The Soul Game

by McQueen, K. T.

  They were given counselling sessions once a week. And occasionally one or another would look like they were making promising progress. But then it would turn out they were trying to play the system. Still, at least some of the noise would be reduced. These lovely cooperative creatures would be someone else’s problem soon. He smiled and waved to those who had come to collect them. Tomorrow he would select the next five or six hundred and they would take their turn.

  Back when he’d been making his career choices he’d been certain he couldn’t be one of those to collect the actual souls, make bargains with the humans, and so he’d chosen the more regular position of soul coordinator. He met them when they arrived and assigned them to their rightful levels. Then he watched over the ones who would never make it past this deepest pit.

  It was good honest work, brought home a good regular wage, and sent his kids to the best schools. The creatures in the pits would be taken, trained, and sent out onto the surface to follow their allocated human. And on a signal from those below remove the soul and return with it to the lowest level. With the numbers of creatures being required he knew the coming weeks were going to get busier, and had begun training an apprentice.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: MAËL

  Pulling the postcard from the pocket of his jacket with a heavy sigh he remembered why he’d put it there in the first place. Unfortunately, with no return address, he could neither write them or find a phone number to let them know about Sparky. He hoped the authorities had offered comfort. They hadn’t even contacted Mike about the funeral and he assumed that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t invited.

  He sniffed and caught the familiar scent of ginger in the air. It triggered a series of bizarre visions that made his head swim and forced him to stagger to the bathroom to hug the toilet once more.

  As they began to ease off he sat against the cold tiles to piece together what he’d seen. None of them made sense, they weren’t memories, but the people in them were familiar to him. He had seen himself arguing with Joy, Ginger grinning happily. Stan, a man he was sure was T.G. Master and a circle of old men around a heavy mahogany table.

  He tried to clear his head. He tried to call Joy. Perhaps they had had an argument he wasn’t remembering; it had been a strange couple of days. But she didn’t answer any of his calls or messages. He assumed she must be very busy at work and climbed into bed. They could talk when she got in.

  As he slept he dreamt. Crying out unnoticed in the empty apartment. Shadows distorted the orange light streaming through the windows. His dreams were filled with smoke and flames, a heat that blistered and burnt his skin. He stood on an island of rock in the centre of a river of lava, and could see no way to get to safety. The taste was bitter and acrid and he tried not to breathe it in, pulling his t-shirt up over his face. He stood barefoot and called out. But no answer came.

  Writhing in pain. Sweating and sore he peeled the covers back and climbed from the bed. Making his way to the bathroom he stripped naked. But when he touched the cold metal of the shower his fingers recoiled in pain. Burns covered his hands and feet.

  ‘What the hell?’ he muttered. Unsure what to do he picked up his discarded t-shirt and used it to turn on the shower.

  He climbed under the tepid water and held his hands into the stream. Finding comfort, he stood there for so long he didn’t hear Joy come in, or try the bathroom door. When he came out she was changing the bedding, unable to sleep in the sweat-drenched sheets.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said moving toward the bed.

  ‘It’s done now; you can put the sheets in the wash.’ She gestured at the pile without looking at him. ‘I’m going to have a drink and then go to bed.’

  ‘I…did I do something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, did you?’ she shot back.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He frowned, knowing it was a lie but unable to tell her the truth.

  ‘Well then,’ she said.

  She didn’t even ask what he’d done when he took the aloe Vera gel out of the medicine cabinet and started applying it to his hands and feet.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she muttered putting her mug in the sink and heading for the bed.

  ‘Joy?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she said, her back to him as she pulled back the sheets. ‘You can spend the rest of the night on the sofa.’

  He watched as she climbed out of her uniform and into pink pyjamas, then beneath the sheets she turned away from him. He sat at the counter. Perhaps work had been bad, but he was certain Ginger had been here.

  When Joy was asleep he pulled on clean jeans and a shirt. A pair of mismatched socks from the washing basket that felt like sandpaper against his burnt feet, and holding his shoes in his hand he left the apartment.

  He pulled his shoes on in the corridor and made his way to the street.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE: BLACK

  Task: You must turn your victim to pride. Pride is the darkest of all sins, and the one most likely to damn you to hell. Pride is about believing that you of all people are the most important and no other compares to you. You are truly wicked if you can turn your victim to this most dreadful of sins.

  This one had her stumped. How could she make someone else feel like the most important person in the world? She sneered as she thought her ex pretty much already thought that about himself but that could be cheating. But who else was there?

  She made coffee and sat by the fire, the day seemed colder and it had been raining since the early hours. Running through all the people who might be able to be made to feel prideful about themselves and how she could make someone feel that way. Then she heard the church bells in the distance and had an idea.

  There was a ladies’ meeting each week. If she was quick she could get over there and try to join. They advertised that they welcomed new members. She didn’t go to church and now she had a reputation that was against everything they believed in.

