“Jesus fuck!”
A snarling, demonic beast towered behind him in the reflection of the glass and he spun around to face what he thought was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen… But when he did, only the store’s clerk stood before him.
He whipped his head back to the reflection and his heart settled down a notch with just a man mirrored in the glass. He looked back at the strange person who stood and gawked with a cold and inhuman glare, but compared to what he thought he saw, this man was probably the most pleasant human being he’d seen all day.
“Christ… You scared the crap out of me…” He released a deep breath and let loose a chuckle, relieving the immense tension that had him wound up tighter than a fish’s sphincter. “I…uh…need a receipt for my gas…” He was just now noticing the guy’s odd, blank slate of a face, and kept a wary eye on him when picking up his beverage. “…and a cup of Joe.”
The man just stared for a moment, and the Cabby stared back. A tiny yellow flicker teased in the clerk’s eyes, and the Cabby’s heart jumped at the sight of it. The man then spoke up, lightening the load of fret weighing in the moment, voice eerily dull.
“What brings you out this way?”
The Cabby slumped in relief of the broken silence, finally able to loosen up a bit.
“I’ll give ya one guess.” He pointed toward his cab at the gas pump but the clerk didn’t bother to look. He just stood there awkwardly, the distant stare in his eyes again building tension between them. After a few more seconds, the clerk spoke a second time.
“What brings you out this way?”
He said it exactly as he did before – emotionless and autonomic – and the Cabby’s pulse jumped up another beat.
“I…drive a cab…” The moment was excruciatingly strange, and a terrible rotting smell slithered from behind the attendant. He winced at its taste but tried not to draw attention. “…I had a fare… A customer that needed a lift…”
The clerk waited briefly before speaking again, as if he thought the pause would be less conspicuous, when it really only grew anxiety in the moment before he went on.
“Where did you take her?”
A jolt of adrenaline flushed through the Cabby’s veins and that dreamlike state he was stuck in took a turn toward a nightmare.
“What?” His shock occupied his reason and he struggled for words. “How…?”
He wanted to say, “How the hell did you know it was a ‘her’?” and “It’s none of your goddamn business!”, but he couldn’t push more than a single syllable through his fright. Something was definitely off about this expressionless store clerk and the question made the Cabby think the girl might’ve had good reason to seem as paranoid as she did. What the hell had she got him mixed up in?
He had a dozen questions all at once, and they all had answers, but were all beyond his realm of understanding. The most obvious answer being that the demon Tessura was projecting this image of the clerk she’d just brutally murdered and was trying to be cunning about getting some answers. What he also wouldn’t understand, was that the beast had lost “sight” of Alex when she stepped off the street and into her father’s restaurant. The place must’ve been warded from her perception byway of witchcraft, or it was possible it was a kind of spiritual sanctuary. All of which wouldn’t do the Cabby a damn bit of good whether he knew these truths or not. He was likely better off leaning more towards the “not”.
“Where did you take the girl?” Tessura’s projection lacked character and harmony but was proficient at getting to the point. The clerk’s eyes flickered with yellow when he spoke, bringing an even more unnatural air to his stare than just his lifeless eyes alone.
Tessura, behind the illusion of the clerk and outside the Cabby’s perception, towered in front of him – a smeared trail of human blood painting a path to the garage decorated the tile behind her. She huffed in restraint against her urge to tear the man’s limbs from his athletically neglected torso and perhaps inadvertently alerted his subconscious to her threats. The Cabby suddenly realized it was in his best interest to answer the dull man’s question, but he didn’t even need to speak since Tessura could “see” the answer when he brought it forth in his mind. He struggled to form the words with his unresponsive jaw that he thought might get him away from this nightmare, but it was too little too late – his cooperation was no longer necessary.
The projection of the plain-faced clerk melted into a blurry shimmer, and Tessura proudly revealed herself in monstrous form. She stood still for a moment in all her glory, allowing his fear to run its course with the blood-splattered stains covering the floor and walls behind her adding to the barrage of horror.
His jaw hung at the sight of the beast he thought was only a figment of his tired imagination and he immediately knew she was real by the putrid stench and the warmth radiating from her enormous figure.
“Oh, god no…” He slumped to his knees from the weakness his terror filled him with and began to plead, assuming his life was in the balance. “P-please…please don’t hurt me…” Tessura grumbled lowly, enjoying the groveling of the man at her feet. “I…I h-have a f-f-family… A w-w-wife…a-and k-k-k-k-kids…”
She growled in dominant protest, knowing the man was lying, and her hot breath caused him to keel over and vomit from the stink of it. After he spit a few chunks from his lips and gasped for air, he decided he’d try bargaining with the thing. Maybe he could weasel his way out of certain gruesome death by volunteering to help bestow that terrible fate onto someone else…
“I’ll get you the girl! Sh-sh-she trusts me! I’ll go back and get her for you… T-t-take her wherever you want!”
Tessura didn’t need this insect… The thought of it was offensive. For his insolence, she’d capture his soul and use his essence to cleanse the rot from her congested colon… But even that may be too high praise for this disgusting cretin.
