The Quarter Moon (Afterlife saga)

by Hudson, Stephanie

  “Ok, so I am getting that it has something to do with the Devil, but what’s it now doing on my hand?” At this he groaned and ran his free hand down his hooded head.

  “Seal of Satan! Alright, it’s the bloody Seal of Satan…you getting it now?” He snapped making me snatch my hand back to stare at the mark.

  “So, let me get this straight, I have now signed myself up as some kind of Devil worshiper?” I snapped back. I swear I could hear his eyes rolling at my response.

  “Not yet, no, but with your insane ideas about taking a little trip to his place of residence, then I wouldn’t say you’re far off…now come on and let’s get this shit done, I’m hungry.” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes as he walked on ahead.

  “Why am I not surprised…three bacon butties, half my damn birthday cake and even swigging back the bloody milk jug with the tea service, didn’t take the edge off!” I muttered whilst following him into the arched doorway at the end of the grubby material hallway.

  “What can I say, gotta lotta meat on these old bones that like a little thing called substance.” He said sarcastically before pounding a fist on his chest. I patted his arm and said,

  “Sure you do, caveman,” making him growl. But right now that sound just added to the background of utter insane surroundings, dragging the only question from my gaping wide mouth,

  “What the Fu…!” The sound of a fog horn sounded before my curse could be fully heard.

  “Step right up my fudgling pretties and show the room your beautiful twin ditties!” A bellowing voice sounded from the centre of the cavernous space.

  “He means breasts, doesn’t he?” I said in a stunned voice, standing by his side in frozen wonder.

  “God, I hope so…come on my little Goth snack.” He said grabbing my hand to pull me further into the cosmic joke that was the room I was now standing in.

  “Funny, Flintstone.” I commented dryly.

  We walked further into the circular room that looked as though it had been crudely carved from the solid rock and I shuddered to think of what was powerful enough to have accomplished such a mammoth task. The surface had then been whitewashed before different fixtures could be mounted. Like the entrance way, the place screamed out demonic fairground Carnival and had swathes of decaying material hung down in lines, creating some creepy vision of a Big Top. The yellows were dirty, the oranges were ripped and frayed and the red were splattered in stains that not surprisingly looked to be blood. In the gaps between the hanging material there were upside down crosses, that no doubt also represented the Devil. But the most shocking was the person sized iron cages all stacked up in towers attached to different sections of the walls. These held a sickening array of different demons and…

  “Chickens?” I questioned out loud making Sigurd lean down to whisper something,

  “They are for the games, along with the fools that angered the Beast and are awaiting punishment.” He nodded at the cages and I shuddered just thinking about what that punishment could entail.

  The rest of the room was split into different sections but all focused around the large stage in the centre. It reminded me a bit like an abandoned theatre and all at once I was hit with the haunting memory that the dark shadows of Sigurd’s mind had shown me. Was this why? Because he knew on some level that this was where my fate would bring us? I didn’t have any of the answers and this was hardly the place to start questioning my large protector on the matter.

  Seating was sectioned into three parts with large open spaces in between that were crowded with an array of demons like you would find in a nightclub. The fading burgundy material on the chairs was ripped and worn as if it had been installed decades ago and never bothered with since. The cobwebs and grime only added to my assessment, as when one was sat on, a little cloud of dust fanned up around the shoulders of a demon wearing a patchwork jacket. I felt sick when he turned his head to the side to speak to another Demon and I saw half his cheek was decayed, leaving a gaping grey hole where his jaw bone could be seen, like a gory window displaying his skeleton.

  On the stage was who I imagined to be the Ringmaster, although not surprisingly, like none I had ever seen before. He stood in the centre alone, but his booming voice was the one that had shouted for the girls to step up. He was dressed in tight fitting black trousers that tucked into knee-high boots of high polished black leather that were buckled all the way up with copper spikes. His slim build was shown through the white shirt tucked into his waistband then finished off with a thick belt of blood red silk tied tight and left hanging to his knees from the knot at the side. The ruffles around the neck of his skirt were framing the mass of red ruffles in the same crimson silk at his waist. This was all topped off with a black, red and white stripped waistcoat, matching top hat that was double the regular size and black satin gloves that pulled up over the sleeves of his lavish shirt.

