Dead Jack and the Pandemonium Device

by James Aquilone

“I wouldn’t want it any other way. Where do we go once we’re past Corpse Hill?”

  “To the Broken Palace and the Duke.”

  “The Duke?”

  “The cats are in his possession.”

  “Lead the way, Bats.”

  Camazotz lurched forward, like a hunchback with two broken legs and arthritis. It was going to be a long walk.

  “Ukobach cannot wait till you’re burning in the depths of Hell for eternity, you soulless sack of shit!” Ukobach shouted from the edge of the Really Big Pit of Fire. I had completely forgotten the little mother-sparker. “You are damned! Ratzinger is coming for you! Then you will know hell!”

  Ratzinger. I hadn’t heard that name spoken aloud in decades. A ball of heat shot up my spine. I thought I was on fire again, but then I realized it was just my imagination.

  “What do you know about—?” I tried to utter the psycho’s name, but it wouldn’t move past my lips. Ukobach laughed like a horror show bad guy.

  “Let’s blow,” I said to Camazotz, and we left.

  Ukobach’s maniacal laughter followed us long after we left the pit behind.

  9. I Found My Thrill on Corpse Hill

  I tried striking up a conversation with Zotzy as we sauntered to Corpse Hill. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

  “So a giant bat, huh? What’s that like? Are there many of you?”

  “I am one of a kind.”

  “Yeah, me too. Well, one of a few. I’ve never seen a giant bat before.”

  “I just said I was one of a kind.”

  “So, no giant bat mom or dad?”

  “I am Camazotz.”

  “Right. Okay. Mystery solved.”

  “I am a god.”

  That explained a lot. “Pandemonium’s not too kind to gods, is it? No worshipers here.”

  “I was feared and loved. They gave me their blood.”

  “I feel for you, pally. I really do.”

  We trudged across the battered ground. The stench of brimstone and rot wafted up from the fissures. I took out a hellfire stick. They had all dried. That was one good thing about going through the Really Big Pit of Fire. I lit it and Camazotz went nuts. I held up the lighter and the bat god shrunk in terror.

  “This? The lighter? You’re afraid of the fire?”

  The bat god gave a tiny nod.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I asked. “Did Ukobach do that to you?” I gestured to his burned-up body. “Did he set you on fire?”

  The bat god shook his head. I put away the lighter and the Lucky Dragon.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up like this?”

  Camazotz shook his head again. I let it go, and we continued on.

  I didn’t trust this bat god. First of all, gods have huge egos. They’re only out for themselves, and this one was broken and abandoned, not to mention a sassy little dust thief. I was dumb, but I wasn’t stupid. This whole thing could be a set-up.

  “If you’re so afraid of fire, why did you pull me out of the pit?” I asked.

  “I saved you for the dust.”

  “Good old dust. It’s saved my rotten arse many times before.”

  We strolled in awkward silence until we reached the foot of Corpse Hill. Camazotz stopped and glared up the steep, zigzagging path.

  “The Duke is just over the hill,” he said and turned to leave.

  “Whoa, batzy! We had a deal.”

  “You don’t need me to take you over the hill, coward.”

  “And the name-calling! What about the dust? You don’t guide me all the way, you get no dust. And I can see that you need it. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone need it as bad as you, buddy.”

  “The place is haunted. Bad spirits.” The palooka trembled.

  He flashed out a bat hand, but I was ready for him. I took a step back and to the side.

  “You’re not stealing any more dust from me, batty. You’ll have to earn it.”

  I patted him on his back. “You’re in good hands,” I said. “Corpses are my people.”

  Camazotz inhaled and we headed up the hill.

  Corpse Hill was the perfect name for the place. Bodies seemed to grow out of the ground like daisies. Some were propped up against trees looking like drunks sleeping off a bender. Others were face down in the dirt. Most of them were demons or ogres or goblins, but I spotted quite a few human witches and warlocks, too. Many of the bodies were incomplete, missing an arm or leg or bottom half. I wondered if that’s how they died or if the amputations happened postmortem.

