the man he once called “brother”. John had been Teneo’s other apprentice. He was about the same age as Devin, and they had learned about the darkness and the forbidden but omnipotent Abyss together during endless nights of Teneo’s stern tuition.

Sure, there had been competition and some jealousy between the two of them concerning their master’s attention and approval, but Devin had trusted John with everything. With his secrets and with his life. All the more terrible had been the blow then, when John Harpist sold him out to the city’s coven leaders.

Devin will never forget the evening when the large, dark car had pulled up in front of his door. Out had stepped five just as darkly clad mages. They had forced his door open and dragged him with them into their vehicle. Ha had not been able to do anything to stop them.

Then there had been a trial – of sorts. The coven leaders had accused him of being in league with “dark forces”, of being a sacromancer, as it were. They knew this because someone had tipped them off. It hadn’t taken Devin very long to figure out who this someone was.

The evidence had been overwhelming. There had been no chance in hell – or the Abyss for that matter – for Devin to get himself out of the situation with a cleared name. The judges had been somewhat swayed by his tear-filled act of remorse, however – and also by his pledge that he had been tricked into it by some dangerous sacromancer mastermind. He did not name Teneo, of course, and also refrained from giving them John. He was not a snitch, after all. But he had given them the name of the poor, half mad magician living on his street, in whose basement he had some time previously hidden some highly compromising materials.

The so called trial had ended with the coven leaders condescending to sparing Devin’s life, granted one condition: that he leave the city and never return. And Devin had grudgingly honoured that exile for several years, all the while plotting his revenge on John Harpist. Teneo’s sudden death had given him the perfect excuse to return.

Sitting by the kitchen table in his until recently extremely haunted house, Devin Murdock now puts down the photo of his sworn nemesis and lights a cigarette. He never smoked indoors while the ghosts still shared the house with him, but now there is no one he needs to accommodate. He needs to think.

Who knew Teneo well enough, apart from John, to know where he might have hidden his secret stuff? Who, apart from John, might even know where Teneo has been buried? He didn’t keep many friends when he was alive – rather his closest ones had been enemies he’d been wise enough to keep close. No one he might have told about his deepest secrets.

Then Devin sits straight up when the thought suddenly strikes him. Ade. Teneo’s old servant has always been around, and the old sacromancer has probably told him everything there is to know. Because Ade can’t snitch – Ade is undead. Teneo dug him up and brought him back to life during one of his many sick necromantic experiments long before Devin and John had come into the picture. None of them knew what Ade had been in life, or if his name had really been Ade back then or if it was some sick joke of Teneo’s, but there was no uncertainties about what he had become after being brought back from his early grave: an undead serf without a will of his own. If anyone has been let in on Teneo’s last wishes and thoughts, it is probably him.

Devin gets up from his chair and hurriedly sweeps all the notes and photos back into his bag. Since he has not been able to find even a trace of Ade in any of Teneo’s old dwellings, and since Ade has done nothing to contact him with information, only two plausible possibilities remain. Either John has already found Ade and laid claim on all his knowledge about their former master, or Ade has gone into hiding.

Something tells Devin that if John Harpist had found the undead servant already, he would not have been able to refrain from gloating about it. Devin knows John well enough to be pretty certain about this. This makes him dare to hope that Ade has actually fled the field and bunkered up somewhere. If that is the case, there might still be time for Devin to find him. And he knows just the place to go for such intel. He rushed out the door and hopes against all hope that John has not gotten there first.

***

“The Back Shack” is a place that really lives up to its unflattering name. Located at the end of an unhospitable alley in a rather dodgy suburb, Devin cannot imagine the video rental shop gets many weekly visitors. The fact that the shopfront window still displays old, bleached VCR-tape boxes only adds to this suspicion. If Devin had not known what really drew profit to this place, he would have ruled it off as a front for some mobster money laundry operation. But he knows better.

The little bell above the door chimes as he walks into the shop. It is like entering another world – or at least another time. The shelves are lined with the boxes of old VCR-blockbusters and on the walls hang faded posters of by now faded movie stars. The place even has a not-so-discrete porno section, where the pictures on the boxes show underwear stretching so far above the hips of their victims as to remind more of wardrobe themed horror than anything else.

Behind the counter stands Roland, and he’s staring intently at Devin.

“Hello Dev. Have you come to return Highlander two?”

Devin just stares back at him for two entire seconds. Has he ever borrowed that lame ass movie? Or is this some kind of test? “No”, he says then and walks up to the counter. “I’ve come to pay you well for information.”

Roland scratches his bearded neck and seems to struggle to come up with a comeback. Devin can clearly follow the process of battle, failure and resignation on his face. “Okay, then”, Roland mutters finally. “But you’ll have to say the password.”

“For Christ’s sake, Roland. Aren’t we past this already?”

But Roland stands firm. “Password.”

Devin sighs. “Alright.” He puts his elbows on the counter and leans closer. Roland’s breath smells of old potato chips and Mountain Dew, with a tinge of alibi toothpaste. “Yippkayeh motherfucker”, Devin whispers and immediately feels like the most embarrassing idiot alive.

But Roland seems pleased. “Good”, he says while nodding annoyingly complacently. “Now follow me into the back room, and we’ll see what we can do you for.”

Devin walks behind the counter and watches as Roland starts pushing one of the IKEA shelves to the side. The big man breathes heavily as he struggles with the apparently heavy piece of furniture. When a gap forms between the shelf and the wall, Devin can see that there is a door behind it. Not until now does he remember that there has always been a door there, and that it leads to the basement. He thinks that this is a very impractical solution for someone who uses the door often.

“Nice secret door”, he says, voice oozing with sarcasm.

“Thanks”, Roland says and brushes his hands together after finishing moving the shelf. “I came up with the idea myself after watching The Cube.”

Devin has seen The Cube. This door is nothing like it. “Ah”, he says in lack of a better response.

“Come now”, Roland smirks and opens the basement door. “You’ve only seen the top of the ice berg.” And he starts walking down the stairs.