  His costume, however, wasn’t the big shocker, nor was the massive goggles that rested at the rim of his hat, making him look a bit like a Steampunk explorer. No, it was his face. The beaming white skin that was a startling canvas for the harsh black features that had you screaming ‘evil’! Thin diagonal slashes formed wicked eyebrows that made him look constantly disapproving, ones that match his shadowed cheekbones. His thin black lips cut upwards in a sinister smile, that was a sarcastic contradiction to his disapproval but his eyes added no clues to his feelings. They were two round orbs of cloudy white, stamped with a pair of black X’s in the centre or shadowed lids. So, to say he was creeping me out, was a gross understatement!

  He spun a long walking stick which looked like a deadly spike that had a metal demonic hand curled round the blade in a deathlike grip. The long claws spanned the distance around the spike twice and this was the end he tapped on the floor, before swinging it back up to tip his hat up as the girls stepped up to the stage. He waggled his arched eyebrows in a comical fashion and the crowd roared their approval also, at seeing half naked demon girls.

  The thing with demons that I was starting to realise, was that not all of them look completely demonic. Oh sure, there were enough elements to know I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, but at least most had human figures and the girls were no exception.

  The crowd was still split until the last girl had made her way through and up to the stage. The music started to play when the last girl of eight joined the others, who were now circling the Ringmaster. The song reminded me of something you’d find in a Burlesque show as each of the very different girls started to shake and offer up their goods for the Ringmaster’s inspection.

  “I thought you said this was a fight club?” I muttered sideways to Sigurd, who had stopped to scan the room. I just hoped it wasn’t for a quick thrill at seeing so much skin.

  “Oh, just wait lille øjesten, there will be blood, ‘tis but the first act.” I frowned and was left to do nothing but watch the show I’d never thought to see in all my ideas of ‘The Devils Ring’. I kind of had the whole fight club thing in my mind, being some dingy room big enough for betting crowds squashed tight against some rough version of a boxing ring; the kind lit by a single light bulb swaying by a dodgy looking wire. But no, no, I was now in Hell’s version of a bloody circus with some fights and punishments thrown in. Yeah, this was going to be great for my stomach muscles I thought, as the first wave of sickening gag came from just looking at the crowd alone.

  All the girls were so different in not only size and features but also in costume. There were tutus and bone covered jackets with curled tails that looked to be made from human skin. There were also hats and headdresses made up with everything from feathers and ribbons to the more gruesome bloody teeth and body parts. One girl wore her dark curls to the side, held there with a pinned brooch made from severed fingers, arranged in a flower shape. The painted pink nails matched her ruffled bolero jacket and sparkling bra.

  Another was only wearing black underwear over a pair of fishnet tights and her back was pierced in a V shape with hooks. I cur
led my lip at the view of blood dripping down, as if it had just been done and the ribbon threaded through like the back of a corset did nothing to hide the grisly sight.

  “Please don’t tell me this is an appealing sight?” I whispered when I saw Sigurd had now started scanning the stage.

  “Do I look like a boy scout to you?” Was his only answer and I grunted in response. I had to keep reminding myself that he was, after all, a demon and why would he not be attracted to his own kind?

  As the music started to pick up and a voice sang out from over the speakers, this was the cue for the act to kick it up a notch. They all started dancing slowly in sync to the words as each one was introduced. Two walked up to the Ringmaster on either side and were introduced as twins and ran their hands seductively across his chest before thrusting a leg up each thigh and with him holding their backs flicked their upper bodies out to the side. Then he quickly slammed them back together so that they smashed their heads together and knocked them both unconscious on the floor. He simply then stepped over the two bodies and let the other girls drag them off the stage.

  The roar of laughter drowned out the song for some moments while he dusted off his hands, as part of the act.

