SNM Horror Magazine

 Page Down to read part 2 of 3 of the August Issue

*We publish a new issue every month on the 1st of the month. We are here on behalf of the interest of the writers to promote them on a consistent basis. We will feature 8 new short stories every month. Thanks and enjoy the August issue of SNM MAG.

                                                     THEME:

                             Current Issue 2

  Stories of Satan, Demons, Satanic Cults, Visons of Hell.

Peek-A-Boo -- Brian Johnpeer / Story of the Month

Wagging Tongues -- Suzie Bradshaw / 4th Place

Those Who Dare -- Kevin Mackey

Saved -- Joshua Ludeker

           Introducing the work of Artist Arthur Wang

                WWW.ARTHURWANGART.COM

                     SEE ISSUE BELOW

Peek-A-Boo

Brian Johnpeer

Alex laughed immediately after Suzy handed him the work order.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

Suzy smiled and said, “I know! I thought Miss Eckersley was yanking my chain when she called last night asking for a transfer, but she was scared.”

“Writing on a bathroom mirror?” Alex flipped the face of the work order so it was facing Suzy.

She shrugged. “She said that when she got out of the shower the words were clear as day, and when she tried to wipe them off, they’d come right back. And that’s not why she was upset. She was upset at what the words said.”

“What did it say?”

Suzy gazed at the computer committing her mind to memory. She was a little slow for Alex’s taste and that ditzy blonde act was just tiresome if that was what it was…an act. She shook her head and said “something about dying.” Her young face twisted with amusement.

That was a big help, Alex thought rolling his eyes behind her back.

“Oh Alex, is that the work order for 406?” Jayne, the front desk manager asked.

“Yeah.”

“If you see something in the mirror, can you call me? I want to see it!” Jayne was excited. “Isn’t that creepy? She tried to clean the mirror but the words kept coming back.”

Alex wasn’t amused though he forced a smile. He had more important things to do than look at a bathroom mirror with writing on it. “I’ll call you if I see something.”

“How are you going to be able to see anything?” Suzy asked.

Alex shrugged. “I’ll run hot water in the shower, and the sink with the door closed. That’ll steam up the mirror.”

“Promise, you’ll call?” Jayne pushed.

“Sure, I’ll call you if I find anything.”

Lindsey, the housekeeping supervisor and Alex’s closest friend, Suzy, caught Alex as he made his way out of the elevator onto the fourth floor.

“Morning Alex, How are you?” she asked.

“Good. Just gonna knock out an easy work order.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

“Room 406. There’s some weird writing on the mirror in the bathroom. Supposedly Miss Eckersley got freaked out by it. I think that she’s just shooting for another comped room.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m just gonna run some hot water and to steam up the mirror, and if there is some writing I’ll wipe it clean.” He held a white rag and a bottle of glass cleaner up as if to say it was all under control.

“Oh, I thought it might be lipstick or a marker.”

“No, it just shows up when the bathroom gets all steamy.” He winked at Lindsey, patted her shoulder playfully and continued on past.       

Damn, he’s built, she thought, while watching Alex’s ass as he walked away. Sure hope he doesn’t quit. This place has had quite the turnover. The last three maintenance men left with no notice.  

Alex felt a chill beneath his clothes when he entered 406, but it was a sensation that lasted no longer than a second. He shook the frigid air off his skin with an involuntary shiver and before closing the door, he examined the room for anything out of the ordinary.

Everything seemed to be okay inside, though it needed a good cleaning.

Housekeeping had yet to service the room and he noticed by the unmade bed, full pack of Marlboro lights on the desk, and a water trail from the bathroom onto the carpet. Miss Eckersley had indeed been in a hurry to leave the room. That made Alex uneasy. Miss Eckersley was the CEO of a very large micro- processing firm in Los Angeles and had exchanged heavy blows with the media and the critics on CNBC recently. Though she had a boat-load of money, she was cheap and would try about once a month to get a complimentary room for any minor flaws. She wasn’t one to be intimidated by words on a fogged up mirror. He allowed the door to close and ventured into the bathroom. There was a huge puddle of water on the floor and the sink faucet was trickling cold water and making an irritating whine. Alex studied the mirror closely, looking for anything unusual, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

He turned on the water in the tub and pulled the diverter up so it would flow from the shower head. He turned the hot water to the faucet on, closed the bathroom door, and sat on the toilet patiently waiting for the steam to create a layer of condensation on the glass. A minute later, vapor bellowed up in thick clouds from the faucet as Alex peered through, waiting for letters to take form. He noticed lines high on the right hand corner of the large mirror; high enough that a normal sized man would have to either hop on the counter, or stand on a stool to reach. Alex stood and leaned over the counter as letters slowly came into view.

PEEK-A-BOO

STEALING SOULS

IS WHAT I DO

Alex felt the same chill as when he entered the room, crawling under his clothes like a two dozen snakes covering his body in a single frigid wave from head to toe. He wasn’t alone. Though the steam was warm, his body felt the cool radiance of another presence. Someone or something was close enough to touch him. The sound of gushing water and the fact that the entire mirror was fogged up suddenly took a backseat in Alex’s mind, while the presence of another being commanded the front. Jerking his mind back to his purpose, he quickly scanned the mirror for any other writings. There were none, but there was definitely something else there with him in the bathroom.

Alex spun around expecting to find someone standing behind him, but he was wrong. The cool waves continued to caress his body in slithery streams. Like something dead was petting his bare skin. His envisioned a mental picture of a tub, running water and climbing vapor, but he couldn’t turn his head from the vacant shower. He knew something was there…it had to be. Alex reached out cautiously and turned the shower off, leaving only the sink faucet running full blast. He pried his eyes from the shower and in close quarters, faced the mirror to turn the faucet off. He cranked the valve tightly and glimpsed subtle movement in the foggy mirror. He quickly snapped his head around, holding his breath. Steam rose from the tub base and again Alex tried to trade his fear for practicality. He turned to the mirror and saw more movement, red and white moving slightly about. He reached for the hand towel on the counter, not once taking his eyes from the mirror, and though his mind was telling him to get out…cut your losses, sign off on the work order and get the hell out, his arm lifted the rag and slowly wiped away the fog on the bottom left-hand side of the mirror.

He lowered the rag and stood in awe staring at a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, wearing a red velvet dress and white bows in her dark hair and one around her waist. Alex slowly turned knowing that he wasn’t going to see the girl, but his body was working independently of his mind now, and he turned around.

Nothing, just as he’d figured, so he turned back to the glass.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The little girl stood silent and motionless. Her reflection was distorted through wet glass so he couldn’t decipher a face, but only that she was fair skinned. The quiet was broken up by a squeak from the mirror. Alex’s heart leaped into his throat. Lines streaked the bottom right side of the mirror to form letters one at a time.

BRIANNA

Alex looked back to the left side of the mirror. “Well that’s a beautiful name,” he managed to say.

Brianna’s face twisted, but into what Alex couldn’t tell.

“Are you here alone, or are there others?”

Another lengthy pause ensued until Alex heard more squeaks. He looked back at the mirror.

ALONE

“Why do you stay in this room?”

WATING FOR MUMMY

“Where is Mommy?”

SLEEPING

“Where is she sleeping?”

ON THE BED

Alex’s eyes widened as he looked at Brianna. She lifted a limp, lifeless arm to suggest that her Mother was sleeping in the next room. Alex nodded. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Okay?” Alex’s fear doubled at the thought of more ghosts in 406.

Brianna nodded.

Alex cautiously entered the other room. He looked at the bed; there was no one there. He exhaled a long befuddled breath and searched the floor, the small couch, under the bed, but he didn’t find Brianna’s Mother.

He paused before going back into the bathroom. Maybe her Mother needs to be viewed through a fogged mirror also. Surely Alex you are teetering on the wobbly fence of this world and that, the black and the white. The living and the… he couldn’t even bring himself to finish that sentence; even if he was only thinking it. Alex looked at the grey reflection of the television and knelt before it. The bed looked the same. The screen could certainly serve as a mirror, he thought, and took a deep breath, held it and exhaled his air onto the glass while watching. The unmade sheets formed into a lump, but quickly vanished with the thin mist on the screen. He went back into the bathroom and opened up the shower and the faucet valves this time leaving the door open.

He was sure the steam would soon encompass the six-hundred square-foot room and he would be able to further investigate.

“Do you know what year it is?” Alex asked.                                          

1973                                                 

The hotel was built in 1967. Alex had the original plans behind his desk in the shop and, though he’d heard a lot of rumors, they were probably manufactured and exaggerated through hearsay, 406 was off the gossip playing field. He plucked the two way radio from his hip.

“Lindsay, come in.”

“Go ahead Alex.”

“Have you heard of an incident in…?” Alex stopped, realizing that Brianna might not even know that she was dead. He heard on one of those reality television shows that the spirit usually haunt a house, bar, or in this case a hotel, and doesn’t realize that his or her body has died and continues about familiar areas as they normally would.

“You cut out Alex,” Lindsay said.

He looked into the foggy mirror and saw Brianna. “I’m with a guest now. I’ll have to call you back.”

“10-4. Stand by...”

Squeak…squeak…squeak…

IS LINDSAY YOUR BESTEST FRIEND?

Alex briefly considered all the times that he and Lindsay must have entered the room together while Brianna silently watched. She was quite perceptive for a seven year old girl.

“You might say that,” he replied and poked out his bottom lip in consideration.

The steam rolled out of the open door and into the bedroom.

IS MOMMY STILL SLEEPING?

Alex nodded, “Yes,” he said under his breath.

CAN YOU WAKE HER?

“I don’t think so.”

Alex’s skin was wet from the steam in the bathroom and the fog had escaped into the bedroom was growing from the ceiling downward and was nearly even with the top of the door.  

“Alex,” his two-way radio called.

“Yes, Caroline.”

“Jesse from CF Airco is here to look at a heat pump.”

“Thanks Caroline. I’ll be right down.”

Damn it! Alex had forgotten all about this appointment and rushed from the room to meet Jesse.

*

After Jesse had fixed the heat pump, a low charge which caused the coils to ice over, Alex hurried back to 406 and found the entire room thick with steam. He shot into the bathroom to turn the water off, and was thankful that the smoke detectors didn’t short from all of the moisture.

The mirror still had Brianna’s words scribbled on it. Alex wiped the lower left side of the mirror hoping to see Brianna, but she wasn’t there. Maybe the fog was just too dense, he thought. He went to the living room and looked at the bed. It was still unmade but showed no sign anyone lying beneath the sheets and duvet. Alex approached the television, knelt before it, and peered in.

