Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “My teaching days are over boy which I was very happy about considering the school went to shit. The Master decided the process was a bit too selective and forced us to grant every single candidate a scythe and the power to wield it. No trials or test, nothing more than teaching them the rules, how to kill and use the portal. Some of those twats weren’t worthy of it, not by a long shot. It was a disgrace, pulling those hoods onto their heads. It made me nearly as sick when I had to do yours. I was glad to be done with it in the end, the position lost its shine if you will. It all happened right after you left as I recall, no doubt you had something to do with it you wanker.”

  That’s weird, too weird to be a coincidence.

  “Got a promotion I did, Master’s right hand man now is what I am,” Jones boasted.

  “Congratulations,” Bobby grunted.

  “Why thank you very much Mr. Grant but I’m afraid ass kissing won’t get you out of this one. You are so rightly fucked I might even feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a wanker.”

  Not good.

  “No,” Jones snickered. “Not good at all but if I’m being honest I’m quite looking forward to seeing the Master work on extracting the appropriate punishment for your stupidity.”

  Bobby said nothing, he didn’t want to hear any more about what was waiting for him in case his legs rebelled and hauled him and his ass back down the hallway so fast it would leave Jones looking like Wile E. Coyote after yet another failed attempt to capture his prize.

  “Here we are,” Jones announced and stopped in front of two huge iron doors masterfully emblazoned with thousands of faces of every age and race, from Bobby’s world and every other, all frozen in a state of pure, black despair.

  “Fancy,” Bobby remarked, revolted but fascinated.

  “Yes,” Jones misunderstood disgust for admiration. “Beautiful.”

  Bobby noticed that the Englishman was afraid. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves, his lips were pulled tight as his jaw clenched and unclenched while his eyes darted around nervously. Bobby couldn’t resist adding to his angst, “Nobody home? Did you take a wrong turn?”

  “Shut up!” Jones snapped.

  “Knock,” Bobby reached out and pounded on the hot metal with his fist.

  “No!” Jones roared in panicked disbelief and backhanded Bobby across the face with terror induced power.

  Bobby’s head snapped back and he stumbled a few feet backward with the force of the blow before flopping on his ass. “What the fuck you dick, I was trying to help,” he growled.

  “You little shit!” Jones seethed as he walked toward the fallen Reaper.

  “Easy there big guy, remember, the Master wants me all to himself,” Bobby swiped the blood from his mouth and smiled his best and brightest ‘fuck you’ smile. “Shouldn’t bruise the goods.”

  “You…” Jones began but the creaking hinges of the massive doors ended his threat. “Up, get up!”

  Bobby obeyed but was at once frozen in awe as the doors parted to reveal Satan’s throne room.

  “Come,” a deep voice called from within.

  “Let’s go,” Jones ordered but there was more fear than authority in it.

  “After you bitch,” Bobby bowed and waved.

  “Get the fuck in there!” Jones roared and sent a bolt of white hot pain deep into Bobby’s guts.

  Bobby stumbled forward, half crippled by the pain. Jones followed him.

  *

  “Welcome to my world,” Satan cried as he strode toward Bobby with his hand out.

  “Thanks for having me,” Bobby took it and shook it, perplexed and distrustful of the seemingly heartfelt welcome but more so by the man who offered it.

  Satan was a seriously good looking dude. His deep blue eyes beamed with warmth and kindness beneath a mane of thick, shoulder length, blond hair that swept back in a stylish wave from his wide, smooth brow. A chiseled jaw framed his rugged but pretty face. His full lips parted with a smile to reveal a perfect brace of snow white teeth below his broad, distinguished nose. Tall but unintimidating, a neat light gray suit accented his lean, athletic build. The baby blue shirt underneath was left unbuttoned at the collar where a medallion on a delicate silver chain dangled at his throat.

  This dude belongs on a fashion runway or a movie poster or on the cover of ‘Surfer Weekly’ or something.

  “You are a pisser Robert,” Satan said cheerfully. “Just like Mr. Jones said you were.”

  Bobby nodded, he didn’t know what else to do.