  She put on her smartest clothes. Not interview worthy but good enough for her mother’s luncheons. A mint green two piece, with a white blouse and green heels. She did her hair too, until she looked respectable and sweet. Then putting her keys and purse into a tiny matching bag she let herself out of the caravan and stepped into the taxi she’d ordered. She wondered how much she’d spent on taxis doing all these tasks. When she arrived, they were making tea and putting out cakes.

  ‘Oh Kelly we’re so glad you decided to come,’ Agnes, the first woman she encountered, told her. She swung a meaty arm around Kelly’s shoulders and steered her into the room with the others. Well, that wasn’t what she was expecting.

  ‘I was hoping I could join your group.’ She felt nervous.

  ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea and we can chat. You look lovely by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kelly allowed herself to be introduced to the other women. They were being so nice to her. She felt a little teary.

  They continued their conversation as if she’d always been part of it and it was a while before they turned to the reason she was here. But it wasn’t how she expected it to be. She’d thought they would be the way her mother had been, after all, her mother was an occasional participant of their church suppers. But these ladies were much kinder and accepting.

  ‘We are so glad you’ve thought about what you did,’ Agnes said.

  ‘We don’t believe everything we heard about you.’

  ‘Your mother told us stories dear,’ another lady added with a sage nod of her head.

  ‘If you think my mother doesn’t exaggerate everything…’

  ‘Oh we know she does, that woman has got some serious issues.’

  ‘But you have done some nasty things, you can’t deny it.’

  Kelly looked down at her hands, she had been wild, she had experimented, she just didn’t realise so many people knew so much. They didn’t wait for her to reply, though.

  ‘Hell we’ve all done things,’ one of the older ladies chuckled. ‘It’s part of th
e fun, but you have to save yourself. God will stand by you and guide you, but you have to accept what you did and move forward.’

  ‘That sounds….’ She didn’t finish the sentence; she was thinking God couldn’t help her now. She’d bargained her soul already, attempted to jump off the bridge, and committed deadly sins. She couldn’t be saved by God. But she could save herself, from a life she didn’t want.

  ‘So until you make the changes you need to make, and accept everything you’ve done has been because you wanted it, no matter what it was, you won’t be able to make things better for yourself.’ Agnes patted her on the hand. ‘When you’ve got to that point then maybe you can come back and join our group.’

  Kelly nodded down into her tea. She’d thought she could make these ladies feel pride, that they would feel like they were better than her, but as it turned out they’d had a few interesting experiments of their own. And just maybe Kelly had been guilty of judging a book by its cover. She felt stupid.

  ‘Here, have another cake.’ A lady in pink passed her the plate. Another filled her teacup and a third told a story about a husband long dead.

  As the ladies started clearing away Kelly felt a strange coldness come over her. As if someone had opened a door and let a draft in, but all the doors were closed.

  ‘What’s up, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Agnes asked as she walked past with a tray of cups.

  ‘Nothing, here let me take those.’ She took the tray to the kitchen and began washing up. Feeling as if she needed to repay them their kindness somehow. She’d tried and failed to turn these God-fearing women to pride, to sin. What was she thinking? She felt like crying but didn’t want these ladies to give her sympathy for what she’d been trying to do to them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY: MAËL

  ‘Why did you come to my apartment?’ he growled when Ginger picked up.

  ‘Oh did your little human tell you? That was brave of her.’ Mike didn’t correct her. ‘I wanted to see you, thought we should talk about what happened and where our relationship will go from here.’

  ‘We don’t have a relationship. So, it won’t be going anywhere,’ Mike snarled.

  ‘Oh don’t be silly, we’re perfect for each other. Look how good it was when we were together.’ She was giggling. ‘We could do amazing things together.’

  ‘I said,’ Mike snapped, ‘there is no us. You don’t come to my apartment, you don’t phone me, and you never ever talk to Joy.’

  ‘Ooh, moody moody,’ she said.

  ‘I mean it!’ it came out much colder than he meant it to. He didn’t wait for her answer, just hung up.

  He hadn’t realised where he was walking but his feet had taken him to the Demon quarter. And he found himself outside The Red Hat club.

  ‘You coming in?’ the bouncer asked. ‘Not too busy tonight.’

  ‘Sure.’ Mike almost managed a real smile.

  The barrier was lifted and Mike pushed through the double doors. Dim lights and music seemed to be the place’s heart beat and made it hard to tell how many people were in the club. But he could hear voices and see shadows as they enjoyed their night.

  He made straight for the bar and ordered a Dampener. It had been his favourite drink back in the day, a potent mix of tequila, absinthe, and chocolate liqueur. He didn’t intend to get drunk but Demon bars didn’t have closing hours. No one was brave enough to police them. He nodded to the bartender for another after he’d downed the first.

  People moved around him, bumping into him, coming up to the bar and ordering drinks, dancing off again. It wasn’t crowded but it was busy.

  ‘You’re not a regular,’ the bartender said when he ordered his fourth drink. ‘But you seem familiar.’

