“How so?”
“That’s all it takes to turn you human and they still treat you like a red haired step child.”
“207, report to medical!” a guard screamed from just outside, rattling his nightstick between the bars. I was almost relieved to get away from the annoying Warlock but I had only just arrived, why was I required to go to medical right away?
The guard walked me back towards where we had been hosed down but instead of entering the showering room we turned sharply to the left and carried on for about another one hundred feet before stopping at a checkpoint. Another guard sat behind a desk, protected by what look like reinforced glass. The guard was small and elderly, barely a hair left on his head. He looked at the number on my overalls and back to a piece of paper which he had attached to a clip board. After being seemingly satisfied he reached for a button on top of his desk, pressed it and a loud buzzer sound signalled that the door in front of us had now been unlocked. The guard poked his nightstick between my ribs as encouragement to start walking again, not unlike cattle. I walked on through the door into a tiled room. A single beam of the moon’s light streaked across the dimly lit room. The other source of light in the room was from a lamp, suspended from the ceiling above a chair, not too dissimilar to that of a dentist’s chair. The guard strapped me into the chair before taking his sentry position just outside the door.
I looked around the room; there was not a lot to see. A refrigerator stood against the far wall and a tray of scalpels and needles lay just beside the chair atop a table. Behind me there was a second door to the room and as I tried to turn my strapped in head to it, it began to open. A woman entered the room, evidently a doctor or medical professional judging by her appearance. She wore a white laboratory coat with a stethoscope hanging from around her neck. She had fiery red hair, with several freckles clumped together on her rosy cheeks. In her hand she held a clipboard with what I could assume had my details and medical history on it. “Good Evening 207. I am Dr. Hammond” The woman said through a fake smile. The kind of smile you receive at a customer service desk when they apologise about not being able to help you. “How are we feeling?”
“Peachy.” I replied.
“That’s good; hope the boat ride over wasn’t too long for you?”
“I wouldn’t know, I was drugged.”
“Well,” she began “prisoners have been known to get sea sick so we feel it is best to sedate you during transportation. Believe me, the last thing you want is to have vomit on your shoe for the entire journey. The stench mixed with the smell of the sea water can be pretty strong.”
“Aw, you’re too sweet Doc, just got my best interests at heart.” I scorned back sarcastically.
“Oh, a sarcastic one you are, enough small talk then. 207, you are here because every new prisoner must give a blood sample upon arrival. It is so we can insure that no illnesses or viruses are transported from the main land. We are quite a bit away from the mainland and so supplies are limited as you can see. Now, lets get to it shall we?”
The doctor picked up one of the syringes and removed the protective plastic tip. My arms were strapped in so tightly that she had her choice of any one of a number of protruding veins. She selected her target and slid the tip into my arm drawing out the blood. She applied a cotton pad to the arm as she removed the needle.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad now was it?” as her fake smile returned to her face. The doctor stood and walked to the far wall, opening the refrigerator door, and placed my blood onto a rack of tubes after applying a label to it which read ‘207’. She then turned to the guard posted at the door, gave him a nod to indicate that she was done with me and proceeded back out the door she came from, winking at me as she passed. By the time the door had closed the guard had begun un-strapping me from the chair. He walked me back to my cell via the same route, past the balding guard and back to my charming Warlock cell mate. Could this day get any worse? Thankfully it was nearly over.
Scream
The day had taken its toll. I was asleep as soon as my head even hit the bed. Even the word ‘bed’ is generous; it was a hard mattress with several stains, no sheet, no quilt and no pillow. Despite this I found slumber in an instant. I began to dream of my wife, her long brunette hair, deep green eyes and her luscious body. I recalled our weekend trips together, the latest one of which we took to Budapest together. This was just three weeks ago and we had the most amazing time. Long mornings in bed, late nights filled with fine wine and elegant meals. In the dream my wife and I were conversing over dinner. She was saying something but in the dream I could not make out the words, I could just feel myself smiling and enjoying the moment. Amidst the conversation my wife opened her mouth and a loud screeching scream came bellowing out. It was a high pitched piercing scream that shook me awake. I awoke staring at the ceiling of my cell. The screaming seemed to have carried from my dream because I could still hear it when I awoke. At the foot of my bed levitating was the figure of a woman who appeared slightly transparent or at the least translucent. The woman had long dark hair and wore a long white robe. She had a look of fear that was noticeable in her eyes and expressed in her wail. The screaming was nearly unbearable, just then the Warlock took a swing at the apparition with a metal bar. The bar cut through the spirit and the woman disappeared.
“What the hell was that!?” I shouted, still a bit shaken up.
“That…” the Warlock began “was a Banshee. It is said that she came home to find her husband lying in their marital bed with his wrists slit. She stood at the bottom of their bed screaming until she died. Some say it was a heart attack, others say it was brought on by the heart break of seeing the one she loved dead.”
“I can relate.” I said.
“She haunted the people of Ireland appearing at the bottom of their beds at night screaming for years. She was brought here a few weeks ago and as no cell will contain her she haunts the various cell blocks. However she cannot escape the complex due to the EMP pylons situated around the perimeter of the prison walls.”
