by T Hodden
“Why?” Tiger asked in a voice that sounded a lot braver than she felt.
“Because,” the figure hissed. “he must come to hell!”
“Sorry to repeat myself.” Tiger said. “But why?”
“Ah.” The figure tilted it's head. “Very wise. A reasonable question. Because somebody has murdered my lord and master Scratch Luther, prince of all darkness, king of nightmares, viscount of evil, and Fisher king will help me find out whom.”
“Oh.” Said Ginger. “Are you sure you want to be paying the holiday rates? I mean it IS Christmas...”
INTELLIGENT DECLINE
T.E. HODDEN
A Fisher And The Bears Adventure
What has gone before.
The screen flickers to life. Doreen is sitting by the kitchen table, almost transparent as she stares nervously at the camera. Gwyn, a toothy slightly clumsy bear nudges the microphone closer to her.
“So, in your own time, why not tell the boys and girls at home who you are.” Gwyn says.
“My name is... Doreen Grey.” She smiles brightly. “I was born under a different name, but that is all in the past. I died. A black magician serving a very nasty demon murdered me to show off his power. He made a trick camera with my ghost trapped inside of it, to prove he could. But then a brave, kind, sweet guy saved me. He took me out the camera and trapped something in there that needed to be trapped. I was tied to his soul and I was given a second chance at life.” She smiled. “I fell in love for the first time. I would do anything for Fisher King. His life was so exciting.”
The screen fills with static for a second.
Now Theodore Edison Bear, Ted, is sitting at the kitchen table with his newspaper open at the crossword and a mug of coffee.
“Fish has a curse. Once upon a time his ancestor was a knight who crossed the Grey King, the lord of the fairy realm. As punishment all the things from the other side of the veil that slip into the realm of the living, all the strangeness, the ghosts, the demons and the monsters. They all come looking for Fisher, and as the last heir to the knights duty, he has to deal with them.”
“But we get to help them!” The camera pans to reveal Ginger. He is a little bear holding something that looks a lot like a ceremonial torch. He clicks the stud and there is a woofing noise as a gas flame ignites. “Exorcising nasties and cleansing with fire!”
“I think it is more a case of Fish being unable to stop Ginger from helping.” Ted says.
More static.
“Then one day the black magician comes back. He wears a new face, but he is just as evil. He places a young girl in danger and I.. I need to help her. I go to the theatre at the end of the pier to rescue her, but I find myself in a magic circle and I can't get out.” Doreen closes her eyes and has to concentrate to stop herself vanishing. To make herself confront the memory. “He burns me from this world. He does not send me to another place, to the Beyond, he burns me away. To nothing. I cease to be. Only one little thread of my soul remains, lodged in Fisher where he bound us together.” She sighs. “But he can't help me as he doesn't know my true name.”
The footage jumps.
“Then we fight the big old demon Amduscias.” Ginger says, waving a rolled up newspaper around as he is not allowed the torch. “We win of course. But the demon hates Fish, so he punishes him. He takes that little teeny tiny bit of Doreen and does something with it so Fish can never forget her. Never forget the loss. Never quite be happy. She is there every time he stares in a mirror.”
“But he underestimated how strong their bond was.” Ted explains. “In time that single mote of soul grows stronger. Because there are only so many names in the world. Thousands? Millions? It sounds like a lot. A needle in a very big haystack. But...” He sips his drink from a colourful mug. “But the more effort you put into the search the bigger the needle becomes. Find one of the names and it will start to be strong enough to help you find it. Fish did the impossible.”
“Which of course we do all the time.” Ginger added.
The footage jumps once more.
“He found me.” Doreen whispered. “He called my true name and he found me as everything else crashed down around us.” She smiled. “Wherever we go now, we will be together.”
PRELUDE
Once upon a time...