Alex saw that the bed was unmade just as it was when he left the room, but the steam was so dense, it distorted his vision as it had done through the bathroom mirror earlier. He stood and turned to the bed, and now the room came into focus. Brianna sobbed next to the bed.  The top half of her body resting on the lifeless lump; her face buried, arms sprawled above her head hugging what was beneath the linen. Alex stepped forward.

“Brianna. Sweetheart, are you alright?”

She continued bawling, never answering and never looking up. Alex drew near and placed a sympathetic hand on her back. It was cold and the steam congealed with the stench of rotting flesh which made Alex want to heave. Instead, he reached out, grabbed a handful of sheet and revealed Brianna’s Mother’s face. He was taken aback by the atrocious sight.

Her mouth was open in an everlasting scream. The rest of her face was twisted with horror and years of decomposition had dried her skin pulling it so taught that at the height of the cheekbones it had split exposing the white bone beneath. Her eyes had shrunk to cloudy raisins and were suspended by the optic nerve. Time had dried the fullness of her lips and the skin around her mouth was thin, cracking and exposing a set of neglected hit-and-miss teeth. A chunk of some undigested food seemed to leap like a frog from the pit of Alex’s stomach to the back of his throat. He pursed his lips and, with watery eyes, swallowed a sordid gulp forcing his breakfast back to his belly.  

Brianna’s cry sounded distant and hollow, like a voice escaping time. Alex fought back the continuing urge to vomit as he clenched Brianna’s gaunt biceps to lead her away from her Mother’s remains. Her arm was as cold as ice and felt like it would snap if he applied too much pressure.

“Come with me, Brianna,” he said.

Brianna yanked her arm from his grasp and continued to cry with her face buried in the linen which lay on her dead Mother’s scrawny bosom.

“Brianna, you can’t stay here. The steam is going away.”

Alex knew that Brianna was out of place and now confused; confined to room 406 like some temporary holding cell before Heaven. The only time  Brianna could surface was in the vapors from hot water. Since the steam had always been confined to the bathroom, she could never check on her Mother in the other room until that day.

“Brianna!” he screamed.

Brianna slowly lifted her head, her neck cracking and popping audibly from the stress of the movement until her hollow orbs were positioned in Alex’s direction. The morbid semblance to her mother was uncanny. No doubt about it, they'd obviously died about the same time.

Dried skin yielded no flexibility to movement and split and cracked in retort; yearning to spill blood, but surrendered nothing from its dehydrated veins. The hairs atop her head sprouted in sparse brown, dusty, clusters. Her ears had twisted into two parched, wrinkled balls of flesh which diverted her straight, thin hair from the sides of her head. Her mouth was wide with sorrow and her face, though frightening for him to behold, took on a look of contempt.

Alex’s mouth was parched, and his heart beat rapidly in his chest. He couldn’t decipher Brianna’s mood or thoughts. He gawked at her upright corpse as if he were studying it safely through iron bars at a zoo. His stomach seemed to coagulate its egg burrito and his knees nearly unhinged before he caught himself from going down.

Don’t show her that you are afraid. Alex swallowed. She’s scared too. She just found her Mother dead, and is…

“Mumma isn’t waking up.” Her voice was full of anxiety and seemed to reverberate from deep within the child’s chest before surfacing.

Something about her voice scared the daylights out of Alex. It wasn’t that her voice sounded demonic but that she wasn’t telling the truth. Alex opened his mouth to tell Brianna that her mother was dead but no words surfaced. He swallowed air, wetting his throat, and tried again. “She’s not going to wake up, Brianna,” he said. “Your mommy went to Heaven.”

Brianna thought about what he said and shook her head with hideous bony shudders.

Alex could hear her bones gnashing together like brakes that had gone metal to metal.

Alex wanted to turn, exit the room, and return when the steam had vanished. When the room was back to normal, Brianna went back in hiding. But he knew if he didn’t get Brianna out of the hotel now, she could remain there for years writing little messages on the bathroom mirror when an unsuspecting guest took a shower or a bath, and he’d be the one to get the work order. This little problem could easily develop into a lifetime dilemma if he didn’t act.

“Mumma’s dead?”

“Yeah -- and she’s in heaven waiting for you.”

Brianna looked down at her Mother, her neck snapped as if this time a bone had broken under the stress. She looked to Alex. “But I have to die to go to Heaven.”

“No,” he said. “All you have to do is leave this hotel. Just go into the sunlight and you will find her.”

 “I don’t have to die?”

Alex shook his head. He figured if Brianna hadn’t figured it out yet, why tell her now.

“Just leave the hotel?”

He nodded with an encouraging smile though he still felt as if she were hiding something.

“Would you walk me with me?”

Alex felt bad for Brianna. She’s only seven-year old, suspended by time, and she’d been cooped up in this hotel room for nearly thirty six years waiting day and night, hour-by-hour for her mother to wake and fetch her so they could happily leave the hotel together.

Though her face was decayed, Alex could descry a hint of sadness when she nodded. Brianna stood, took Alex’s hand.

Not realizing that he was holding his breath, when the cold bony hand popped and cracked under his flimsy grip, Alex exhaled.

“Are you cold?” Brianna asked looking up.

“N…no, why?”

“Your arms have goose-shivers on them,” she said, and stroked him with her other cold hand.

Alex noticed the goose bumps and realized that it was fear and not temperature that orchestrated this dance. 

“They feel funny,” she giggled. “Your hair is standing up.”

Alex felt the goose bumps grow larger as Brianna continued to stroke his bare arm. He led her to the door and she glanced back briefly at her the lump on the bed before exiting the room and stepping into the hall.

“Are you sure Mumma’s in Heaven?” Brianna asked.

“Positive,” Alex replied, though he hadn’t a clue.

They walked down the hall, fluorescent lights flickered from Brianna’s energy as they passed. Alex looked down at Brianna and though there was no steam in the hallway, she was no less visible than she was inside the room. Alex figured that he could still see her because he was now linked to her physically...by holding hands. They descended by elevator to the first floor where the door opened. He detected a hint of excitement as Brianna’s grip tightened.

Alex and Brianna passed by the front desk and the women were too busy gossiping to notice them. Brianna stopped before the sliding glass doors and looked to Alex once more. “Is this  the way to Heaven?”

“Right through these doors,” he suggested with a degree of confidence which would have fooled even the sharpest juror if Alex was testifying on the stand.

“Okay,” she said. “I miss Mumma.”

They walked through the front doors, out from the shaded protection of the huge overhang. The sun was intensely bright that afternoon. Brianna shaded her face with one hand, quickly becoming agitated with the UV rays as if they were penetrating her gray icy skin like millions of microscopic needles. She tried to pull her hand loose but Alex held it fast. A small cloud of steam rose from Brianna’s head and arms as her skin shifted in form. Her face and arms quickly bubbled until there was no more room for the green-yellow puss and they exploded one by one.

“Ahhhhhhhhh! Help me!” Brianna shrieked, but Alex’s grip tightened, crushing all of the bones in her hand.

He knew that she had to be liberated from this world and the only tool to send the dead back to where they belonged was good old fashioned sunlight. Besides, if he turned her loose, she would run back into the hotel and God knows what room she would occupy. An older woman drove by, unsuspecting of what was going on.  She was preoccupied on her headset and didn’t even notice Alex.

Another puss-filled boil had erupted on Brianna’s cheek, and another on the back of her forearm. Her skin color quickly faded from gray to white as her head began shaking violently back and forth. The rapid popping and cracking along with the repugnant site of her quaking face made Alex turn his head. 

Blutch-pop, blutch-pop, he could hear the exploding puss pockets as they left loose flaps of skin dangling from her face and arms behind him.

“Pl…please,” she managed. I…I…wanna go…back!” Brianna’s voice was weak as she continued to yank and pull to no avail.

Alex noticed a large pothole in the parking lot; one he surly wouldn’t have missed upon his monthly inspection had he honestly completed it two days prior. The pothole, about ten paces from where Alex was struggling to keep Brianna in the sunlight, had no bottom, or so it seemed. He pulled Brianna closer to the hole to get a better view, and another pothole emerged next to it in a sinkhole fashion. The bottom just fell out from beneath the asphalt. Alex stopped his investigation. Brianna was weak and no longer fighting back.

“Please,” she uttered. “Take me back inside…p…please.” Spit slung horizontally in streams from her quaking head.

But Alex held her broken, bony hand fast. “You need to be with your mother,” he said in a stern voice. “And she’s not in the hotel. She’s in Heaven, just like I told you before and this is what we have to do to get you there.”

A creature poked its dark slimy head from the first pothole rearing thousands of teeth into a nasty grin; each tooth no larger than that of a needle and each no less sharp. It had vertical pupils like that of a goat. Both ears were pointed at the helix and the antihelixes were cupped, increasing the creature’s audible range. Its ape-like nose twittered like a rabbit trying desperately to decipher the location of a nearby predator. A black hand surfaced and long knobby fingers with sharp talons came to rest on the hot asphalt, then another hand.

Another pothole emerged. This one was close enough for Alex to attest the sinkhole was birthing an abyss.

Seconds later a similar creature poked its head out of the second sinkhole, this one seeming to have a problem with the sunlight and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes again and again until his pupils adjusted and he could see.

Alex turned and another sinkhole emerged and yet another creature poked its ugly head out of the third then the fourth. They were surrounded. The sinkholes multiplied and dark creatures kept appearing from the earth as if they were being born one-by-one.

The first creature leaped out of its hole and began pounding the asphalt knuckles to feet and, before Alex could react, the thing had a firm hold on Brianna’s leg ripping her red skirt and the some dried, jerky-like flesh from her femur. Brianna’s head stopped quaking as she realized the much bigger threat her Mother had warned her of.

“Help! Take me back…Alex. P…please...” she cried.

Alex kicked the first monkey-sized demon in the chest, and it rolled arms and legs flailing to a stop. Hell had found a gateway through the asphalt of the Hilton Garden Inn in Elk Grove to claim this poor child whose sins consisted of nothing more than being born into an already damned world. The second creature anxiously hopped across the asphalt and Alex was able to thwart its efforts also with a swift boot; but this kick landed on the side of the head.

“Plee…” Brianna fell limp and her words please take me back would never surface, only a broken attempt of the phrase.  

Alex swiped the limp girl into his arms, turned, and sprinted toward the hotel. He took two powerful steps and his third landed in a newly developing hole forcing him to fumble Brianna violently to the ground. Lacking touch with Brianna, the whole scene of demons, potholes, and the girl, who he was now trying desperately to save, slowly began to vanish.