Devin sighs, shrugs and follows.

***

Anyone questioning the profitability of the video rental store called The Back Shack would be entirely correct. Even though every month or so someone actually (and for some strange reason) does come in to rent an old tape, Roland would never be able to make ends meet by running the store exclusively. But while the uninitiated might be inclined to accuse him of running some kind of criminal money laundry scam, the truth is far stranger than that.

The basement of the video store is another story entirely than its outdated ground floor. Here the shelves are new, and obviously carefully chosen to follow a strict sci-fi-modernistic look. They form something of a corridor or pathway – Devin would rather call it a labyrinth – leading this way and that until it finally drops the visitor off in front of a wide desk made of black glass.

Behind the desk, a dozen flat television screens are aglow with images from an assortment of news channels, both local and international. Just as many video recording devices are humming in the background, saving everything that happens on the screens onto their enormous hard drives.

Roland Hayes has built his own kingdom down here, beneath his derelict video rental store. Here he gathers information about everything that is reported in the global media that can, even if it sometimes takes a tremendous knack for imagination and make believe, be interpreted as traces of the supernatural. Ghosts, witches, zombies, vampires, were-people – you name it.

Here he keeps folders upon folders containing newspaper clippings about everything from strange light phenomena and haunted apartments to eerie echoes on the phone line and uncanny family relations in isolated back water towns. He records every TV broadcast from a chosen selection of the world’s major news stations and then carefully filters through them each night to decide what passages are keepers and which ones are not. Those that are chosen are then meticulously sorted into digital folders on one the many external hard drives that line the back wall.

Roland doesn’t need his downtrodden video rental store to generate any income for him; he gets all the money he needs, and plenty more at that, from selling the information he gathers down here to anyone who might be in need of it. Vampire hunters, paranormal investigators, jealous undead relatives and over informed goth kids all find their way into his store sooner or later – and as long as they have been let in on the secret password by someone who trusts them, Roland is not a picky seller. Not at all, actually.

So though he might not be the prettiest or most socially adept young man (or not so young anymore, but you get the drill) on the surface above, down here in the basement of the Back Shack Roland Hayes is the uncontested king. Devin knows this, and has used his services once or twice in the past. Now he hopes for his help in locating the undead servant Ade.

Roland walks behind the back glass desk and sits down in a high backed chair, rests his elbows on the table and puts his fingertips together in a business like fashion as copied straight from some fictional villain in a movie. The transformation away from the slightly socially lost video rental guy from upstairs is complete. Devin just stands there, feeling increasingly awkward in the middle of this nerdy display of power and status.

“Dev, Dev, Dev”, Roland muses theatrically. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“What, what do you mean this time? I never told you about… Roland, are you just making lines up now to sound cool?”

Roland retrieves a cigar from a drawer in his desk and puts it at the corner of his mouth, but doesn’t light it. “Anger doesn’t become you, Dev”, he says calmly, as if he were the Godfather and Devin a young and unruly nephew. “Ease down and tell me how I can help you.”

Devin draws a deep breath and slowly counts to ten. No, fifteen. People don’t tell him to “ease down”. Not if they want to keep their faces intact, at least. But he needs Roland’s help, and so he tries his best to keep his face composed and his voice calm.

“I need to go through your files, Roland. All the weird that’s happened after October first.”

Roland raises an eyebrow. “Globally?”

“No, just L.A. I need to find someone who’s probably gone into hiding, but can’t possibly be very good at it.”

“Ah”, Roland says and rises from his chair. “I think I understand. You’re looking for Tenoe, right?”

Devin flinches. “It’s Teneo. And no. And what the hell do you know about that?”

“Chillax”, Roland says as he walks over to one of the closest shelves and starts browsing through the folders and boxes that fill it to the brim. “I just heard his name being mentioned by some customers recently, that’s all. Sounded like he was up to something… dark.”

“Something dark, alright”, Devin snorts. “He’s dead. Must’ve been that you heard.”

Roland flashes him a perplexed look. “Yeah, well…” He hesitates, then turns his attention back to the shelves. “Must have been that then, I guess”, he mutters.

But he has gotten Devin’s attention now. Can I be so lucky…? He walks up closer to Roland and leans against the shelf next to him. “But who was it that you heard talking about him? And what did they say?”

Roland just shakes his head. “Nah, didn’t say much actually. Not about anything. They talked briefly about this… Teneo guy as if in awe. Maybe a little scared, I don’t know. They weren’t here for intel about him though, of course. Must know they wouldn’t find it here anyways, he is – was – too sharp to leave traces in the news.”

“But what were they after? And when was this?”

Roland smirks and shakes his head. “Oh no, buddy. You know I don’t give out information about clients. Like, ever. If they’re not in the paper, that is. And these two certainly weren’t.”

“Ah, so there were two of them?” Now it’s Devin’s turn to smirk.

Roland bangs his palm against the side of the shelf. “Damn it, now I remember why I shouldn’t talk to you. Okay, there were two of them. But that’s all the info you’re getting on them from me. Okay?”

Devin nods. “Okay”, he says, still feeling that he has tripped upon an important piece of information here. He’ll save it for later, for when he has time to properly contemplate it. He makes a mental note to do so, and then turns to Roland again. “So anyway, how’s it going with those files?”

Roland seems enormously relieved again at the change of subject, and hastily pulls out a large file folder from the shelf in front of him. “Ah, here it is”, he exclaims and operosely carries the heavy binder over to the desk where he then lets it down with a heavy thump.

Devin follows him, and then stands there watching as Roland hums and flips through the pages until he seemingly finds what he is looking for. All the pages are filled with glued on newspaper clippings, and this one is no exception. But Roland points to a handwritten note in the corner and smiles contentedly. “Here you have it – the first of October this year. If you don’t find what you’re looking for here, I’ll fetch you the latest binder as well.”

Devin nods and then immediately sits down in Roland’s chair and starts reading.

