Ashes - The Special Edition: The Tales of Tartarus

by A. L. Mengel

  The sword burst into flames.

  She swung the sword back and forth slowly over where Hector lay. “On the dawn of the new century, the demons will descend upon the earth, and one will rise. One will rise from the ashes below; in the bowels of the earth he will stay and wait and eventually resist. But before his resistance, the cities will fall. The cities will fall and be swallowed by the gods!”

  She swung her sword down, and a loud clank and sparks came from the hook that she pierced. Hector winced, knowing that she did not miss her target. He felt one of the chains had loosened.

  The sword came down again, and she spoke: “One man shall rise from the grave and resist me! And you! You will be the bearer of the son of the resistance!” Another shower of sparks fell to the floor, and another chain loosened. He felt the blood rushing back to his limbs, although the pain from the chains had cut through his skin, and he was bleeding through his clothes.

  “Go!” she screamed “Leave this place now!”

  The room of serpents rushed upon the altar, covering him as he struggled to get up, now weakened from the blow to his head and the grip of the chains. But her sword cut through, showering blood throughout the room, spurting it’s red rain upon him; creating a parting path that led to the stairs to the world above.

  He crawled as fast as he could across the floor as the female serpent crushed and held back the rushing serpents battling her own followers. She showed no mercy except to Hector. She knew he could not be killed, although she had wanted to. Although the room of serpents wanted to, she had no choice but to let him live. For no matter what evil he may have had running through his veins, no matter what evil he was capable of, he was destined to raise the one who would find the shining beacon of hope rising through the darkness and agony.

  So it was written, so must it be done.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain pelted on the windowpane in Roberto’s old room and awoke Paula from her semi-asleep state. Gradually opening her eyes, she looked across the room in a dazed condition. She realized where she was after a minute of “clearing out the head” and that she was trapped. After a moment, she remembered her predicament. She was trapped in the house on Anastasia Avenue, and whatever was outside the door she felt was still there.

  Darkness and pain.

  That’s what it was. Something mysterious outside the door, waiting for her. For some reason not yet to be determined.

  But it was there.

  She heard it breathing.

  With each breath it took the door shook, in and out, in and out, deeply and raspy and grating – in unison with the rattling of the door in the wooden frame.

  Paula tried to tune out the breathing and listened for other faint sounds – anything that indicated life other than what was on the other side of the door as the thunderstorm passed and quieted.

  Nothing.

  But all she did hear something as if there were a scraping, but it wasn’t really a scraping. Like something was pacing back in forth in front of the bedroom door.

  Keeping guard.

  And it also sounded more like a muffled, strained breathing.

  So it was there. Waiting for her.

  Looking towards the door, Paula could barely see ahead the ten feet splayed in front of her; she saw a smattering of music discs, some clothes, and every so often when the lightning would strike (even though it got fainter and more infrequent as the storm moved farther away) she would see the pale blue walls and posters of muscular athletes and thin supermodels.

  Paula seemed amazed that she was in this room. This room was where it all began.

  She reached into her pocket and grabbed her cell phone. She woke it up and used it for a light. She found the door - a faint luminescent glow on the eggshell white - and just then the doorknob rattled.

  It was trying to get in.

  Paula opted against going to the door and taking her chances with whatever was in the hallway standing guard. There had to be another way out, besides the door before her.

  As she scanned the room with the light on her phone, she saw there were no other doors, just a closet. And even as she rose to quietly tiptoe over to the closet and inspect the tiny enclave, she found nothing but pale white walls and clothes, books, boxes and magazines. Nothing that seemed of any interest and nothing that would be of any help to her.

  Looking at the ceiling in the closet, she did see a small door painted white to blend in with the walls. Most likely the entrance to an attic or some other storage room. But this was no time to explore. This was no time to venture deeper into this strange house; it was time to get out.

  For the moment, the rattling stopped. It appeared as if the monster were waiting for her to do something.

  But she didn’t have to.

  She didn’t have to break through the door and sacrifice her life, she didn’t have to make any rash decisions at that moment. She fell against the hanging clothes in the closet she had been rummaging through as a giant sphere of light appeared in the room, giving off a pale blue and white light, illuminating the entire room. Once the light swelled, it faded, revealing the silhouette of something that looked like a man.

  But it couldn’t have been a man, considering the outline. The head was too elongated and it appeared to have pointed spikes jutting from the head.

  “Come out and see me, Paula,” the figure said. She hovered in the closet, covering herself with clothes, as if they would provide protection had the figure become hostile. For some time, it didn’t.

  “Paula, I have answers to the many questions that you now have,” the voice continued softly.

  The voice sounded male, but she could not tell for sure. It could have been a woman, but the voice was very deep - Paula had been sure of that now that it spoke again. The voice almost sounded like that of a child.

  It took a step closer to her, and she cowered just a bit.