An image, or perhaps mist of a demon shot from one of the potholes like a clown shot from a circus cannon. He ran and hit the fading corpse hard on the leg with his thousands of teeth. From a horizontal position, he threw his hand high above his head scraping his knuckles hard against the asphalt and managed to grasp Brianna’s arm as the two-foot tall demon toiled to tow her away. She, the demons, and the half-dozen potholes, quickly came back into full focus.

Alex felt an enormous tension as the small demon brutally yanked, pulled, and twisted trying to deposit Brianna to the small hole from which it had materialized. A second minion crawled out from yet another pothole and spanked its long, black feet on the asphalt before grabbing hold of Brianna’s other leg assisting its twin in a harmonious goal. The creatures wore permanent grins, their mouths split to the lobes of their ears, displaying thousands of razor sharp teeth; too many to be housed by any normal sized mouth. Their strength was far beyond their size and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to overpower both minions. Soon a third creature had emerged, galloping with long loping legs, grappling at her midsection in a valiant effort. 

“Don’t let them take me, Alex,” Brianna whispered.

Alex’s lost his grip, watching Brianna’s face peer back at him.

“Eeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!! ” she screamed.

The demons had violently yanked Brianna down into the small pothole and again the whole scene slowly vanished when he lost touch with Brianna. Alex bounced to his feet, raced to the fading hole, threw himself on the asphalt and reached his arm deep into the hole, feeling about for Brianna. She wasn’t within reach, but one or more of the demons ripped and bit his wrist and forearms for his efforts. He swiftly withdrew his hand and the hole vanished like cigarette smoke on a soft breeze. He quickly appraised the damage on his arm, but was overcome by a sense of weighty eyes upon his back. He turned, studied the front of the hotel, his eyes roaming from ground level up.

The drapes were drawn in one window on the right side of the building on the fourth floor. The third window from the right…room 406 and though Alex didn’t actually see Brianna’s mother standing in the window disdainfully peering down, he felt her.

Alex realized he temporarily and most certainly accidentally meddled with a dimension which wasn’t meant to be interfered with. His blood ran cold realizing that Brianna’s mother was doing what any mother would do, even in her afterlife, keeping her daughter out of harm’s way.

He thwarted her mother’s efforts by hand delivering Brianna to Hell. As far as he knew, there was no reconciliation for that. Brianna’s mother was still in the hotel and Alex would rather deal with her now than later. He mounted the stairs, skipping up every other one, racing through the earth-toned, brown hallway and opened the door. He stood still studying the cold room with vigilant eyes and, upon long laboring inhales to catch his breath knew what he must do.

He went into the bathroom and cranked on the hot valves and sat on the toilet while he waited for the water’s steam to fill the room. He contemplated what words he would use to console Brianna’s mom, but came up empty. What could he say? I had convinced Brianna to go outside so the demons could drag her to Hell.

The room was quick to fill up with steam. Alex glanced at the mirror, hoping, though he knew better, to see Brianna standing in the tub where they had first met. He wiped the bottom left hand corner of the mirror with his palm and saw only the white tub enclosure and the flow of hot water. Steam rose in thick airy clouds. Alex thought of turning the water off and exiting the room, but dismissed the notion quickly.

Brianna’s mother wouldn’t be resting in bed like before, but standing stealth in the room waiting for his arrival. Waiting to get her bony, decrepit hands around his throat and make him pay for the misfortune that he brought to her daughter. Alex’s stomach muscles tightened at the thought as he exited the bathroom into the main room. He shot a quick glance at the unmade bed before looking to the window and then about the room. She wasn’t there.

He squinted through the dense fog-filled room and saw no one. His stomach muscles slowly relaxed as he realized when he looked up from the parking lot it was shock that triggered the feeling of a presence in the window. He felt guilty for losing Brianna to a pack of Satan’s minions and had no intention of that happening. All he wanted was to rid 406 of a specter that showed up to write eerie message on the mirror when a guest is taking a shower. But weren’t the blinds drawn when he was in the room just moments ago?

How was I to know that a young girl was a candidate for hell? She couldn’t have sinned that much. And if she did, what sin would constitute a ticket to Hell for a seven-year-old girl? Alex turned off the water, pondering the seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.

*

That afternoon Alex punched out and continued that train of thought on his drive home. Lust? No. Gluttony? No. Sloth? No, hell, she’s too young to own up to any of her talents. Wrath? No. Greed? No. Envy? No. Pride? No. He parked the car in the garage scratching his head in frustration and suddenly a notion hit him with the weight of a revelation. Sloth hadn’t always held the same meaning as it does today. Years ago, it was the sin of despair or sadness, but over the years it had evolved into a roundabout, perhaps more comfortable sin: laziness. He made his way into the house.

Brianna was extremely sad. She missed her mother and had been waiting for her to awaken for years now. Perhaps Satan hadn’t gotten around to updating his and God’s rulebook. And why should he, when he can just snatch the souls of little girls to serve him in Hell? When the rules are conveniently written, why change them?  

“Damn it!” Alex yelled, slamming his fist onto the kitchen table.

Prince jumped.

“How do I get her back, Prince?”

Alex’s thoughts became audible. Prince dipped his head back into his dish, came up with a single nugget, and munched while looking at Alex.

“She doesn’t belong in Hell. What can we do to get her back?” The three pound dog eagerly crunched a second nugget while listening. “There’s really nothing we can do, is there?” Prince swallowed and helped himself to the water bowl. “You have a tough life, Prince.”

Alex grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat on his hand-me-down couch. He wasted little time finishing the beer while watching the news and petting Prince. He drank another, and a third, and a fourth, and somewhere between 24 and the ten o’clock news, Alex drifted off.

A squeaking noise irritated Prince’s ears and he began barking. He woke to a living room filled with steam. His hair and clothes were damp. His face, arms and hands were lightly coated with droplets of moisture. Prince was no longer by his side and the television suddenly powered off. A whisper echoed deep in his head but he couldn’t decipher any of the words. The sound was in the far corner of his mind like the turbines of a passenger plane cruising thirty thousand feet above the roar of a baseball game. The sound was there, but he had to really listen in order to hear it.

Squeak.

Alex combed his hair back with the palm of his hand spilling water down his back.

Squeak, squeak, squeak…It was a hideous noise like fingernails skating about an old chalkboard, or someone ice-skating in a fancy swirl, grating their heels in the ice. 

Alex winced, stood, and slowly started in the direction of the squeak. The television was barely visible in the foggy darkness, but came into perfect view as he knelt before it. The annoying squeaking continued in short, quick, and sometimes delayed half-strokes. The outside streetlamp, (the very one Alex had threatened to shoot out with his twenty-two rifle because it shined directly into his bedroom and kept him awake many nights) glimmered light on the television screen; this time in aid of Alex. He watched as the letters appeared one-by-one with an agonizing high-pitch that forced him to cover his ears in a feeble attempt to fend off the wretched sound.

PEEK-A-BOO

Alex lifted his hand to touch the glass, but withdrew it following a sudden shock of static electricity. 

DON’T TOUCH ME!

She scribed.

“Why,” he asked.

YOU LET THEM TAKE ME!

“I didn’t mean for that to happen, Brianna. I thought that you were just stuck between here and there. I thought that you would surely go to Heaven. I tried to stop them, and I would do anything to get you back.” The squeaking noise ensued and he impatiently watched as the letters appeared line-by-line.

ANYTHING?

Alex didn’t have to think about his answer: “Of course.”

The television clicked on and the screen filled with bright snow.

“That’s what I told them,” a voice said from behind.

Alex sprang to his feet and spun around. Brianna stood with her fingers intertwined and her head bowed as if in prayer. Her dress was no longer tattered and color-challenged by years of dirt, dust and grime, but vibrant and crisp. Her arms were kissed by the sun; hydrated and smooth. Her brownish, red hair hid from her face with thick, springy curls. She looked up pushing back the hair from her forehead. Her face was no longer weathered, aged and decrepit, but rather young, smooth and vigorous. Her hazel-blue eyes were beautiful icy pools of wonder and her ears were no longer shriveled, but normal.

“I told them that you would take my place,” she spoke straight and without hesitation.

“What are you talking about?”  

“I told them that you would be happy to take my place, so they sent me back,” she boasted, as if the deal was set in stone.

Her voice held a demonic undertone which echoed about the room.

“What makes you think I would just go to Hell in your place?”

“You feel guilty,” she said, “and you said that you would do anything to get me back,” she hissed, anything.

“But I’m not dead…you’re dead. I can’t go to Hell while I am…”

“I know,” she hissed, and stepped closer to Alex.

“Well I got news for you, Brianna. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to hell.”

Brianna relaxed her smile. “They said you wouldn’t do it.” Her teeth were brown, broken and were missing from the corner of her mouth. Blood and saliva spilled from that corner to her chin dangling in a long, glistening red stream before dropping to the rug with another tooth. “They said that if you didn’t, I would have to give my body back.” She lifted her dress at each side and took a bow.

Alex’s heart sunk as he realized the transformation had already started. From the look of it, Brianna was about to suffer a second death at his expense.

She shook her head. “I like the way I look now. I like my skin soft. I don’t want to see my bones again. Don’t you like the way I look, Alex?” 

Her words were sincere, but her voice reverberated through the room.

The skin on her face had dehydrated, wrinkled and cracked; some wounds producing small amounts of deep-red blood. Hair dropped in thick clumps from her head and her eyes shrank to dirty white raisins in their sockets. The flesh on her face began to move like tiny insects were trapped beneath and eager to get out. A bubble formed on her forehead and popped under pressure. She let out a long, deep moan, as if satisfied with the release of pressure. Another green boil had quickly developed on her left forearm, and it burst in the same thick, gelatinous fashion. Jade colored puss hung like stringy snot from her fingertips and dripped to the floor. The miniature creatures beneath her skin contorted, shifted and revamped the shape of her skull. She let out whines of pain as the boils grew and moans of satisfaction when they popped. That’s gotta to be painful. It was painful for Alex to watch and the nasty sound from the pus breaking skin with an exhausting churk-p was stomach turning. Stretching six inches out of Brianna’s nose slithered a long slimy worm with a shovel head. It was black and glimmered in the light shining in from the street.

The thin body curled upward until its head took a horizontal position and peered about the room. It saw, or perhaps smelled Alex and quickly ascended back through the rotting nose hole and into the decaying body. The worms multiplied as Brianna’s body eroded and they were forced to take to the surface of her body because they had nowhere else to hide. They slithered and slipped beside each other in an orgy of toiling fornication. Dried skin fell like small, chipped pieces down to the ground as the transformation took place.

