I have drawn up a map of my own world.
Hopefully soon I shall return to it and
take my place as its Dark Lord and rightful
ruler.
It was a few days later. Sal, Chris, and Sooz met up for lunch in the school playground as usual. Dirk and Chris had recovered from the incident with the White Beast. Well, Dirk had—though there would be permanent teeth marks on his left forearm, white scars burned into his skin from the bite of the Beast. But that was okay by Dirk. He was used to the scars of battle. Proud of them even.
It was different for Chris. He hadn’t really come to terms with it. Sometimes he accepted things, which meant accepting everything—Dark Lords, White Wizards, Gargon, Orcs, Skirrits, pavilions, Sinister Hands, spells and all the rest of it. But sometimes that was just too much to take in. When that happened, his rational mind took over and rejected it all. His mind tried to pass off the White Beast as some kind of hallucination or dream, so that things made sense again, so that it wasn’t true that his best friend was like Sauron or Darth Vader, trapped in the body of a twelve-year-old boy.
But for now, Chris was coping well. It always helped when Sooz and Sal were around to lend a bit of reality to things. The four of them were chatting away just as they usually did.
“So, what’s next, Your Dirkness?” said Sal.
“I must find another way to return to the Darklands,” said Dirk. “It is my top priority. I must set things right there.”
“Jeez—I hope it turns out better than last time. Not having a sports pavilion was a real pain even if it was only for a few days!” laughed Sal.
“Do not fear, Sports Lord Sal Malik,” said Dirk regally. “I never make the same mistake twice, believe me.”
“Have you had any ideas?” asked Sooz.
“No,” said Dirk. He frowned, and put his head in his hands. “It’s difficult. Very difficult.”
“Well, what would you do if it was the other way around—say if you’re in the Darklands and you want to get to earth?” asked Sal.
“Ah, now that I know where your earth is, and its planar position in the cosmos, the matter would be simple. I would cast the spell known as the Eclipse of the Gates of the World,” said Dirk airily.
“So why don’t you do that spell here then?” said Sal. “Other than that it wouldn’t work of course, as there’s no such thing as magic!”
“You may mock, but magic is real, believe me. Anyway, it’s the ingredients. You can’t get them on earth,” said Dirk.
“Yeah? What do you need?” asked Chris.
“Well, you need the eggshell of a dragon, a witch’s hand, the eyelashes of a Nightwalker, the beard of a tyrant, and an eclipse,” said Dirk. “And there are no dragons, Vampires, or Witches on earth, a pity really.”
“Hmm, I can see your problem,” said Sal.
“Indeed. Though there is an eclipse of the sun in a month, as it happens,” said Dirk.
“Oh yeah, I read about that,” said Chris. Then he had a thought. “Actually, there is a dragon on earth. The Komodo dragon. It doesn’t fly, but it’s a huge lizard, with poisonous breath. Or saliva anyway. We did a thing on it in biology. Its saliva can kill a man in a week if not treated. You remember that display of reptile bones and eggs in the science lab? The eggs are from a Komodo dragon—donated by some ex-pupil of the school who became an explorer or something, years ago.”
“You know, Chris, you’re right, by the Nether Gods! That would do. The Komodo—it’d make for a pretty respectable dragon back in the Darklands in fact, and not all dragons fly anyway.”
“And there’s that witches museum in Wendle—don’t you remember? I took you there,” said Sooz.
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,” said Dirk. “But I don’t recall a hand.”
“That’s because you didn’t like the museum so you just trashed it. ‘These aren’t real witches’ was what you said!” Sooz retorted.
“What’s all this witch stuff?” said Sal.
“The Wendle Witches. They were a coven of witches—well, so it was said—back in the seventeenth century or something. They all got burned at the stake. One of their hands, mummified, charred—mostly a burned out husk now—is in the witches museum there. They weren’t real witches of course, as Dirk kept telling me,” she said, making a face at Dirk. “But they did get burned, which ought to make up for it, right? And people really believed they were witches,” she continued.
