The Gravest Girl of All

by Amy Cross

  Did I really just say that? she thinks to herself. I sounded bad-ass.

  And maybe pretty dumb.

  “Abberoth's offer will stand for one more hour,” the Vassal continues. “After that, he will rouse himself and expend some of his valuable energy on the task of destroying this world. You will die, Miss Marker, and so will your friends. And let me assure you, the Devil will sneak away and keep on running, because that's what he does best.”

  Sam opens her mouth to tell him he's wrong, but then she realizes he might have a point.

  “He might have run,” she stammers finally, “but at least he came back.”

  She pauses, before adding:

  “Eventually.”

  She immediately wishes she hadn't said that last word.

  “And here you are, defending him,” the Vassal points out. “Why might that be?”

  “You wouldn't understand!”

  “I'm sure Abberoth will have questions.”

  “Then let me talk to him!” Sam says, before she can stop herself.

  Wait, she thinks, did I say that out loud? I'm really on a roll with dumb comments.

  “You request an audience with Abberoth?” the Vassal asks. “You demonstrate a surprising degree of bravery.”

  “Never mind,” Sam replies, “I knew he wouldn't be willing to -”

  “Your request is granted.”

  Sam hesitates, before swallowing hard.

  “You are hereby granted safe passage,” the Vassal continues, “to the center of this settlement. Abberoth will be willing to receive you, and your safe passage is guaranteed for a return journey to this very spot. The one hour deadline, however, shall not be extended, so we should hurry.” He pauses. “Or do you have any other pressing engagements at this time?”

  “There's no point if he's not willing to listen,” Sam replies.

  “He will listen to every word that you say.”

  “Sure, but...”

  She pauses, trying to think of another reason why she can't follow through on what was – she realizes now – quite a dumb thing to suggest.

  “Shall we?” the Vassal continues, gesturing for her to follow him.

  She turns to look back at the doorway.

  “I don't think this is a very good idea,” Anna whispers.

  “There's nothing to talk about,” the Devil adds. “Don't do this, Sam. He'll only lie to you.”

  “I can figure that out for myself,” she tells him, before realizing that she's once again inadvertently come up with a reason why she should go. “I don't need anyone explaining things.”

  “The deadline approaches,” the Vassal continues, as Sam turns back to him. “Are you coming, Miss Marker? Will you hear what Abberoth has to say?”

  ***

  “You can do this,” Sam whispers under her breath a short while later, as she follows the Vassal toward the vast wall of twigs and branches that forms one side of the nest-like town square structure. “You've been given safe passage. That means he can't hurt you, not this time.”

  Provided he keeps his word, she thinks to herself. And why should he do that?

  A moment later, as the Vassal steps into a doorway that leads deeper into the huge structure, Sam slows her pace. Finally she stops, at first seeing only darkness ahead but then spotting the faintest hint of a distant, flickering flame.

  “What are you worried about?” the Vassal asks, having stopped and turned to look at her.

  “I'm worried this'll end the way our first meeting ended,” Sam tells him.

  “Of course it won't,” the Vassal replies. “It'll probably be much, much worse. Abberoth has a very low opinion of humans.”

  “Wasn't he one himself? A long time ago, I mean.”

  “Exactly. So he has experience.”

  With that, the Vassal steps aside and gestures for Sam to go on alone into the darker reaches of the lair.

  “Safe passage, remember,” he purrs. “You have no reason to be scared. He has even sent his attendants away. They were no longer required.”

  Sam takes a deep breath, before realizing that she's stalling the inevitable. She knows that agreeing to the meeting was probably a mistake but – at the same time – she also knows that she can't back out, not now. Besides, deep down she figures that if the worst happens and Abberoth kills her again, she'll just have to haul herself back up from Hell for a second time. Somehow, though, that thought doesn't make her feel any better.

  “I'm not scared,” she tells the Vassal as she steps past him. “Abberoth's the one who should be scared.”

