With a full fiend belly and a blood trail as long as a river, I kept feeding into the desires. Every house I entered became a murderous scene with the empty wrappers floating in pools of blood. However, my cravings were not being quenched; I could not rid my mind of the initial taste of a new flavor. As the moon shone brightly and the amount of roaming humans lessened, I was just starting to reach my prime. While the inhabitants slept, I emptied all of the bowls and scratched my name upon the walls.
The night ended and my cravings subsided as the morsels were no longer available. Eventually, I drifted back to tormenting the mechanics industry and factories. As I watched trains become derailed and a worker’s arm get chewed off by a malfunctioning saw, I couldn’t help but think about how well the lone night tasted. I couldn’t get excited about an airplane falling from the skies after one of its engines shut down without notice. I clamored for more sweetness. It was all I could think about.
The wind carried the tales as the season turned to fall. They spoke of a green goblin swimming within the gardens of houses attacking those with candy. Another described me as a blood thirsty creature drinking from the veins of residents. I became excited for the night to arrive. As the stars illuminated the darkened sky, I went on a binge of sugar and death. Within one particular house, a man waited for my arrival. I peered into the bowl and saw nothing. I was barely able to dodge the bullets as I jumped to the wall. Another shot rang up as I crested hung upside down on the ceiling. He pulled the trigger once again, but the gun jammed. It was ironic; a malfunction without my assistance. As I dropped to the ground, his mannerisms turned to fear and salvation. My claws tore deep into his stomach as the internal organs spilled. I grabbed the empty bowl, watching the last portion of his intestines being collected.
As I went between houses, it was apparent my notoriety had preceded me. I encountered traps, poisoned food and awaiting armed humans. I quickly altered my quest and hid within the shadows of the bushes. I used the night as transportation and the moon as guidance. A stealth predator was what I became. The consumption made me delusional and irrational in my thought process. I was becoming one with the greed. I mistook the availability of chance when I shouldn’t have. Pain was coming, but the greed shielded my eyes and distorted reality.
Hiding within a hedge bush, I noticed a change in the environment. Everything turned silent. The atmosphere became a barren wasteland. I peeked through the bushes and noticed them going from house to house. There were five of them; two on either side entering the doors and one walking in the middle of the street. The Reapers had come for me. My throat clamored, not granting me the luxury of swallowing. None of it mattered anymore. They had a way of ruining any situation they were involved in.
My crime spree had apparently reached all the way to Lucifer, the keeper of all evil. His henchmen were only seen when someone needed to be collected and delivered to Hell. I buried myself deep within the bushes, hoping to conceal myself from the far reaches of their elongated bony arms. Through the tangled limbs of the hiding place, I saw their blackened cloaks hovering over the streets blotting out the streetlights. The large blades of their scythes glistened in the moonlight and blinded me when the reflection hit just right. Short quick breaths were all I could manage as I did not want to make a sound. Through each of the doors they went, scouring the houses for my whereabouts. There was a brutal silence surrounding them; a deathly peace which made my bones frail.
Their search continued as they flowed down the street. The massive cloaks suffocated the porch lights as they entered the houses. Silence would be my only friend and I embraced her in the most loving way. Fear was what the Reapers offer their prey. Intimidation through the destructive nature of their being and they did it well. I have witnessed many fiends removed from society and the process was not an enjoyable spectacle to behold. Those sharpened scythe blades never became dull regardless of how many bones they spliced. Reapers traveled in packs of five and always succeeded in the task handed down to them. Failure was never an option.
The wall of blackened death made its way down the street and was aligned with my hiding spot. If they found me, it would not be beneficial for my intact body. Funneling through the houses, the side Reapers vanished as the last one remained in the street. I could see the fog of breath exiting from underneath the hood. Loose dirt fell from the bony fingers as they tightened the grip on the long staff. I heard the shifting of his rib cage with every howling breath taken. My heart quickened in order to keep up with the horrific thoughts being conjured.
As the Reapers continued down the street, I could smell the stench of death on their tattered cloaks flapping in the wind. The end of their scythes dragged behind them, cracking the pavement. Within my claws I held one piece of candy. My eyes twitched as I swallowed excessively, imagining the taste against my tongue. I shifted between the Reapers and the morsel and shimmered as greed manifested its way from the bottom of my stomach up through the throat. I desired the lingering taste, the way the sweetness danced around my tongue. Dismal thoughts were circling within my mind, but none of it mattered as I felt the crisp wrapper within my clutches. Staring at the Reapers, I slowly twisted the wrapper until the candy loosened. As the wind died down, the noise seemed to shout through the street. With one more twist, the candy fell into my palm. A deep breath of relief filtered up from my lungs and added to the cold breeze. Like a nugget of untold riches, my tongue cradled the morsel as my lips sealed tight. For a brief moment, I was taken away from the potential torment poised by the Reapers and led to a land of sweetness. Consumed by the taste, I let loose of the wrapper as the wind picked back up. My eyes sprung open as my tongue hid behind the candy. I remained silent and frozen in place as I watched the lone wrapper snake through the branches at the mercy of the wind. From the corner of my eye, I saw the sadistic noise contraption dancing lively within its new vehicle. It fluttered without care; without any acknowledgment for my well-being. Time slowed as it collided with a branch, producing the slightest crinkled noise. The forward progress of the Reapers stopped. Their lifeless hoods shifted in unison, studying the origin of sound. Terror clenched my throat and suffocated my lungs. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. The wind shifted again, allowing the wrapper to float freely above the bush. It danced around the Reapers like a bird taken flight for the first time. I sunk further into my hiding spot when I noticed their attention was turned my way.
