Urban Occult

by Various

  Four and half thousand dollars in tens, twenties and fifties. Maybe old Granddad had gone from bank to bank, collecting like this. Caution paused his elation. He needed to be sure he didn’t start cropping up on CCTV at every bank that lost money. It wasn’t hard to distil information from numerous sources; he’d seen enough CSI to know that. He’d have to think of a bigger way to score.

  His phone rang. Mandy.

  “Hey, I’m really glad you called,” he said.

  “What did you want?”

  “Just to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you know-anything. You. Us.”

  “There is no ‘us’, Brendan.”

  He sighed, rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I know I fucked up. But please, let’s have a conversation, without those mad bitches barking at me.”

  “They’re my friends, Brendan. They’re looking out for me.” Her voice became strained. “There used to be four of us.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Look, I’ve come into some money. Let me buy you a fancy dinner somewhere. No more than that. Dinner and a conversation.”

  He could hear her breathing. “You want to buy a conversation,” she said eventually. “You’re just a selfish, sex-obsessed idiot, Bren. I thought maybe you had something important to say.”

  “Like what?”

  Silence.

  “Please, Mandy.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please!”

  The line went quiet, disconnected.

  An armoured truck pulling up outside the bank gave Brendan pause. Across town, to be as far from the previous bank as possible, this presented a whole new opportunity. Three uniformed men climbed from the cab. One walked a few metres down the pavement, eyes scanning the street. Another stood by a hatch in the side of the truck, the third by the bank’s door. The hatch opened, a heavy, pale canvas bag appeared. The guard took the bag and walked into the bank. Brendan smiled.

  The guard reappeared, went back to the truck. The hatch opened, a pale bag appeared. Brendan said the words.

  The bag lay in the apron of the metal hatch, the guard’s hand halfway to the handle. It was heavier than it looked, but not so heavy to be full of coins. Hurrying to the corner, ready to turn out of sight, he stopped. He wanted to see what happened. The sensible thing would be to walk a few blocks, then start time, but he would miss the fun.

  A two-dollar store on the corner stood festooned with cheap goods. He took down a large, dark blue sports bag, put the cash bag and his backpack inside and slung it across his back. The strap cut harshly across his shoulder with the weight. Walking among the people around the security truck he undid a few buttons and zips, including the guard by the bank doors, sniggering at his own comedy. Back at the street corner, he lifted the medallion and whispered the words. Several things happened at once.

  Shouts of surprise. Trousers dropped around ankles and blouses flapped open in the light breeze. A horrified shout burst from the guard, largely incoherent though liberally littered with “fuck” and “what”. A man tripped over the shorts around his ankles and bounced his face from the bonnet of the truck. He cried out sharply before slipping bonelessly to the bitumen, bleeding heavily. People shouted, rushed to help, grabbed at clothing with bemused expressions, the frantic hollers of the guard lost in the bedlam.

  Brendan’s laugh stopped as he watched the man who had fallen, the rapidly spreading pool of blood. His chest churned with excitement, guilt, worry, elation. He felt like both laughing and crying.

  Two hundred and fifty grand. Cash. In a suitcase under his bed. He sat by his desk, shivering in the summer heat. Screw the classics degree and thoughts of life as an archaeologist. With careful planning there was nothing he couldn’t do. He would need to take care where he stored the cash and how he spent it, some kind of laundering required. And perhaps he should go for smaller, more regular scores. He needed to play smart.

  And not just with money. He took a wad of cash and left for town.

  From his seat he could see across the canteen. Mandy, Sal and Tiffany, laughing and flapping their hands. He gripped the medallion through his t-shirt and said the words, swallowing hard at the burn in his throat.

  Mandy’s bag sat between her feet, awkward to get to, but he managed after some careful manoeuvring and slipped a package inside, MANDY LEWIS in bold marker across the front. He stood back, eyes lingering on his ex. Sal sat beside her, mouth wide in exposition of some dumbass opinion. With a twisted smirk he pulled out his cock and put it in her mouth, thrust a couple of times. Before the temptation to carry on all the way became too strong he zipped up again, laughing, headed back to his seat.