  How stupid do I sound right now? she asks herself, and she hears what sounds like a faint laugh from the Vassal.

  Making her way along the dark, twig-lined passage, Sam keeps her eyes fixed on the hint of flickering candlelight at the far end. After just a few steps, she finds herself at the passage's end, and she stops as she looks out across a large open space that rests beneath a high, domed ceiling. She recognizes certain aspects of the town square that have managed to survive the change, such as a bench that used to stand near the main hall, but then her gaze is drawn toward a slumped figure resting on the ground at the far end of the space. And as she stares at the figure's hunched back, she realizes with a sense of surprise that this is Abberoth himself.

  A moment later he stirs, letting out a grunt as he half turns to look at her, and then he grunts again as he gets to his feet. He seems to be in pain.

  Flinching slightly, Sam instinctively takes a step back.

  She waits, but for a moment Abberoth genuinely seems to be unaware of her arrival. He remains hunched slightly, even while standing, and then he lets out a pained gasp as he takes a single, limping step forward. Stopping again, he seems almost to be struggling to get his breath back.

  Sam takes another step back. This time, however, her right foot bumps against a stray rock on the ground.

  Abberoth half turns, before freezing for a moment.

  Sam opens her mouth to say something, but no words pass her lips.

  “Forgive me,” Abberoth gasps finally, his voice sounding harsh and damaged. “I did not hear you coming.”

  “I can come back another time,” she replies, desperately hoping that he'll take her up on the offer.

  “No, stay,” he says, waving at her to come closer. “I must -”

  Before he can finish, he breaks down into a coughing fit that lasts for several seconds.

  “I must speak to you,” he manages to continue finally. “Our previous encounter did not end well for you. I can only apologize for that and beg your forgiveness.”

  “Sure,” she says, forcing a half-smile. “Whatever.”

  “I am glad you made it back,” he tells her, taking a few stumbling steps forward, as if he barely has the energy to move. “I must admit, I regretted killing you as soon as the deed was done. I imagine your initial impressions of me are... not positive.”

  “They could be better,” she admits.

  “And the Devil, I assume, has told you his side of the story.”

  “I'm not an idiot,” she replies. “I don't just believe everything I'm told.”

  “I can tell that you're no fool,” he continues, limping toward her. “I can see that in your eyes. That's why I'm not even going to attempt to lie to you, or to trick you. I might be in charge of Hell now, but that doesn't make me the Devil.” Stopping, he tries to straighten himself, but after a moment he lets out a gasp of pain. “Has he even told you why I did what I did?”

  “He said you overthrew him and -”

  “Yes, but why did I do it?”

  “I don't care,” she tells him. “All I care about is stopping whatever you're doing to this world.”

  “Hell was a terrible idea from the beginning,” he continues, as if he didn't hear anything she said. “Should souls really be condemned to an eternity of suffering, just because of some mistakes they made during a short, miserable period on this mortal plain?”

  “I don't really wa
nt to get into the philosophy behind it,” Sam replies.

  “I did bad things when I was alive,” Abberoth tells her, “but did I really deserve to spend the rest of time in pain? Being tortured and tormented? Having my flesh eaten by beetles for thousands of years, while hearing the pained cries of my loved ones? Doesn't that seem a little like... overkill?”

  “Sounds like Hell to me,” Sam says.

  “And those who go to Heaven... Why should they be rewarded with infinite peace, just because they happened to avoid temptation for a few decades? When you think about it, the whole arrangement is nonsensical, and I certainly don't believe that I deserved to end up in Hell. Even if, over time, I came to be molded by my experience down there.”

  He steps closer, and Sam immediately feels a kind of fuzziness in her head. She tries to speak, but for a moment her thoughts are chaotic.

  “You feel it, don't you?” he continues. “I'm not holding back this time. You feel my presence, you feel the presence of pure evil. That's a very human reaction, Ms. Marker. True evil interferes with the way humans experience the world.”