Alex’s arm acted independently of his mind and reached out, perhaps to help Brianna, but she viciously swiped his hand aside with a swift slap. Her dress fell to the floor in a clump about her ankles exposing a shapely body covered in slithering blackness. One worm jutted from the rest, landing on the floor, but quickly wriggled its twelve inch long body back to Brianna’s feet, working its way between her toes to co-mingle with the mass. All at once the worms formed a body that was nothing like Brianna’s. The result was a glistening black creature which stood three-feet tall, a demon with cunning, animalistic eyes and pupils running lengthwise through its iris. Its face held a look of despair and Alex immediately thought sloth. No hair was present on the naked demon-creature whose shapely genitalia suggested  that it was female. The creature’s pupils narrowed to razor-like slits as it studied Alex.

Alex slowly backed up searching for loose obstacles with his fingertips and open palms. The house quaked once as if a plane crash landed in the center of the street and then it shook again more violently with each passing second. A large circle of the living room floor fell and Alex pressed his back firmly against a wall; the toes of his shoes overlooking the very pit to Hell. On the other side of the gaping earth was the demon who had appeared confused as to why Alex was still standing on the floor instead of being swallowed up inside of it.

With just a single thrust it  leapt across the pit like a monkey jumping from one tree to another. Its arms and legs were sprawled and it hit Alex hard, wrapping around his legs in a bear hug fashion.

The weight was far too much for Alex to counter and he fell forward into the black pit. His stomach was high in his chest as if he were riding a rollercoaster that suddenly shot downward. Looking up, the black creature had reverted into the form of Brianna who managed to grip the side of the floor with one hand and watched in what appeared to be not sadness, or sloth, but delight as Alex descended deeper into the abyss.

*

The floor began mending itself.

“Brianna!”

Brianna looked up to see her mother eagerly grabbing her wrist to pull her to safety.

Brianna’s mother was radiant, as was she. After the floor had mended and after a long embrace, Brianna and her mother started their invisible, two-mile hike back to the hotel.

“Mumma, do we have to go back? I’m tired of standing in the tub,” Brianna asked, looking up at her mother. Street lamps cast an ominous and eerie glow on the rustling trees leaving long, dancing shadows streaking the sidewalk and street. 

Brianna’s mother stopped walking, dropped to her knees and grabbed Brianna’s arms above the elbows. “You listen, and you listen good. He wants thirteen souls in exchange for ours. You will stand in that Goddamn tub until we get those souls! Do I make myself clear, young lady?”

Brianna nodded. A single tear trailed down her smooth cheek and fell to the ground.

* 

Wagging Tongues

Suzie Bradshaw

The castle was a prison for the lonely; the land, a playground for misfits. The structure expanded the horizon; a drab and sad color. There were no bars on the many windows facing the playground. The song of the lonely wailed through the dense atmosphere. Great swirling black clouds of Starlings mimicked the sorrowful tune as they flew over the playground. Thorny vines void of color wrapped their tentacles over the building. An orange hue permeated the sky; its origins unknown. Craggy, jagged, grey rock was the landscape from which the castle was born. The playground held a lone swing set made of yellowed bone that sat under a leafless black tree, on which a lone child swung. This was the child that brought him to this peculiar place. This is the child for whom he would give his soul.

An organ played Bach’s Fantasia in G minor and the birds took flight their mimicry a marvel of nature. The child on the swing followed the sound without looking back at the man who would save her. The others followed up and down the rocky spires to the house. He watched her through the lens of a high-powered sniper’s rifle. Brandon wasn't sureexactly how long he’d been searching for his daughter in this unforgiving terrain. Time was of no consequence in this world. This assignment was unlike any of the others. He usually brought souls to the beast. Never attempting to save one no matter how much they begged. He had a job to do and he did it well. He had never been to or even heard of this part; this Hell for children a continuation of the Hell on earth they experienced. Even to someone like Brandon a Hell for children seemed outrageous, unnatural, and unfair. He stayed out of the beast’s business until now. Until his daughter had now become part of this hellish brood.

He pulled himself up from the overhang and crouched at the edge of the precipice trying to remember just how long he’d searched for her. A year echoed in his mind though he couldn’t be sure. It may have only been a day. He looked through the long lens of his rifle then through his binoculars that hung loosely around his neck. The Starlings, hundreds of thousands of them, perched on the grey rock and on the roof of the prison. He had not formulated a plan on how to take care of that many birds. He would have to be careful. The birds would give him away. He was fooling himself if he thought the beast was unaware of his presence. He knew how this would end.

There would have to be a compromise. Satan had a destiny to fulfill and he did it well. Brandon respected that: until now. He jumped from one serrated boulder to the next arriving at the swing set. The birds remained silent observers. He knew this landscape and prepared by dressing and painting his face grey to blend in. He lay flat on the rock, put the binoculars to his cheekbones and observed. It was eerily quiet. There was no organ playing Bach. No mimicking birds. No cry of the lonely. His skin crawled with imaginary bugs. The fine hair on his arms stood on end. He was beginning to feel something unfamiliar; something so alien he couldn’t find the word at first to name this feeling. Even when the word bounced around in his head he couldn’t quite come to terms with it. Not since he was a child had he felt a fear so intense. 

A child spoke. He looked up and saw a boy of about ten; the same age as his daughter with golden brown hair and green eyes, also like his daughter; like himself.

“Mister,” the child said in a hushed voice.

Brandon was sure this was a trick from the deceiver himself.

“Where’d you come from, son?”

“Mister, I’ll take you to her.”

“To who?”

“Come on. You have to be very quiet.” The boy pointed to the birds.

Brandon shook his head and stood. The boy clutched his hand and together they started towards the castle. Brandon was taken back by the warmth of the boys hand and by the warmth filling his heart, much like it did when he first saw a picture of his daughter. He saw himself in her eyes, her hair and the angle of her jaw. There was mischief and intelligence in those green eyes that made him smile. He turned the picture over. Rebecca, 7 years old, was scrawled in a shaky hand on the back of the picture.

“Are you sure you want to find her?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t understand,” the boy said as he pulled Brandon along and took the first step down the rock.

“Her mother sent her here.”

“We know. She has the scars.”

Brandon had a very difficult time understanding why the girl’s mother did what she did. If he didn’t make it out of here he looked forward to the day he would meet her in Hell. If he did make it out he would make sure she made it here before him.

“We all do.”

The boy hugged a rock and motioned for Brandon to do the same.

“They're restless,” he pointed to the fidgeting birds. They began to squawk and chatter. He doubted the element of surprise was on his side at this point, if it ever had been, but he didn’t want to make his arrival so obvious. The wailing began again and the birds took flight in one large, black howling cloud.  

Brandon took the opportunity to rush the castle. He left the boy behind hanging on one of the rock ledges. He pushed the immense stone door open and was greeted by a grinning Satan.

“Well, what do we have here?” Satan stood aside and with a dramatic wave of his hand and invited Brandon to enter. “Mr. Angel, I see you are bearing no souls for me. What brings you to my dominion?” He looked out the door. “And where did you leave my curious and friendly Jimmy?”

“I’m here.” Jimmy called. He stood on the last rock before the house. They watched as he jumped to the front door.

“Run along, my fine lad.” Satan patted him on the head and shut the door. He extended a hand to Brandon. “Good to see you. Too bad it’s not on my beckoning.”

Brandon approached. Satan wiped the sweat from his brow and laughed. “Damn, it’s a hot one today.” Brandon surveyed his surroundings.  It was so normal. Not the horror he usually saw. His head spun as he became disoriented. He steadied himself on the table in the middle of the entry.

“Not feeling well, friend?”

“I’m fine.”

The smell of fresh pizza wafted through the air and Brandon’s stomach rumbled.

“It is dinner time. Come, have a bite to eat.”

Brandon clutched his rifle and his body became rigid. “Where is she?”

“She is having dinner. Such a fine girl you’ve got there. Come.” Satan twirled on his heel and sauntered down the long stone hall. The oriental rugs under his feet were lavish; the paintings adorning the walls looked like the originals. “Beautiful, aren’t they? All bribes.” He laughed. “It did them no good.”

“I’m taking her home with me.”

“Oh, Mr. Angel, you are a riot.” He stopped in front of a gigantic mirror and slicked back his already coiffed hair.

“I don’t discuss business so informally in the hallway. We shall eat, drink and be merry then we shall discuss your business. I believe you know that. Now come.”

“Lead the way.”

Brandon was familiar with his business practices. There would be contracts to sign in blood. Brandon heard the children and the smell of the food became stronger the nearer they got to the dining room.

Satan said something in German to the husky lady at the door. She spoke back in German then turned to Brandon and said hello.

“Would you like to freshen up first?” Satan said touching his own face and looking at something on his finger.

Right, the paint. “Yes, thank you.” Satan pointed across the hall. “You won’t need that.” He took the rifle and Brandon let him. It would do him no good anyway. He walked across the hall and into the bathroom. Brandon had already made one deal with the devil. Since finding this place when his plane crashed on a mesa in the jungles of South America and because of his unique abilities as a Navy Seal Assassin, he was able to strike such a deal. No human ever made it past the native tribes protecting the area much less happen upon the exact spot where Brandon’s world ended and Hell began. It seemed fate that Brandon would work for Satan. He dried his face and went to the dining room.

He entered a great banquet hall reminiscent of the German Beer Halls he frequented with long, solid, massive wooden tables and benches flanking both sides. Brandon counted at least a hundred of them. This place could easily accommodate thousands of children. There was a grand stage at the front of the room, closed with red velvet curtains and on the opposite side of the room from where Brandon stood there were twenty doors. The doors were open and he saw hair-netted women behind the counter, cleaning and putting food away. This is set up like an elementary school cafeteria, he thought. All of the children were gone. The room was empty except for the women cleaning up.

Brandon startled from his thoughts as Satan spoke.

“School for most of these children was their safe-place. And lunch-time their happiest time of all. I recreated it for them. Nice, yes?”

Brandon looked at Satan, bewildered. The beast was a mystery. Could this really be the same ruthless leader of the netherworld enacting all manners of torture on the damned that he had met before? It did not seem likely.

“Satan, I…” Brandon started.

“Kristoff, please. Satan is man’s name. My name is Kristoff.”

“Yes, I apologize. You have told me that before. Kristoff, I don’t understand. Are you not the Prince of Darkness?”

Kristoff laughed. “That would be Ozzy Osbourne or maybe Alice Cooper, who I do enjoy, but not as much as I enjoy Bach. Something about the Baroque period that touches me. But no, I am simply the server of Justice.”

Brandon broke out in a cold sweat.

“Right. You can't escape Justice. I'll show you what I mean.” He strolled down the hall straightening flower arrangements and knick knacks along the way. Brandon took a last look inside the cafeteria and followed. The wailing began. It echoed within the stone walls.

“They,” he waved his hands in the air, “are the lonely.”