  “Is that blood?” Satan asked, leaning in to study the Reaper’s face.

  “Yeah, your boy there took a swing at me when I wasn’t looking,” Bobby ratted on Jones without a micro-moment of hesitation.

  “Mr. Jones,” Satan turned his attention toward his terrorized sidekick. “Did I not ask you to treat our guest with respect?”

  “Ye…yes Master,” Jones spluttered.

  “That ain’t shit, you should have seen the greeting beating he gave me,” Bobby piled it on. “I think he managed to break every bone in my body.”

  “Jones?” Satan wasn’t happy.

  “He needed to be softened up Master,” Jones scrambled to create a viable excuse. “He needed to learn a bit of respect.”

  “Mr. Jones, please…go somewhere,” Satan’s voice dropped so low it sounded like far off thunder. “I don’t care where, just go before I decide to give you a lesson in respect.”

  Jones did as he was told and scurried off into the shadows like the cockroach he was. “Terribly poor of him, he will be punished,” Satan promised.

  “He’s an asshole,” Bobby stated the obvious.

  “Yes but a loyal asshole Robert, a very rare commodity here. Loyalty, in fact, is why we are here, you and I. Do you know why?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Very good, I’d hate to waste time doing the whole Bart Simpson ‘It wasn’t me’ thing. It’s not only pointless but boring beyond words. The truth always come out in the end Robert.”

  A Simpsons fan, really?

  Bobby nodded again.

  “Right, good, first things first them,” Satan waved Bobby toward him. “The tour.”

  That’s first? A fucking open house!

  “Of course it is Robert. This is my home and you are my guest. I thought you would appreciate seeing the truth behind the most feared being in all of creation.”

  “Sure, sounds cool. Cribs, Hell Edition, lead the way.”

  “Very good, I do love a sharp wit!” Satan laughed, clapped Bobby on the shoulder playfully and led him further into his lair.

  *

  The enormous chamber held only one piece of furniture, if a throne was considered furniture. Sitting on top of a smooth, glimmering platform of liquid black stone that seemed to swallow all the light that found it, sat a huge creation of twisted craftsmanship. Tall and wide it appeared to be made of brilliant ruby. Not rubies, not a trillion of the sparling red stones set in its surface, but one giant crimson stone. Carved with intricate and astounding detail, the entirety of its surface depicted an array of creatures in the throes of death. Bobby didn’t know what or who most of the creatures were but the pain and the fear so expertly etched on their faces was as clear as the oversized jewel that housed them. The burning ceiling’s light bounced off every faucet and from every curve, illuminating the horrors and spotlighting the suffering from high above.

  “It is my prize possession,” Satan offered as he watched Bobby study the oddity.

  Bobby nodded, he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Would you like to sit in it?” the offer seemed as out of place as the creature posing it.

  “No thanks, I’m good,” Bobby replied, terrified touching it would infect him with the evil that seemed to glow from within it or that it would swallow him whole and he’d end up as one of its tortured engravings.

  “It doesn’t bite,” Satan pushed.

  “I’m good,” Bobby tried to sound cool, he didn’t. />
  Satan strode confidently up the six steps that rose to the crimson throne from all sides. He patted the thick, tufted purple cushion snuggled between its arms, “Come. Sit.”

  “Seriously Mr…”

  “Sin, call me Sin.”

  “Mr. Sin, I really wouldn’t feel comfortable. I’m honored but definitely not…I’m not throne sitting material. Thank you.”

  “As you wish,” Sin tried to hide his disappointment but Bobby picked up on it anyway, denial was probably not something he was used to. “Onward then, there is a lot to see.”

  Bobby felt his shoulders settle, he hadn’t realized he’d been so tense.

  “This, obviously, is my throne room. I don’t use it much, special occasions and such.” Sin explained as he descended the ebony platform.

  Special occasions? Here? It ain’t Christmas.

  “My other chambers are where I spend most of my time,” Sin pointed to an archway the size of a loading bay door as he said it.

  Bobby had not seen it before although it was hard to miss in the barren expanse of the massive room. Others, all the same size and shape, lined the walls on both sides of the seemingly endless room for as far as his eyes could see. “Wow,” he blurted out involuntarily.