Roland seems a little taken aback by being so hastily brushed aside, and remains hovering at the corner of Devin’s eye for another hesitant moment. Finally he clears his throat. “Do you want my help, or should I–”

“Just leave me in peace, will you, Roland?”, Davin says without looking up. He is already irrevocably engulfed in the newspaper clippings on this first page of many that he will have to go through today – every weird news report that has happened since Teneo’s death. He is hoping that Ade will have happened to revealed himself somehow and gotten the attention of mortal society.

Roland huffs a little indignantly. “As you wish, sir”, he then snaps and withdraws into the winding labyrinth of sci-fi-modernistic metal shelves that make up his uncontested underground kingdom.

***

Devin sighs. He’s been sitting crouched in this gods forsaken basement for over four hours and his back and his brain are starting to ache. The sun seems to have set behind the dark screens covering the small windows by the ceiling, and the sound from the humming drives and servers in the room is all but putting him to sleep.

He empties his eleventh cup of bad machine coffee and makes another note in his already almost full scrawled notebook. He’s found several interesting pieces of news already. Most of them he’s been able (or forced) to rule off as unrelated to his search, but he’s still saved some of the most thrilling ones for later; he might still be able to find something worthwhile by investigating them closer.

Three newspaper clippings have been able to entirely catch and sustain his attention, however. He has put them in front of himself on top of the black glass desk, symmetrically lined up as if this could help him determine if any of them is the answer to his questions.

The first of the news pieces is dated almost two weeks back, right before Devin arrived in town. It is illustrated with a rather large colour photo depicting the outside of an apartment door, closed off by police tape. The headline reads: “Mysterious Murder Confounds the Police: ‘The Doors Were Locked and the Safety Chain Was On’”. There is a small chance that the dead body is Ade, and that someone has found him by accident, mistaking him for a dead and abused body. Devin doesn’t really think so, but every clue is worth looking into at this stage.

The next piece is dated one week ago and has no picture attached to it. It is just a short text informing the reader that the police has received several calls from worried citizens, reporting that nightly screams and noises could be heard from inside an old and boarded up hotel building at the outskirts of the city. The text says that the police has looked into it, but have been unable to find anything that would explain the worrisome sounds. Devin doesn’t know what to make of this one, but since the place described in the article seems to be located close to one of Teneo’s previous laboratories it might be worth looking into it.

He gets to the third and final news piece, and when he takes a closer look at its picture he immediately knows that he has struck gold. The headline reads: “Fabulous Living Statue Impresses Locals”, and the black and white image shows what looks like a marble statue of a man standing in the middle of a small square surrounded by cheap barber shops and aesthetically questionable pizza shop windows. Lots of people in different ages are awalk in the picture, probably on their way to or from their respective shopping rounds. But some of the people have also stopped in front of the statue, taking photos and throwing coins into a hat at the statue’s feet.

But it is no statue, not a real one at least. It’s Ade Handma. Devin has no trouble recognizing Teneo’s old servant, who has aided Devin in so many of his experiments and failures in the past. The only differences from what Devin is used to are the colour of Ade’s skin and the style of his dress.

Ade the living statue is covered from head to foot in some kind of white paint or powder, that gives him the marble like appearance of an actual statue. The picture is not very good, but it is still evident what kind of clothes he is wearing. A knee long trench coat and high legged boots – and a tall top hat.

Devin shakes his head in disbelief. Of all the places and weird hobbies, you’ve really taken the prize. He collects the three newspaper clippings and stuffs them between two pages in his notebook. Then he raises from the chair and leaves the basement.

When he reaches the top of the stairs he finds the door to the shop closed and blocked. For the blink of an eye he panics, thinking that Roland has deliberately locked him in – maybe to sell him out to some of his enemies. But then he hears noises on the other side of the door, and realizes that Roland has customers – normal ones this time, judging by the sounds of it.

“No”, he hears Roland say in a muffled voice, “we don’t stock DVD:s or Blue rays. Why? Well, why don’t you have a VCR player? It’s just the way things are, dude. Life’s a pain, get used to it, as Geena Davis once said. What, you don’t know who that is? Then just leave. Get out of my sight.”

Not until he hears the doorbell chime as the customer – or customers – leave the shop does Devin knock on the inside of the door. He immediately hears something heavy being dragged outside, and soon the door opens to let in a stream of painfully bright light.

“You find anything?”, Roland says as he lets Devin out.

Devin nods and walks around to the right side of the counter, not wishing to smell Roland’s musky breath more than necessary. “Yeah”, he says when he has put a safe distance – and a piece of furniture – between himself and the other man. “I found some stuff that will probably help me. How much do I owe you?”

Roland leans against the counter and fixes Devin with a knowing and unpleasant gaze. “That depends”, he says.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He tries to sound unaffected, but he is actually getting worried now.

Roland sucks his own lip theatrically. “Well, I would say it depends on how much you want me to keep quiet about you having been here. I just found out that you are – how do you put it? – slightly incriminated in the eyes of your magic law system, ain’t that right?”

When Devin doesn’t say anything, Roland continues in an even more smug voice. “You know I don’t talk about my clients, but you know how it is. Sometimes I slip. It’s only human, after all. But I could try a little extra to keep your visit a secret. And what you asked me to help you with. But it will cost you.”

Devin feels his face heating. Nobody threatens him. Not if they want to stay alive, at least. One, two, three… He takes a deep breath. “I should just kill you”, he whispers.

“You certainly could”, Roland says calmly. “But you should know that I’ve recently joined the Paranormal Workers’ Union, PWU. If you touch me, I can promise you they’ll get in touch as well.”

“I don’t know who the fuck those people are.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re better off that way. So, do tell me, would five grand be a reasonable price for my silence?”

Devin quickly contemplates his options. He could kill this obnoxious mortal, but that would certainly create more problems for him than it would solve. Even counting out this weird Union, disposing of a dead body is not something he has time with right now. He sighs deeply and makes a decision.

“Alright”, he says and retrieves his wallet. He has started counting the bills when Roland clears his throat.