Dirk thought for a moment. “Hmm. Indeed. That should make up for it, yes. The power of a hideous death—always excellent for magic spells.”
“And Sooz is a Nightwalker, a Child of the Night, right?” said Chris.
“Yeah, you can have some of my eyelashes anytime, Dirk!” said Sooz, grinning.
“She’s not a real Vampire, though,” said Sal, laughing.
“How do you know?” scowled Sooz. “I might be. You never know.”
“Yeah, right,” said Sal. “Typical Goth!”
Dirk furrowed his brow and said, “Actually … she dresses like one. She thinks like one. She has posters of them up on her wall. I mean, what’s the nearest thing to a Vampire on earth—a Goth, of course.”
Dirk paused for a moment and added, “But Sal’s right. She’s not a real Nightwalker. There’s no way around that.”
“Actually,” said Sooz, “remember that online game I like playing—the one you and Chris think is a cheapo version of Battlecraft, you know, the Realm of Shadows?”
“Yeah, cheapo knock-off,” said Chris dismissively. “What about it?”
“Well, one of their character classes is a Nightwalker—a sort of Vampire-paladin type. I’m a twenty-sixth level Nightwalker in that. So technically I am a Nightwalker.”
Dirk frowned again. And then he nodded. “Realm of Shadows is a bit … Er, how would you humans say it? Er, a bit lame, I guess. But still. Hmm, it might do. After all, you are the avatar of a Nightwalker in the Realm of Shadows, and I am an avatar of a Dark Lord here on earth. You know, it might just work! This is getting interesting.”
Sooz smiled at that, and then made a face at Sal, as if to say, “See, Dirk thinks I’m a Vampire—or close enough!”
Sal just raised his eyes and groaned.
“And you keep saying Grousammer is a tyrant, right?” said Chris.
“Oh yes, we can all agree on that I think,” said Dirk. Everybody nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.
“But how are you going to get his beard?” said Sooz.
Dirk thought for a moment. “Hmm, I think I might be able to find a way … Though just in case, you might have to give me an alibi, Sooz. If anyone asks—about anything actually—just say I was over at your house, playing Realm of Shadows or something. Actually, don’t say that, say Battlecraft. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a Realm of Shadows player, do I? I have my reputation to consider,” said Dirk.
Sooz shook her head in disgust. “It’s a great game! You should try it,” she said.
The conversation turned to a discussion of the merits of various computer games. Dirk announced that he wanted to make his own game—where the player is an alien being called the Dark One who’d crash landed his spaceship on earth. He has to enslave mankind using a combination of new technology and strange, interstellar magic.
“Why?” asked Chris.
“What do you mean?” said Dirk.
“You know, why does he have to enslave mankind?” said Sooz. “What’s the point?”
“Well, you know … Er … Because … Well, because he just has to! What reason do you need?” said Dirk, puzzled by the question.
“You always need a reason,” said Chris.
“Why? Conquest for its own sake—isn’t that enough?” said Dirk. “And I want to call the game Crush the Puny Humans Beneath Your All-Conquering Boot Heels.”
“Oh come on, that’s far too long a title for a computer game,” said Sooz.
“What? How dare you criticize me? Anyway, why is it too long?”
replied Dirk.
“Er … Because it’s too long?” said Sal.
The conversation went on in this vein for some time, until lunchtime ended and they had to go back to class. As they walked back indoors, Grousammer was coming toward them down the corridor. Dirk came to an abrupt halt and began to stare at him avidly.
Grousammer looked back at the boy out of the corner of his eye, an uncomfortable expression on his face. As he drew near, Dirk stepped closer and held his hands up, as if taking the measure of his face and beard. Sooz and Chris expected some kind of violent reaction from the principal—at the very least a chewing out, if not a detention. But Grousammer just looked horrified at the sight of Dirk so close to him. So he accelerated past, hunching his shoulders oddly, as if expecting a knife in the back at any moment, muttering to himself as he rushed off down the corridor …
The Beard
Grousammer woke with a start. He was sitting up in bed, pillows heaped behind his back. That was odd—he didn’t normally sleep like that. He could feel something scrabbling at his beard. Grousammer looked down … and his eyes widened in horrified surprise. There was a hand, a child’s hand … Someone else’s hand! And it was soaping his beard with a shaving brush. How extraordinarily bizarre! Was he still dreaming?
