How to Avoid Death on a Daily Basis 4: Welcome to Monsterland

by V. Moody

  The streets of Fengarad were eerily empty. We rattled over the cobbles without seeing any people and all the shops were closed.

  We reached our destination in about ten minutes.

  The spire was a big black monolith without doors or windows. It rose straight up from its circular base and seemed to disappear into the clouds.

  We got out of the carriage and everyone shuffled about in an attempt to not be in the front. They all looked at me, and I looked at Ducane. He shrugged.

  “My orders were to bring you here. After that…”

  I decided to be proactive and walked up to the spire. I reached out my hand and knocked. Well, it worked last time.

  Nothing happened.

  Maurice followed my example and also knocked, with similar results. Claire tried a different approach.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “We’re here! What do you want?” Only she would think to try and start an argument with a building.

  Flossie tried next. She tentatively stretched out her hand, touched the spire with the tip of one finger, and then ran away.

  Dudley ambled over and leaned in and said, very quietly, “Excuse me, could you let us in please?”

  None of these attempts got even the slightest response. Everyone turned to Jenny who hadn’t taken her turn yet. She leaned to the side and pointed. “Is that a door?”

  We all shuffled sideways and leaned. On the side of the spire there was a square of blackness in the wall. The spire itself was black, so it wasn’t easy to see, but it was definitely there.

  “That wasn’t there a minute ago,” said Maurice. “One of us must have activated it.”

  “Maybe we just didn’t see it,” said Claire.

  “Yeah,” said Flossie. “Could be Jenny’s special ability is finding doors.”

  “That’ll come in useful,” I said. “Maybe she can see through windows, too. I won’t even have to teach her magic.”

  Jenny shoved me towards the entrance. “You go first.”

  I turned to Ducane who had been watching our finely honed adventuring instincts at work, probably wondering how we’d managed to stay alive so long.

  “Do you want to show us the way?” I asked him.

  “No, no. Please, go ahead.”

  The trouble with leadership is people expect you to lead. If I ever got to a position of any power, I fully intended to be the kind of general who stayed at the rear and sent others into the fray. I wished for a life without fray, if at all possible. Colin the Unfrayed. Not fucking likely.

  I created a ball of light and walked into the spire. The light went out. I was in pitch dark, not even the light from the entrance managed to cast any kind of illumination.

  Someone bumped into me from behind. There was a litany of complaints and confused questions.

  “What happened?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Is anyone there?”

  “Ow, get off my foot.”

  I felt a hand slip into mine. “Jenny, is that you?”

  “Is that me what?” said Jenny from some distance away.

  “Sorry,” said Maurice. “I get nervous in the dark.”

  I shook off his hand. “Go hold Claire’s hand then.”

  “I would if I could find her!”

  “Colin,” said Claire, “make a light.”

  “I’m trying,” I said. “It’s not working.” As soon as my light had gone out I made the finger movements to bring it back, but nothing happened.

  “Try harder,” said Claire, which really didn’t help.

  “If it won’t work there’s nothing I can do about it. Maybe magic doesn’t work in here.”

  “I remember a Spider-man movie,” said Dudley from somewhere on my left, “where he lost his powers because he began doubting himself. Maybe Colin just needs to believe.”

  “I’m not fucking Tinkerbell. It just doesn’t work in here for some reason.”

  There was a low groan.

  “Maurice?” said Claire. “Are you alright?”

  “Spider-man 2. Horrible.”

  “Ah thought that one was quite good,” said Flossie.

  “How can doubt take away a genetic ability? And it’s not just that one, all Spider-man movies are terrible. He’s supposed to be a wisecracking teenager, but they always make him this miserable emo jerk with girl problems. Nobody cares about Mary-fucking-Jane.”

  This was possibly the most inappropriate place for one of Maurice’s movie critiques, but it wasn’t like we had anything else to do as we stumbled around in the dark.

  “He can’t be wisecracking all the time,” I said.

  “Yeah, but they give him a couple of funny lines at the start and never again. Have you seen Spider-man 3? Once they go down the emo route, there’s no way to recover. Forget it. Downhill all the way. It would take a miracle to pull out of that nosedive. Never been done. You’d need—”

  A light went on. We all stood blinking at each other. And then at the man standing at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

  “Hello!” He was dressed smartly. Not like the nobility we had encountered in this world, all frilly shirts and pantaloons, I mean he was wearing a chequed three-piece suit, with a tie and handkerchief in the breast pocket. “Sorry it took so long, these stairs play havoc with my knees.”