Brandon can’t remember a time he had heard or felt anything quite so sad, depressing, black and remorseful. It permeated deep within his heart. It swallowed his soul and he wept.

“I see,” Kristoff said with a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. The organ began to play again and this time it mixed with the sound of the lonely only to accentuate the remorse. Brandon was spiraling down a black hole and any sense of survival or saving Rebecca was snuffed out. He belonged here. This is what eternity would be for him and he was glad for the last time.

“Let’s get you outside first before you join them. I want to show you the alternative.”

They stood at an opening in the back of the castle. This was the playground. The front of the castle had been merely a façade. This is where the children played.

“Do you see?”

Brandon wiped the streaming tears from his cheeks and from his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded.

Kristoff pointed. “There’s Rebecca.”

Rebecca ran toward a gigantic tree full of leaves and branches and retrieved a hammer and some nails. She hung something on the tree and turned to the boy standing behind her, said something, they both laughed and skipped away to one of hundreds of swing sets. Like the one in front they, too, were made of the same yellowing bone. His attention left Rebecca for an instant, distracted by grunting noises. Cages lined the back of the castle stacked one on top of the other as far as the eye could see and in the cages were people. Adult people and Brandon understood.

“I am merely the overseer, the caretaker of this palace. The children serve Justice here. These are the unremorseful.”

Brandon stepped onto the green lawn and walked over to the cages. He stared into the eyes of a woman he once knew. Blood poured from her mouth and her eyes had a wild look to them. Her hair was bloodied and matted. Dirt and feces covered her torn clothing.

Brandon gasped at the smell. She bashed her head against the steel bars of the cage, grunting and gurgling like a lunatic and Brandon realized her tongue had been cut out.

He looked at Rebecca who was now sitting at a picnic table cuddling a fluffy white puppy. He recognized Jimmy, the kid who led him here, sitting next to Rebecca. He walked over to the tree where Rebecca had hung something. The closer he got he noticed the tree appeared to be alive and moving. He stood before it and saw what was squirming with life. He moved around the tree. It was covered with the wagging tongues of the parents in the cages. Their words could sting no longer.

He watched as many children thrashed their parents with cat o’ nine tails; their backs a bloody, pulpy mess. He watched as others pushed over and tripped their mothers. He watched as father’s arms and legs were stomped and broken. He watched as men were castrated on top of picnic tables while butterflies flitted from colorful flower to colorful flower.

He saw several women resembling the German lady at the cafeteria door standing around keeping a watchful eye on the children. They blew a whistle that hung from a chain around their necks and the children lined up. They blew another whistle and the cages opened and as the caged people exited their confines another whistle blew and the thorny vines that covered the front of the castle slithered over the ground. Brandon was stabbed by one and jumped back into the castle. The parents on the bottom three stacks of cages jumped out and fled for freedom or straight to the children who stood watching. Brandon watched Rebecca still clutching her puppy as she watched her mother. The look on her face was solemn and unemotional. Her mother’s feet became impaled on a vine of thorns and she screamed in sheer agony. Brandon could see one of the thorns growing up through the heel of her left foot and pulsed as it entered into her Achilles tendon. She fell over, caught herself with her hands and two thorns shot through her palms. He looked to the cages and saw some parents retreating back into their confines while others were still climbing down from the top.  

By the time the women blew the whistle, the thorns retracted back to the front of the castle. Thousands of parents had been impaled, unmoving in a back-bend or front bend on the lush, blood-covered green grass. They crawled and slithered back to their cages, unable to use their feet or hands. Another whistle and the children marched inside single file. As they passed Brandon they spoke to each other of ice cream and movies, of board and video games, camp outs  and sleepovers, of boys and girls and puppies and kitties. They giggled and clapped and sang.

Brandon watched his daughter approach.

“Rebecca,” he said.

She turned to him. “Hi daddy.”

“Oh honey,” Brandon began to sob, “I am so sorry.”

“I know daddy. Me too.” She marched off with the rest of the children.

“Justice is always fair here. You see now, yes?” Kristoff said.

“Yes.” Brandon said.

Brandon did not see Rebecca again but she was all he could think about. He gazed out the window to the jagged grey rock that made up the landscape. He did not see another person although he knew many others were here. It would build up deep inside him and release a vast chorus of sorrowful howling echoing off the walls. The organ soon began to play again and Brandon watched as the Starlings took flight, mimicking his cries; the cries of the remorseful and the lonely.

                               *                                  

Suzie Bradshaw makes her return to SNM and steals 4th place of 52 submissions.  She has been writing since she was eight years old but only recently began submitting. She is the mother of five; two preteens, two teenagers and a twenty year old. Some say that she may be completely insane! Her friends and family would agree. When she’s not working as a substitute teacher or doing mom stuff she is writing, reading or watching horror. Suzie has several short stories out there trying to be published and is currently working on editing her debut novel Carnival, Texas. Interestingly enough, she currently resides in Texas. She has no website or Myspace page, but readers may contact her through her e-mail or comment in our guestbook.

suzieb52@yahoo.com

 Suzie Bradshaw 

THOSE WHO DARE

Kevin Mackey

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

Angela stormed on, ignoring the man she'd bumped into as she pushed through the crowded street. She'd make them pay, especially that goody-two-shoes Bernadette. Bernadette was supposedly her friend; someone to confide in; someone who ratted on her.

Tears welled up in Angela's eyes. It was just a test, for crying out loud. So she stole a copy before the test. So what? Now everyone was calling her a cheater.

Her dad was very self-righteous. Didn't stop him hitting her. Didn't stop her mother from screaming at her then screaming at him for hitting her. Her mother screamed a lot, mostly at her dad.

She'd make them pay. She'd make them all pay.

A voice stopped her.

"Today you have good fortune."

Angela looked around, shocked by the quiet words that seemed to sound in her head. An old woman stood next to her with little to recommend her.

"What?" Angela demanded.

The woman smiled and held out a leaflet.

"You're fortunate," she said. "There are those who can help."

She thrust the leaflet into Angela's hand, who took it without thinking.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her anger flaring.

"Go there, you will see."

Angela looked at the leaflet.

"Troubled?" it asked. "Want to control Events and People in your life? Help is available for Those who Dare. It’s no accident that you are reading this."

The leaflet also said where and when this 'help' could be found.

Angela looked up to ask the woman what this was all about. She was gone. Angela was standing alone. The crowd of people moved around her as had before the woman stopped her.

Angela crumpled the leaflet in her fist.

"Stupid woman," she thought, "what would she know?"

She looked around and stared. The place the leaflet mentioned stood across the street. A church hall, old, run-down.

Angela crossed the street ignoring the blaring of horns as cars slowed to avoid her and entered the hall.

No one was there. Angela almost spat. What a waste of time.

She looked around the room. A number of rickety tables held generic self-help books like bulletins for yoga classes and group therapy sessions for "people who want to take charge" of their lives.

"I knew it," she said, "just a stupid waste of time."

She turned on her heel and almost ran into a woman standing behind her.

"Who are you? Why are you sneaking up behind people?"

The woman smiled and shook her head.

"I'm sorry I startled you, Angela."

"I think," the woman continued, "there's little here that's of use to you. Come with me."

She took Angela by the arm and led her through a door off the main hall. The room they entered was small, made smaller by piles of books strewn around on tables and boxes. There was dust everywhere.

"Now where is that book?"

The woman talked to herself as she moved from one pile to another. Angela was ready to leave the obviously-crazy woman to her book hunt when she stopped.

"Yes, there it is! Exactly where I'd left it."

The woman raised her eyes and Angela saw a force within or behind them she hadn't noticed before. She took one step back, uneasy under her gaze.

The woman smiled. "Not to worry, Angela. Here, I've found it."

"How do you know my name?"

The woman just ignored the question. “Angela -- such a pretty name. Are you really an angel?"

"My mom sometimes calls me her Angel," Angela replied.

"Not something you like, is it?"

“It’s okay I guess, but how did you know my name?

“It’s embroidered on your purse.” The woman then handed the book to Angela. "Here. This will help."

Angela, embarrassed, looked down at the book  in her hands. It was slim, dusty, the cover faded and the pages yellowed. An ink drawing on the cover looked like a ram's head. Opening the book she noticed some of the writing was not in English. In fact some of the book was written in an alphabet she'd never seen before.

"Don't mind that," the woman assured her. "The part you need starts here."

The book fell open to a chapter entitled "Summoning."

"What's this book about?" Angela demanded.

"Summoning help to those who need it."

Angela looked back at the cover of the book.

"Summoning the Devil? I don't believe in all that crap."

The woman shook her head. "It doesn't matter if, or what, you believe. Help is there if you want it. And no, I'm not talking about you summoning anyone."

"So what are you talking about?" Angela asked, getting angry.

"Excuse me," the woman said, "I need to check on the hall."

She moved past Angela and paused. "Oh, by the way, my name is Anthea."

Anthea stepped through the door before Angela could reply.

Sounds of people coming into the hall summoned her. Her patience soon exhausted, she went through the door to the hall. There were a few people looking at the books on the tables. But no sign of Anthea.

Angela went up to one woman who was looking critically at the people moving around the hall. Perhaps, Angela thought, she's in charge.

"Did you see where Anthea went?" Angela asked.

The woman frowned at Angela. "Anthea? I don't know any Anthea. Where did you come from?"

Angela looked around. The door through which she had come was gone. "Where's the door? The one that was just there."

"What door? Look, I'm busy. What do you want?"

Angela walked over to the wall where the door had been.

"I tell you, there was a door here, right here."

The hall fell silent. People stood looking at her. Angela looked at them, at the woman and back to the wall where the door should be.

"It was right here a minute ago," she said and slapped her hand against the unyielding wall.

"Right here."

Her voice dwindled.

"See here, young lady, you have to go now, you're causing a disturbance. Do I have to call your parents?"

"Oh shut up about my parents," Angela said and stormed out into the street. She didn't care.

It was already evening, which was odd. She didn't think she'd spent that long in the hall. She needed to get home.

*

Back in her room, Angela threw herself onto her bed. There had been a shouting match, first with her father then with her mother, then her mother with both of them. Angela ended up "grounded" and "studying." That was fine. She didn't want to spend another moment with them. Nothing was going right. Nothing would go right till she was out of this house.

She saw the book on her bedside table. Another thing gone wrong. She'd wasted the whole afternoon for nothing!

She picked up the book, ready to throw it across the room. It slipped from her hand and fell open on the floor.

Angela cursed, got off her bed and picked up the book. It was open to the place Anthea had shown her.

"Summoning."

Summoning what? Angela began to read. Most of it made no sense. She read the warnings but nothing specific about what they meant.