“What did you hit her with?” I enquired.
“Iron. Last week I was sick of her keeping me up at night. So I prised a piece of the bed free to strike her with. Spirits don’t like iron; think of it as my own personal snooze button on an alarm clock.“ The Warlock said with a smile as if he was proud of himself.
“Thanks, Good night.”
“Night.”
With that I tried to get back asleep. This time it took me considerably longer to fall asleep.
Interlude I – Warlock’s Story
Warlock had been in Demon Rock for one hundred and fifty seven days and counting. He had two previous cell mates, one killed himself and the other tried to kill him. Warlock had been told he could talk someone to death, and apparently that someone had nearly been himself. In Warlock’s other life, the life on the outside, he was a wealthy man living in Las Vegas. His penthouse stood tall above the Nevada desert. He would often find himself watching the vast emptiness for hours at a time, something about the desert was calming to him. At the other end of his penthouse his windows looked out onto the Las Vegas strip, his playground. Warlock had worked every casino on the strip at least twice each and had made a name for himself. He lived an extravagant lifestyle, travelling around the world and fast cars were just two of his hobbies of expensive taste.
One warm July evening Warlock put his best Dolce & Gabanna black suit, white shirt and polished black shoes on and went to Caesars palace. From the moment he entered the casino he was buying drinks for everybody around him. He had one too many to drink and was evidently enjoying himself. He then moved onto the casino floor and went to the roulette table. He won ten bets in a row before losing two as to not arouse too much suspicion. Each time the ball landed on the spinning roulette and was slowing down he would use some magic to stop the ball or move it over one so that it always landed on his colour. The dealers didn’t suspect a thing; it was the same routine he had used countles
s times in accumulating his small fortune. He collected his chips and left the table, heading back to the casino bar. He continued to knock back triple malts and became even more inebriated.
Part of Warlock told him that he had had enough and he should go home or to a strip club. He personally preferred the latter. But something inside him told him to bet some more. Warlock got a rush from winning and having more money than he could spend and decided for one more game. He walked over to the blackjack and sat down. Many smart people had conned casinos at blackjack by counting cards but Warlock’s technique wasn’t quite as logical as that. His technique involved using magic so that the dealer looks at the cards in Warlock’s hand and even if they are a two and three of clubs; his mind sees an ace and a king or some other combination to beat the dealer and other players. Warlock was on form and continued to drink. His ability became a lot harder to control when he got this drunk and so he decided to play one more hand and call it a night. The dealer placed two cards in front of him. Warlock called his hand and placed them down on the table. The cards were two jokers. The dealer immediately called for security. They were on Warlock in seconds. The eye in the sky had been watching him for sometime, waiting for him to slip up. He was escorted away from the casino floor and down a maintenance corridor to a security room.
In the security room they placed Warlock onto a chair in the middle of the room and fastened him securely to it. In a normal situation Warlock would have been powerful enough to evade this situation but not tonight.
‘Why did I drink that much?’ Warlock thought to himself.
The security guards stepped out of the room and stood watch at the door leaving Warlock with his thoughts.
‘All those winnings…gone.” He thought. “Ah well, I’ll go to Atlantic City next week and win it all back.” He smiled to himself. A minute later a tall burly man entered, he wore a pristine navy suit with a yellow tie. His identification badge read ‘Head of Security’.
“We’ve been watching you for some time and not just us, most of the casinos on the strip. But we have never been able to figure out how you do it. Now, I am sure a wise gentleman such as yourself is aware that the joker’s are removed from a pack of cards before playing blackjack, would I be correct in assuming that?” The head of security spoke, bending down so that he was at eye level with Warlock. Warlock could barely focus and the smell of alcohol on his breath was near over powering. The head of security stood up to catch some fresh air.
“Here’s what we are going to do,” he began. “You are going to tell us how you do what it is you do and then you are going to give back everything you have stolen from us.”
“I didn’t steal anything, you are the crooks!”
“Oh, a Robin Hood fan are we? You think we are the bad guys so it’s okay to steal from us? Is that it?”
“Something like that, except I steal from the rich and give to me.” Warlock smiled, proud of coming up with such a come back despite his current state.
“Our guards went to retrieve your cards as evidence after they grabbed you and you know what they found? They found that they weren’t Jokers after all. They also searched you as they secured you to this chair and guess what, they couldn’t find them either.”
“Abracadabra.” Warlock managed, almost passing out.
“You know what I think? I think that you are one of these people that the new government are on about. I think that by handing you in I will get a tasty reward and I think that you have an ability.”
Warlock couldn’t even conjure up a sentence never mind a spell at this point and fell asleep.
When he awoke he was strapped to a hospital bed. Men in white lab coats were poking and prodding him with needles and other instruments. As Warlock looked over at the doctors, a man who did not appear to be a doctor was standing in the corner of the room. One of the machines the doctors were using gave out a beeping noise as another doctor went to read the results.
