American Monsters

by Derek Landy

  Amber moved away from the others, who walked with blank expressions, seemingly oblivious to everything around them.

  She came to a vast opening into a cavernous room and she looked at what stood in the centre for a full ten seconds before she realised what it was. A throne, as big as a cathedral. Amber backed out, struggling to make sense of the scale.

  “You’re lost.”

  She turned. A priest walked up, his white collar smudged and his vestments torn. He was balding, with a long, lined face. “Maybe I can help you,” he said. “Where do you need to go?”

  “I’m not lost,” said Amber.

  The priest smiled. “Of course not. My mistake. I have a tendency to believe that everyone is lost except me. You are one of Lord Astaroth’s demons, are you not?”

  “I’m his representative, actually.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the priest. “I do apologise.”

  “Not at all. Feel free to, uh, go about your business.”

  Amber walked on, down a corridor of black stone, but he followed.

  “And what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Sorry?” she said, not slowing down.

  He caught up with her. “Here, in the palace of the Blood-dimmed King.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Business,” she said. “Lord Astaroth’s business. I can’t discuss it, sorry.”

  “Nor would I expect you to,” said the priest. “But, if you need a guide, I do know this palace quite well.”

  Amber considered this. “Well, since you’re here,” she said, “I have to deliver a message to the soul of a young man. A vampire.”

  “This way,” said the priest. She followed him into an adjoining corridor. “They’re very well organised down here,” he continued. “Infernal bureaucracy is what they do best, if I’m to be honest. Wicked souls to your left, innocent souls to your right, damned souls straight ahead, that sort of thing.”

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  The priest smiled. “A long time. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been here forever.”

  “I’m Amber, by the way.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” the priest said, but did not offer his own name in return.

  “What did you do?” she asked. “To come here?”

  He frowned for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, I see. You think I sinned? No, no. In this palace, there are priests who have volunteered to be here, to live in this Hell in order to offer salvation to the tortured and the suffering.”

  “The Blood-dimmed King allows this?”

  “Of course,” said the priest. “Without hope of salvation, there can never be true despair. There is only acceptance.”

  “You volunteered to be here?”

  “I came of my own volition, yes.”

  “How do you do it? How do you live here with all this pain?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he responded. “How do you live out there, among the living, with all that pain? Here, you know what to expect. Out there? Every cut is deeper, because the people wielding the knives have the choice not to cut. And yet they still draw blood.”

  “We’re messed up, I’m not denying that, but it’s not all bad.”

  “And I would submit to you that it is not all bad here, either.”

  “Isn’t this a place of eternal torture?”

  “Well,” he said, “yes, but friendships can still flourish, honour still exists, and it is not unheard of for two souls to find love. Even here.”

  “Have you seen him? The Blood-dimmed King? Is he really that big? Was that actually his throne?”

  “The Blood-dimmed King can be as tall as a mountain or as small as a mouse. He can take any form.” The priest took a leather-bound flask from his robes, held it out. “Water?”

  Amber hesitated, then took it. The water was surprisingly cold. It soothed her parched throat and, without realising it, she’d soon drained the whole thing. “Sorry,” she said, handing it back.

  The priest smiled. He didn’t seem to mind.

  He took her into the bowels of the palace. The stench of bile and excrement and rotting meat oozed from the walls, and Amber put her hands over her mouth as she walked.

  The priest noticed, and laughed. “Oh dear,” he said, “is it really that bad? I’m afraid I must be quite used to it by now. It’s funny how smell is the first thing you can ignore, isn’t it?”

  “It’d take a lot to ignore this,” she muttered, and the priest laughed again.

  They turned a corner and he held up his hand. Ahead of them was a chamber full of men and women, their bodies slashed, their eyes closed.

  “Move slowly,” the priest whispered. “The Scarred Ones won’t wake if you don’t make a sound. The damned souls are just beyond them.”

  She nodded, and they crept forward.

  Up close, the Scarred Ones were even more distressing. The gashes that covered their bodies appeared to have been made without pattern or design. They were just gashes, moments of pain inscribed into flesh. Amber moved slowly, her sneakers silent on the rough stone floor. She watched their eyes as she passed, searching for a telltale flicker to warn her that they were waking.

  She made it through the chamber and turned as the Scarred Ones raised their heads and their hands shot out, clamping hard on to the priest’s arms. She dived for cover behind the doorway.

  “Ah,” the priest said, “I’m afraid the jig is up. Run now, Amber, I’ll do my best to buy you some—” He frowned suddenly as they crowded him. “Now wait a moment, I’m not the one you want.”

  He tried to pull free, but they started to drag him away.

  “No,” he said, panic rising in his voice. “You’re making a mistake. You know me. Amber, tell them.”

  Amber stayed hidden, but the priest’s eyes found her. “Tell them!” he shouted. “They’ll condemn me to this place! Tell them!”

  Amber’s hand rose to her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

  “I helped you!” the priest screamed. “I helped you!”

  Through a door he went, and then they were gone.

  Her heart beating wildly in her chest, Amber sagged against the wall. She’d left him. He’d helped her and she’d left him.