“And then there’s the payment for the information”, he says and produces a calculator from a drawer. “First we have the starting fee, that’s eighty k. Then you were down there for… let’s see… going on five hours. That’s fifty more. And I suspect you’ve stolen some of my material? Then that’s another seventy. So you owe me, including of course the no-snitching-fee, a total of…”— he silences as he puts the numbers into the machine – “five thousand and two hundred dollars.”

Roland looks up at Devin and smiles victoriously. Devin stares back at him, unable to entirely mask his provoked anger this time. He slams the bills down onto the counter without saying anything, and then turns around to leave.

As he puts his hand on the door handle he can hear Roland clearing his throat again.

“What?”, he says without turning around.

“I hope you realize, Dev, that this was only the first down payment.”

Four, five, six…”Fuck you”, Devin says and leaves the shop.

***

It’s the middle of the night now, and the small square is almost empty. Some drunk teenagers occupy a collection of benches at its far corner and an old lady is playing the accordion outside one of the pizza restaurants. Other than that, the scene rests in silence and solitude.

At the middle of the square stands the statue, dead still in the cold autumn air. The trench coat flutters a little in the wind, but other than that nothing gives away the fact that this is no statue at all but a living being. Or at least something that used to be one.

Devin approaches silently, walking slowly across the darkening square as the first drops of a gentle autumn rain starts falling from the cloudy skies. Ade has not spotted him yet, as he has his back turned. Devin watches his coat move in the wind and the white paint run slightly in the places where it is hit by tiny raindrops. He looks so lonely. So… sad. I guess that’s what you get when you are brought back from the dead, abused for years and then left suddenly on your own without purpose.

Not until he is right behind him does Devin address his old friend – if you might call it that.

“Hello, Ade”, he says and drives his hands deeper into his pockets. The weather and the temperature are really making themselves difficult.

Ade reflexively breaks character at the mention of his name and quickly turns around, a frightened look on his face under the thick layers of white paint. Then he seems to recognize Devin, and the fear in his eyes turns into horror, then panic. “No”, he screams and starts running, his coat waving behind him like a flag and his tall hat falling off his head.

Devin is not late to pick up the hunt. The few people still populating the area turn their heads to look in fascination as the famous, white painted living statue is chased from his usual spot by a stranger all dressed in black. Devin realizes this must be quite the sight for them, but right now he doesn’t care – he’ll deal with potentially dangerous witnesses later. What is important at the moment is catching this overdue corpse and find out what he knows about Teneo’s legacy.

Ade is fast, despite his undead state, and they are well off the square before Devin catches up to him at the mouth of a dark alley. Ade has just rounded the corner when Devin reaches out and grabs hold of the collar of his coat. The sudden stop makes Ade lose his balance and fall backwards. The pull of the fall in turn makes Devin lose his grip on the by wet paint slippery collar. With nothing to break or block his fall, Ade falls onto his back amongst the trash and rubble with a painful thud.

“Please, please don’t kill me. Please don’t…” Ade lies on his back in the midst of broken bottles and suspiciously smelling plastic bags and protectively raises his hands in front of his face. As if Devin was out to hurt him – and as if that useless gesture would help him if that had been the case.

Dev steps around a box of broken lightbulbs and is now standing over the terrified Ade, hands now back in his pockets to conceal the fact that one of them is now irritatingly covered in smudges of white paint.

“Please….”, Ade whimpers again.

Devin studies his tragic form for a heartbeat. Although Ade’s entire body is covered in paint, he can clearly tell that the man has not aged a day since he saw him last. Not surprising, of course – the dead don’t age. He still looks to be a tall and slim male in his early forties, short and tidy haircut and intense grey eyes. Now, of course, panic has his face transformed into something less impressive than what used to be the case when he was the respected head servant of the notorious sacromancer Teneo. Pathetic… “Do you really think that I’m here to kill you?”, Devin says.

Ade pauses and stares at him, seemingly taken off guard. “You aren’t?”

“No. Although I guess I should. It’s not your place to run away just because your master is dead. Those like you are part of the inheritance, you know. I could count this as stealing from me and… John.” The last word comes with a bitter aftertaste. He’d really like to get his hands on that bastard as well. All in due time…

Ade crawls into a sitting position with his back against the wall. Devin is certain that were it not for that wall, this desperate defunct would be up and running away from him again in no time. “I’m so, so sorry, master Devin. I–” Devin slaps him across the face.

“No True Names, remember? Jesus, I should just kill you. You’re a walking liability. It’s Dev, you know that.”

Ade nods eagerly, fearfully. “I’m sorry, master… Dev. It will not happen again, I swear. And… And I am truly sorry for running away as well. Or, in fact, I was not really running, although I can see how it might have seemed like that. I was just–”

“Looking after our best interests, I’m sure. Listen, Ade. Cut the crap already. Your little vacation is over. We’ll get you into something more suitable, and then we’re going to talk. And you’re going to tell me everything you know about Teneo’s death.”

And the one called Ade Handma only continues nodding in fear as Devin reaches down and carelessly pulls him back onto his feet. “And no funny business this time”, Devin says as he leads him out of the alley. “Teneo’s not the only mage ever to learn Arcana Excessum, death magic. I could turn you back into a rotting pile of meat before you’ve had time to blink. You’d do well to remember that.”

Ade’s shoulders drop even lower. “That’s just what master John told me”, he sighs heavily.

Devin freezes and roughly turns Ade by the shoulders to face him. “What, John came to you?”

Ade stares at him, panic growing in his eyes again. “Yes, yes he did. I thought you knew. Right after Master passed away. He… Well, this was before I left the mansion. I wasn’t going to, see. I didn’t plan to. It was John who told me to leave. Master Teneo had ordered me to stay where I was and wait for the two of you, to direct you to his grave. And master John was the first of you to come.”

What the actual… Anger and frustration are bubbling through Devin’s blood stream now. “So John came? You mean, John has already found and taken all Teneo’s books and artefacts? You showed him right to them? You fucking undead fuck!” He’s almost screaming, and shakes Ade by the shoulders so hard that the servant’s head is bobbing back and forth.