  A grey shadow of movement flickered behind the service counter on the far side of the room. He stood, staring hard, but it was gone. Trick of the light. Nothing but him in a three dimensional freeze frame. The weight of the medallion in his hand seemed hot as he spoke the words.

  Mandy calling…

  “Hey, Mand.”

  “Brendan, this is really creepy. When did you put this in my bag?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Is it real?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “It must have cost a fortune!”

  “It did. But you’re worth it. I told you I came into some money. I wanted to prove how much you mean to me. How sorry I am.”

  “I can’t accept this, Bren.”

  “I’m not taking it back. Do whatever you like with it. You’d look good in diamonds. In fact, you’d make the diamonds look good.”

  Silence but for soft breathing.

  “I want to show you something,” he said.

  “Show me what?”

  “Magic.”

  “Don’t be a douchebag, Brendan.”

  “I’m serious. I’ve found something amazing. I want to share it with you.”

  “You really hurt me, Bren. Trying to get back with me like this is weird.”

  “Please, Mandy. Let me show you.”

  Silence again.

  “Tell you what. Get together with me tonight, see this thing. Then, if you tell me to fuck off and never talk to you again, I will. I swear.”

  “Brendan…”

  “Please, Mandy. Tonight, by the breakwater where we used to… you know. I won’t try anything. I just want to show you this.”

  Breakers shushed over the sand, glittering in the moonlight. Brendan sat hugging his knees.

  “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  He spun around. She stood on the grassy dune, haloed in stars. “Because you still have a soft spot for me?”

  She shook her head. “Fuck knows why. I loved you so much, Brendan, before you…”

  “I really am sorry, Mandy. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And that takes into account some pretty stiff competition.”

  She smiled despite herself. “You’re a dick. You always were, but you could be so kind.”

  “I was really drunk, so was she. It was just dumb and that’s no excuse, but it only proved to me how much I want to be with you.”

  Mandy was immediately angry. “I don’t need to hear any of this. I don’t care about excuses or reasons or realisations. You’re a fucking tool, Brendan.”

  He stared down at the sand, contrite. “I know. But I miss you. I can’t believe how much I fucked up and I’ll do anything to make it right.”

  “There’s nothing can make it right.”

  He took a deep breath, blew it out expansively. Time for the big play. Show her everything; prove how much he meant it when he said he wanted her back. “Let me show you this. It really is magic.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, shielding her heart, cocked one eyebrow at him.

  “Look. See how intricately carved or cast or whatever it is. Feel how warm it is.”

  Reluctantly, she reached out one hand. Keeping the shining rope of it around his neck he laid the medallion in her palm.

  “Did you buy this?�
��

  “I found it at my grandparent’s place.” He told her everything, but left out some details of what he’d done out of time.

  She sat down on the grass, leaned back on her hands. “Sure, Brendan.”

  “It’s all true.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Mandy, I promise it’s true. But it’s worthless without you.”

  She shook her head and stared past him at the inky ocean.

  He held the medallion in his hand, leaning into her line of sight. “I’ll prove it.” As soon as her eyes focussed on him he said the words. She froze, one eyebrow starting to arch at the horrible phrase.

  He looked around, unsure what to do. Anything would prove his point. With a half-smile he walked up the dune and pulled out handfuls of pale grass. He scooped a two metre love heart in the sand in front of her, lined it with twisted grass, sat behind it. He grinned across the artwork, and spoke once more.

  She started to sigh then jumped, eyes dropping to him sitting on the sand. When she saw the love heart she cried out, scrambled backwards on hands and heels. “What the fuck?”

  “I told you, Mandy. I can stop time and do anything.”

  She shook her head, mouth working as she tried to speak.