She raised her arm with black claws poised like talons to swipe death across the chest of a sorry excuse for a human, but stopped before inexorably delivering him.
…The girl… Tessura could see her now. But…something…wasn’t right…
Imala had told her that Alex didn’t have the protective charm she wore, but there was definitely something still there with her. She could sense that she was still protected…and that menacing setback infuriated her.
She howled a cry that brought the man at her feet into a fetal crunch. She barked another irritated grumble when realizing this piece of human dung that reeked of domesticated cat and stale coffee might turn out to be of use after all, and grabbed the Cabby by his shirt, lifting him from his feet to deliver her commands directly into his thoughts—
YOU LIVE…TO SERVE ME.
Her telepathy was like a force of nature in his mind.
Her power caused him to leak his composure from the crotch of his pants and he nodded rapidly to show enthusiasm for his immediate cooperation.
“Yes…yes… Anything…”
He babbled his verbal compliance with tears and drool, and she dropped him into a puddle of his own piss and vomit.
If she couldn’t touch the girl – if Alex was somehow still protected – then she might need this groveling pinworm to transport her to her queen. Her hunt had just become more complex than usual, but not outside her ability to adapt. In the hundreds of Earth-years she’s serviced other masters, she’d never failed to collect a soul. …This young girl would not be an exception to her untarnished track record.
The Dead Meets the Degenerate and Pig Shit Flies
The halls were decked with bowels and folly, the walls painted with the insides of fools who believed their god would never let something like him exist. Those few social workers who still held a breath in their chests were more terrified by the idea that what just killed them was real than the fact that they were dead or dying. Smoke tore through the lobby o
f the detention center in under two minutes, leaving only one with the hope for survival just to entertain the twisted humor involved, since really, in the end, there wasn’t hope left for anyone.
After he broke through the metal gate that clamped down and barred the entrance, he ripped apart the remaining two correction officers and scattered their limbs to every corner of the lobby. A young man who was making his way from prison to be released would’ve never guessed he’d have been safer back in his cell, but wasn’t alive long enough to dwell. Smoke twisted the man’s head around so his ass was in front of him and kicked in both his knees until they bent backward like those of an ostrich.
Two female receptionists cowered under their desks at the front counter, ducking the continuous spray of human marinara sauce flinging over their heads as their coworkers were ripped to morbid bits. After he finished off the rest of the lobby, Smoke reached through the painted plywood the girls hid behind to grab the skinny one by her hair. She squirmed and screamed against his grip as he pulled her through the splintered counter and tossed her clear out of the building. Her shrieking flight through midair must’ve lasted three or four seconds until she met her end as a blood-splattered stain against the side of the Camaro illegally parked at the base of the complex.
The only remaining person left alive did her best to not make a sound. She even held her breath after her flying coworker’s screams had ceased and the rest of the room descended into a deathly silence.
Smoke smiled wretchedly, coolly leaning on the counter to address the terrified woman when he spoke.
“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” he gave the counter a rap and the air a deep sniff. “I can smell your rag.”
She cringed behind the front desk, still holding her breath, hoping he was bluffing or that maybe he’d just go away if she pretended she didn’t hear.
“You either get your chubby lil’ ass up here and talk to me…or I stick one of your officer buddy’s severed arms down your throat until you’re shitting fingers.”
The terrified receptionist whimpered at the sound of his threat and after a few seconds, decided to do as he said. She hesitantly put her feet under her, finding it a struggle to stand through the flood of pure horror weighing her down. Cautiously, she stood, with her glasses tilted across the bridge of her nose, sniffling and sniveling in between breaths. She straightened up as much as she could and lifted her head, still slightly hunched in fear, unable to bring herself to meet the eyes of her terror personified. Her voice was weak – feeble – and she stuttered when she finally spoke.
“C-c-c-can…I…h-h-h-help you?”
Smoke just stared at first, trying his best to hold a straight face, then exploded in a deep barrel of a laugh. The portly young receptionist flinched at the sound and when he wasn’t looking, found the courage to sneak a gander at her captor engulfed in laughter. She winced at the sight of the hole in his pale forehead and the black sap oozing from its center.
“W-w-what h-happened to your f-f-f-face?” The question came out unexpectedly, and she felt, after the fact, it might not have been a brilliant move on her part to ask it, so she tried remedying her blunder by wearing an expression of concern rather than revulsion.
Smoke finally caught his breath after laughing hard enough to rattle the tiles and straightened his smile to a scowl.
“…Swine Flu.”
She wasn’t sure if he was being serious through his stern-eyed glare.
“This pig-sty is fucking contaminated.”
He reached toward her and she cringed and squealed at the motion. Her eyes pinched shut, not wanting to see what he had in mind, and hoped to God that it’d be quick and painless. A strange sucking and squishing sound perturbed her imagination, and she couldn’t help but lift an eyelid just enough to take a peek.
His arm was outstretched beside her with his large hand atop a green, plastic bottle of Purell, squirting generous globs of it into his dead, bloodied palm.
“Have you washed your hands today?”
She opened the other eye to confirm she was actually seeing what she thought she was.
“Cleanliness makes for finer killing.”