“Please, master Devin, please, you–”

“It’s Dev, you idiot. Dev!” For his inner eye, Devin sees himself choking the sorry creature before him with his bare hands. He sees himself tearing him limb from limb until nothing remains but twitching shreds of what was once a resurrected man.

“No, I beg you”, Ade whimpers. “Please, I only did what–”

“Why wasn’t I informed, huh? Why was it only John who got the news of Teneo’s death, and not I? Why did I have to hear about it from him, of all people? Can you answer me that, huh?”

“Because” – Ade’s body is being shaken so hard that every syllable sounds like seven – “Because you were not. In. Town. Because you were hi–hiding. Not easy to… to find.”

Devin pauses for a moment. This is actually true, he realizes. Ade finding him where he had been holed up during his exile would have actually surprised him in the extreme. “Okay”, he says hastily. “But you still gave everything to John, didn’t you? All the stuff that was my legacy to claim as much as his. Mine even more, I´d say. John is a fucking snitch and traitor, everybody knows that. You know what he did to me, right?”

“Yes, yes of course I know about that”, Ade says hurriedly. “And I am extremely sorry that you have had to live through all that, young master. I truly am. But, young master, I have given nothing to master John except for information about where to find the grave. Just as the Master instructed me before his death. I swear.”

Devin stops shaking him entirely now. “Wait, you didn’t give him anything?”

Relief growing in his eyes, Ade shakes his head vigorously. “No, nothing. As the Master lay dying he instructed me on what to do after his death. He told me to bury his body in the old mausoleum and then send for the two of you, for you and master John. Then I was to stay put in the mansion and wait for one of you to show up. He didn’t tell me anything about any books or artefacts, he only wanted me to tell you where he was buried. So you could go pay your respects, I reckoned.”

“And then John showed up?”

“Yes, he did”, Ade replies. “He came, and I did as I had been instructed. He, too, asked me about the books and the other things, but I told him the truth – that I didn’t know where Teneo had hidden them. I instead told him where to find the grave, and that I had of course sent for you as well. I suggested that he wait for you, and that you go there together. I was thinking that the Master would probably have liked that, for the two of you to make peace finally.”

“But he didn’t wait”, Devin says coldly.

“No, he didn’t”, Ade says and suddenly looks away – seemingly afraid to continue meeting Devin’s gaze. “And before he went to find the grave… Well, he told me – no, ordered me – to go into hiding. To leave the mansion, find a place to hide and to wait for him there. He said that he would come and get me as soon as he had claimed Teneo’s heritage. I would serve him just as I served Master before he died. And I was also to… He told me not to contact you, or tell you anything – even about the grave. He said that he would kill me if I did.”

“I’m sure he would”, Devin mutters. “But he didn’t come back, did he?”

“No”, Ade says gloomily. “I hid completely for several days, in the woods and completely off the radar. But then the rain – and the animals… Master Dev, I simply had to get a roof over my head. But I had no money and I knew nobody, so–”

“Thus the marble act, I get it. I hope you realize that you’re not very good at keeping ‘off the radar’, Ade”, Devin says and produces the statue newspaper clipping from his pocket. “This is how I found you.”

Ade stares at the black and white picture and the headline and swallows hard. “Oh. Fuck”, he whispers.

“That’s right”, Devin says sternly. “A walking liability, that’s what you are.” He puts away the piece of paper again. “But it could have been worse. You should be happy that it was I who found you, and not a paranormal investigator or some stupid witch hunters.”

“Yes, of course I am grateful for that”, Ade says in a voice that’s hardly convincing at all.

Devin, however, doesn’t care about Ade’s questionable gratitude. “Come now”, he says and starts dragging Ade along again. “This alley – and you – are stinking. And you have a grave to show me before I decide what to do with you next.”

And the two of them leave the alley and walk into the waxing city night, both entirely unaware of the pair of piercing, amber eyes that have been watching their entire exchange from the shadows.

Chris Smedbakken 2017-11-09


You can find the next part here.

Seven Deadly Sins I: Superbia

This poem was originally published as a Twitter thread here. You can find the next poem, Seven Deadly Sins II: Avaritia here.


I found the village sleeping
or that was what I thought
But when I dared edge closer
the sight had me distraught

For all across the hamlet
the people were awake
Indulging in vain antics and
conceit of every make

Some locked in front of mirrors
some by indignant frays
And others yet were lost inside
a supercilious craze

And all this madness hailed from
the village center square
The music drew me closer;
I knew I must go there

I clenched the crystal tightly
and sent a prayer up high
Aware it was an angel,
though fallen, I’d defy

And then I entered boldly
into the market place
Heart racing quicker than my mind,
a stern look on my face

The villagers had seen me,
and armed they closer drew.
But then a cold voice stopped them:
“Ah, I did wait for you”.

And suddenly before me
the angel in his might
Surrounded by an aura
of blinding, humbling light

I stood there as if frozen
Too shocked to fight or flee
For there before me towered a
perfected form of me

Again now spoke the angel
“I’ll grant you what you see
and all the fame you covet if you
pledge yourself to me”.

And shamefully it tempted,
it almost made me slip
But then I felt the crystal burn
like fire in my grip.

I raised my hand and watched as
bright rays of light burst out
to engulf the hubric angel
before he could but shout

And dawn broke on the village,
the townsfolk shocked and dazed
Like all had been a nightmare
now gone without a trace

I left in the confusion
and thusly it begins:
I walked off in the sunrise on
the hunt for six more sins.


This poem was written in response to a hashtag game series by Marc Tizura/@areyouingrenin. The theme was “The Seven Deadly Sins”, and this day’s particular prompt was Pride – Lucifer. The Twitter hashtag is – go find more flash fiction there!

More of my other  texts will be uploaded on this page before long. Here is one: The Mothman Prophecy.