  “Step right up as our Girls, Girls, Girls are going cheap, so just pay the man and pick one from the heap.” He nodded to the two that were now dumped to the side.

  “But the last one standing, however hideous or nice, will be, I’m happy to say, double the price! So come now, gentlemen that you are not…come strip these titties bare, heave them up, show them your man time, I’ll throw them over there!” He sang out and nodded to two other girls who had started fighting. One was pulling the other’s hair, making pins and pearls go flying, while the men rose from their seats to shout their approval. Then the Ringmaster danced side to side as the beat increased, to then swing his stick round and hit one of the girls who was bent over ready, giving her behind a deafening slap. Her head cracked back and the other girls dragged her off to add to the pile.

  Some demons had stood up and were adding themselves to the queue, hoping to pay for an unconscious girl. As the show continued and eventually there was just one girl left, the song came to an end, just as the Ringmaster grabbed the waist of a short girl with a massive red tutu and breasts simply hidden by slashes of black tape, to manhandle. She squealed her delight as he grabbed a breast in his hand and kissed her until her lips bled. Then he pulled back swiftly to say,

  “However, for these nights, this little bean can be my queen…” He then said to the crowd behind his hand,

  “…let’s hope she fights.” And then hauled her up over his shoulder and carted her off the stage, with her giggling in delight.

  “That’s barbaric!” I said outraged, but Sigurd merely laughed next to me.

  “Do the girls look like they are complaining?” He asked causing me to look towards the ‘heap’ of girls now all doe eyed and coming back around from their knocked out states. Each was getting sold off and all were looking far too pleased about it. One girl even whipped off her bra, then slapped it round her buyers neck to drag him in for a bruising kiss.

  I forced my eyes away from the sight, to take in the other horrors of the room. Whereas the seating was concentrated around the stage in a fan shape, the areas in between were where we seemed to be headed. The closer we got, the more it started to look like a type of market was also taking place.

  “Come on øjesten, time to see if anyone here can tell us anything useful.” He started walking past the rows of chairs, when I grabbed his arm to pull him back.

  “Why can’t we just ask for this Jared guy?” At this I was answered with a grunted laugh.

  “Because, doing so might just end up getting us killed for the bother. Look, you’re gonna have to just trust me on this øjesten, an Alpha Hellbeast isn’t exactly your most welcoming of hosts, so just try and keep your head down and let me do all the talking, alright?” His voice did that ‘Me man, you woman’ thing again, so I decided to let it be and just nodded like a good little human pet. Hell, I am surprised he didn’t just walk off, whistling and patting his thigh, saying ‘come on, good doggie, does the little poochy want a treat?’ I think he could hear my groan as I trailed behind him.

  We walked past one group that looked to be waiting in line for a fortune teller as there was a little peacock coloured tent that held a small table. A big gypsy lady with a massive gut was covered in layers of jingling sequins and rich sunset colours wrapped around enough times to make a dress. She was drawing in the crowd with her large swaying hips and promises of fates told to those who wished to pay with another’s pound of flesh.

  “But that one there, I will do for free. Come here my pretty and let me taste the nectar of innocence.” I quickened my pace when that offer was directed my way and the growing crowd laughed at my hasty retreat.

  “Keep close to me.” Sigurd growled low.

  I braved a quick look back and was shocked to realise she wasn’t the one that was the fortune reader at all. She merely accepted payment in a dripping sack and moved to one side to show a girl behind her. She was a small young girl that looked to be no more than fourteen and wore a straight, plain black dress over her tiny frame.

  Sweet ringlets of black hung down in a middle parting and overall she would have been the most normal looking person in the room, that was if it hadn’t been for the two Chinese coins in place of eyes, with a tiny white dot in the middle of the square cut from each one. Then, of course, there was the blood soaked hands and forearms that looked like she had dipped both her arms inside an open chest cavity. I saw one massive male bow deeply, before following her inside the tent, until the flap hid them from view.