The hospital tried as much as it could to be cheerful, but no manner of decorations and party hats could disguise that Christmas on a ward was a time of drunks and fights. Nobody wanted to be in the hospital at Christmas. There was merriment and cheer to be found. But that was not what my young mind saw. It saw the concern on the faces of those who were not sure how long they had until my appendix exploded. It saw the darkness. The sleighbells were ringing out of tune for me.
My Mother smiled at me and sat beside my bed. I felt ill, but she looked worse, sickened by worry. I saw the book she was holding and knew she must have been genuinely scared. She only ever dug out her tattered copy of A Devil Called Mischief when she was scared. She liked to pretend it was her way of comforting me, letting me know everything was always going to be okay. But it was her safety line really. Her little ritual.
“I'm having me appendix out Mum,” I said, trying to sound like an authority on the subject. “I am sure I will be fine. They do this all the time.” I smiled. “And I can already feel that drug taking me..” I trailed off. It was getting hard to think. The drugs that would send me to a dreamless sleep while I was cut open were starting to slowly pull me into the fog and shadows.
“There is no such thing as a routine operation.” Mum told me. Then she grinned. “And I know you will be fine, but tradition matters. So please. Indulge me.” She adjusted my pillows. “Besides, I like doing the Mum thing.”
“Where's Dad?” I asked.
“ A Grey King thing.” She slipped me a wink. “So all hush hush. He will be here just as soon as he saved people. Christmas is a trouble time.”
I lay back. “You really want to do this?” I sighed.
“Believe me, it is important.” She held my hand. “Please.”
I did not say no. “The TV will still be here after the operation and everything gets repeated right?” I saw her smile. “Sorry. So there was once a little Devil called...”
“There was once,” She said softly in a voice that was too full of drama, “a little Devil called Mischief. Mischief did not like his job. He did not particularly like being born in hell. He did not like the fires, the pits, the castles made of ash or the lakes of smoke. He did not like the wailing or the misery. He did not like the screams or the laments, or the prodding with pitchforks. He particularly did not like the damnation. But, he mused that was where he was born, and that was what he was born for...”
I closed my eyes and let the words wash past me. It was hard to concentrate with a head full of painkillers so I let myself drift. I knew the story off by heart. I had heard it so many times. Any time I was ill, or scared, or not doing well at school. All the time when I was a kid.
“But he did like Twelfth Night.” Mum said. She had stopped turning the pages some time ago. She knew it off by heart too. “He liked being able to walk the world of the living, to cause mischief. That special kind of trouble that resulted in more joy than anguish. The kind of trouble, that if he did it just right, would even make the world a little bit better. Because what Mischief really wanted, more than anything else, was not to be a demon of the abyss, but an angel from the morning sun...”
I felt the nurse holding my wrist.
“He is almost ready.” The nurse reported, her voice distant and muffled.
“Okay. I will be here when you wake up.” Mum promised. “At page twenty six.”
Darkness reached out to me. A timeless darkness.
“...A devil should be made by deed not birth.” Mum said as I started to come around. “By the choices he makes. Having red skin nor horns should be the measure of evil. Having a halo and wings is not the measure of worth. The measure by which the Angel called Mi
schief should be remembered is not by what he was but by what he did.” She patted my hand.
“Told you I would be okay.” I said.
“Oh I always knew you would.” Mum whispered. “So brave.” She had tears on her eyes. “I am sorry Fish. So sorry. But...”
“Mum?” I tried to sit up, but the drugs were in my body made it sleep even as I woke. I felt weightless, but the body I was trapped in was as heavy as a battleship.
She smiled. “Of course you are cruel enough to wait for my son to wake.” She looked at the ceiling. “Would you be this petty to my child? Really? If you actually want to do this, could you not have struck me down while he was in there?”
Something answered. The lights in the room dimmed. The air grew cold. Her breath formed a silver mist in the air. Frost started to form on the inside of the window in long ferns.