  Unlike the plains of the Broken Lands, here there were plenty of trees. Well, tree trunks anyway. Dead, twisted things that rose out of the ground like reaching hands.

  As you would expect among corpses, the hill was silent. (Notice I didn’t say “silent as a grave.” That would have been too corny.) Sickly, pink-lined clouds scudded overhead as a warm wind began to blow.

  Camazotz’s naked wing bones vibrated and he stiffened.

  “I feel right at home,” I said, trying to calm him. “I may even retire out here one day. Dead people are harmless. It’s the living ones you have to watch out for.”

  The tree trunks thinned out. Up ahead, to my right, I spotted an area lost in shadows. Camazotz saw it, too, I noticed. His wings twittered a bit more, and he quickened his step, which I could tell was a real chore for him.

  “Let’s hurry,” he said. “Stay on this side of the path.”

  He tried to pull me to left. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what was up ahead. I pulled away from the bat god and hustled up the path ahead of him.

  The shadowy area was wide and a few yards off the path, on a slight decline. No trees stood here. I stepped off the path and looked down.

  It wasn’t a shadow. It was a grave. A mass grave.

  From the looks of it, the hole was hastily dug and not too deep. But it didn’t need to be, because it was full of little folk. Fairies of all sorts—pixies, sprites, elves, gnomes, brownies. Interestingly, there were no leprechauns.

  Their bodies were thrown in the pit willy-nilly. Body on top of body. Even in the dark, I could see they had been mutilated and done so deliberately. One pixie had its wings pulled off and shoved into its mouth. Another’s head was split in half. The elves had their ears cut off.

  Fairies usually stick to their home turf in the Red Garden. A few venture out to ShadowShade, but never to the Broken Lands.

  Camazotz grabbed me by the shoulders. “We have to go,” he said.

  “What happened here?”

  The bat god shook his head in disgust. “The Duke,” he said. “He’s a madman. Please, we must go.”

  “He killed all of those fairies? Why the hell would he do that?”

  “I said we need to leave!” he shouted, and the scars on his face grew redder.

  “You’re keeping something from me.” The bat god backed away, shaking his head in shame. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have them tell me.”

  I dove into the fairy grave. Camazotz gave a tiny cry and then I heard his hurried footsteps as he took off back the way we had come. I was on my own now.

  I was instantly surprised by the lack of a stench. Fairy corpses smelled sweet, like lilacs and grass. I wish I knew their secret. I searched for a fairy that wasn’t in terrible condition. It was hard work. The Duke had really gone to town on these poor bastards. I grabbed a kobold. He was naked, but other than a nearly severed head, he seemed in good shape. I pulled out some fairy dust. I dipped my finger into the baggie and rubbed the dust on the kobold’s lips and tongue.

  I cradled the poor thing’s body in my arms. He looked more like a human child than a fairy. But the pointy ears, odd-shaped eyes, and otherworldly beauty gave him away.

  He projectile-vomited blood onto my chest. That ruined the illusion a bit. When he was done bleeding all over me, he looked up and smiled.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said. “Tell me what happened to you and your friends.”


  His face twisted in agony and terror. “The bald one,” he croaked out. Blood bubbled up in his cut throat.

  “Ukobach?” I said and then I remembered that his baldness was relatively new. “The bald one killed you? Do you mean the Duke?”

  The kobold’s eyes glazed over. He seemed to be looking within. “He destroy all,” he said. “Stole Jupiter Stone.”

  A Jupiter Stone? They were the most powerful and dangerous objects in Pandemonium. The Cyclops on Monster Island supposedly made them from a thunderbolt thrown by Zeus. There had been four, but they were all thought to have been lost or destroyed at the end of the Great Fairy War.

  “What about the cats?” I asked. “What do you know about the cats?”

  “The interdimensional ones hurt.”

  “What are you talking about? I think I gave you too much dust.”

  “The thief stole the Jupiter Stone. To destroy all.”

  “Camazotz?”

  “What are you saying? Camazotz stole the Jupiter Stone? I don’t understand.” Maybe this kobold was in worse condition than I had thought. He wasn’t making much sense.

