He shaved off his beard. There was no question of keeping his mustache. A man with a mustache and no beard appears sleazy, untrustworthy; an oily carpet-seller, or something worse. A smooth, clean, wholesome face presented itself in the mirror. A face that, metaphorically and literally, kept nothing hidden.
He had a vague idea that their religion forbade cutting the hair, or cutting certain parts of it. He hardly had long hair, not by today's standards. Yet if one was dressed for winter, so that only a small amount of hair was visible, could a mistake be made? He could not be sure that it would. Yet he could not be sure that it would not. It was better to be safe than sorry. This simple saying, he thought, had a deep wisdom. Not exotic, not alluring--and therefore ignored by most--but good and true.
He looked at his new haircut with satisfaction. It gave him a certain military air. And indeed he was taking part in a kind of war, though one where homeland and enemy territory were not distinct, but horribly mixed. Or perhaps he could be compared to a monk, head freshly-shaved as a sign of his vocation. A monk, or a priest...
Like one who wanders familiar paths, unheeding of the way, and suddenly looks up to find themselves lost, his thoughts led him from light to darkness. The thought of priests reminded him of the shaven-headed priests of ancient Egypt; tall, bald, wicked and hook-nosed. And with a shock, he realised that he too could be described as hook-nosed. He could not believe his eyes. He turned before the mirror, first one way and then the other. He even raised his hands to his face and felt it, as if it would prove to be false, as if it would come off like one of those combinations of false nose and glasses that are sold in novelty shops. Too blind to see the nose in front of his face. Another commonplace saying with a profound truth.
He went out, and returned with a new knife. The pain was unbearable, and he had to use whiskey to numb himself, as well as maintain his courage. At last the part in question was removed. It did not bleed nearly as much as he had imagined.
"There," he said. He raised a wisp of cotton wool to the wound. But his hand did not complete the movement. It hung in the air, as if he no longer commanded it, as he stared at his fingers. His long, slim, covetous fingers.
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The End
"OK, that was a pretty scary story, but I think I've got a better one." Rob paused to pop a roasted marshmallow in his mouth. He stood up. In the flames of the campfire his eyes seemed to glow, like those of a wolf in the night.
"Once upon a time, not so long ago, a group of friends went out camping. There were five young men and women...but did I say five? In truth there were but four. For the fifth member of their party was not the young man he appeared to be. He was not a man at all; indeed, not even a living creature, but one of the walking dead! Dear friends, there is a twist in the tale. This is no story. Many years have I walked in the guise of mortal man. Many thirsty years. Now, at last, I shall feed!" Rob opened his mouth, now filled with long, wolf-like fangs, and howled with inhuman laughter.
There was a long silence.
"Wow. This is awkward, Rob," said Jenny at last. "I'm actually a vampire as well. But I guess we can split two ways?"
"Three ways," said Mark.
"Oh, no way you're both vampires too," Rob said angrily.
"No, no. I'm a demon. I was hoping to tempt you into sin and damn your souls. Well, Tim and Alice's souls now."
A pair of bat-like wings, huge and leathery, sprouted from Alice's back.
"Sorry. Succubus."
Tim raised his hand.
"I'm the coagulated rage of the murdered children whose bodies lie beneath us. I regenerate, so I guess you guys could eat a bit of me, but I'm kind of sour..." He trailed off as the others shook their heads. Mark warmed his hands at the campfire. Everywhere is too cold when you come from Hell.
"Man, what are the odds?" Rob asked no one in particular. "I mean, you assume everyone else is a real human, am I right?"
"I guess so," Tim replied. "I actually stalked these four college kids last month? Turned out they were the ghosts of some college kids I killed years ago. Pretty embarrassing."
"You don't..." Alice began, then trailed off.
"What?" Mark asked.
"Well, you don't think that they're all gone?"
"Who?"
"Humans. Mortals. They haven't...I don't know, died out?"
"What, so...so everyone's really a vampire or a demon or something?"
"Well, yeah."
"No. No, no way. I mean, we'd know. You could tell."
"You know," Mark said thoughtfully, "people don't seem to be into forbidden magic any more. It's been so long since anyone tried to sell me their soul. It was...actually I think it was in the 20th century some time. Gee, that long. But no, no way they could all be gone." He turned to the two vampires. "I mean you guys get hunted all the time don't you?"
"Oh, for sure," Jenny nodded. "I'm always thinking people are following me or about to throw holy water or whatever. There was this old guy, Obadiah something. Wow, he just didn't give up. Followed me pretty much the whole Civil War."
No one replied. The only sounds were the insects and the fire. At last Alice broke the silence.
"Hey, if this was a TV show? The vampire hunters would leap out at us about now, and they'd be all like 'we didn't die, we just got real careful' or 'we're over here' or something."
But no human sprang upon them. None at all.
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If My Life Was Filmed
If my life was filmed, it would
go straight to DVD
and someone who was famous once
would have the role of me
and if five stars meant 'excellent'
you'd give it two or three
and most of those who rented it
would watch ironically.