Secrets, Blood Pacts and a House Full of Dead People  

This story is part of my ongoing dark urban fantasy series about the character Vanessa Riley. You can find the previous installments here: I, II, III, IV, V.


“The Enjoyment Club. What do you know about them?”

“Is that what this is about? Some glorified ghost story?”

“Don’t you go there, Devin Murdock. You know just as well as I do that there’s more to them than that. Or have I overestimated you?”

“Chill, Nessa, I just–”

“Vahri.”

“Well, okay, Vahri. I was just hoping you’d be here to see me, not to ask about some stupid deathtrap knowledge I’d rather not have in the first place.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you then.”

“Jeez, you’re different. What happen to us, Ness… Vahri?”

“You being a fucking idiot, that’s what happened. I didn’t even fucking know what sacromancy was when they came to interrogate me about you. But I’ve understood a couple of things since then, and I’ve gotta give it to you straight: you’re not sane. Can’t be. Nobody in their right mind would want anything to do with that sick stuff. I wouldn’t even be here right now if you weren’t the only one I’m able to think of that’d know anything useful about the Club. And that’s not a compliment.”

“Wow, that was quite the telling off. But okay Vahri, or whatever you call yourself nowadays. What makes you think I’d be willing to tell you anything about that shit? It’s not like we’re close anymore, and last I checked I don’t owe you anything.”

“Sure, that’s true. But you know what’s true as well? I’ll tell you. You don’t want people to know you’re here. I apparently know you’re here, and I have a mouth. Do the equation.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I could kill you, you know. Or do something about this mouth problem of yours. It wouldn’t be difficult.”

“I guess it wouldn’t. But I also guess you’d not be very keen on tasting the wrath of my pet djinn afterwards. I’m under the impression you’ve got quite enough on your hands already, what with the coven inquisition having put a price on your head and all that. Am I wrong?”

A moment of silence. “Okay, you win. I guess it can’t hurt. Well, not me, at least. If you want to know about the Club, I’ll tell you about the Club. But don’t come running back to me when you get your fingers burned, okay?”

“Drop the drama and just tell me already.”

“Sure, I will. But on one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“You have to do something for me in return.”

“Dev, if this is some kind of–”

“Hell, nothing like that. Shit, Vahri, is that what you think of me? No, I want you to help me with two things. They’re kind of related but not in an obvious way. First, I want you to do something about a ghost problem I have…”

 

Vahri sighs as she ascends the creaking stairs leading up to the second floor. Is this what things have come to? Her doing ghost busting favors for her psycho ex-boyfriend in return for information about stupid ghost stories turned reality overnight?

She has already tried asking Neferthali about The Club, but her vampire godmother either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to tell. “It’s just stories and myths, child. Terrible stories, but stories nevertheless. Stay clear of them and they can’t hurt you. If someone is after that djinn boy, just make sure not to get involved”, was all she had to say before trying to convince Vahri to lock herself inside a secret panic flat together with her. Just stories my ass.

Suffice to say, Vahri did not accept the bunker invitation. Instead here she is, on the second floor of the haunted villa where Devin has decided to hole up for some reason. He hasn’t told her yet what the other service required of her is going to be, but this first task in itself already feels like a handful.

She wipes dust from an old standing mirror with her hand. “Anybody here? Ghosts?” She speaks right at her own reflection, hoping for some kind of reaction. When nothing happens and she still only sees herself in the old pane of silvered glass she turns away and continues down the hall.

Grains of dust hover in the air, glittering in the shafts of sunlight falling through the cracks in the boarded up windows. The floorboards creak under her weight and everything carries a faint smell of dried up mold.

She opens a door to her right and stops dead on the threshold. She’s found one of the bedrooms. A four-poster bed occupies the center of the room, and on top of the covers lies a dead woman. She must have been dead for a long time, judging by the putrid smell that makes breathing almost unbearable in here.

“Devin, have you killed someone up here?”, Vahri yells down the stairs. But before she’s gotten an answer from below, the corpse on the bed starts rising up into a sitting position. Vahri watches the old woman slowly, slowly straightening up, until the worn pink night-gown slides off her bony shoulders to reveal more wrinkled skin than Vahri is prepared to take in.

“Fuck this”, she says and slams the door shut. She then hurries down the stairs, almost knocking Devin over on her way down.

“What’s going on?”, he says as he grabs her by the shoulders.

She frees herself, not wanting him to see how shaken she is. “There’s a dead woman upstairs”, she says. “At first I thought she was one of your unfortunate acquaintances, but then she moved so I figure she’s rather one of your unfortunate ghosts.

He stares at her and swallows hard. “There’s a… dead woman upstairs?”

“No, it’s a paper duck. Didn’t I just tell you? This house has big problems, I can feel it just by breathing the air in here. Do you really want to stay here?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, as I see it.”

“Well, then I recommend you get an exorcist.”

“I tried that already, but he wouldn’t come.”

“Who wouldn’t come?”

“Carlos Batista. He got me this house and–”

“Carlos is a wussy nowadays, ever since he met Cornelia. I can see why he wouldn’t wanna get involved with someone like you. I’m surprised he even helped you with the house. No, I mean a real exorcist. Or a priest. I know one we could call.”

“And who might that be?”, he says. She can tell he’s starting to crank up; he’s doing that thing with his eyebrows that he always does when something is irritating him.

“Relax, Dev. Let’s go into the kitchen again. The spirits seemed to be quieter in there.” She walks before him through the doorway as she continues talking. “There’s this freelance priest from New Orleans called Seth Pasco or something like that. Found her on Craig’s List a couple of years ago when I needed to get rid of a curse some stupid bitch cast on me for sleeping with her ex. I think I still have her number.”

“The ex?”

“No, the exorcist of course. Please tell me you’re just faking stupidity now.”

She sits down at the table and starts looking through her contacts. He remains standing, hovering in the doorway like yet another restless ghost. “And why is it I have never heard of this miracle priest?”

“Honey, please. Just accept that you don’t know everything. Besides, she’s pretty young. Ah, here she is!”, Vahri says triumphantly as she finds the right number in her loaded contact list. “It’s Seth Pascal, actually.