Quickly, all five converged upon the bush. My shield of vegetation was uprooted with ease revealing my hiding place within a pile of empty bowls and bags. The sharpened end of one of the scythes punctured my left shoulder. The unspeakable force pulled my body from the ground, tossing me high into the air. Blood streamed behind as I fell, slamming against the pavement. Bruised and weakened, I could barely stand. There was a common fear of the Reapers amongst the living; the extraction process. The process includes a horrendous series of steps separating the soul from the body, of which I was to experience firsthand.
With one Reaper suspending me, I briefly saw the glimmer of the blade as the moon illuminated the metal. The blade swung towards me allowing me to see it slicing through the wind, producing two different currents. The metal cleanly separated my head from the torso. As my body fell, my soul reached up and grabbed the edges of the severed neck and pulled for release. Squeezing through the wound, my soul escaped as I glanced down and saw my lower body smashing against the ground. The small green body I admired was but a putrid pile of mangled flesh upon the street. My severed head rolled to stop with barren eyes looking up. Staring at my dead body took a toll on my well-being, but was short lived as a blackened robe devoured the carcass.
As a fleshless being, I scoured the pavement seeking escape, but any attempt was halted by a hardened staff skewering my soul. A blessing to feel no pain, but I could no longer move. Frozen in place, I was at the will of the Reapers as they controlled my very essence. Carving into the pavement with their massive blades, the ground gave way with ease. The re
d haze seeped through the demented crevice, gripping their robes and allowing decent. Nothing worked within my soul except for my eyes. Fear greeted them like a long lost ally. The vision plagued any emotions I had left. Forging memories to be feared later, my eyes would not stop moving. I desperately wanted them to close, but I was no longer in control. The posse of Reapers landed within a vast field of decayed trees separating large groups of souls. Treacherous fog feasted on the souls, devouring them whole, but dared not approach the Reapers. The smog fled from their path like a boulder trapped within a river’s current. A series of tunnels led from the cavern ending within another large cavern. The rock walls extended beyond sight, etched perfectly with a dismal display of death. Carved from the belly of the beast, thousands of cells speckled the chaotic portrait of Hell.
Stolen from the beautiful playground of the world, I was delivered to the pit of despair to be judged and sentenced for my crimes. One would think that having your body discarded in front of your eyes would be punishment enough, but I was thrown into a prison cell where my soul could waste away for eternity along with the other fiends who were unable to avoid capture.
Hope appears in many forms even within the darkened, demented shadows of Hell. Sanity found its way to me through the formation of the Fiend Club. Surrounded by others with similar desires and fetishes, we ponder our escape so that we may once again disrupt the human society. Even without flesh to form a grin, my soul can still smile.
Greed; a simple concept entangled in an intricate labyrinth of sadistic outcomes. My downfall; a lone wrapper flying within the wind built upon the foundation of greed has taught me a valuable lesson. Through the sin of Greed, I found the virtue of Patience. Through the sea of mistakes, I will discover the crest of perfection. The production of Hell will not be able to hold us for much longer. The manufacturing system of processing souls within the cavern is not immune to the mechanical failures through temptation, tinkering and well placed creative solutions. Our rise will occur; we just need to think outside of the box and avoid temptation from the simple things like a candy wrapper in the wind.
Yes, that glass jar does have a real set of dentures inside. I wouldn’t take that lid off I were you. I warned you that some of our things bite, did I not?
These teeth were supplied by Jo-Anne Russell a writer of dark fiction from Edmonton, AB Canada where she lives with her husband, 7 children, mother and mother-in-law, as well as their hoard of pets.
THE DENTURIST
Jo-Anne Russell
I SAT on the street corner with my aching face pressed firmly into my hands. Blood dripped past the gauze and through my fingers. I looked at it for a moment and then wiped it on my jeans.
“You okay fella?”
I looked up to see a man in a blue suit and red tie standing beside me. I stood.
“Yeah, just had all my top teeth pulled out. I guess I’m a bit of a bleeder.”
“You need some help?”
I smiled as more blood trickled from my lips.
“Yeah, if you know a denturist that will give a guy a break. I just found out mine won’t. I was laid off, and my insurance has run out. My denturist won’t give me my dentures now.”