“Look after your dad for me. Look out for the bears.” She whispered as she closed her eyes. “And believe me, I would only ever leave you bec-”
She did not finish the words. She made a gasping noise and slumped in her chair. A dribble of blood slipped from one of her nostrils and her eyes rolled up into her head. She slumped forwards onto my bed, blood pooling on my sheets. I could find no words for the scream I let out.
*
Ginger was not quite sure what to say, so he did not say much at all. He walked beside Tiger, his paw in hers, looking up at the Christmas lights that had been draped across every street of Eternity. The night was clear and full of stars so bright they seemed to have sucked all the heat from the air. Each breath he made filled the night with a fine silver mist that twinkled.
Tiger was awed by the lights. They draped from building to building, hung from the lamp post and clad the upper floors of every shop on the high street. She walked like she was dancing turning on her heels so she could see them all. When she looked back at Ginger her eyes were filled with eternal youth and the childish wonder.
She held out her bag of candy coated nuts for him to share and Ginger found her broad smile reaching his own lips. He grinned at her for a few seconds before realising that they were no longer sharing a grin. Tigers eyes were still wide, but they were now filled with something closer to confusion or horror. Her lower lip was quivering and she was pointing at something over her shoulder.
The pair were both bears. Ginger had reddish brown fur that had been combed into something that almost, but not quite, resembled an orderly fashion. His jacket was dark green, his tee shirt bright red with “The Ginger Flame!” printed on his chest with a bright flame motif. His trousers were dark and his canvas trainers well scuffed. He had a long football scarf wrapped around himself for warmth. Tiger had a pattern of mottled stripes in every shade of autumn and wore sensible clothes in a drab grey. Her hat and mittens though were crammed with more candy shades of colour than she could count. Her face did not fall easily into an expression of fear.
That was something Ginger knew well his friend rarely felt. He on the other hand felt it all the time. He just tended to ignore it, like he ignored the voice at the back of his head that kept asking if something was actually a good idea.
Ginger turned to see what had scared her and felt his own smile fall away. He swallowed and yelped as he saw the figure that now loomed over the street. It was tall, thin as a rake and seemed to be made entirely from shadow and smoke. It had a long angular face that was filled with terrible malice. The red eyes burned with contempt.
“Hello little bear,” the tall, lean and mean figure said in a whisper that sounded like nails scraping down a blackboard. “Could you tell me where to find Fisher King?”
“Why?” Tiger asked in a voice that sounded a lot braver than she felt.
“Because,” the figure hissed. “he must come to hell!”
“Sorry to repeat myself.” Tiger said, converting all her fear into nice useful anger. “But why?”
“Ah.” The figure tilted it's head. “Very wise. A reasonable question. Because somebody has murdered my lord and master Scratch Luther, prince of all darkness, king of nightmares, viscount of evil, and Fisher king will help me find out whom.”
“Oh.” Said Ginger. “Are you sure you want to be paying the holiday rates? I mean it IS Christmas...”
“He will wish to do as I request.” The Thin Man folded his arms. “He will accept his role as arbiter for the defendant in the matter. Cost will not be an issue.”
“I think it should be.” Ginger countered. “Because last minute jobs on Christmas Eve? A call out as well? That will keep us in posh sandwiches for the next century.”
The Thin Man sighed. “I have all eternity. Your friend does not.” He looked uncomfortable. “Please. I can not stress how urgent this is.”
Ginger and Tiger shared a look. Tiger relented. “Fine.” She reached for her phone. “But for the record I am fairly sure this is not a good idea.”
“I agree.” The Thin Man said. “But needs must as the-, well, I think you get the idea.”
*
Doreen Grey had the single most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It was one I never wanted to stop seeing. She sat curled beside me on the sofa, her hand wrapped in mine. The smile was not beautiful simply for being hers. It was sweet and it was playful. She looked out from under her mess of hair that absolutely refused to be tamed no matter how tightly it was tied. She was the liveliest dead woman I knew. She was kind hearted, she was noble, she was iron willed, and she was a ghost. She was also the best girlfriend I had ever known. She had the patience to endure my curse, the bears, and everything life had thrown at us, and she was still smiling.