  He’d get out of it. Amber started walking. The Scarred Ones would realise their mistake and they’d release him. He wasn’t in any danger. He wasn’t.

  “Balls,” she whispered to nothing but the stench, and she turned back, sprinted through the chamber, following the priest. She got to the door and threw it open, and stopped.

  The door led outside, to a long pathway that stretched from one tower to the next. On this side of the palace, she was on the top of an impossible mountain, looking down on a valley where winged creatures preyed on each other in mid-air. It was freezing here. The path was covered in ice.

  The Scarred Ones were halfway across, walking away from her. The priest walked with them. Their hands were no longer clasped to his arms. He was no longer struggling, or shouting.

  He looked over his shoulder, like he knew she’d be there, and he smiled, and walked on.

  Frowning, Amber stepped back, closed the door to the freezing cold. She turned, hurried back through the chamber until she got to the cells.

  Metal walls, with bars of black iron, and people behind them, reaching out to her as she passed, begging her for help, for release or for an end to their pain. She couldn’t help them. She couldn’t slow down, couldn’t listen to their words. She could only listen for voices.

  “Glen!” she called, and got a cacophony of responses.

  She saw a key hanging from a nail, snatched it as she passed.

  “Glen Morrison!” she called, running now. She turned a corner and ran on. “Can you hear me? Glen!”

  And then a voice. His voice.

  She backtracked, peering through the bars. “Glen? Glen, where are you?”

  One hand among all the others waved out, yet somehow she knew it was his.

  She took his ha
nd, crouched down, stared into the darkness of the cell.

  “Glen?” she said softly. “Glen, it’s me. It’s Amber.”

  She saw him. He was Glen, and he wasn’t. He looked like Glen, had the same face, the same hair, but there was something different about him. She blinked to clear her vision, but when she looked back it hadn’t changed. It was like he was the essence of Glen, instead of the real thing. He was naked and covered in grime, slathered in filth.

  “I’ve come to rescue you,” Amber said. “I’m going to take you to a better place. Do you want to go to a better place?”

  A small voice. “Yes.”

  “Come on, then. We have to be quick. Do you understand? We have to hurry.”

  She used the key to open the cell. There were many figures in here and they surged out. She let them. All she cared about was Glen.

  He reached for her, his cold fingers wrapped around her hand, and Amber led him back the way she’d come.

  Or she thought she did. There were suddenly a lot more turns than she’d remembered, and the freed souls were making too much noise to hang around. She chose a corridor at random and sprinted, Glen barely keeping up.

  Behind her, she heard screams of terror.

  And then a familiar voice called out to her. “Amber? Is that you?”

  She stopped, her insides suddenly cold.

  Grant Van der Valk, her parents’ friend, stared at her from behind the cell bars. “You’re free,” he said. “You’re not … you’re not trapped here.”

  Kirsty pressed to the front. “Amber? Is that Amber? Help us. Please help us.”

  Amber backed away.

  “Where are you going?” Grant asked. “Amber, you can’t leave us here. You can’t just abandon us. Please help us.”

  “You have to,” Kirsty wept.

  Someone moved behind them, and Amber’s eyes widened when she saw the grime-smeared face of the woman who had helped her, who had saved her, who had shown her the only love she’d ever experienced as a child. “Imelda?”

  Amber ran to the next set of bars, Glen stumbling after her, and Imelda reached her hand through and stroked Amber’s face.

  “You’re not dead,” Imelda whispered.

  “No,” said Amber. “Not dead. Me and Milo, we’re still alive.”

  Imelda smiled so brilliantly, so brightly that Amber just knew it was the first time she’d smiled since she’d been here.

  “That’s my girl,” Imelda whispered.

  “I can get you out,” said Amber. “I got my friend out – I can get you out, too.”

  But Imelda shook her head. “I’m not leaving. Can never leave. Go on, go before they find you.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “No, Amber. This is my place now.”

  “This is Hell. You don’t belong here.”

  “Oh, but I do. And so do your parents. When can I expect to see them?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing them,” Imelda said. “I’m looking forward to sharing all this with them.”

  Down the corridor, there were shouts. Screams.

  “Go now,” said Imelda. “The Twisted are coming. Run, Amber. Run!”

  Tightening her grip on Glen’s hand, Amber ran, but the corridors ahead were filled with tormented bodies in ragged robes, the Twisted, and they moved quickly and with purpose. She backed off, took another route, but the way ahead was blocked and the path behind was suddenly alive with their pursuers.

  Glen whimpered and she pushed him to the wall and stood there, guarding him, snarling as the Twisted closed in.

  THE TWISTED THINGS ROWED Amber and Glen across the water to the castle of the Shining Demon. They marched them through the massive doors and up the worn steps, and they climbed and walked and climbed and finally she was brought before Astaroth, forced to kneel with Glen beside her.

  Astaroth stood up from his throne. “I do not know what to make of you, girl. I bestow upon you an honour that few have ever possessed, and this is how you act? You sneak. You steal. You betray.”