“Pascal? Like the philosopher?”

“Stop trying to collect intellectual points, Devin. I’m calling her, and then you’re telling me what you know about the Club, okay?”

“But there’s this other thing I need your help with too, remember?”

She sighs. “I help you get in contact with Seth, and then you tell me what I need to know. Then I’ll come back and help you with your mystery quest, I promise.”

“A promise is not good enough.”

“What do you want then?”

“An oath. A real one, with blood.”

“Dev, don’t be child–”

“It’s either that, or the whole deal is off. You choose.”

Another sigh, deeper this time. “Okay, sure, fine. We’ll do it your way. Let’s not waste any more time.” She retrieves a small knife from her pocket and draws a sharp, red line across the palm of her right hand. Small drops of blood begin to emerge as soon as her body starts realizing it has been cut.

He stares at her in disbelief for several heartbeats, before catching himself and stepping up to the table where she’s sitting. “That was… I mean, I didn’t necessarily mean we had to–”

“It’s dripping on your floor, Devin. Get to it already.” She hands him the knife while catching stray drops of blood with her free hand.

Devin grabs the knife and repeats her gesture. His movements are trained, as if he’s done this a million times before. She definitely does not doubt this is actually the case. He extends his injured hand towards her, and she takes it in hers.

“Now swear”, he says in such a cold and matter-of-fact way as to make her almost shiver. Was he always this… dark?

She looks into his deep, black eyes and suddenly wonders for the first time what she is really getting herself into. A blood pact with someone like him could very well warrant harsh punishment if somebody found out. Very harsh punishment indeed. He’s a sacromancer, which means he meddles with black magic. That’s what he was exiled for all those years ago, and back when it happened it was only her own youth, ignorance and innocence that saved her from being suspected of the same crime. But that was a long time ago, and she is neither ignorant nor innocent anymore. Especially not after this.

His grip is firm and she can feel warm blood pulsing between their palms. The morbid intimacy of the moment is strengthened by the intense hold of his dark gaze. She could not break neither eye contact nor grip even if she had wanted to. But she is determined to go through with this, if that is what it takes.

“I, Vahri, swear –“

“True names here”, he says sternly.

She catches herself, a little embarrassed for not knowing this already. Hastily she corrects herself. “Ehm. I, Vanessa Heike Riley, swear to uphold my part of the bargain and thus to the best of my ability assist Devin Murdock in his mystery quest, after he tells me all he knows about the Enjoyment Club.”

Devin nods solemnly, still not breaking eye contact. “And I, Devin Benjamin Murdock, in return swear to tell Vanessa Heike Riley all I know about the Enjoyment Club. And to take her out on a date once all this is done and over with.”

He flashes her a crooked smile, and before she has time to protest or react she can feel him sealing the blood pact. The air starts shimmering with static and the restless creaking and moaning from the house’s old residents grows entirely silent for a moment. Vahri feels the blood between their palms burning like acid. It is burning its way back through the wound in her hand and straight up through her veins. For a heartbeat her entire cardiovascular system is burning with arcane fire, and still she cannot break eye contact with him. She stares helplessly into his dark eyes as the pact etches itself into her very being, her very soul.

It is all over in the blink of an eye, but when the intense, searing pain is suddenly gone she still finds herself sitting there, gasping for air, grasping his hand and staring into his eyes. He smiles, and she hastily catches herself. She lets go of his hand and wipes the blood off her hand and onto her black jeans.

’Nothing like this’ my ass”, she snarls and pushes past him, out into the hallway.

He takes up position in the doorway behind her again, leaning against the door frame in a casual way that she deems has to have been rehearsed beforehand. “Come on, Nessa. Don’t be like that. I’m just having some fun. You should try that too, some time.”

“I didn’t swear to go with you on any fucking date”, she snaps. “I’m here for information, nothing else.”

He sighs. “Alright, then. I’m sorry for that. If you won’t go out with me later I guess the penalty of breaking the pact is on me. No harm done to you, right?”

“Right”, she says, arms crossed. “So before you pull any more of your immature pranks, I guess I’d better call this Pascal girl and get things moving. And then comes the part where you tell me what you know.” She turns her back on him and walks into the living room, already dialing Seth Pascal’s number.

As she listens to the dialing tones she can hear Devin teasingly mutter behind her.

“You might still change your mind before this is over, though”, he says. But she chooses to ignore him.

***

He is sitting on the porch, smoking a tellingly asymmetrical cigarette, when she joins him again. He seems to be trying hard not to question her about the phone call right away. He waits until she is seated on the stairs next to him before eagerly turning to her.

“So?”, he says.

She takes the cigarette from his hand without being offered, and draws a deep breath from its sweet fumes. “She’ll come”, she says without looking at him. Instead she lets her eyes sweep the garden in front of the house. It must have once been beautiful, but tear and neglect has rather turned it into something that could have been commissioned for October 31:th.

“She will?”, he says when she does not elaborate. “When? And how will this be done?”

Vahri flicks away the cigarette and rises from the cold step. “She said she would catch the first plane here from New Orleans. And I gave her your number, so you two can work out the details. Now it’s your turn. Come.”

She walks down the remaining steps and onto the crusty grass. She doesn’t wait for him, but starts walking through the garden. Old dried leaves rustle beneath her feet as she passes in between overgrown bushes and apple trees gone wild. She can hear quick steps from behind as he hurries to catch up with her.

“Wait, how do you even have my number?”, he says.

“The dead girl in the living room told me”, she says. “Anyways, this is where you tell me what you know. So shoot.”

There’s a large fountain hidden amidst the tall cypress trees in the garden and it smells of decades of mold. It is filled with brown rain water and old rotten leaves. She sits down on the rock frame encircling it and pats on the mossy stone next to her. “Sit.”

He does as he is told and throws a fascinated glance around the place where they have ended up. She gets the feeling that he has not been in this part of the garden before. Maybe he hasn’t even left the house at all since coming here.