  “Wow is right Robert,” Sin boasted. “There is a room for everything.”

  “Really?” Bobby was almost afraid to imagine the depravity each housed.

  “This world was created to accommodate the suffering of those deserving of it but I see no reason for me to join them. I have built an oasis here. There is a lounge, a bar, a kitchen, a library, a movie theater, an Olympic size pool, a fitness center, a spa, a gaming studio and several sex chambers to satisfy a litany of fetishes and inclinations.”

  “Did you say gaming studio?” Bobby asked to make sure his ears weren’t messing with him.

  “Of course. To tell you the truth, I probably spend too much time in there,” Sin winked as he shared his little secret.

  “No shit? That’s cool.”

  “None,” Sin grinned. “Your world’s modern gaming is the best I’ve seen. Humans really put an incredible amount of effort into entertaining themselves, it’s quite an anomaly. I can’t get enough of it, all the violence, the warfare, the gore. I love it. Do you play?”

  Makes sense.

  “Hell yeah I play!” Bobby almost shouted.

  “I’m a C.O.D guy, Black Ops 3 is the best game ever but the newer stuff has been pretty disappointing though,” Sin shook his head disapprovingly.

  “I totally agree, the new releases have been shit,” Bobby was always game for gamer talk. “You play Recon?”

  “Yeah,” Sin replied. “Great game.”

  “On-line? Co-op?”

  “I’ve tried but it’s hard to find a good squad. The new 4v4 update is useless if you’re stuck with three idiots who can’t be trusted to watch your six.”

  Dude knows his stuff.

  “Yeah, little kids and newbies can fuck things up big time.”

  “What’s your handle?” Sin was as absorbed by the conversation as Bobby was.

  “Handle?”

  “Your tag? Your screen name?”

  “Handle?” Bobby laughed. “Dude, that’s very BJ and the Bear of you, very Smokey and the Bandit, ten four good buddy.”

  Sin smiled. “I find it hard to keep up with the new language fads of your world, it’s a pain in the ass actually. Humans are the only species whose various languages evolve and expand. Once your kind settle on one I’m sure that will change.”

  “Interesting tidbit,” Bobby couldn’t imagine a world where everyone spoke just one language but he could never have imagined he’d be chatting with Satan about gaming either.

  “Your screen name?” Sin was waiting.

  “Oh, right. On PS4 it’s Nutz4Gutz and on Xbox it’s GutSpiller or MurderUnited,” Bobby revealed with pride.

  “Very good,” Sin approved.

  “You?”

  “OG666.”

  “Cool. I like it, the original OG for sure. I don’t think we ever played.”

  “No, I tend to hang in the Japanese rooms. Those nips are always ahead of the curve on their gameplay and their strategy, they offer a much greater challenge.”

  Nips? Really? DamnedRacist might have been better.

  “Cool.”

  “Want to play?” Sin dangled a very tempting carrot.

  Bobby resisted, “No thanks, too stressed out by all this shit ya’know. This is, kinda, freaking me the fuck out a bit if you wanna know the truth.”

  “Understood,” Sin had that disappointed look again. “Let’s go to the library. It’s quiet and comfortable, the perfect place to have a chat.”

  *

  “Coffee? Tea? Beer? Something harder?” Sin offered with a kind smile.

  Satan is a very generous host, go figure.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Comfortable?”

  Bobby sat in a high wingback chair of smooth black leather across from his host who sat cross-legged in its twin. Firm but soft, just the right depth and cool to the touch despite the fire burning in the enormous field stone hearth beside them, it was the most comfortable chair Bobby had ever sat in. “Yes. Very, thank you.”

  “What do you think?” Sin asked.

  “About what?” Bobby had been given so much to think about he didn’t know where to begin.

  “This!” Sin cried and spread his arms wide.