  Her mouth was dry. “It’s my—”

  “Pardon?” the Shining Demon said, moving down the steps. “You wish to speak? By all means. Let me hear what you have to say.”

  Amber licked her lips. “It’s my fault he was there.”

  “This boy?”

  “Yes, Lord. It’s my fault. He died because of me.”

  Astaroth peered at Glen, who kept his head down and trembled. “A vampire took his life, is that not true?”

  “Yes, that’s how he died, but—”

  “Then is the vampire not responsible for the death?”

  “He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me,” Amber explained. “I let him down. I wasn’t there to save him.”

  “Then you merely failed to keep him alive,” said Astaroth. “You are not responsible for his death. This … confuses me. For this, you attempted to steal a soul from the Blood-dimmed King?”

  She dropped her eyes. “Yes, Lord.”

  “I fear I may have chosen unwisely in selecting you to be my representative. If you have acted in this fashion against our King, what have you done against me?”

  She looked up quickly. “Nothing, Lord, I swear.”

  Astaroth sneered. “I can taste your lies, girl.”

  “I promise, I haven’t done anything,” said Amber. “I didn’t think anyone would notice if I took my friend’s soul back with me. I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t mean to betray anyone.”

  “And yet you have,” said Astaroth. “I fear our arrangement has come to an end. Your friend will be taken back to the palace, where he will no doubt endure a fresh eternity of unknowable pain. You, meanwhile, will assume another post, as plaything to the vicious.”

  “Lord Astaroth, please.”

  “Away with you.”

  “Please, don’t do this! I’m close to finding my parents!”

  “You need not concern yourself with them any longer,” Astaroth said, turning away. “My next representative will deliver them to me.”

  “I know where they are!”

  “Farewell, girl.”

  “They want me to trap you!”

  Astaroth stopped, and looked back at her.

  “They have someone I care about. They’ll give her back to me in exchange for …”

  “Me,” said the Shining Demon.

  “Yes, Lord. They know about your brother, how he was trapped.”

  “And they want to trap me as I trapped Naberius. To what end?”

  Amber hesitated. “They wanted me to bring you to them, in chains. And they’d … they’d consume you.”

  “The audacity,” Astaroth breathed. But he was smiling. “The sheer, brazen, magnificent audacity. Your parents were indeed worthy of the power I gifted them. Their schemes and machinations are truly wonderful …”

  “I can bring them to you,” said Amber. “I’ll find a way to make them come here …”

  Astaroth thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “Such a daring plan deserves to be seen through to the absolute end. They wish you to deliver me, powerless and in chains, and this you will do.”

  She frowned. “Lord?”

  “Naberius tried to trick me, a hundred years ago,” said Astaroth. “What happened when I found out, little girl?”

  “You … you played along,” said Amber.

  “Yes,” said Astaroth. “I played along. I let him enjoy his moment. I let him savour the anticipation of a well-executed plan. Then what did I do? What is that phrase? With the rearranging of the furniture?”

  “You turned the tables.”

  “I did indeed. I turned the tables. He fell into his own trap. That is what should happen here.”

  “I don’t understand …”

  “Rise.”

  Amber got to her feet.

  “You will deliver me in chains,” the Shining Demon said. “Only these chains will do nothing to diminish my st
rength. I wish to see their faces. I wish to see the delight in their eyes. I wish to hear the words they speak as they gloat, and boast … And then I wish to taste their terror when they realise their lives are at an end.

  “You will do this, girl. I will let you keep the little soul you have salvaged, and you will remain as my representative. A hundred years of doing my bidding will scrub your sentimentality away, have no fear of that. I will ensure you become my most vicious of representatives.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Go now. Return when it is time to deliver me to your parents.”

  “Yes, Lord. Thank you.”

  The Twisted stepped back, and Amber pulled Glen to his feet and hurried him out of the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors. Once back in the corridors, she speeded up, expecting at any moment to hear Astaroth’s voice, to realise that he’d changed his mind.

  They got back to the chamber with the tapestries. The circle of fire was still lit, and Fool stood beside it.

  It turned, thick liquid leaking from its ruined eyes, and sniffed the air. “Is that a soul I smell?”

  “It is,” said Amber, keeping a tight grip on Glen’s hand. “I’m taking it with me.”

  “You’re taking it to the realm of the living?”

  “I am. The Shining Demon is allowing me to.”

  Fool tittered. “What fun! How exciting! What’ll happen to it, then? What happens to a soul in the realm of the living?”

  “I … I don’t know. But anything is better than this.”

  “Than what?”

  “Hell, Fool. Anything is better than Hell.”

  Fool frowned. “But this is home.”

  “Not for me,” said Amber. “Not for all those souls that are being tortured. It’s not your home, either. What was your life like before this?”

  “There was no life before this.”

  “Then how did you get here? Were you born here?”

  “I …”

  “Did you grow up here? When you were a child?”

  Fool laughed. “I was never a child! I was Fool! Always! Forever!”

  “We all come from somewhere, Fool. We don’t just appear. We all have lives before this.”

  It shook its head. “Not I. My life has always been this castle, always Lord Astaroth.”