“Well if that’s all you need, I happen to know a guy who will give you a great deal; practically for a favor.”
“A favor? Is he a quack?”
“No, he’s sort of a friend of mine. Helps people out in situations like yours. He’s still open. If you want we could go over there right now.”
I sized the guy up before me. He looked like a business guy with that suit on, clean-shaven and his eyes were clear, not bloodshot. He seemed sober, but there was something about the way he was rubbing his hands together as if he was cold despite the unusually warm seasonal temperature…
“Well, I don’t have any other options, and if I don’t get this taken care of I won’t be able to eat anything good so… why not.”
The guy smiled. “Great, I’ll just give him a quick call and let him know we are coming.”
As the guy talked quickly and low on his cell phone, I glanced around the area for anyone who might be hiding out lurking in the shadows, ready to rob me, or worse.
“My names Frank, Frank Manson,” he said, startling me as he reached out his hand.
“Bruce Jones,” I replied as I gave his hand a brief shake.
“You’re in luck Bruce, my friend George was closing up but he said he will help you out. It’s not far from here if you’re ready, do you need to call anyone? The little lady perhaps?”
“No, I’m single. I have enough trouble in my life right now without the help of a woman to cause me more.”
“Alright then, let’s go.”
We walked for twenty minutes making small talk as we passed the evening crowd headed for a late dinner, or an early start at the local bars. Frank didn’t talk much about himself, instead opting to ask me questions about my mundane life.
We turned off the side street, and walked to the end where a run-down century-old house sat with a sagging roof and dimly lit windows. I hesitated.
“Don’t be fooled by the house,” Frank said, “It is run down, but this is part of the way he keeps costs low so he can help folks out. It’s much nicer inside.” He gave a smile and nudged me toward the door.
I turned; ready to protest and tell the guy I had changed my mind, when the front door opened. An older man with grey hair and a white medical jacket stepped one foot out the door. Age wore his face like a wrinkled old shirt, but he smiled and waved us in.
Reluctantly, I trudged along with Frank at my heels. When we entered, George locked the door behind us.
“George, this is Bruce Jones. He’s in a real fix and could use your help.”
George walked up to me and tipped his head to the side.
“I hear you had some teeth pulled, and your denturist fell through?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a string of bad luck lately,” I said as George proceeded to pop open my mouth and remove the gauze.
A large clot of blood trailed out with it and slipped off onto the rug. I looked down.
“Nothing to worry about,” George said, “I can get you fixed up in no time.”
He started walking toward the back of the house.
“Don’t worry about the clot,” he said, “the cleaning crew will be coming in tonight and they can get it.”
I followed him into the far back room and sat in the dental chair. “About the cost-”
“Don’t worry about that either,” he said as he put on gloves, “I prefer to work in favors.”
“What kind of favors,” I asked looking around nervously. I felt my hands tighten on the arms of the chair.
“Oh,” George said with a hearty laugh, “nothing absurd, all I ask is for you to do the same as Frank, and find someone else that can use my help.”
“Well, what do you get out of that?”
“I help them out like I am helping you, and when there comes a time to help me out well, people usually come through.” He smiled. “Now lay back and I am going to use a little gas to give you some pain relief while I mold your gums.”
He placed a mask over my nose and I breathed deeply. The smell was tinny – not like the gas they used when they pulled my teeth. I started counting in my head – one hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety…
I don’t know how I got home, but when I woke, there I was on my sofa, the T.V. was showing some re-run of I Love Lucy, and my mouth didn’t have an ounce of pain. A note was scrawled on a torn piece of paper on my coffee table – See you soon.
I took a leak and washed my hands, while catching my reflection in the mirror. My top lip no longer sunk in over my swollen gums. Slowly I smiled. My pain was gone and all but forgotten, replaced by a set of perfectly straight teeth. Tonight I was going to celebrate.
I set my sights on The Ruby, a local hang out for the elite – at least as elite as they could get in this hick town. I waited in line as the brawny bald gateke
eper let in “select guests.” When it was my turn he gave me a once over, and I thought he was going to turn me away until I smiled at him. A dazed look overtook his face, and then he hurried to pull back the rope and motioned for me to enter.
Funny thing, all night I seemed to smile my way into anything I wanted. Even the town hottie, Tyra Lee, suddenly took notice, and ended up coming home with me for some fun. The weeks that followed gave way to the same pattern. I got the first job I applied for, had Tyra over a few times for some drinks, and I continued being treated like royalty everywhere I went.
Months passed and I had forgotten my score of bad luck, when I was walking home one night after the bar, and I almost tripped over a guy lying in a parking lot.
“Got some food,” he croaked out as he tugged on my pant leg.
“No,” I said, kicking my leg to get it free.
“I think you’d better bring me some,” he said as he stood. His back hunched in an unnatural curve, and although the shadows hid most of his face, I could see this man looked more like a creature than a human.
My heart started racing and panic spread through me. I tried to take a step away from him when he grabbed my shoulder and spun me.
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