  “Don’t be scared. It’s wonderful. And I want to share it with you.”

  She put her hands over her mouth, staring at the heart in the sand. Her eyes crept up to meet his. “Do something else.”

  He grinned, spoke the words, stood and walked a few paces away. Still standing he spoke again and said, “Like what?” He ignored the fiery talons in his throat.

  She squealed and he grinned.

  “Can you imagine what we can do with this?”

  Her hands fell into her lap. “I don’t know, Bren. Whatever that is, it’s scary. Seriously, what the hell? And besides, you hurt me. Whatever that… magic necklace is, it doesn’t make that better.”

  He sat beside her. “I know. I could keep this to myself and have all kinds of power. I’m showing you to prove how much I care, how much I want you back in my life.”

  “Is that how you ‘came into some money’?” she asked.

  “Yeah. It’s amazing.” He told her about the bank and the cash delivery truck, details he’d left out before. He neglected to mention the mayhem he’d caused in the street.

  “This is wrong, Bren. It’s stealing. It’s-I don’t know, it’s just wrong.”

  “Taking money from a bank isn’t hurting anyone.”

  “That thing is too powerful. I don’t like it.”

  He frowned. “Don’t like it?” He coughed, and quickly cleared his throat.

  “What happened to your Granddad?”

  “You know the story. He loved fishing in the fancy boat he bought with his ‘lottery winnings’.”

  Mandy frowned. “You don’t think that story is a bit suspect now?”

  “Of course. I seriously doubt he won the lottery.”

  “No, I mean the fishing trip and the disappearing.”

  Could his granddad have stopped time and been unable to start it again, got lost in a frozen world? That wouldn’t explain the fact this medallion had been tucked away in a box in the attic. “Gramps was just bloody unlucky. They found a whisky bottle, he liked a drink. Drunk and went overboard, they reckon.”

  She stood, looked down at him with soft eyes. “Brendan, I don’t like it. And it doesn’t change anything between us.”

  Before he could answer she turned away, disappeared over the dunes.

  He walked sullenly along the foreshore, neon brightness and human bustle ignored as he stared at pavement sliding by. He ground his teeth, his anger a boiling serpent in his gut. Why was it so important to have her along on this ride? Surely he could have his pick of girls, showering money and gifts all around? He could have a life of plenty and luxury. He could have anything. Except her, and that made her the only thing he wanted. His fists clenched and relaxed repeatedly at his sides, frustration a black cloak in his mind. One lousy fuck had ruined everything.

  A fast food joint, bright red and yellow blaring out, beckoned from across the street. A pimply teenager in a ridiculous uniform handed a paper bag over the counter to a man with three kids tugging at his legs. Brendan invoked the medallion’s power and froze time.

  Caution be damned. Mandy be damned. He had power and he would use it. Who cared what happened to other people? He crossed the road and punched the motionless father square in the nose. The man’s head flipped back and he shifted in the air, halted at the end of Brendan’s outstretched arm. He hung grotesquely in nothing, blood drops frozen around his face. Brendan laughed, his fury boiling into a steam of supremacy, and drove a fist into the man’s ribs, twisting him sideways in tableau. He reached over the counter and pulled the teenager’s head down sharply into the counter, grinning at the dull crack it made on contact. “Fuck everything!” he yelled and plucked the bag of food from the air. He turned to leave and something hideous stood before him.

  He screamed, dropped the bag. The creature was bony, its skin black and green, its joints unnaturally angled. It stood on two bowed legs. Four arms reached out from complicated shoulder joints below a long, confusing face; its mouth a wide gap, crammed with sharp, slick fangs. Three eyes blinked beneath a flat forehead under triangular ridges of bone. It leaned forward, tilting its head to one side, fetid breath escaping in a hiss. Brendan scrabbled at his chest for the medallion and the creature raised one long, rough-taloned hand and closed cold fingers around Brendan’s face. Everything sank swiftly into blackness.