Years later they would track me down
and do an interview.
They'd say "I heard you died," and I'd
say "Yeah, I heard that too."
"Is any of it fictional?"
"Perhaps a scene or two.
There weren't as many ninjas, but
the rest is mostly true."
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A Date With Destiny
Once upon a time there was a man who had a date with Destiny. He dressed in his best clothes, made sure to put on deodorant and aftershave, and masturbated beforehand, so that he would not be led into error by lust. At the appointed time and place he presented himself, flowers in hand.
Alas, he had never met her in person, but had arranged the date through meetallegoricalfigures.com. And username hotdestinyfate69 was not Destiny at all, but Ambition, who had used Destiny's photo to get more messages. She meant to explain this before meeting him, but always decided to do it later.
So Ambition turned up, presenting herself as Destiny. She agreed with everything the man said, and the man found her delightful. In truth the man liked the idea of going out with Destiny, but probably would have found Destiny herself a bit bossy. Ambition and the man stayed together, and lived happily ever after.
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Everlasting Fire
Once upon a time there was a demon named Lilly, whose job was devising ironic punishments for the damned. The greedy she caused to be stuffed with lard until their stomachs exploded, upon which they were sewn together to gorge anew. The generative organs of the lustful she caused to sprout chains, and these chains to be attached to skeletal horses, who dragged the wretches around. Thus, as she explained to them, they who followed their genitals in life would follow them in death. On her wall she proudly displayed the award she had won for this, even though the judges had noted that a few of the most debauched seemed to enjoy it. However most of her work was traditional but solidly executed, as she spent the centuries heaping humiliation on the prideful and causing the covetous to lack what they desired most.
>
One day she received word that her section would be expanded.
"Thou must choose for thyself three underlings, of whatever kind and nature thou desirest. Yet beware! For many have been brought to ruin by the attainment of their heart's desire; and that which is bought without payment may in the end cost...THY SOUL! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" the memo read. She thought for a great while on who she would request to have transferred to her. The worst part of the job was the paperwork. There was no point taunting an Aztec priest by denying him a cell phone, or withholding a finely-curved sacrificial knife from a real estate agent, and thus each soul must have a detailed file. She had often wished that Inhuman Resources would computerize the system. Alas, the section head was a demon of the Eighth Deadly Sin, making puns(1) and always said
"I'll be damned if I use those infernal things! Har har, did you see what I did there?" In the end she chose three different specialists. The first was an expert in torture by conversation. The second was trained in the Ninth Deadly Sin (saying 'lol' out loud). And the third was an incubus, a male demon of lust.
The new minions duly arrived. The first minion worked hard, although he had a slight speech impediment which meant that he sometimes used words correctly. He knew a secret, extra-annoying way to mispronounce 'nuclear', and he could use the word 'synergy' four times in a sentence. His specialty was quoting comedy sketches and getting them slightly wrong. Few could stand his rendition of
'This parrot is no good!'
The second minion did his job well, although once she caught him looking at spreadsheets when he was supposed to be working on pornography.
But the third minion, the incubus, brought joy to her black and rotting heart. From the top of his horns to the tip of his hooves, he looked the very embodiment of both punishment and sin. He seemed slightly taller than whoever he was talking to. He had velvety wings and strong yet gentle claws, and his violet eyes gave a promise of honesty and commitment that no damned soul could resist, though they knew it was false. As she considered these attributes one evening (if that term may be used for a place where sunlight is unknown) Lilly realised that she had fallen in love with the incubus.
Love is strictly forbidden in the infernal realms, or rather happiness derived from love. The damned may feel the agonies of unfulfilled yearning, or pity for their equally damned beloved, but there may be no happy marriages. Demons are, of course, masters of deception, and so she had no fear of her feelings being found out, provided she did not act on them. But oh, how it cost her to maintain the facade of normal unlife. When forcing critics to review every book in The Library That Contains Nothing But Fan-Fiction she still brought forth peals of malevolent laughter, but in truth she felt no joy. She bought tumors and pustules for the office's morning teas, where before she had baked them at home. Even feeding the supermodels failed to cheer her.
She began finding fault with the incubus, speaking harshly to him from fear that she would betray her true feelings. Yet her harshest words were reserved for those occasions, all too common it seemed to Lilly, when the incubus was called upon to go to the mortal realm to seduce a weak soul or reward some lustful evil-doer.
"Thy mustache is unevenly curled, so that the left maketh two full revolutions more than the right," she would say, or "that goatee maketh thee look like thou workest in a skate shop." Always the incubus would respond with mildness and humility, which tore Lilly's heart far deeper than angry words would have done, for they made her feel weak and foolish.