  He was around fifty, with slicked-back silver hair and a slightly clipped American accent. He reminded me of a 1930s Hollywood movie star.

  My attention though was somewhat diverted by the source of the light. I pointed to the ceiling. “Is that a light bulb?”

  “That’s right. You got it.” He turned around. “Follow me. Really must get that elevator fixed.”

  It was an actual light bulb.

  We looked at each other and then followed him. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of questions,” he said as he huffed and puffed up the stairs, “and we’ll see to them in good time, but right now there are other things that need to be addressed.”

  The stairs were narrow and made of metal. They curved around the wall, which had a light fitting attached around every turn. A bare naked light bulb sticking out of the wall that looked stranger than any dragon or troll.

  “Do you have electricity in here?” I asked him.

  He stopped and turned to look down at me. “There’s a small imp in there who keeps a small fire going.” His face cracked into a big smile and he burst into laughter. “I’m joshing you. Yes, it’s electricity, same as back home.”

  The bulb flickered and went out.

  “Damn it. A darn sight more unreliable, though. Please keep close to the wall on your right-hand side. There’s nothing more dangerous around here than a left turn in the dark.”

  His footsteps indicated he was on the move and I gingerly put my foot out to find the next step.

  “Are we in a game?” I called out into the darkness.

  “No, no,” he called back. “I shouldn’t think so. It all feels real to me.”

  The stairs stopped without warning and I was standing on a flat surface. The others piled into the back of me again. There was a click and the lights came on.

  We were in a circular room—although I’m guessing all the rooms were circular in this place. It was well lit by a number of light bulbs, which revealed a mass of writing across the wall.

  “The prophecy,” I said, recognising the text.

  “Indeed. So, I should introduce myself. My name’s Peter. Some call me Uncle Pete, which you can also if you have a mind to. Or not, as you wish. It’s nice to finally meet you all.”

  Everyone said hello back, nervously, like they were at a comedy show and didn’t want the comedian to pick on them.

  “I am American, as you might have guessed, and I have been in this world for something like a hundred years. Give or take. I look pretty good for an old man, huh? You see, time works a little differently in here. And no, I did not build this spire or any of the
wonders you will find inside it.”

  “Where does the electricity come from?” asked Maurice.

  “I do not know. I have looked, but the power source is either well hidden or not of a form familiar to me.”

  “This is a weapon, isn’t it?” I asked him.

  “It can be used as such, sure. I would not choose to use it thus, if at all possible.”

  “But,” I said, “didn’t you kill all the soldiers in the fort at the border to power it up?”

  “Killed? Heavens no. They have simply been displaced. As have we all. I myself was born in Manhattan. That’s Manhattan, Kansas, mind you. And now here I am.” He raised his arms wide.

  “Where have the soldiers been displaced to?” asked Claire.

  Peter shrugged. “Can’t say I know, exactly.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being entirely truthful, but I had a strong inclination not to trust him in general. I have that inclination about most people, admittedly, but in this case it was very compelling.

  “And the prophecy?” I said. “You think it’s real.”

  “Absolutely. Real as it gets. That’s why you’re here after all. I must say, Gullen was right about you. I tried sending others into what they call Monsterland, though to my way of thinking, monster is such a relative term, don’t you think? In any case, no one ever came back, let alone managed to meet with the Archfiend himself. Colour me impressed.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “What exactly do you want from us?”

  “Why, isn’t that obvious? You have to kill the Archfiend. It’s that or oblivion for us all.” He smiled. “I thought time was almost up, but you, sir, are the right man for the job. No doubt about it.”

  “You want me to kill Cheng?” I said.

  “Cheng. Yes. There’s something gorgeous about that kid, isn’t there? When I sent his mother to destroy the temple Under the Mountain, I had no idea he would be the result. But that’s how prophecies work, it turns out. You think you’re doing what’s necessary to stop it, but actually it’s all part of the plan. Prophecies are damn sneaky, let me tell you.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “trying to kill Cheng is also part of the plan?”

  Peter nodded. “Could very well be, but something has to be done to prevent Nekromel.”

  “And what is Nekromel?” I asked.

  “Why it’s the name of the world beneath this one.”

  “Where Cheng’s father came from?”

  “That’s right. A world of demons and devils and other unpleasantness. When the rift is healed, the world beneath will rise. It will be Hell on Earth, literally. Not necessarily the Hell from the Bible, and this is certainly not Earth, but you get the general drift.”

  “And healing the rift means…?”

  “The rift between the two sides of Cheng himself. Once he is whole, the gate will open and Nekromel will be realised in this plane of existence. To heal the rift, he must take a bride. A virgin.”