  The blood from the kobold’s neck had turned thick and black. He gurgled and went slack. A voice came through the kobold’s mouth. It wasn’t his. “Don’t talk to the dead, Jack,” it said. “You should know better than anyone else how duplicitous they are.” It had been so long since I heard that voice in anything but my dreams that I needed a moment to place it. When I did, I swear my skin prickled.

  “Ratzinger?” I whispered. I shook the corpse. “Is that you, Ratzinger, you Nazi scum?” I screamed, but all I heard was the wind rushing over Corpse Hill.

  I climbed out of the grave. (How fookin cliché.)

  When I returned to the path, I checked the dust in my pockets. Yep, half of it was gone. I made my way up the hill, kicking myself for trusting a guy whose last name was “The Thief.” Now I knew why he was so nervous about crossing over the hill. He didn’t want me to discover the mass grave. He may have stolen a Jupiter Stone. Did he maybe kill those fairies, too?

  I didn’t have time to think about it. Not all the corpses on Corpse Hill were dead. When I got to the summit, I was greeted by the welcoming committee.

  A more ragtag group of ghouls and skeletons I had never seen before. The ghouls were covered in mud and dried blood and ash. Their clothes, if they were wearing any, were in tatters. The skeletons were in worse shape. With all the cracks and splinters in their bones, it was amazing they were able to stand.

  Reanimated corpses slunk out of the shadows and from under the ground and behind tree stumps. They surrounded me.

  “Hey, fellas,” I said. “Who died and left you in charge?”

  No one laughed. Apparently, their senses of humor hadn’t been reanimated along with their bodies. The undead closed in. I could see the hunger in their eyes. Well, at least the ones who had eyes.

  I didn’t want to pull the “do you know who I am?” card, mostly because it’s never worked before, but I am persistent.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, “some professional courtesy here. From one ghoul to another. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m the Dead Jack, Pandemonium’s famed private investigator.” They stopped in their tracks.

  One of the ghouls stepped forward. His right eye hung down to his cheek from its stalk. He wore what might have been a suit once, but was now just a tie, a sleeve, and one pant leg. “Dead Jack?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  “In the rotten flesh.” I flashed him a smile. He didn’t smile back. Then I noticed he had no lower jaw.

  “Never heard of you.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Bloodletter.”

  “Is that German?”

  The ghoul made a move. I sidestepped and threw a right cross. It connected with the side of his skull. His dangling eye popped off and rolled down the hill. Bloodletter took off after it.

  Another ghoul stepped up. I really wasn’t in the mood to fight these idiots.

  “Hey, listen,” I said. “I—”

  The ghoul said, “Dead Jack! I know you. I once saw you eat a three-headed dog in under ten minutes.”

  “Or it wouldn’t have been free,” I said. Seems my reputation did precede me.

  “Didn’t you recover The Book of the Three Towers from Mordread?” a corpse with no legs or arms asked.

  “I nearly took the big dirt nap with that one.”

  The ghouls clamored and rushed toward me. I’m sure it was rare for a true-life celebrity to be in their midst. If only Oswald could have seen this.

  “Yeah, the Dead Dick,” a tall skeleton with a top hat said. “Didn’t you go wild a few years back and eat a bunch of innocent fairies?”

  Quiet returned to Corpse Hill. The dead watched me with questioning eyes. I grinned. They didn’t grin back. “Is anyone in Pandemonium really innocent?” I blurted out. “I’m sure you’d do the same given the chance.”

  “How did they taste?” a ghoul asked. “Are they as chewy as they say?”

  I laughed nervously. The creeps wanted the gory details. But I didn’t remember much about the incident. I only recalled Oswald making me swear to stop the zombie feasts afterward, an oath I’ve mostly kept since. “Fellas,” I said, “I’d love to sit here all night and talk with you about my exploits—some of which have been greatly exaggerated—but I need to get to the Broken Palace.”

  The ghouls exchanged glances with one another.

  “Stay away from there,” said the skeleton with the top hat. “Bad news.”

  “No choice,” I said. “The Duke has my friend—I mean my associate—and I need to rescue some cats.”