  Vision returned without sound. He hung suspended by icy manacles at wrist, throat and ankles. Several gross creatures stalked about a massive room, ringed in narrow vertical indentations, like they had been scooped from the black rock with giant spoons. In most recesses a corpse hung, in various states of decay. Some were nothing but skeletons with rotten clothing hanging off them in tattered rags. One or two moved weakly, not corpses at all, though not far from it. Panic and disbelief swept through him. Shame, guilt, loathing quickly followed.

  His tears ran, unchecked. Across the room he saw a cadaver that made his heart crash. His grandfather’s sailing jacket, still bearing the badge of his beloved club, hung from a desiccated, black skinned frame. The death mask of his face bore an expression of agony and despair.

  A creature approached and reached towards Brendan. Unable to move a muscle he made choked sobs as it lifted the medallion from his neck. It gestured with one gnarled hand and Brendan’s guilt swelled in his chest like a wave of lava. Brendan keened a trapped scream in his throat, wondering how long he would be able to endure that pain before it killed him. The thing stuttered wet laughter.

  Another creature approached. They conversed, their language chittering and stilted. A moment’s disagreement before the medallion was thrust into the hand of the second creature.

  Mandy Lewis trudged upstairs to her room, stunned by the police questions. Certainly she’d been one of the last to see Brendan, but what was she supposed to tell them? That he had some magic amulet? She certainly couldn’t tell them why they’d found so much cash hidden around his room. He’d tried to get back together with her, she’d met him for a chat, told him no and left. It was pretty much the truth.

  She closed her bedroom door and headed for the bed as a slippery shadow caught her eye. She turned and the darkness became nothing more than a silhouette cast by her full-length mirror, standing beside the window. A metallic glint on the dresser drew her attention. She approached, stopped a couple of paces out. Her hands began to tremble as she stared at the intricately carved medallion sitting on the white tabletop, its snakelike cord wrapped neatly around it.

  The End

  A Kind of Love

  A.A. Garrison

  “The daemon carves channels,” the bruja said, her eyes made sallow by the lamplight.

  Richard waited for more, then said: “Channels.”

  “Si. The daemon car
ves the channel”—a venous hand sliced down—“then attaches to the prey.” The old woman clapped, tinny echoes in the cramped hotel room. “Channel.”

  Richard tried to look skeptical. “And this demon, it’s… channeled onto me?”

  The bruja nodded distractedly. “Si, more or less. This is simplified.”

  Richard rippled his fingers on the flimsy plywood table. “And how do you know this?”

  The woman’s eyes lit. “Because it’s here, now,” she answered, with conviction. “It hangs over you.”

  Richard lived at the end of a secluded street; in the gated sprawl his parents had once considered a home. They were gone now, cancer, years ago, and so it, and the money, were his. The mansion was buffered from the world by a mile of lawn, befitting a Bavarian count more than a thirty-year-old bachelor. He was teased about it as a kid, even at the private school. Richard’s house has its own zip code, etcetera, etcetera. The place was conducive to isolation.

  The massive garage door raised, Richard in a bourgeoisie sedan bought especially for these outings. He completed the considerable driveway and the gates opened subserviently, offering the street. It was summer, the day overcast and humid; stay-inside weather. He’d waited for such a day. Less witnesses.

  The college campus was just miles away, a wellspring for jogging young women. He cased the sidewalks with a couple drive-bys, looking forgettable in his jeans and windbreaker and middlebrow car. There were several pairs out today, breasts and buttocks lifting in concert, with a minority of loners. Richard made a third pass and selected a brunette in a conservatively baggy tee-shirt, loose shorts mystifying her thighs.

  Don’t have to do this.

  The voice came as he turned the car around. Small and neutral, that of a disinterested observer. Richard let the car idle, weighing the proposition—maybe he didn’t have to, was free to quit the whole mess.

  Instantly, that sense of reprimand, striking like a fist. He winced.