Typical, Angela thought. A stupid waste of time.

She read on, sub-vocalizing as she moved her finger across the words. Some words sounded familiar; most didn't. She stopped as she neared the end of the chapter.

Yeah, right. Nothing's happening, she thought. I knew nothing would.

She stumbled at the last section. She went back and read more carefully, this time reading aloud.

As the words sounded, Angela sensed a change in the air. She looked up and the light seemed dimmer, more yellow.

The final words hung in the air. The room was closed in now and the light awfully dim. She looked around but couldn't see her bed. Reaching out, she touched the wall and pulled her hand back in alarm. The wall was warm and damp!

She was surrounded by a haze of smoke and couldn't quite see clearly. Odd noises sounded in the distance; wailings. Angela glanced behind her, looking for her bedroom, afraid that she'd stepped out of it, into...into what?

She turned again and froze. She was not alone. Angela sensed a presence; something large and forbidding towering above her. She shivered, despite the warmth of the place.

"Who's there?" she asked. Her voice trembled.

No answer, but she could hear it breathing slow, heavy breaths.

Angela coughed. The air was becoming thick. A sickly sweet scent clung to her nostrils and the back of her throat.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Who is there?"

"Angela."

The voice that spoke her name was unlike anything she'd ever heard. It was so deep it shook her flesh.

She stepped forward, as if answering a roll call. Closer now she got a sense of the size of whomever, whatever, had spoken to her. It towered several feet above her. Its voice came from all around her.

"Angela," it repeated.

"Did I summon you?" she asked. She forgot for the moment she didn't believe in all that "crap."

"No," came a coarse whisper, "you did not summon me. I have summoned you."

Fear began to grow inside Angela.

"What the…Me? Why? What have I done?"

"You called for help. I can help."

"Help? What kind of help? I don't need any help." Angela's fear grew. All she wanted was to get back to her bedroom.

"You want vengeance; revenge. You want justice to fall upon those who have harmed you."

The voice paused and Angela strained to hear what would be said next.

"I can provide that."

Angela stood, transfixed.

"Do you want my help?"

"What kind of help? What would you do? How can you help?" Angela was talking to shut out some of her fear.

The light flared as flame poured off the walls. The heat coming from the fire drenched her body in sweat. The ground shook as the voice bellowed.

"Do NOT try my patience,child!"

"Okay!" she screamed. "Yes, I want your help, but what exactly will you do?"

The flame receded. Some of the smoke cleared and the heat dropped a little. Angela shivered.

"Perhaps a small demonstration."

The voice was quiet again. It seemed to caress her, yet made her even more afraid.

To her left, the smoke parted to reveal a mirror. She could briefly see her reflection before the scene changed.

Angela was looking into a bathroom. As the smoke cleared she saw Bernadette taking a shower, who seemed unaware that she was being observed.

Angela sneered as she saw Bernadette's less developed body. She looked younger than her age. Looking around the room Angela saw Bernadette's night clothes neatly folded and one of her stupid stuffed animals sitting on them. She hated those. She'd never had any. Bernie seemed like a big baby.

Bernadette dropped a bar of soap and slipped as she bent to pick it up. Angela gasped as she saw her fall awkwardly, all her weight coming down on her left arm. She heard the bone break, but not Bernadette's scream. Angela saw the pain in her face, but heard nothing.

The scene clouded, and the mirror vanished behind a wall of smoke.

"Do you want my help?"

The voice was a whisper.

Angela felt a gradual warmth spreading through her body. It was good to see Bernie get her comeuppance. That would teach her.

"Do you want my help?"

There was no patience in the voice, just a persistent persuasion.

"Yes. I want your help. Help me get back at them. All of them."

Angela no longer felt afraid.

"And in return?"

The voice was now a warm caress. The sweet tone was almost overpowering. "And in return?"

"Whatever you want," Angela promised. "I'll do whatever you want."

"When I call, you will come? When I wish something done, you will do it?"

Angela paused and some of her fear began to creep back.

"When I call, you will come? When I wish something done, you will do it?"

"Yes, I will," Angela answered; her voice getting louder as anger overcame the fear.

An arm shot out of the murk. It was ridged, scaly, powerful and tipped with long, curved claws. Angela jumped back startled and bumped into a wall.

A claw tore through her blouse, tore through her bra and tore a vertical line through the skin on her chest.

Angela screamed.

Her bedroom door opened and her parents burst into the room.

"Angela! What's wrong?" she heard her mother ask.

She was lying on her bed; the room in darkness.

"What happened, Angela? Why did you scream?" her father asked. She could hear an annoyed undertone in his voice. The light came on.

"Angela!" her mother said.

"Cover yourself, young lady." demanded her father.

Angela looked down. Her blouse was open from top to bottom. Her bra was gone... no, it was torn, leaving her chest exposed. There was a livid mark from the base of her throat to the valley between her breasts. It burned like fire but felt cold.

"Cover yourself, I said."

Angela looked up. Her mother couldn't see the mark. Her father couldn't either, though she caught him looking at her breasts. Her mother assumed her familiar family role.

"Stop shouting at her."

Angela wrapped her arms around herself.

"Go away! Just get out of my room. I'm all right. I was just dreaming."

"Now see here--" her father began.

Her mother turned on him and pushed him out of the room. Angela heard them arguing all down the hallway.

She hugged herself. It had really happened. The mark was proof of that. She looked around. The book was lying on the bedside table where she had left it hours before. It was now almost midnight.

She looked at her mark again. It hurt as the cold spread  all through her chest.

Angela thought of those who'd hurt her. The principal, Mr. oh-so-righteous Clayton. And Bernie's macho brother. She'd take care of them.

And what was her father thinking? Looking at her like that!

"Yes, Angel. We'll take care of them. All of them."

Angela looked up. Anthea was looking at her; a sad expression in her eyes. She reached out and touched Angela's scar. Pain blossomed in Angela's chest and she almost collapsed.

"It's best, Angela, if you do as much as you can."

Angela could see Anthea's scar. It ran from the base of her throat and disappeared beneath the neckline of her dress. It looked very deep and old.

"Look to what will be, child, not what is past. Those who harm you, they will learn the price of that. Your difficulty with your exams? Forgotten."

Anthea moved to the bedroom door and extended her hand. "Come with me."

Angela stood and accompanied Anthea out of her bedroom. As soon as she stepped through the door she stopped and looked around. They were in the room where Anthea had given her the book on “Summoning.”

"How did-" Angela began but Anthea waved the question away.

"Here," she said and handed Angela a briefcase. It was faded but she could make out the initials P. J. C. on the front.

"That’s Mr. Clayton’s," Angela said.

"It is Mr. Clayton’s," Anthea replied. "You will hand this in at his office tomorrow morning."

"And these," she held up a handful of lewd photographs, "will conveniently fall out for all to see."

Angela gasped. The photos were of girls and boys, no older than she. And they were all naked.

"I can’t do that," she said. "People will ask me about it, about them."

Anthea smiled. "Remember what I said. It's best for you if you do as much for yourself as possible."

"Besides," she continued, "no one will even recognize you." She gestured to a mirror that was leaning against a wall. "See for yourself."

Angela stepped up to the mirror and stopped, shocked. The figure looking back was not her. She was younger, different. But her eyes looked the same.

She turned to look at Anthea.

"You see? You won't be recognized. There will be nothing to tie you to this."

"Now think carefully," Anthea continued. "This will end Mr. Clayton's career. You're sure you want to do this?"

Angela looked at her reflection in the mirror and then back to Anthea.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Come with me," said Anthea, ushering Angela through a door.

Angela found herself in the church hall again. The woman she had seen there before, the same one who said she didn't know Anthea, was standing off to one side. She frowned at Angela.

The room was dark and hot. Angela could just make out shapes moving in the background.

"You've heard," Anthea said, "those stories about the blood of virgins." She smiled. "They're true."

Angela looked in shock as Anthea drew a long, thin dagger from her pocket.

"Oh, not to worry. We don't sacrifice virgins anymore...but the blood is still necessary."

Anthea reached out and pulled Angela's arm, slitting the sleeve of her blouse clean to the elbow. The skin was pale, the blue of her veins clearly visible.

Angela screamed as the point of the dagger bit into her flesh and her blood welled up.

*

Kevin@mackey.name

http://kevin.mackey.name/blog

Kevin Mackey

Saved

Joshua Ludeker

Justin Street sat on his couch in his Northern Iowa home, slumped with his hands dangling at his knees, deep in thought. This was not the first day he was in this position. This went on every day for a few weeks straight. His wife would be home in an hour and his kids would be getting off the bus from school soon.

Too many days were spent stressing about whether or not his family was going to live in a box soon. He worked sixteen hour days to provide for his family and for what? This particular situation was nobody’s “fault”, per say, it is just the way of living. Yet, here he was. A wife, two kids, a mortgage -- bills, bills, wife, some sex, mortgage, bills, bills, and more bills. God knew there was a means to an end. God knew and wouldn’t tell him. He might as well throw him and his family to the street.  

A sound came from the front door. It sounded like a very faint rap from a very tiny hand.

He got up slowly and checked the front door. A silhouette of a man stood on the outside screen. The sun was shinning over the man’s shoulders, his back turned, the glare of the sun struck his eyes with temporary blindness as the man swished back to face him. Maybe this is an Angel, Justin thought hopefully. Maybe even God Himself had come to greet him with the answers to everything. Or He was here to help him pack for the street. Don’t be stupid, he says to himself.

He opened the door and felt a rush of air flow past his face. He gripped onto the door to steady himself through the sudden dizziness. He shook his head to clear the weariness. Oh God, this was it. Here is the man to evict me out on the street and my family isn’t even here to watch, thank…nevermind!  

“May I help you?” Justin croaked. He was surprised at how difficult it was to spit out the words.

“No, Mr. Street, I think I can help you” the man in a blue suit belted. His face was still not visible in this light but his stature made up for that. He was very tall, strong build, and more confident in himself than most.

“I-I’m sorry?” Justin still had trouble catching his equilibrium. “Do I know you?”

“No, Mr. Street. But I know you. Ah yes, I know you very well indeed!”

“Oh,” he started to get his bearings, “so you’re the man who is to kick me out of my house, huh? I have been waiting for you. Only, I didn't want it to come in the first place. But, hell, come on in won’t you? Have a beer on me before I live in a box, eh?” Justin bumped into  to the refrigerator, jostling it. He thought he had two cases of beer and somehow didn’t remember if he had any at all.

The man stepped through the door; his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The shear weight of his presence was almost crushing. Justin stumbled backwards and grabbed his chest, heaving. He couldn’t catch his breath. His chest rose and fell; up and down, almost buckling over to gasp for air. The man spoke again.