  “We’d go with you,” the torso said, “but we don’t want to.”

  “No worries, guys. If you could just point me in the direction of the palace.”

  “Just follow this path north. You can’t miss it.”

  As I descended the hill, the undead tagged along, like lost puppies, asking me annoying questions.

  “Jack, is it true a homunculus was living inside your skull?”

  “Jack, what does troll taste like?”

  “How do you keep your suit so clean?”

  At the bottom of the hill, the dead bunch refused to go any farther. I passed out business cards, shook hands, signed a couple of skulls, and took my leave. Like I said, corpses are my people.

  10. They Built This City on Rock and Bones

  After a mile-long trek through desolate terrain, I came upon the Broken City.

  As ruined cities went, this one was apocalyptic. It was straight out of Revelations. Black smoke darkened the already dark sky and fires that gave off no heat rose from the ground. Temples of obsidian and mansions of bone lay in ruins. Skulls and carcasses filled the streets, which were stained with ancient blood. The only thing missing was the Whore of Babylon, and I was sure if I looked hard enough I’d find her.

  I entered the city.

  I made my way down a wide boulevard, stepping over bones and debris. The smell of sulfur and burning and blood grew stronger as I moved deeper into the city.

  Shadows moved among the ruins. The spirits whispered on the wind and what they had to say wasn’t worth listening to. I moved faster.

  It looked as if a great battle had been fought here. I hadn’t heard about it, but not much that goes on in the Broken Lands makes the news.

  I climbed a heap of skulls and, when I reached the summit, I spotted the palace. It resembled a bat with the main building as the head and the two annexes as the wings. The place was a hundred yards wide and half as tall. It was all bone columns and ramparts covered in shadows. Huge red eyes glowed from between the columns and stared out at the night. Most of the palace still stood, but huge areas were caved in or obliterated. A moat of fire surrounded the whole kit and caboodle.

  Between me and the palace was about two hundred yards of hellish landscape. Large pieces of earth, like shards of glass, jutted into the air, and fire or lava filled all th
e fissures. It looked like a Titan had smashed the ground to pieces in a fit of rage.

  I slipped as I descended the pile of skulls and tumbled onto the fiery plain. I stood, dusted myself off, and fixed my hat. I didn’t know if those red eyes could see me, but I decided it was a good idea to hide. I slipped behind a basilisk skeleton and watched the palace.

  Demons kept patrol on the ramparts, which were dotted with torches, and they flew in and out of the eastern wing of the compound.

  The place was a damn fortress. How the blazes was I going to get in there? Brainstorm? I didn’t even know what that meant. I lit my second-to-last hellfire stick, took a deep drag. Only one thought came to me: Knock on the front door. Simple. Easy. No muss, no fuss. Oswald, no doubt, would want to tunnel under the palace or parachute onto the roof or pole-vault over the ramparts. The little man had some big balls. But why bother with such complicated plans? Complicated plans always fall apart. The easiest solution was always the best solution. Someone smart once said that, I think.

  I hop-scotched from one piece of broken earth to another. I nearly lost my balance halfway there and went tumbling into a pit of fire. The closer I got to the palace the colder it got, despite all the fires.

  I made it to the moat with only a few dozen more burns to my suit.

  There was a drawbridge, which of course was pulled up.

  I noticed a few demons looking down at me from the ramparts and their eyes burned like the black fires of damnation.

  “A little help for a zombie in distress?” I shouted and pointed at the drawbridge. A moment or two passed and the drawbridge came creaking down. I congratulated myself, but then I figured they probably needed to add a little flavor to their soup.

  I crossed the bridge. The stench of that moat was worse than Cerberus’s breath after dinner.

  When I reached the palace’s twin doors, which were just shorter than an ice giant and about the width of a sphinx, I gave them a hard rap. They felt as if they were made of human skin.

  Eventually, the doors screeched open and thick, oily shadows spilled out of the palace. A demon doorman appeared, a black creature framed against the blacker interior of the palace. He opened his gigantic mouth, showing me his sharp, wet teeth. He took a step forward, his nostrils twitching. He sniffed me up and down.