by Vance, Ramy
“Swear it,” I repeated, “or I won’t let you go.”
Swearing, oaths, promises … those were the currency of Others. Once a pledge was given, the creature had to follow through or suffer some wrath from their gods. Of course, with the gods gone, divine wrath was in short supply, but most Others still took their ancient ways seriously. I wasn’t about to remind him of his new GoneGod World rights.
Luckily, this shelleycoat was no different. He growled before plucking another bell off his coat, this time a silver one with black runes etched into it, and tossed it to me. “I swear that be the bell ye are looking for.”
“Very well,” I said, tossing him the remaining two bells and cutting the thread barrier, thus setting the bogeyman free.
↔
I prepared myself for another attack, but, once free, the shelleycoat made no indication that he held a grudge. Instead he turned his attention entirely to his newfound treasures and hung his new bells on his coat, then started down the park’s path—most likely toward his gathering, whatever that was.
Strangely touched that the creature wasn’t really that bad a guy after all, no matter how ugly he was, I scooped up my Cabbage Patch Kid and said to it, “I’m gonna have to tell PopPop about this one.”
Great. Now I was heeding my dead wife’s advice, trading bells with the bogeyman like they were Pokémon, and asking a doll to pass a message to my long-past father.
I shook my head as I collected the quilt and the Walkman, but quickly turned my thoughts back to the bell at hand.
I still didn’t know what the damn thing did.
I followed the jingling bogeyman until we made it out of the park before speaking. I figured the walk would help him with any anger issues he might have over me trapping him.
Once onto the main road, I matched stride with him and said, “Sorry about what I did to you back there. But you understand why I did it, right? I mean, you know the legend?”
He nodded. “A shelleycoat will never give up one of his bells without being trapped.”
“Yeah, like a leprechaun. You gotta trap them if you want the pot of gold.”
“I be no leprechaun,” he said, his bells ringing in fury as he turned to face me.
I lifted my hands up in surrender. “I never said you were. I’m just saying that I had to trap you to get the bell … otherwise, you know …”
He nodded in understanding. “I would have turned ye around so that no map in this world or any other would have helped ye find home.”
“And I like home,” I said. “That’s where my toys are.”
If he thought I was funny he made no indication of it. Instead he doubled his pace as he walked to his gathering.
“So,” I said, trotting to catch up, “what does the bell do?”
“Ye don’t know?” he asked with an admonishing shake of his head.
“No. All I know is that someone I trust said I needed it. But I don’t know why.”
“And I suppose that ye will not leave my side until I tell ye.”
“My wife always said she’d inscribe the word ‘tenacious’ on my tombstone.”
He chuckled at this. “Yer wife is a wise woman.”
“Was,” I corrected him.
At this he turned, his face softening. The look wasn’t pity, but more of understanding. So, you’ve lost too, the look said.
“Read the inscription on the bell, then ring it three times next to each ear, then hang it above the threshold of your abode,” he said before continuing on his way.
Others, with their cryptic answers, I thought. I chased after him, not wanting to let this go.
“Abode?” I said. “Who says ‘abode’ anymore? It didn’t even rhyme! And, you didn’t answer my question … What does it do?”
The bogyman sighed. “ ‘Do’? Humans always want things to do things, when sometimes things are just things.”
“Ahhh, I get it. It doesn’t do anything. Well that makes sense.”
The shelleycoat shook his head in frustration—or maybe his way of saying no, or both. Probably both. The book on Other body language hadn’t had enough time to be written.
“Human, the bell does something. Hang it above your abode—um, I mean, home’s threshold and see.” He stopped at a main door entrance to what was obviously someone’s home and rang the doorbell.
“I really would love to know what it does before I hang it any—”
My words stopped dead in their tracks and I stared at the figure who opened the door.
He—I only call him a he because he lacked any of the curves normally associated with a she—was tall, easily seven feet … and without a face. No eyes or mouth or nose or ears.
Just a taught-skinned surface … like the face of a drum. A creepy, animated, drum on a humanoid body.
Having no eyes, however, didn’t stop him from looking in our direction. I shivered, making the bell in my hand tinkle.
“Slenderman?” I muttered. “I thought he was an urban legend.”
“Aren’t we all?” the shelleycoat said with a wry smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a poker game to attend to.” And with that, the bogeyman went inside.
So that was the gathering he was going to—poker with other bogeymen. Sounds like a hoot.
Fan-friggin’-tastic, I thought as I held the little bell in my hands. Now why do I need this, Bella?
She didn’t reply. After all, Bella was dead.
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About the Author
Ramy Vance is a Canadian who lives in Edinburgh with his wife, three-year-old kid and imaginary dog. He enjoys a beautiful city, whisky (Scottish spelling, not mine) and long walks. He writes kickass Urban Fantasy thrillers set in the GoneGod World (and elsewhere). Currently his greatest aspirations are writing more stories and finally get that real dog so he can have an excuse to go on even more long walks.
And yes, he lived in Montreal for several years where he attended McGill University—the setting of the Mortality Bites Series. But that was in the 1990s, so things might have changed a wee bit and not every detail will be accurate … sorry about that.