Grousammer reached over to swat the hand away, ready to leap up and call for help when suddenly he froze in terror. The hand … the hand … it … it ended. It ended in a kind of greenish, raw-red wound as if it had been recently severed at the elbow. There was only a forearm and nothing else. Yet it was still lathering away merrily as if nothing was wrong.
Grousammer was paralyzed with fear. He must be still dreaming. Was this some kind of bizarre nightmare brought on by the stress of that weird pavilion business and that strange, odd little child, Dirk Lloyd?
Then the hand carefully laid the shaving brush aside and reached for a straight razor that rested nearby in a bowl of warm water. Grousammer followed its movements with horrified fascination, still frozen in terror. Carefully, the disembodied hand began to shave him. Down one cheek, then the other. Then his upper lip. He could only stare at the ceiling in horror, as the hand gently tipped his chin back to shave his neck.
Grousammer’s heart thundered in his chest, his body paralyzed by fear. Was this the end? Was the hand going to slit his throat? No, of course not. The whole thing was absurd—it couldn’t be happening, it had to be a dream. So all he had to do was wake himself up. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself awake, but nothing happened. Then the shaving stopped and he looked down. The hand was carefully gathering the soaped hair of his beard and putting it all into a little plastic ziplock bag. Then, still holding the bag hooked over its thumb, the hand began to crawl away, hauling itself along by its fingers, like some kind of pallid white spider. It pulled itself up the curtain, and then out the open window of the bedroom.
Grousammer shuddered. It was over. The nightmare was over. He sank back into a kind of faint, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
The Black Diary of Doom: The Final Entries
June Misery 13
Sooz gave me an eyelash today. I told
her I needed at least ten of them, which
she made a fuss about. Something about it
making her sneeze every time she plucked
one out, not to mention looking weird
without enough lashes. Not my problem, I
said, and she got all huffy. Almost refused
to hand them over!
Then I had to clean off all the heavy
black mascara they were covered in. I
informed her that the next batch should be
mascara-free, which seemed to annoy her
even more!
I thought it a perfectly reasonable
request. These mortals—I will never
understand them.
June Misery 15
I saw the principal today. Nobody had
seen him for several days, but I wandered
by his office and found that his door
was ajar. I saw him at his desk—
holding a mirror up to his face and
feeling his recently shaven chin. His
face was a picture—pale, worn, and
haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
I couldn’t help myself and burst out
laughing. He saw me then—and his face
went even paler! He just stood up shakily,
stepped over, and shut the door. By the
Nine Netherworlds, that felt good.
June Misery 17
Easy! After school today I broke into the
biology display cabinet and stole some
Komodo dragon eggshells. I didn’t even
have to break any glass, and I doubt they
will even notice they are gone. By the
Nether Gods, I’m good! My plans are
coming together. Excellent! Mwah, ha, ha!
July Souls-of-the-Damned 1
Everything is ready for the Ceremony of
the Eclipse of the Gates of the World. The
mannequin is ready. The hand has been
prepared. I have the Beard of a Tyrant
and the eggshells of a Dragon. Sooz’s
eyelids have long since given up their
lashes. Now it is only a question of
waiting until the eclipse, on the third
of July. Or Souls-of-the-Damned, as I
shall call July from now on.
July Souls-of-the-Damned 2
This will be my last night on earth. I am
eager to return home, and do battle with
that overzealous meddler, Hasdruban, and
his Paladin fanatics. It will be a wonderful
shock for the scheming old fool. But I will
also miss the friends I have made here.