  ‘Never been here before,’ Mike said.

  ‘Right.’ The bartender agreed and let it slide. It wasn’t long before he was back, something about drunk Mike was drawing people towards him. ‘So where do you usually drink?’

  ‘The White Lion,’ Mike said, aware that his end of the bar was gathering the revellers.

  They weren’t quite sitting in his lap but it was like this was where the party was happening and they needed to be in the centre of it, being noticed. The dance floor was a few feet away and there were plenty of cleared empty tables. The second bartender had drifted to this end to serve customers either side of Mike.

  ‘That’s a human bar, isn’t it? Can’t be much fun drinking there,’ the bartender said as he juggled a couple of bottles.

  ‘Yup,’said Mike.

  ‘I’m certain I know you from somewhere.’ The bartender shook his head.

  ‘What time is it?’ Mike asked. Slurring the question, a little.

  ‘Just after six,’ the bartender told him.

  ‘Oh shit, best get home,’ he said dropping a fistful of notes onto the bar. They seemed to want to move with him across the club and if he’d looked back he’d have seen them collectively sigh. But he didn’t look back. He looked forward into the too bright sunlight and called a cab.

  Pushing open the apartment door and dropping his keys on the side table he kicked off his shoes and hoped he wasn’t waking Joy. He found her sitting on the sofa, mug of tea on the coffee table, plate of toast forgotten, as she became more and more engrossed in a book.

  ‘What are you reading?’ he asked, being careful with his words.

  ‘That self-help book you’ve been selling. Thought I’d better find out what all the fuss was about. Stan came around, said he was worried you were going to quit your job.’ She smiled before the recollection of Ginger’s visit marred her face. ‘He wasn’t the only visitor I had yesterday.’

  He didn’t wait for her to finish speaking before he rushed towards her, grasping for the book like a starving man after food.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she screeched trying to keep it away from him. Her toast went flying, along with her tea. ‘Look what you’ve done!’

  ‘Give me the book, how far have you read, what have you read, don’t read anymore, stop reading it right now, did you make the deal yet, have you begun playing the game, what do you think you’re doing, what did you think it would achieve?’ he was yelling. He never yelled at her.

  It was a strange tableau: her standing, pink pyjama clad, book in hand, arm outstretched, anger and shock on her face. Toast and tea on the floor. Him spitting as he slurred his way through more questions than she could take in, gesturing and hopping from foot to foot, as he tried to take the book to see how far she’d read.

  ‘You’re drunk!’ she accused.

  ‘It’s dangerous!’ he yelled.

  And then there was silence.

  ‘It’s a book,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a game.’

  ‘It’s a self-help book with challenges to improve your life,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a game designed to make you gamble your soul away,’ he stated. The drunkenness having departed as the enormity hit him.

  ‘My soul?’ she looked shocked and then started laughing. ‘Oh my god, you are crazy. Did you take drugs? Are you on something?’

  She closed the book and threw it onto the coffee table where it began to soak up the spilled tea.

  ‘Fine I’ll stop “playing the game”.’ She used air quotes. ‘Pfft, how can a book take my soul?’

  ‘It’s not a book,’ he repeated.

  ‘It is a book, look it has pages between covers.’ She was being sarcastic.

  ‘It’s designed to be the thing humans are most likely to buy.’ And there, right there, was his first mistake. He tried to cover. ‘Why were you reading it?’

  ‘It said…it says you can have true love forever, as much money as you could possibly want, good health, success…’ She paused. ‘What do you mean humans? Why did you say it like that?’

  ‘You only get one of the life gifts,’ he said remembering the game show. ‘You put your soul up as collateral. If you complete all the tasks you get a life gift based on the colour you chose.’

/>   ‘What did you mean humans?’ she shouted.

  He recoiled.

  ‘I misspoke, I meant people.’

  ‘I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you right now,’ she snapped. ‘You have this amazing job that lets you set your own schedule, you get paid more than well. You have an amazing apartment, a best friend who is worried about you, and me. But you seem to want to throw it all away.’

  ‘Stan was here?’ Frowning, he stepped closer.

  ‘And Ginger!’ she screamed. ‘Your stupid fucking whore! She told me about your holiday.’

  ‘They drugged me,’ he muttered, ashamed, pleading. ‘She was manipulating me whilst I was out of it, not thinking clearly. I didn’t want her, I want you.’

  ‘So now it’s date-rape, is it?’ she was stomping around the room, grabbing things. ‘I wanted to follow the book, game, whatever, to try to improve our relationship. What we have, had.’

  ‘Had?’ he whispered.

  ‘Had! You think I’m staying after this?’

  ‘What colour did you pick?’ he asked, glancing at the book, now dripping tea. He went to get another out of the box.

  ‘What difference does it make? I don’t care anymore.’ She grabbed a bag and started shoving things in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he reached her with the book.

  ‘Packing! Leaving!’ she was screaming and crying. It wasn’t pretty.