He smacked two palms together, thoroughly rubbing in the sterilizer, then snorted up and spit out a disgusting reddish-brown clump of sickly mucous.
The young receptionist had a melting pot of torment described by her eyes that included disgust, shock, and fear, all badly concealed behind an attempt at a cordial face.
“What?” Smoke threw her a clueless expression and a shake of his head. He didn’t really expect an answer, but figured he’d screw with her some more just to see how far he could take it. “I got somethin’ stuck in my teeth?”
He flashed incisors and gums that dripped human pulp, and the young woman’s face turned from ghostly pale to a sour shade of chartreuse. She did her best to hold down her vomit and was able to keep it under control for the time being.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“You need another minute?”
She shook her head.
She figured her only way out of this mess, if she had any hope at all, was to make herself as compliant as possible. For some reason, this disgusting abomination before her hadn’t yet tore her into tattered, fleshy pieces of secretary pot-roast, and she didn’t want to push what small measure of luck she still had going for her. Smoke noticed her amiable aura and decided on bypassing the playtime and getting down to business.
“I want you to help me find my ol’ man.”
The woman snapped out of her panic, eyes glowing with hope, finally believing there was something she could do to save her life.
She nodded obediently and played her part well. The computers were down, but she was able to look up his father’s floor and cell number manually through file cabinets in a back office. She tried not to think about the scattered body parts she stepped over to get there, or what Smoke might do to the man when he found him, and instead stayed focused on the task.
After Smoke got the info he needed, he told the girl to get the fuck away from him before he turned her tits into a cheese soufflé. She scuttled from the building, squealing at the sight of her broken friend, and shuffled into the abandoned city streets. She didn’t make it much further than a block before she collapsed to her knees and cried herself into an exhausted unconsciousness under the stirring, apocalyptic clouds of the end of the civilized world.
Smoke strolled down the hall leading into the belly of the prison, jubilantly whistling with an exaggerated hop to his step. He spotted a prison guard’s rouge, severed head on the floor in front of him and lined it up to kick it soccer-style down the long corridor. It bounced off the walls leaving gory splats in its path and rolled as far as the end of the hall before stopping in front of the elevator. When he caught up to it, he pushed the Up arrow on the wall and stood respectfully with his hands behind his back.
He looked down at the officer’s battered noggin and gave it a polite nod. He always hated those uncomfortable moments with two perfect strangers both cramped in a single lift, so he decided to be the bigger man and break the ice.
“Hey. How’s it goin’?”
The head’s eyes were rolled upward and away and Smoke felt a little awkward, thinking maybe his friendly conversation was a bit premature. After all, they hardly got the chance to get to know each other before the whole “brutal massacre” thing…
“You, uh… You goin’ up?”
Ding.
Saved by the bell.
He stepped inside and pushed the button for the fourth floor where his father was housed with the rest of the violent criminals and multiple offenders. He wondered how his dad would react when faced with the corrupted atrocity his abandoned son had become. Would he cower and beg for his life like a pathetic shit-stain of a man? Or would he try a more conniving approach and pretend
he was pleased to see him, ready and willing to be a part of his ex-girlfriend’s army of the dead and a father to his demonic offspring?
The elevator door slid shut while he contemplated the near future, then a fire-engine-red cabinet mounted on the wall outside it caught his eye and he reached out to stop the door in its path.
“Whoa…”
He guided it back open and stepped into the hall; a wooden-handled ax inside of the locked, safety cabinet coaxing a gleam from his glossy eyes. The fireman’s tool had an ax blade on one side and a red pick on the other. He ripped the door from the cabinet and acquired the sharpened doom-bringer with zealous intent.
“Yeah…” he nodded, eyeballing its sleek design. “This thing’s got my fuckin’ name written all over it.”
He gave it a smack of approval against the palm of his hand and stepped back into the elevator, grinning evilly. If the look in Smoke’s eyes alone didn’t put the fear of Hell into his father, the threat of being sodomized by either end of this fucking thing ought to do the trick.
When he reached the fourth floor, there was a buzz among the detainees that electrified the stale, prison air. It was past curfew, so the inmates had been locked down in their cells, but none were likely asleep. Smoke had already made chopped cop-cutlets out of the fifteen prison guards who were unlucky enough to be working the nightshift, so there weren’t any unexpected, potential victims patrolling the halls.
He stepped out of the elevator, black hood hovering above his brow, and gave the air a predator-like sniff. There was fresh blood nearby, teasing his senses – two different flavors, no less – and one of them smelled like…family…
He took his first step down the row of interlocked cells and held his new best friend, the firemen’s ax, casually at his side. When he grazed by the first cell, he raised the tool to run the pointed end against the bars; metal clanking against metal announcing his every stride. Some of the cons lied in bed, heads lifted and eyes wide as he passed. Others were standing, pacing or leaning against the bars, and would back away at his approach. The clanking of the ax was slow and suspenseful and ultimately had them stewing in their angst. Eventually one spoke up, thinking himself braver than the rest…or perhaps was just not much brighter than a nightlight in daytime and really didn’t know any better…
Blood Magik- A Cold Day In Hell Page 21