  “No, I'm fine,” she stammers, barely able to string the words together. “Just leave me alone. I'm fine!”

  Sweating now, she takes a step back, but Abberoth moves closer still.

  “Soon you won't be able to think at all,” he sneers.

  “It's like typos in my head!” she gasps.

  “Typos?”

  “In my thoughts. Nothing quite makes sense the way it should.”

  “I suppose that's one way of putting it,” Abberoth replies, before leaning so close that she feels his hot breath against her face. “Proximity to tru evil is noun to caus errors books. Types, error grammars, that shirt of thong.”

  “Leave me alone!” she gasps, pulling away and stumbling several paces, until she bumps against the wall. As her thoughts start to re-form, she hears Abberoth laughing, and she turns to him.

  “A mere game,” Ms. Marker,” he continues. “What's wrong? Do you have no sense of humor? Can you not understand my perspective?”

  “I don't know anything about you,” Sam points out, “but -”

  “Then perhaps you should learn.”

  “I'm not -”

  “I shall show you where it started.”

  Sam opens her mouth to reply, but suddenly she realizes that she's no longer in the dark, domed construction in Rippon. Instead, as she looks around, she finds herself in a forest. Sunlight is streaming down, picking out bluebells that blanket the ground in every direction. For a moment, as she turns and looks the other way, Sam can't help but notice that the scene seems utterly idyllic. So idyllic, in fact, that she struggles to remember that anything's wrong.

  “Time has no meaning in Hell,” Abberoth's voice says. “It matters not when this occurred, or where. Just that it did.”

  Turning, Sam finds that he's nowhere to be seen.

  “Was I really so bad?” Abberoth's voice continues. “Yes, I made mistakes. But instead of being consigned to Hell, could I not have been helped in some way? Taught? Reformed, perhaps?”

  “But -”

  Before she can finish, Sam spots a figure nearby, lurking in a patch of darkness beyond some trees. Squinting, she watches as the figure creeps through the undergrowth. In an instant, she's filled with the sense that she's seeing something awful, something that goes against the very fabric of the natural order.

  “I wasn't evil,” Abberoth explains. “I was confused. Damaged. I'm not making excuses, but surely the punishment did not fit the crime.”

  “What did you do?” Sam asks, still watching the figure as it stops and crouches behind some bushes. “Why did you end up in Hell?”

  She waits, and after a moment she shudders as if she's picking up on some nearby horror.

  “What did you do?” she asks again, although this time she's fearful of the answer.

  And then she sees him.

  A young boy, no more than seven or eight years old, is making his way through the forest, carrying a loaf of bread in his arms. Seemingly unaware of the danger that's present, the boy makes his way straight past the bush, and he doesn't even react as the dark figure turns to follow him.

  “A simple, human urge that I could not ignore,” Abberoth explains, as the figure reaches out to grab the boy from behind. “Should I be punished for that? Did not God create me in his image? Did not God put this seed into me, that grew to become something so much stronger.”

  “What did you do?” Sam asks yet again, taking a step forward as she sees the dark figure getting closer and closer to the boy. “What are you going to do to him?”

  Now, finally, the boy starts to slow, as if he senses that he's being followed. Behind him, the figure – still hidden beneath a black cloak – reaches out to touch the boy's shoulder.

  “No,” Sam whispers, “you can't -”

  It happens in a flash.

  The boy is spun around and stabbed brutally in the chest, over and over. He cries out and tries to pull away, but as he twists around the knife digs repeatedly into his body. Still clutching the loaf of bread, the child falls limp in the figure's arms, and then finally the dead child is lowered to the ground.

  “I don't want to see this,” Sam says, with tears in her eyes.

  “You think I was a monster? You think I deserved to go to Hell for what I did?”

  “Please, I -”

  “Look at it!”

  She shakes her head.