“That’s confirmed, he isn’t human.” He announced.
The man in the corner of the room walked up to the bed and stared down at Warlock. The man had a scar down his face. He looked down from above on Warlock and smiled.
“You’re coming with me.” He said, and with this he brought his fist down on Warlock’s nose putting him back unconscious.
Realisation
Six thirty AM came way too quickly after the incident with the Banshee. What kind of wake up time is six thirty anyway! We were woken up by a loud siren echoing through the entire cell block as guards walked by each cell rattling their baton between the bars. I reluctantly forced myself up. The cell doors slid open and I noted that the other inmates were lining up outside their cells. I followed their lead; the Warlock was already heading towards the door as I lowered myself from my top bunk. I joined the single file line and looked about. Most of the men I could see were just that, they looked like normal men, no noticeable deformity but then again to most people I would look normal. The guard screamed for us to move, I followed the Warlock who was in front of me as I yawned from exhaustion. The guards led us to the dining area, maintaining the single file line with force if anyone broke the formation.
The mess hall was just as it’s named; a mess. The hall itself was quite large, with no windows or natural light coming in, as to not harm particular creatures I would imagine. All in all there must have been approximately two hundred inmates, all shuffling along slowly to the serving area. I couldn’t quite see yet what we were having but the smell was horrid.
“Don’t worry, in a few days this grub will be like caviar to your lips.” The Warlock gave me another one of his cheeky smiles.
The queue moved on slowly, we were waiting for what seemed like the better part of an hour, although in reality it was probably much less than that, my tiredness getting the better of my perceptions. When it was my turn, I was handed a tray with what looked like porridge, although much lumpier and far too yellow for any porridge I have even had. Also seated atop the tray was a glass of milk which was almost as lumpy as the porridge and smelt off. The woman behind the counter who had placed his delectable meal in front of me was considerably overweight with a bright red face. Her hair was almost black, what was left of it anyway. I picked up my tray whilst giving the dinner lady a wink.
“Cheers Ramsey.”
The next thing I felt was a jab in between the ribs by the guard supervising the front of the queue.
“Move it along smart-ass or you’ll get another.” barked the guard.
I caught my breath, picked up my tray and looked around. A hand was signalling me with a wave, it belonged to Warlock. I moved towards him and sat down.
“Saved you a seat.”
“Cheers, now I can enjoy this Michelin starred treat.”
“Ah it’s not that bad, and when you get two meals a day, and your first is at six thirty am, you’ll learn to take what you can get.”
Even in regular prisons you got the customary three meals a day, the place seemed to get worse by the second. I began to survey the area, this was the first time since my arrival that all the inmates, or at least the majority of them were in the same room. Most of the inmates looked normal, like the Warlock and I. Others however, were noticeably different. Some subtle differences like slightly different skin or eye pigmentation, others had scales, some even were almost completely covered in hair. I spied a group of about eight men in the corner, sitting up on the table. All the men had shaved heads and were well built. They seemed to be surrounding one of the men; he appeared to be their leader. He was sitting staring at the ground as the other men talked among themselves, he must have been easily seven foot and built like a tree. He had a tattoo inked onto the back of his neck of a spike that gave the illusion of coming out as the top of his spinal cord.
“You don’t want to mess with them.” Warlock began.
“They are the vamps, and not your sensitive vampires you see on TV these days, they are bad news. The prison keeps them in check with the conc
entrated garlic and silver dosages I was telling you about this morning. The dosage also contains some haemoglobin to keep them alive. Vampires can’t produce haemoglobin and so need to feed on blood to survive. They even need to use a long metal prod to administrate it through their cell bars like you would a large animal. The formula keeps them weak, but even with it they are twice the strength of you or me. Him in the middle, he’s their leader if you will, they look to him and will protect him at all costs. He was their greatest hunter on the outside and has earned his title of Master.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” I said, trying to avoid eye contact with the vicious gang. Last thing I needed was to be started on for being the new guy.
“Moving on…” The Warlock continued. “We also have Djinns, Ghouls, Skin walkers, Werewolves. We have Windigos and even a Berserker but they don’t dine with the rest of us. They have to be kept separate because they can’t be controlled. Yep, we’re basically like a fun house for the weird, paranormal and supernatural.”
“A Berserker?” I inquired, not having ever heard of one.
“Ever read Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic ‘The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’? Think of a Berserker as Mr Hyde without the Dr Jekyll. Pure strength and as wild as they come. I heard a rumour actually that one was coming in on the latest boat, which would have been with you?”
“There was a separate box at the end of the boat; all I could see were piercing eyes though.”
“That would be it if I had my guess.” The Warlock smiled, “only thing worse than the inmates is the first time you try the food.” His grin widened.
“Eat up.”
I almost laughed at that one but kept it from coming out loud.
“Oh, and the guards. Probably the most vicious creatures in this place; especially that one.” The Warlock nodded his head in the direction of a guard who stood up on a balcony overlooking the entire hall.
“He is the Warden’s right hand man.”
Demon Rock Page 2