“Well”, he says hesitantly. “I don’t know how much you know already, but–”

“Pretend I know nothing”, she interrupts and tries to seem like this is not uncomfortably close to the truth.

“Okay then”, he says after a moment of silence. “The Club is nasty business and I actually wish I never heard about them. But a promise it a promise, so here goes.”

***

And he starts talking. Starts telling her about an organization so old and so ruthless that it has slowly rotted from the inside. He tells her about mad men and women with endless resources and one goal in life and one goal only: to attain pleasure at the expense of others, and often at the expense of people like her and him; creatures above and beyond the ordinary. Supernatural creatures.

He tells her about mages, vampires, werewolves and changelings falling victim to these madmen’s singular tastes, to their novel sexual urges and their sadistic needs for knowledge and domination. He gives her horrific accounts of wolf-bloods being cooked and eaten alive, of vampire kindred being locked up and used as toys, of magicians being tortured and mutilated for fun and later murdered, cremated and turned into powder subsequently used as expensive cocktail components.

***

The day is warm but Vahri can’t help shivering as she sits there, listening to Dev’s morbid horror story that alas is not a story at all but a report of true and terrible events. By the time he is finished she feels sick, and the putrid stench from the murky water behind her suddenly summons entirely different images to her mind than it did before he began talking.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Fuck”, she says quietly and he only nods. They sit there in silence for a while, Devin seeming almost as pale and nauseous as she is feeling, even though he has been the one telling the story.

He clears his throat. “So… What’s your business with the Club?”

She suddenly has a desperate urge to say ‘nothing’ and actually mean it. She wants nothing to do with this lot, Neferthali was right. But she can’t say that, because it is not true. She has business with these people. She has provoked them through their lackeys, and they have seen her. They know what she is, which makes her a target just as much as that djinn guy, Chino, is. She has to act before they do. Has to find out more and learn how she can avoid them, hide from them or fight them off.

“That’s none of your business”, she says instead. This, at least, is entirely true. She starts to rise to walk away from him.

“Well”, he say, and now that sly tone is back in his voice like it was never gone in the first place. “It is my business insofar as your keeping of that pact of ours is. I’m starting to get used to having dead people around, but I don’t think you’ll be of much help to me if you are dead. Or a trophy on someone’s parlor wall.”

She stops and turns around to face him. She had almost forgotten about that part of the deal. Suddenly she doesn’t feel especially confident about their pact at all anymore. He is a sacromancer after all. What will he have me do? She swallows hard and tries to keep the insecurity out of her voice. “And what is that shit really about then, Dev?”

He smiles, must have seen the nervous look on her face after all. “I have recently lost someone dear to me”, he says. “Someone really important. I’m in town to find and claim his… well, his heritage. Books, alchemical potions, enchanted artifacts, you know the drill. And I have to do it before my, well, let’s call him my brother, does.”

“And you need my help with this estate distribution because…?”

“Well, this dearly departed person lived a rather reclusive life. Hidden away, if you will. And I don’t exactly know where the estate to be distributed has been… ensconced quite yet.”

“So you need me to help you find it, is that it? It’s a geocaching quest?” She is not in the least excited by the prospect of going with Devin Murdock on a treasure hunt that could potentially take several days. But she also knows the potential consequences of breaking a blood pact. She has read about them, and they are not pretty.

“Yep”, he says.

She shakes her head and starts walking away again, but immediately turns back to face him. “And who is this important person who has passed away, really?”

He gives her a tantalizing flash of teeth. “Do you remember Teneo?”, he says and waits for her reaction.

She blinks. Once. Twice. She knows who Teneo is – or was. And suddenly she also understands who this brother of Devin’s must be. The one who now seems to be their rival to the loot. Fuck.

“I fucking hate you”, she says, turns and walks away through the garden.

***

Devin Murdock remains seated at the fountain, laughing silently to himself as he watches her go. He had forgotten how much he used to enjoy her company back then, their constant battles and their passionate fights that more often than not ended in passionate other things. And now she is back in his life. It is not something he has planned for, but now that she has found him he is going to make the most of it. And it is going to be fun, oh yes.

Maybe being back in Los Angeles isn’t going to be just struggle and drab after all, he thinks.

And then his phone rings. Unknown number.

Usually he would never answer such a call, but today is not an ordinary day.

He hopes for a priest and answers.

 Chris Smedbakken, 2017-10-22 


You can find the next part here.

 

 

 

The Mothman Prophecy

This poem was written as a reply to a Twitter-prompt called “The Mothman Prophecy” by my friend, the author and actor Marc Tizura. My contribution was originally published on July 31 as a Twitter thread. Visit the hashtag  for more prompts.


Its eyes more red than any sun
I ever saw before
Its words so chilling, voice so cold
It froze me to the core

The darkness had it shrouded but
Still clearly did I see
That from its back protruded wings
A nightmare fantasy

“I know the future”, thus it spoke
“As clear as then and now”
The raspy voice ground forth the words
“A glimpse I shall allow”

I listened then and listened well
Cause what he had to tell
Could all too clearly be the thing
That’d save us all from hell.

“Horrendous things have passed before
But nothing can compare
To what will soon befall you if
You do not all beware”

“A toxic cloud shall block the sun,
The rivers shall run black
When birds fall dead out of the sky
There is no turning back.”

“All men shall die, all women too,
all children just the same.
And in a century from now
no tongues shall speak your name.”

I stood there staring, couldn’t speak
Could barely breathe at all
The burning gaze of those two eyes
made me a helpless thrall

And when it spoke again I knew
It’d picked me for a cause
“This is a warning for your kind
In spite of all your flaws”

“To save yourselves a future you
will have to change your ways
And cease destruction of this world
Before you end its days.”

“When you do this, and only then
you’ve fled the darkest fate.
But time is short, so do make haste
For soon it is too late.”

Those words it spoke, then turned away
and left me in the gloom,
despairing that we’d never care
enough to thwart this doom.

By Chris Smedbakken, July 31 2017