  “Come forward, Paula, do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.” The figure spoke with warmth in its voice, and that warmth made Paula feel that maybe the figure could be trusted. Even so, at the point she was at, she didn’t see how anything could be worse than the thought of what was on the other side of the door.

  “I have calmed the demon on the other side of that door. He is frozen and will not harm you while I am here.”

  Now Paula could hear more clearly, she could tell that the voice was female. The more she heard it, the more it sounded loving and reassuring. At the moment, it seemed to her the only thing that possibly made any sense in the madness that the world had been her voice. Whatever she said, no matter what, seemed like a ray of hope.

  Paula slowly and carefully exited the closet. The clothes she had been sitting in dropped to the floor. The figure started to glow, and transformed into a beautiful woman with straight auburn hair with pale skin. She was elongated and thin, as if she could be a model.

  But she continued to glow in transparency, with an aura that reached out into the darkness. She seemed so out of place in the dull, dark world.

  “Certainly you have questions?” she asked, as she sat down on the bed like she was weightless.

  Paula kneeled in front of the woman, sat back on her shoes and gathered her thoughts for a moment. “I…” she stammered. “I don’t even know where to begin…” She shook her head with a worried look plastered on her face, wondering what could possibly have happened. “Where am I?”

  During her tenure at The Astral, she had always had an interest in the macabre and the paranormal but never had an experience that could be considered of that nature. She was a staff member simply for her interest and appreciation, not for her experience.

  “I have been certain you were wondering where you are,” the woman said, looking about the room. Paula shook her head slowly.

  “You crossed over to this side of reality. It’s an alternate dimension which exists right along side of the reality that you have come to know and experience throughout your life.
The difference is, it is reality to us. It is not to you. It is reality to demons, to the creatures of the Netherworld. Warlocks, immortals, those creatures – and many others - cross over to this dimension quite often.”

  “How did I get here?” Paula finally asked.

  “Let me explain,” the woman said. “You did not fall into this dimension by chance, although many people do. Many are pulled into this dimension at the moment of a sudden violent event – like a car accident or a shooting – just before their body dies. Others fall completely by chance. Depending on their beliefs, they might collapse into the reflection of a puddle and wind up here.”

  “So you are saying that this is where people go when they die?”

  “Not exactly. In some cases that could be true. But this is another dimension. This is not heaven nor is it hell. But as you can see, the spirits run free. And it is not a safe place for a mortal like you.”

  “How did I get here?” Paula asked again.

  The woman smiled warmly.

  “You did not get here by accident. You were chosen.”

  Paula sat down for a moment, and collapsed in a pile of old clothes. She didn’t know what to make of being chosen. Whatever she was chosen for, she didn’t want to accept. Wiping her face with her hands, she looked back up at the woman, who now stood.

  “You don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid,” she continued. “You are here, in the land of the immortals, and you will run continuously from demons as long as you are here. The only way that you have a hope of returning to your reality is if you submerge yourself deeper into this reality.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “You will fulfill what is written,” she said, as she slowly walked around the room. She stopped at the window and pulled the drapes to the side. The window revealed nothing – it did not reveal landscaping or a moonlit night. But just…nothing. “Your affiliation with Antoine Nagevesh is what initially drew our attention to you.”

  She sat up and crossed her arms. “I don’t have an affiliation with him.”

  The woman released the curtain, and it fell back into place. Her head snapped over to look at Paula. “Oh, but you do,” she answered. “Antoine has been an obsession of yours now for several years. I know everything, Paula. I see everything. I know about your encounters with him, I know about your baby. You see, your affiliation with him is why I chose you.”

  “For what?” Paula replied back, fighting back tears of exhaustion and defeat. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Antoine has two very powerful beings pursuing him. The two most powerful spirits in all of existence. He has betrayed one, stealing a precious gift. And the other…” her voice trailed off as distant thunder rumbled again.

  The storm was returning.

  “The other is looking to collect his soul.”

  Paula thought about what she had just heard. What spirit would want to collect Antoine’s soul? Certainly there was more to Antoine that would meet the eye. But that still didn’t matter to her, and the thought did not stay in her head for long.

  “You will be needed to birth what will become his nemesis,” the woman instructed. “You will be with child again, impregnated in this world, in this dimension. That is why I chose you.”

  She came over to Paula and extended out her hand, offering assistance. She smiled and looked down at Paula. “Stand up,” she said. “I know what you are thinking. But I’m afraid this is what is willed to happen. Your thoughts are open to me, they are open to any of these demons. Here, there is no hiding. There is no hiding from the monsters that roam these streets.”

  “And what if I don’t do this?” Paula asked as she rose to her feet. “What if I avoid this?”

  “You can’t. You can try all you like, but it will happen. It will happen.”

  And with a quick flash of light, she disappeared, and Paula was once again left alone in the room, now with more questions than ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Dinner had ended and he was shown to his quarters.