  I ended up walking into Sigurd’s back as I hadn’t realised he had stopped to talk to someone. I let out a whoosh as the solid back nearly knocked the wind from me.

  “Careful.” Sigurd cautioned, turning his hooded head down to see, no doubt, if I managed to stay on my feet. I couldn’t really help it, I mean this place was just insane and had my curious mind doing back flips at the mental overload. If there had been a demonic version of Pandora, then this was like stepping into her box!

  I pulled myself together and looked around Sigurd’s colossal frame only to nearly lose my dinner once again.

  “Oh, Jesus!” I said before I could stop myself.

  “Oh, I doubt you will be seeing him round these parts, but hey, seeing as you missed the crucifixion, then we could have a reconstruction of the events, now we just need a pure soul, some nails, a cross and voila…but where would we find such a thing down here?” He asked tapping a dirty claw on the side of his cheek, before that cut up smile curled up enough to cover most of his face, showing me bloody row after row of teeth.

  “Oh wait, I think I found one.” The most frightening clown I had ever seen in my life finished with a sickening laugh and that tell-tale painted face that was anything but child friendly! His dirty white face paint was plastered on over burnt twisted skin, some pieces still hanging down flapping as he spoke. Red arches framed milky coloured eyes that just looked like someone had carved the holes with a fork.

  Sigurd grabbed him suddenly by the overly large lapels of his joker suit of orange and blue. His silky shirt tore showing boiled skin underneath. I almost wished he hadn’t bothered, seeing as it just added to the nauseating site.

  “Where is Marcus Edwin?” Sigurd barked close to his face, one I didn’t know how he could stand looking that closely at.

  “Ah now, Marky boy…let me see.” The clown chuckled sadistically before seeing something when looking up at Sigurd that quickly changed his features from amusement to sheer terror. I could just see the reflection in his murky eyes, as a black shadow started to form into what looked like a snake. Was that coming from under Sigurd’s hood? I was just about to sneak a peek when the clown started to become very helpful. The shadow disappeared before I could see it for myself and the clown started to mumble out answers.

/>   “He is calling forth the first fight.” The clown nodded back to the stage area and Sigurd briefly glanced that way before turning his attention back on Mr Flappy Skin.

  “Thanks for giving me a reason.” Sigurd said, his voice getting deeper with every word.

  “For what?” The clown laughed nervously.

  “This!” Sigurd said before pulling his body closer to then knee him in the dangly man bits. The clown dropped to his knees and cupped his damaged balls with a high whistle. Sigurd turned away without another word. I, however, thought a few parting words were in order. I smiled sweetly and said,

  “Not laughing now, Chuckles?” Then I gave him a little bow along with the one finger salute.

  “øjesten!” Sigurd snapped, making me turn quickly to catch him back up. This wasn’t exactly the type of place I wanted to be left alone in. I might have a little spunk in me, thanks to who I came here with, but take that protection away and I would be nothing but a quivering mess in the first hiding place I could find in this warped funfair of Hell.

  We came to a stop, closer to the stage than I would have liked, but I had no option than to follow Sigurd’s lead. I looked up when murmurs filled the room and I watched as a man emerged from the steps at the other side. He had a slim tall build that showed he wasn’t lacking in lean muscle. He wore dark trousers with an old gun attached around one thigh. He also had a fringed scarf tied around his waist under a belt that held a sword to one side. His V shape torso was covered in a dark leather top that looked both worn and soft as it moulded to each contour. The neck was a separate panel that folded back at each corner showing a graceful neck.

  The only way to describe his face was as a handsome jester. His pale face was painted with two slits of red that ran through startling blue eyes and down the length of his cheeks. They created horn shapes on his forehead that curled inwards and did the same by his chin. Another long straight arrow shape was the last painted piece that came from the centre of his bottom lip and all the way down the long column of his throat. But it wasn’t his makeup that amazed me, but the presence with which he carried himself; the tilted chin that looked down on others, with high cheekbones and a sculptured jawline.