Still, what must be must be. Perhaps one
day I can return, or send for Christopher,
Sal, and Sooz. In the Darklands, they will
be great lords and ladies—I’ll see to that!
The Eclipse
It was Souls-of-the-Damned 3, and it was a fine sunny day. The eclipse would begin at exactly 2:13 p.m. Dirk, Sooz, and Christopher stood on the baseball field just outside the old but new Players Pavilion. Sal was with his family, watching the eclipse in the park with a picnic.
“Does it really have to be done here?” asked Christopher.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s perfect—built by magical interplanar travelers, it is infused with just the right kind of sorcery,” said Dirk nervously. He was excited, elated, expectant, but also worried and unsure. What if it didn’t work this time? It had to work!
Dirk had built a small fire on the ground, though he hadn’t lit it yet. On it he placed herbs and spices, similar to those he used last time, and another scroll sealed with wax.
“I must say, it seems like madness to use fire again!” said Sooz.
“Don’t worry about it—we’re outside this time, and anyway, the Skirrits fireproofed it properly. With a Fire Retardant Enchantment in fact—much better than the usual stuff,” said Dirk.
“Ha, right. Well that’s okay then,” said Chris skeptically. But then he looked back at the pavilion. There it was, bold as brass, throwing his skepticism right back in his face. He almost wanted to try and set it on fire, just to see how fire-resistant it really was.
Sooz followed Christopher’s gaze. She didn’t really believe anything would happen, just like the last time. But there the pavilion was. Still, building a pavilion was one thing—it could be done without magic, couldn’t it? Opening a portal between worlds, well, that was another thing entirely.
But Christopher had seen the White Beast, had seen the Sinister Hand in action. Sometimes he thought maybe he’d imagined all those things. But in his heart of hearts, he knew it was real. Either that, or he’d gone mad too, just like Dirk. Could madness be catching?
As if
to prove that he really was mad, Dirk pulled out a small puppet from his pocket. It had been crudely fashioned from wood. Sooz’s eyelashes had been stuck on where the eyes should be, and it was wearing Grousammer’s beard. It looked very unsettling indeed, like some kind of demon’s toy doll.
“Jeez, that’s freaky!” said Chris.
“Yeah, weird. Really weird. Can I have one, Dirk?” said Sooz, only half joking.
Dirk smiled, acknowledging her words, but not saying anything. He was deep in concentration. Next, he drew out the mummified witch’s hand. He put the little mannequin doll into its palm and muttered something over it.
Sooz’s and Chris’s brows knitted in puzzlement simultaneously. Was it their imagination or did the hand tense up a little, as if it was gripping the doll? Surely not!
Then Dirk placed the hand and doll on top of the fire. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small box, covered in bloodred Glyphs. He flipped up the lid of the box. Inside were the Komodo dragon eggshells. They’d been crushed into a fine powder. He muttered some more unintelligible words, making arcane gestures over the box with his other hand.
Sooz and Chris looked at each other and tried not to laugh.
“All is ready,” said Dirk. “Now we wait for the eclipse.” He looked up at the sky, scanning the heavens for a sign. A few minutes passed. They stood in uneasy silence. Dirk’s tense nervousness was rubbing off on Chris and Sooz.
“Time check, please,” said Dirk tersely.
Chris checked his watch. “Er … ten past two,” he said.
“It begins,” said Dirk, and he raised his hands and began to chant. It was just like the last time—a strange, bizarre sound using words and phrases not meant for this world. Everything seemed to go quiet—birds stopped singing, the sounds of nearby traffic in Greenfield Lane seemed to fade. The hairs began to stand up on the back of Sooz’s and Chris’s necks … just like last time. They looked at each other nervously.
Dirk leaned down, still chanting, and lit the fire. It blazed up with a greenish haze. The hand seemed to react to the flames, tightening on the doll, squeezing it, crushing it. Was it their imagination, or could Chris and Sooz hear a kind of distant wailing as of someone howling in agony, someone that was being crushed to death, or burned alive?
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