  “LOOK AT IT!” he roars, forcing Sam's hands away and sliding her eyelids back, giving her no option to but to watch the awful acts being committed on the forest floor.

  “No!” she screams, horrified and sickened as – for several minutes – she's force to see what the figure is doing to the child's body.

  Finally the forest fades, and Sam finds herself back in the lair in Rippon. Turning, she sees Abberoth watching her from just a few feet away, still doubled over as if he's in pain.

  “Why did you make me see that?” she sobs. “Did you get some kind of weird kick out of watching it again?”

  “Hell?” he continues. “Continued, ever-lasting torture for something that I couldn't stop myself doing? Because I tried, you know. I tried every day, denying my urges, trying to put them aside and be a better person. I held back for so long, and then one moment of weakness meant that I ended up in Hell forever. Do you really think that's fair?”

  Sam pauses for a moment. She wants to say that she understands. She wants to be charitable. Deep down, however, she feels nothing but disgust and revulsion as she sees Abberoth's withered face staring back at her from beneath his dark hood.

  “Yes,” she says finally, as a tear runs down her cheek. “I think it's pretty fair that you were sent to Hell.”

  “Really,” he replies, slowly straightening up until he once again towers over her. “You think it's fair that I ended up in Hell, just because I once stole a loaf of bread?”

  “Because you -”

  Stopping suddenly, she tries to understand what he means.

  “I was so hungry as a child,” he growls. “My family were poor. I knew it was wrong to steal, but one day I was at the market and I slipped a loaf of bread under my shirt, and I ran away. I was on my way home through the forest when I was attacked by a vagrant. I died before I had a chance to repent for my sin, and so – although I was just a child – I was consigned to the depths of Hell for all eternity.”

  “Wait,” Sam stammers, “you mean you were the...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “Oh,” he says, as he begins to smile, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, “I beg your pardon. I was the child you just saw die. Did I give you the impression that I was the man with the knife?”

  Staring at him, Sam can't quite believe what she's hearing.

  “The man who killed me,” Abberoth continues, tilting his head slightly, “ran away to a monastery, where he spent fifty years repenting in private for his sins. He confessed, and he h
elped others, and when he died his acts of repentance were considered enough. He went to Heaven, while I languished in the depths of Hell. All because of petty bureaucracy that decides who goes where after death.”

  “But...”

  “And look at your own case,” he adds. “When I killed you, where did you end up? You went to Hell, and why? Because you abandoned your son? You believed you were doing the right thing, and you ensured that he'd be quickly found. You wanted to give him the kind of safe, happy life you felt you could never provide. For that, you were consigned to Hell? Just because your case ticks certain boxes?”

  He leans closer to Sam.

  “So tell me now,” he continues, snarling with rage, “that you still think the system is fair.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stopping as she emerges from the lair, Sam looks down the dark street that leads toward the cemetery. A moment later, hearing a shuffling sound over her shoulder, she turns and sees that Abberoth has followed her out.

  “I am going to change things,” he explains, “whether you like it or not. My version of Hell will be fairer. I cannot be stopped, but you can save your own world. Deliver the Devil to me, and your world will be spared.”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but for a moment no words leave her lips. In her mind's eye, she's still seeing the awful things that were done to the child. After a few seconds she turns to Abberoth, and she tries to work out whether everything he said was true.

  “You don't look like the child,” she says finally. “How can you be him, if you died when you were so young?”

  “Hell changes a person,” he replies, before opening his cloak to reveal a ruined, gnarled body. “One accumulates more evil and hatred while one is down there.”

  Before she can reply, Sam spots irregular shapes protruding from sections of Abberoth's bare torso. A small hand is partially sticking out from his shoulder, while there seems to be part of a knee attached to his belly. It's as if Abberoth's full body of dark flesh and bone has grown around the old, withered parts of the child she saw in the vision. After a moment she even spots the child's dead face in Abberoth's chest, with several ribs protruding through his cheeks.