  Bobby looked around slowly, taking in every detail of the expansive study. Two walls housed sturdy timber shelves of tightly packed books that climbed toward the burning ceiling until fading from sight. The fireplace dominated the wall that separated them, its huge stones stacked perilously around the flames. A thick mantel of rough stone sat perched above the oversized arch. On top a bizarre collection of what appeared to be skulls lined the mantel. They stared eyelessly, accusingly at Bobby as he struggled to identify, or even imagine, the creatures and the worlds they came from. Some were as big as garbage cans, some sported horns, others beaks or tusks. Eye holes varied in number, size and location, as did the colors and the shapes of the skulls that housed them. Only one was white. A lone human skull sat nestled between a green, one-eyed specimen twice it height and half its width and a black, oval one with a spiraled, red tusk.

  “Shit’s wild bro,” Bobby spoke his mind.

  “Yes,” Sin agreed. “I suppose it is to someone like you.”

  “Like me?” Bobby wasn’t sure if it was an insult, it sure sounded like one.

  “Yes, someone unfamiliar with the truth of your existence,” Sin explained.

  “Small cog, big machine kind of thing.” Bobby’s old boss at Burger King had used that very line on him right before he fired him.

  “Precisely,” Sin liked it.

  “That’s me, the little cog that could.”

  Bobby was getting nervous, he always babbled when he was nervous.

  “So, tell me, what were you doing up there among the living for so long?” Sin settled back, folded his hands over one knee and waited.

  Here we go.

  “It’s a long story,” Bobby tried to stall.

  “We have time,” Satan invited with a panty dropping smile.

  Bobby told his tale, the edited version, the one he’d rehearsed a hundred times with Gordon and Maria, the one he hoped he could sell. He rambled on for what felt like hours as Sin sat and listened, motionless and expressionless. It was easy at first, he was telling his real story leaving out only the fact that he’d fallen in love, switched teams and was planning on destroying everything his host had built.

  Little stuff, minor details.

  When he got to the part where Indiwongga and Ortero showed up, he paused. Sin sat up, sensing the importance of what was to come.

  “So two hunters showed up a while back to take me back…here but I couldn’t let them. I worked so hard to gain the Angel’s trust, to make her believe I was on her side, ya’know. I had h
er wrapped and if I let Indiwongga and his sidekick take me then it would have all been for nothing.”

  Sin waited at the edge of his chair but said nothing.

  “I killed them,” Bobby confessed with what he hoped was shameful sincerity. “I killed them both.”

  “Impressive,” Sin replied with admiration.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Bobby was genuinely surprised and deeply relieved, “I thought I’d be in some deep shit for that.”

  “If you are telling me the truth then you had good reason to kill them.”

  “It is…I mean I am.”

  Sin frowned suspiciously.

  “I mean, it’s just…I was sure you or Jones or whoever would not be very happy about losing two all-stars.”

  “Two hunters who were dispatched by one Reaper doesn’t sound like all-star material to me Robert,” Sin replied with a shrug. “They deserved it.”

  “Good point,” Bobby agreed.

  “Go on,” Sin settled back and twirled his finger.

  Bobby obeyed. He told him about the Simmons’s, the kid’s dream and about the trip out east. Once Bobby got to the part about his actual meeting with Gordon, Sin again leaned forward in eager anticipation.

  “An old fisherman?” Sin cried in disgust.

  “Yep, the fucking Gordon Fisherman, ya’know, the fish stick guy in the old fashion yellow slicker?” Bobby tried to paint the picture.

  “Always trying to be humble! Always lowering himself! Such a sanctimonious asshole!” Sin roared, his hate for his brother as evident as it was deep.

  Bobby nodded with a look, he hoped, of agreeable distaste.

  “Then what? What did he say? What did he do?” Sin demanded, the façade of Mr. Cool unceremoniously abandoned to expose the hate and the rage hiding beneath it.

  “He caught this huge fish, a Striper,” Bobby recalled with excitement.

  “I don’t care about a fish or his face or his fucking outfit! Tell me what he said!” Sin roared in the same low growl that sent Jones scurrying.

  Temper. Temper.

  “He said he knew about your army and he wanted to know how powerful you were,” Bobby lied. “He seemed scared, nervous, ya’know.”

  “Scared!” Sin rejoiced.

  “Very,” Bobby stroked his ego.