  The bed that Jean Carlo lay in was very plain and simple; it was a simple stone slab that jutted out perpendicular from the wall, which was on the side of a small, stone room with a single wooden door. It seemed more like a prison cell. But it was really only a holding room. As he woke and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered what time it was. And he wondered how long he had been sleeping, and he wondered how long he had been in this small room.

  He vaguely remembered meeting the Astral Director at dinner – but for some reason he felt like that was very long time ago. Maybe even years ago.

  The watch on his wrist was not working and had a crack in the glass; and there were no clocks.

  His mind continued reeling from all of the information that Sheldon and Anthony had fed to him. While he was still in a state of shock and disbelief that he had passed from his mortal life, he remembered that he now existed in an alternate world, and he still believed that the whole magnitude of the situation had not set in.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  He got up and slowly padded over to the door, and cautiously opened it a few inches.

  A tall, grey-haired man stood outside smiling a toothless grin. His receding hairline accentuated a large forehead – yet his silver hair extended far below his shoulders.

  “Good evening,” he said shortly, and pushed the door open, startling Jean Carlo for a moment. He entered the room so quickly that Jean Carlo had to step back. “I have your obituary,” he said. “I thought you might want to read this, since you seemed so distant when we were speaking earlier.”

  The visitor extended his hand with a small newspaper clipping. Jean Carlo took the clipping from him and read it. After a short period of silence, he spoke.

  “This…” He closed his eyes. “This doesn’t make any sense. What are you saying here? Something that I have been told over and over since I have been down here?”

  “You have passed to a different dimension, yes. You were killed by Darius for a different purpose, but we intervened. We called you, and you came. It’s interesting…Antoine had since made himself a child since he had been in Miami. And Antoine is Darius’ child.”

  “Right, you were all telling me this over dinner.”

  “Yes, but Darius was never satisfied with one child. He wanted many – and he would always transform them into his minions – his followers, if you will – because what is going on out there is a lot deeper and more serious than you might understand.”

  “What is going on out there?” he asked, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

  “Antoine is in debt to Asmodai. He reanimated Darius, and for that, Antoine owes Asmodai his soul. But Asmodai is coming. He will be searching for Antoine, and Antoine knows this. That’s why Antoine hardly ever crosses over anymore – he feels safer, I suppose, on the other side. But those on this side will pay.”

  “You mean to say that…”

  “…that is why we are not safe here. We are hunted.” He gestured up to the ceiling. “Out there…up above. Those who are up there are not safe. He is coming. And he will stop at nothing to get to Antoine.”

  Jean Carlo stood and took in what he had just heard, sighed shortly and gave his mind some time to digest all of the information. The visitor kept saying that this was all told to him by Sheldon, that everything was discussed over dinner, but Jean Carlo’s memory was very blurry. It was like watching a picture that was out of focus, and he couldn’t sharpen it. It was as if he were hearing it again for the first time.

  “You are hunted, we are all hunted, and there are even those who are trapped above and they have no way to get back to their reality without going deeper inside the realm.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The old man brushed some of his hair that had gotten in his face and hooked it behind his ear, and moistened his lips with his tongue. He stopped and raised his hands. “Okay. You came here after death. You rose from your coff
in. That was the plan, and the moment you exited your coffin, you had passed over. To here. To this side. It’s the natural progression. There are some others who came here by chance…but you…you were always meant wind up here…”

  And for a moment, the man’s soft voice was drowned out. Jean Carlo was back in total blackness.

  He opened his eyes and fumbled around, but couldn’t move. Something was restricting him. He couldn’t see and checked his pockets for matches or a lighter, but found nothing.

  Totally empty.

  He squirmed, tried to move, but couldn’t. Something was constraining him.

  The only sound his could hear was his shallow breathing. He thought that this must be some sort of dream, that soon he would wake up, and he would be in his bed at home, warm and safe. Because where he was now, it was cold. It was the coldest cold that he had ever experienced in his life ever. It was the type of cold that you felt deep inside your body; the kind that chilled your bones until they hurt.

  And then he thought he heard something. Was it a voice? Something muffled. It sounded like it could be someone speaking, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. And then he heard a different noise – a sound that still seemed to be a voice, but not quite so deep.

  They chorused together like a hushed conversation. Yes, that was it. He could tell that now. Two people had to have been speaking. But why couldn’t he hear them? What was he in?

  He ran his hands along the sides and felt a soft and velvety pillow. Was he in bed? No. It couldn’t be. At least not in his bed.

  He played the events of the last night that he could remember in his mind. He remembered driving north on Alton Road, heading towards Flamingo Park. He remembered what he was going to the park for, too. And it wouldn’t have been the first time that he had awoken in a strange bed after a night of heavy drinking and sex.

  But this seemed different.

  Whatever sick fuck did this to me…he thought, and stopped.

  There was a man.

  He remembered now.