She closed her eyes and leant forwards. For a second she faded into a translucent mist, but solidified as we kissed. The electric sensation and the butterflies we both felt anchored her to the physical world. She flushed with warmth and kissed me again for luck, giggling as she withdrew. I could forgive her. For a while she had been lost to me. Since she had been back she was determined to root herself in my world as solidly as she could at every opportunity. I was more than happy to help.
“So what are your traditions for Christmas?” Doreen asked dreamily.
“To be rudely awoken by the bears at stupid o clock, so they can open their presents. Then I start cooking the beano dinner, and the bears argue over what to watch on TV. Dad gets here for elevenses. We eat about one, and have crackers and bad jokes over a roast so Christmasy it has everything other than the tinsel. Then once Ginger has tried to light the Christmas pudding and somebody has knocked over the trifle, we let the bears argue over a board game while...” I drifted off and looked at her. “We visit... The Church. Once the services are done. When it is quiet. So we can show our respects.”
“To your mum.” She understood. “I will be welcome?”
“Always.” I grinned. “She would have liked you.” I freed an arm and took a battered old story book, held together by duct tape and happy thoughts, that I showed her. A Devil Called Mischief (A Tale Of Christmas Adventures) was showing its age. “I read her this. I know it sounds... Kind of...”
“It sounds fine.” Doreen said as she kissed my cheek. “And when we come home?”
“Board games. Dad gets a little too drunk. The bears make a mess.” I grinned.
“We used to tell ghost stories on Christmas Eve and Christmas night.” Doreen said. “My employers treated Twelfth night as the holiday. Christmas day was the Holy Day. We celebrated, it was in the season, but it was Twelfth night that was the big one. The party.” She laughed. “The Butler was the Lord of Misrule and we all got roles to play. There was... There was charades and dancing and the Sir insisted he and the good lady waited on us. He said it was important to him. To show we were people, not property. Employees and friends not...” She shook her head. “No. It is gone.”
“So what would the Mistress of Misrule have me do for her tonight?” I asked. “A ghost story? A game of cards by the wood burning stove? A moonlight walk?”
“Well.” She purred.
“I shall have to give that some thought.”
A bell chimed from the kitchen.
“But you could start by stopping whoever that is from trying to wake the dead.” She snarled in playful ire. She uncurled from me and glared in the direction of the kitchen. “Right, which of you bears is making that noise?”
But none of the bears were making a sound. They were all stood in the hallway that was once a foyer back when the house was a hotel. They were staring in the direction of the kitchen, their paws rolled into fists.
“What is going on?” I asked Wendy. The Scottish bear was hiding under a hoodie far too big for her. She looked up at me, her eyes lost in shadow.
“Something nasty is coming.” She whispered. “And coming for you.”
“There is always something coming.” I said. “That is the nature of the curse.” I leant down and adjusted her zip for her. “I take it this is not a good something like you bears?”
“No.” Wendy said coldly. Her voice had a wavering musical note. “It is a darkness. It is somebody who brings only endings. It is the Taxman.”
“What does that mean?” Doreen spoke up over the noise of the bells. “What are you afraid of?”
“That he will be here to collect.” Gwyn said. He was portly and was so chipper he was struggling to meet the sombre tone of the others. But he was trying his best to look gloomy. “On the debt Fish here has racked up on your behalf.”
“What?” Doreen folded her arms. “Look. He is not in a debt to anybody. We worked to bring me back. We earned this. The hard way.”
“I know!” Wendy insisted. “Your love has conquered all and defied death itself.” She smiled, but it was not the happy kind of smile. “And those victories come at a price.”
“We paid.” Doreen said bluntly.
“Ah.” Gwyn sighed. “But it is always that extra payment in the small print eh?”