  “Why does she have to be a virgin?” demanded Claire, completely unnecessarily. Like that was the big problem.

  “Because the pain of a woman’s first time is a powerful drug to a demon. It can transform them. Or so my research tells me. I am no expert in demonology. They give me the heebeejeebees, to be honest.”

  “So,” I said, “you want us to find a virgin to be his bride?”

  “Oh no. We already have the perfect girl. Gullen has her waiting for you in Dargot. You just have to deliver her to Cheng.”

  “So you want me to fulfil the prophecy? Isn’t that what you want to prevent?”

  “I know,” said Peter, rolling his eyes. “It’s complicated. The boy-demon has a colossal vitality. Until his two halves are united, he is invulnerable, you see? Once their union is consummated, you will be able to kill him.”

  “Why don’t we just not give him a bride?” asked Flossie. Good point. Everyone thought so and told each other.

  “I wish it were so simple. I have spent most of my life sitting in here trying to stop the prophecy. It has never been a matter of finding the correct interpretation. The prophecy will use any interpretation it can to complete itself.”

  He did look tired, there was no doubting that, but I still wasn’t sure I trusted him.

  “I am the sedentary champion of this world. I remain in this tower, watching for signs of the Nekromel’s tentacles attempting to influence and interfere. Sometimes I can go days without causing my chair to squeak, so deep am I lost in concentration. I am tired, young lady. More tired than you can possibly imagine. This ghostly heart cannot continue indefinitely. If you do not help me defeat this evil bent on the destruction of this world, maybe of every world, I fear the consequences will be diabolical. Simply diabolical.”

  Evil demons and the end of the world, or a smooth-talking American who wanted me to help him make the world a better place. This is why I’ve never been a fan of the two party system.

  30. Here Comes The Bride

  “I know you will have many questions. I wish I could answer them for you, but we’re under the gun. Time passes quicker than you think while you’re in here with me, and there may not be a world to return to if you don’t get moving right quick.”

  Uncle Pete, as his name suggested, was avuncular to a fault. That fault being his excess of charm and warmth. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to rush into action and save the world. But I am not the sort of person who wants to please others, so where was this desire coming from?

  “What about the weapon?” I asked him. “Do you intend to use it?”

  “As a last resort,” he said with a weary sigh. “If Nekromel attempts to break through into this world, I will have no other choice. It happened once before, and the devastation was severe.” He rubbed his chin.

  Maybe he was being sincere and I was the arsehole seeing shadows in the corners where there weren’t any. The deaths of many seemed to weigh heavily on him, as you would expect.

  “I think you’re lying,” said Jenny.

  “Oh?” said Peter, not in the least upset by the accusation. “Why do you say that, my dear?”

  “You said the soldiers from the fort aren’t dead, just displaced. But if you don’t know where they are, how do you know they’re still alive?”

  It was an excellent point.

  “She’s a bright one, eh?” said Peter, sounding pleased. “It’s always good to be sceptical, especially when it comes to people asking you to risk your life, so good for you. The truth is I cannot lie. Not in here, anyway. Try it yourself. Say an untruth.”

  Jenny said, “My name is .” Her mouth moved but only the sound of an electronic beep, like a censored movie, came out.

  “As far as I can tell,” said Peter, “it is some component of the translation system. I do not know why, but in here it operates within very tight parameters. My height is . You see? While I’m in here, I am George Washington. And as you can tell, since I am not actually the first president of the United States, it is able to tell the difference when I am not being literal.”

  “It’s like God’s ability,” I said.

  “Yes. I found a way to transfer a limited version into people with the right... compatibility, such as Godfrey. There was another young lady whom you met recently, I believe, to whom I also imparted this ability, although in her case I am not sure it took as fully.”

  “But why doesn’t it work on Biadet?” I asked.

  “Ah, Biadet.” He sighed. “Once I attempted to transfer the power of the spire into a native, but the results were... unexpected. Although we appear to be more or less the same as the people of this world, our construction is very different. That she lived is most surprising of all. One day I hope to investigate her further, if we survive Nekromel that is.”

  His expression suggested some fondness for Biadet.

  “But you want to send her to be Cheng’s bride,” I said.

  “Who, Biadet? Oh no. That wouldn’t do at all. The Bride has to be a virgin and a Visitor,
and I don’t believe she is either.”

  This raised all sorts of questions which were probably none of my business but hard to ignore.

  “The young woman I’m referring to is called Roona,” said Peter. “Gullen has been keeping her safe and secure, waiting for you.”