Things came to a head at the office's annual party, just before the unholidays. It was the tradition to have an office Secret Satan, where each employee would be given the name of another, for whom they would have to buy a gift. The gift had to be cheap--no more than 40 pieces of silver(2). Everyone was included, even the imps, though they were not permanent(3). The incubus drew Lilly's name. Most gave such gifts as bottles of white whine (the cheaper blends of scaremongering and resentment), or for the ladies perfume scented with soiled mattresses and the sour sweat of despair. But the incubus gave the best gift of all. It was a desk calendar, printed on creamy human skin, and featuring inspirational quotes from such paragons of wickedness as Jack the Ripper, Tom Cruise, and people who put comments on YouTube. Everything about it said 'quality'-- even the typeface(4).
"D00d!" said the imp of the Ninth Deadly Sin, "How d1d u f1nd that 1n budget :O ????" The incubus merely smiled modestly. But Lilly scowled.
"I like not this gift," she said brusquely.
Some hours later, the incubus approached her.
"O my manager," he said with head humbly bowed, "I crave the honor of a private audience." They went into a stairwell. Lilly swayed slightly, affected by strong drink(5), and perhaps by another intoxication.
"O tower of villainy," the incubus said, politely sinking to one knee, "it is clear to me that my labors pleaseth thee not. Yet I have striven with all my might to seduce and corrupt. Yea, and more than once have I been rewarded with commendations. Even Azrael, the Destruction of All Hope, the Bringer of Unending Night, hath written in letters of black fire that I am a credit to the team. Behold my letter of reference, wherein he also writes 'I am sorry to hear that he is leaving us. Indeed I will howl terrible blasphemies for a year and a day at this doom which hath been laid upon the whole section. I have no doubt that he will be a calamitous force for ruin in his new role.' By the cloven hooves of Oprah, tell me how I may gain thy favor!" All the while the incubus looked up at her with an expression of such woe that she felt as guilty as if she had a soul. At the conclusion of his speech, Lilly was moved beyond endurance.
"O my minion," she cried, "Thou art the very model of foulness. The fault is mine; for thy perfection hath moved me beyond propriety, and into love."
The incubus stood, and took her in his arms.
"I, too, have fallen in love," he said, with a sincerity that could not be doubted.
With all the slyness of their kind, the two devils hid their affair. At work not so much as an improper look passed between them, and there was neither heat nor coldness in their speech. They would leave work separately, then meet later, going by devious paths to avoid meeting anyone from the office. Sometimes they would stay inside and watch TV; a comedy like Fiends or the game show Who Wants to Boil A Millionaire? Often they would go to a McDonald's (the only restaurant in Hell). There they would stare into each others eyes, needing no words (which is lucky, because the McDonald's in Hell constantly have eight separate toddlers' birthday parties happening at once). One weekend they visited the county unfair. They ate fairy floss made from real fairies, and rode on the emotional rollercoaster. Afterwards they walked along, simply holding claws, looking up at the moonlight streaming through the hole in Ozzy Osbourne's back yard. The lyrics to songs suddenly seemed meaningful: Lilly was embarrassed to find herself shedding a tear at Hail, Bringer of Torture. They gave each other their hearts, as well as several others.
"O darkness of my life," the incubus said one day as they lay in bed, tails entwined, "wilt thou allow me to visit thee over the long weekend? I have a surprise."
"O Snuggle-Maggot," Lilly replied, "I will."
It was a balmy 1000 degrees when the incubus arrived. He sat in a fine carriage, drawn by two murderers, who had been condemned for setting fire to the homeless(6). When Lilly answered her door, he presented her with a blindfold.
"I fear to spoil the surprise," he explained. Lilly leaned against him as they rode, listening to the pleasantly anguished moans of the murderers as the coach-imp whipped them to go faster, or simply for the joy of whipping.
"We have arrived," the incubus said at last. He held her by the arm as she stepped from the coach.
"Do not remove the blindfold yet," he said, and gently guided her, until she heard the creak of a door opening, and he sat her on a seat that felt hard and wooden.
"Remove thy blindfold now," he said at last. She did so--and found herself in a prison cell.
"Lilith O'Diferous, you are hereby d
etained under the Ironic Comeuppance Act," said the incubus. "You are charged that you did, on various dates, ironically punish the damned. This is both compulsory and illegal according to government policy."
"Betrayed!" Lilly cried, heartbroken. "Alas, I have been so naive. Was thy love all a sham?" she asked.
"It was!" replied the incubus. "You, who arranged ironic punishments for others, are thyself punished. You who scourged the lustful are undone by your own lust--is this not itself ironic?" the incubus laughed.
"But...wait," Lilly replied. "If I am to be ironically punished for punishing others ironically, does this not mean that you will be likewise punished for punishing me?" The incubus stared at her for a moment.
"Oh hell," he said.
1 Authors Note: I myself used to do this. But I repunted. (back)
2 $6.66 in decimal currency. (back)
3 They had been hired through a timp agency. (back)
4 It was Hellvetica. (back)
5 They served evil spirits. (back)
6 They were flaming hobo sexuals. (back)
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Under the Pyramids
Based on the story of the same name by H.P. Lovecraft.
Cairo is a story-book
and Cairo is a dream
where all the fates the world awaits
The New Death and others Page 2