“Mr. Street, I am not here to kick you out your house. I know how hard you work for this; how you provide for your family! Heavens, no! This is your home. I would not take you from such a thing. However, I do think I can help. That is, if you are willing to accept.”

“W-what do you want?” The words were spit out in spurts of air that was forced from his lungs. “W-who are you? What are you selling?

“I have no suitcase or books or magazines or vacuums as you can see.”

The man in the blue suit stepped in and shut the door behind him. He approached Justin in a swift movement. He wasn’t even sure that the man was walking or hovering or flying. The man leaned in to speak to him. One hand flung around his backside to his front. But, in that outstretched hand he held a brown paper bag.

“Mr. Street, you are hyperventilating. Breathe into this.”

Justin took it slowly, still not looking into the man’s face.

“It is not important who I am, Mr. Street. But, I will tell you, I am not from the bank or the real estate company to repossess your house. No. I am here to help. You see, you are a man in a situation where you cannot escape; will not escape. The predicament of your personal hell is unbreakable. Not even God Himself can help you. That, young sir, is where I come in.”

Justin tried to speak, but nothing came out. The confusion was worse than a daydream. Sometimes in daydreams things feel so real that his subconscious almost accepts it as truth. His memory sometimes conjures figments of dreams and places them for him to see like a jigsaw of scattered pictures placed randomly for him to piece together as a whole.

“Jesus, Justin, look at you. You look like a man eighty years of age and my guess is you aren’t even thirty. Pity. I can see by the look on your face that you are more confused. Let me explain. Pride, Mr. Street, is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, which you possess. You sit and you think. What, may I ask, ever comes of that? Not much I would say. Pride strips you of humility. You may think you can get by, figure out how you are going to come up with the money to save your family. Your stubborn pride spits in your face, Mr. Street. Pride will be your turmoil in oblivion. From which you will spend the rest of your life attempting to claw your way out. Your pride is a deadly sin and transgression against yourself. All I need from you is to agree. Agree to a deal and you will be saved from your turmoil.”

Justin, still standing in the corner, exhaled deeply into the paper bag, staring at the floor. Raw terror rose from the pit of his stomach, rising up to his throat and mouth, looking for a place to flee. A whirlwind of mixed emotions overtook him in a way that affected his psyche. His breathing quickened. The paper bag fluttered in and out, picking up pace. Who is this man and what does he want from me? His heart rate doubled palpitating against his chest. Then all at once he threw the bag to the floor and spoke:

“You’re right. I have pride. I have pride in my family, my house, my car, and my dog for Christ’s sake. All of which I worked and work my ass off for. Now you come here and tell me it’s a sin; a sin to feel this way about what I have? Piss on your sin! And get out of my house!” This outburst took a considerable amount of strength that still was more confusing than all. Justin’s eyes welled up. He did not want to look into the man's eyes. He turned his head to the right; a bead of sweat dropped to the floor from his brow.

Out of nowhere, the man thrust his left hand up against the wall directly in front of Justin’s face. Pellets of drywall slithered from the hole where his hand had stuck. The man suddenly became enraged.

“Confess! That is why I am here. That is how I can help you! I can relieve you of your turmoil! I know everything, Mr. Street! The way your wife looks at you. The way your kids look at you. That look is that of unfamiliarity! They don’t know you, Justin! Not even your dog will fetch your pathetic toy!”

“Look, I don’t know what you want,” Justin explained on the verge of a meltdown of sadness mixed with rage. He thought for a moment. He thought if some strange man came to his house to offer help when he needed it the most, why do it by trying to use humility as a tactic? He could accept the inevitable and not brood about it? Rather than second guess himself, he decided to play his game and go along with it just to see where it would lead.

“Okay” Justin spoke again. “Okay, what is it that you need me to do? Confess? I confess my sin of pride. I confess to drinking too much after a long day at work. I confess that my wife and I are not doing as well as we could be. And I confess to not being the father I should be!” He was welling up again from the rage and sound of his own voice. He even got on his knees in confession, almost out of sarcasm to give the impression of humility.

“Do you wish my help?” The man asked quietly.

“Yes.” Justin croaked.

“Okay. You are hereby saved.”

The man in the blue suit slowly removed his right hand from his back where it was clasped so tightly before. Justin was afraid to look up. Terror kept him on his knees. The man’s hand touched the side of his head. Justin thought his hand was cold; so terribly cold.

Powww!!!

Justin Street’s body dropped to the floor with a thowp! Blood oozed out of the bullet hole in the side of his head.

The man in the blue suit dropped the gun next to his body and, at that same moment, a tear fell from the corner of Justin’s eye. The man looked at him indifferently and said, “Fool. No soul can be relieved of their sin so easily.” Still, I relieve you of your turmoil and you are hereby saved.”

The man in the blue suit opened the door, walked down the sidewalk, and vanished onto the street.

*

Lindsey Nolan, fifteen years of age, lay on her bed in her room in Boise, Idaho. Her back planted firmly on the bed, resting against the headboard with a pad of paper and pen resting on her legs. She lay there in her short shorts and a white tank top, tapping her pen vigorously on the pad. A thesis on the Navajo Indians was due tomorrow. What the Hell is a thesis anyway, she thought restlessly.

Her I-Pod lay to the right of her as the Beatles hammered out of the earbuds. She knew this music was a little old for her, but she didn’t care. She loved listening to A Hard Day’s Night, A World Without Love and Ain’t She Sweet. These were just a few of her favorites; nonetheless, she fed on the love. So much soul, in so little time her mother would tell her. It was in the Love. Plus, they were hot! Then she would make a sweet little cackle.

Lindsey’s mind went back to the beast at hand and caught a glimpse of her lower thigh.

Smack! Her hand went upside her left thigh and growled at the fat hanging from it. Why do I have to be so fat? Do you think Billy will look at a fat pig walking through the hall? No! she shrieked in her mind. Thirty minutes ago she weighed herself at 122; that was one pound heavier than yesterday! What the hell was that all about?

Smack! Her other hand went up her right thigh. She deserved it, she reasoned, to be so stupid as to finish those Doritos at lunch! She hadn’t had dinner, so all of this “weight gaining” was infuriating her. So much for the thesis, she thought to herself, and chucked the pad and pen onto her bed.

Lindsey stepped out of her front door to be welcomed by a gush of warmth as the sun drifted into the twilight. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, turned left, then back to the right so she could run towards the sinking sun.

This is where Lindesy lived, on this very sidewalk in this very house. Her worries compounded: school, boys, parents. They were all left behind and now she could be alone. Usually her head was clear and the only sound she could hear was the flop! flop! of her shoes hitting the pavement.

Today was different though. Instead of flop! what she heard was, Fat!

Fat! Fat!

Fat! Fat!

Each time her New Balance shoes fell to the pavement. Fat!

Hearing this only made her angrier. Her jog became a run. Her run became a sprint. Her breath escaped her lungs in tiny increments, About the same amount of weight I gain every hour! she bellowed inside. She surged on.

Fat! Fat!

Fat! Fat!

Her sprint slowed back to a jog after a quarter mile or so. There, she thought, that ought to rid me of the Doritos from lunch AND the Oreos from the day before.

Lindsey's head started to swim. A faint hum came from the back of her skull slamming to the front. The humming vibrated her brain and sent tingles down her spine. She hadn't brought anything to drink and dehydration was setting in quickly. Her vision started to blur with tears; either from the wind in her eyes or from her pain within; she could not decide. Her pace slowed to a brisk walk.

On the sidewalk, about a hundred yards ahead, she saw a man. A man in a black suit from the looks of it, she thought. As she approached a bit closer, she decided that his suit was actually blue. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back. She could not see his face due to the bright fireball blazing just over his shoulder.

At first, she thought nothing of him. She was now passing him, only shooting a quick glance and head nod, but his face was still as black as the night itself.

“Hello, Ms. Nolan,” the man in the blue suit said as she swept by him.

She was taken aback, stumbled, kicked the back of her leg with the other and almost gave the pavement some skin.

“Wha-Huh?” She stammered.

“Hello, Ms Nolan. I know you don't know me, but I know you very well, yes indeed.”

“H-how” Lindsey still couldn't get her words out. The humming in her head thickened to a dull roar. “How…do you know me?” She still couldn't get a look at the man's face. Facing away from the sun obscured the man from sight even more.

“That’s not important, Ms. Nolan. What is important is that I am here to help you.” His voice was strong and his stature was yet stronger.

“Help me?” She was already on the verge of tears and still not quite understanding who the man was and what he wanted.

“Oh yes, my dear; you see, I know a young lad down the street. I spoke with him today. He is a football player, I believe. Said his name was Billy. You like him, no? Aw, I can see by your face that you do. And you are afraid that you are too fat for him, no? Am I close?”

“How is it you know these things?” Lindsay let the tears and emotions come. The man demanded her emotion, it seemed. She could feel it being ripped out of her rather than releasing it on her own free will. She thrust her face into her palms, crying. She was on the verge of hysteria and had no way of stopping it.

“Envy, Ms. Nolan, is indeed one of the Seven Deadly Sins. ‘Sorrow for another’s good’ is how they put it, I believe. Do you feel sorrow for another’s good?” The man in the suit was approaching closer, almost hovering. He flickered in and out of Lindsey’s view. Now, towering over her within an instant, she could only look at the ground.

“No, I don’t have any envy.” Lindsay said. She started to regain her composure, but the humming remained; vibrating every pint of blood to her extremities.

“No? Ms Nolan, I don’t advise avoiding the truth. That will only make matters even more difficult for you. And you have gone through so much as it is. I would hate for this to drag on further. Listen, I know you know Envy. It is a close friend to you; a companion. I know the way you look at other women, older women mostly, and want, NEED their form. You are so envious of their figure that rage builds inside. Rage on the brink of murder. You wish you could kill them, slither out your fat body and into theirs. Impressive idea, Ms Nolan, but a thought you cannot control anymore, is it not?”

Lindsey stood there shrinking again in her mind; her face buried deep in the cups of her hands. She was shaking so badly that it would turn into convulsions if it did not subside. Her thoughts raced about. Fat, thin, murder. How did he know all of this?

“I can help you, Lindsey,” the man in the blue suit told her, disregarding her emotional state. “I have something for you, something you want, and something that you need; something aside from murder. Look at me!” His voice was escalating into a shout.

Lindsey couldn’t look at him. She stared down at his knees and mumbled incoherencies. Finally, she said, “I would like your help.”

“Good. Happy to be of service to you, my lady. Phentermine. Do you know what that is? No? Phentermine is a great weight loss pill; it decreases your appetite quickly. Be careful how you use these, they are very lethal when taken in excess. But, a lady in your state would take a hundred to lose a few pounds, right?”

“No, I-I don’t take pills” Lindsay said with a bit more authority. The man in the blue suit now stood directly over her head, blotching out rays of sunlight that remained on the sidewalk. His right hand unclasped from his back and was now out in front of her face.

“Yes, you do. Take these; they’ll help you with your situation. Take them!” the man bellowed. His voice commanded such authority it seemed to rumble the very ground they stood.

Lindsay reached out her hand and felt a pill bottle plop on the palm of her hand. She fell to her knees. The weight of the bottle seemed so much that it brought her to the pavement. Ah, the familiar feel of a bottle. She confesses now; confesses to Envy, to pills. That bottle lay so naturally in her hand. She helplessly twisted the cap and finally popped it open. She took one, looked at it with passion, and threw it in her mouth. Her teeth started chomping, chomping vigorously at the familiar taste. The sour powder rolled around her mouth as she popped another; and yet a third.

I will be thin! She screamed. I will be thin! Everyone will love me! Love my body!  Her mind began to gurgle; spit and sputter like an old car trying to roar to life. Her shaking had escalated. The humming was a dull roar once again. The dull roar turned into a drumming; a drumming of vibration. Then, out of the thickness in her head, she heard a voice. The voice came from the man in the blue suit, but the man was no longer in front of her.

“You are hereby saved I relieve you of your turmoil.”

Lindsey bit her lip, cracked a smile, and said to herself, thin.

She stuttered into convulsions; the pills doing their dirty work. She collapsed to the ground in a heap of skin on bone. Within a few hours her body withered away to nothing. Only a passerby would claim a grave robbing from the look.

*

Earl Sampson was standing on the corner of Grand and Streeter Drive in Chicago. This had become familiar surroundings to him recently. Moving away from home may always be a difficult stage in one’s life, but not when the man doing the moving and the adjusting to a new world is that of a forty five year old male and the founder of Sampson & Sampson, Inc.

Earl’s company was an established law firm based in New York City. His younger brother, James Sampson, helped Earl bring the company to its peak. No other law firm was bigger or better.

Earl Sampson was not in Chicago on business. Nor was he here on vacation, checking out the Navy Pier down the street. He lived here now. Actually, he lived in a park east of Grande Street called Milton Lee Olive Park. He laid his head on a park bench settled under a large oak tree. This was his home. His decision was to leave his home in New York. Leave his wife. Leave his son. Leave his brother. And leave his company he spent his adult life creating.

His decision was more made for him than his own. One day he was working late at the office on a couple unsolved murder cases involving peculiar deaths. One young man murdered in his own home by God knew who, and another young lady murdered force-fed by weight-loss pills. This all could wait; he only wanted to go home and be with his family for dinner.

When he pulled into his driveway that night he found his brother’s car in his parking spot. Not thinking much of it he tip-toed around looking for anyone in the house, peeked into his son’s room, which turned up empty. He glanced up and down the hallway, holding his breath when a slight sound came from the direction of the room Earl and his wife shared.

The door was cracked only slightly and a little light shone through. His heart rate quickened a bit as he was attempting to ascertain the situation. His brother’s car was in the driveway, he couldn’t find his wife or son anywhere in the house and now a squeak whispered through the crack of the room’s door. Earl’s blood started pumping harder with anger. He took a step back. Wheeled up and kicked the door open. His wife was thrusting on top of a man he could only assume to be his brother. Earl’s fists clenched into a ball then fell back loosely to his hips; open, closed, open, closed -- again and again. Half-moon indentions brought blood to the service of his palm. Blood drops slipped through his fingers, trickling on the carpet.

His wife could only offer a look of pain as she quickly slipped off the bed, reaching for her bathrobe, and gave him a long apologetic glance that was more of embarrassment from getting caught than remorse of sleeping with his brother in their own bed. He looked at his brother who was lying with his wife, just staring at the ceiling. Earl looked back and forth between the two. Neither said a word. Twenty seconds seemed to drag on like twenty days. He turned on his heel and walked out of the door.

*

That was a year ago. Now in Chicago, he still hadn’t seen or heard from either his wife or his son since that day. His brother was nothing but a dead rodent washed to the street from the sewer after a hard rain. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten here. Such a long journey to thumb it from New York. Every day became a blur and he thought how he would just rather not live anymore. Everyone had betrayed him, stolen from him then kicked him in the teeth as he stood heartbroken on his bedroom floor.

Earl Sampson’s rambling in his head had brought him to an Italian restaurant he had come to adore. He did that a lot. Walking, thinking and walking without knowing where his feet were taking him. He was getting hungry and Italian was his favorite. The restaurant would not let him in the front door; he supposed it was his ragged clothes: a gray sports coat, a white button down collared shirt underneath and a pair of matching gray slacks. His clothes were near black from his traveling, now stained with tears and a few holes. He was nothing but a bum in the city; a goddamn bum.

Earl slid down the back alley past the dumpsters behind the Italian restaurant. This was his dinner tonight. The amount of food wasted by this city was amazing! One of these dumpsters could feed a third world country! He slumped over the side, got a whiff of the trash and up-chucked over the opposite side. What has become of me, he thought sadly. Death, I adore you. You’re a mystery. You’re a pain-reliever, how do I reach thee?

“Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Sampson.”

Earl swirled around from the sound of a man’s voice. In mid-swirl he slipped on a grease patch next to the dumpster and fell backwards in slow motion, almost comically. His left leg kicked out from under him as he grabbed for support with his right arm. His fingers grasped a wire and pulled down on the cord when something metal clanged and fell to the ground just paces away. He lost his grip on the cord and fell with a Omphf into bits and pieces of Italian greased spaghetti, clams and buttered bread that toppled from the dumpster.

Well that’s a nice-smelling cologne. He sat on the ground a moment and gathered himself. Another thought surfaced like an emotion that swept over him, engulfing him with fear. Could he be…?

“Think what you will, Mr. Sampson, but I am here to help you.”

This was no man, Earl thought. It was clear that this man could read his mind as if he were speaking aloud. His voice was not human.

“I like you, Earl. You are one of the few who attempts to look at me. Many scare away and stare in the distance in light of my presence.” When the man spoke, the ground vibrated.

“I have no fear. I have nothing to lose, so I do not scare so easy. I am especially not afraid of a man who hides in the shadows when he is speaking to another man!” Earl said, despite being on the verge of tears. Even though the words ran smoothly and they sounded a bit harsh. But underneath he was truly scared. Show your bones son, he thought, and kill me if it pleases you...

Suddenly, there was a rush of wind slamming Earl back against the dumpster. The wind swished and twirled around them, kicking up loose papers and trash. The man was raging.

“You coward!” The man screamed. “You know nothing! You want me to show you my bones, Mr. Samson? Fine, just fine!"  

Earl stood against the dumpster, stricken with fear, but found enough courage to lift his chin to look into the man’s eyes. He immediately regretted the decision but could not look away once he had locked eyes with him.

The man in the blue suit thrust his face inches away from Earl’s. But, there was no face. A face, where skin and flesh were supposed to be, was only a skull. The eye sockets were sunken in about the size of a silver dollar. Inside the eye sockets were actual eyeballs; darting around this way and that. The constant movement seemed the only way for the skull-man to keep them from falling out. Scanning this skull-face he could see some sort of ooze sliding down his skull. The ooze was slow to fall, almost like he was sweating greasy molasses, that never fell from his face. The sweat-molasses slithered down his bones to his grim smile; a smile forever embedded. He stood there face to face with the demon for several seconds before the skull-man spoke again. His voice changed to seem more human yet more snake-like.  

“What’s-sss the matter, boy? Are you ss-scared now? Ah, I can see that much, yes-ss. I can ssss-ee the piss streaming down your pathetic trousers-sss. Ha! You little sss-shit! You, know nothing!

“Who-what are you?” Earl managed to stammer as he watched the metamorphosis unfold before his eyes.  

The man in the blue suit rose slightly, almost mechanically, slowly elevating off the ground. The wind spun like a tornado; a tornado of raw terror. Loose trash was beating Earl in the face, dirt flung into his eyes, but he could not look away. His terror froze him, still leaning against the dumpster as the man was now raising a few feet off the ground in the middle of the alley; his voice booming, reverberating into Earl’s ears.

“Ebru Lababon, Belial, the Foul Fiend, the Cloven Hoof, the Fallen Angel, Beelzebub, Prince of Demons; I, Mr. Sampson, am Satan! Now it’s time for you to join me in Hell!”

At that instant, Satan came slamming back to Earth. He threw his hands up behind Earl’s head, which now the man could smell that he lost his bowels and snagged the cord that was slung there. He thrust it around Earl’s neck, side-stepped to the back of the dumpster, tugged down with so much force that it slung Earl off his feet.

Earl’s hands went immediately to the cord. He tugged and grabbed at it, swinging and kicking his feet, gasping for air. The cord surprisingly suspended his body, cutting off air flow to his brain. Then he started to loose consciousness and struggled to meet eyes with his murderer.

“Goodbye, Mr. Sampson. See you in Hell!”

Satan stepped back and spread his arms wide and let out a beastly cackle that pierced Earl’s ears. He rested his head on his chest and vanished with a crack! Blue sparks cracked had whipped onto Earl’s body, searing his skin.

Earl was utterly awestruck. White sparkles were now prickling his vision. He stopped kicking. He stopped thinking. Poor old Earl; only wanting to rid himself of his problems but instead asked for death as he met the Prince of Demons. Suicide was the passerby’s opinion. The homeless man simply couldn’t take it anymore. Just before he lost consciousness, a voice spoke, booming in his head.

“You are hereby saved; I relieve you of Earth’s turmoil.”

*

Justin Street, Lindsay Nolan and Earl Sampson had all found themselves waking together in a living nightmare in a strange, alien world. Trees were everywhere and perched atop each tree was a foul creature with the head of a woman and a body of a bird. An infernal pit of flames danced wildly all around them. They had all made the same deal, yet no one had gotten what they bargained for as the man in the blue suit approached them in true form and quoted something horrid to their hearts…

“Those who do violence against themselves or their bodily property inhabit the second ring; a horrid forest -- Inferno 13. Now suicide, the one unwritten deadly sin, has given you a new home…”

“Welcome to the 13th Circle of Hell!”

*

Joshua Ludeker is also a newcomer to SNM Horror Mag. This marks his debut publication as a writer as he demonstares some excellent character development. Josh is an intermittent writer just breaking into print while weaving his first novel of horror stories. He lives in Kentucky with his wife and three kids and is soon launching a website. You can email him comments:

joshualudeker@yahoo.com

Joshua Ludeker

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