Charley Miller’s Bar

CMB

Charley Miller’s Bar was an exercise in contradictions. It combined a variety of old world looks and new world technology to create an atmosphere that had become the talk of the town. The floor in the center of the bar was nearly always covered with ice which kept it cool even when the weather was hottest, and no one ever seemed to question why the ice never melted.

It was a custom whenever a patron made a toast, cheered an event, congratulated a constituent, or consoled a friend for the entire bar to throw their emptied ice filled mugs to the floor in the center of the bar. The broken ones were disposed of and the whole ones recovered and washed for reuse. In addition to this practice, the bar boasted several menu items that had been favorites of the town for nearly a century.

It had been opened near the water in a small Port near St. George for more than seventy years. At least that was as far as records could count or locals could recollect. Aunk Miller’s family had owned it since they had traveled from Cairo in the early 1700’s. Mystery and intrigue had come with them to the states as well as a great deal of British wealth, and industry. As the town grew so did the notoriety of the iterations of the bar.

It had been Miller’s Saloon in 1712, and was run by Bahman, the 29 year old son of Charley’s great great grandfather. It was renamed The Watering Hole in 1755 and passed in ownership to Aunk’s father Frederick, it then became Aunk’s and was renamed The Egyptian Tavern since 1912, and now in 2012 it was known as Charley Miller’s Bar.

Its current fame was due to a reality TV show known as Bar Fight, a food station show where local bar establishments squared off to determine which had the best fare, drinks, and ambiance. The Bar had been featured as number one for several weeks, and tourists as well as locals poured in to partake of the bars offerings.

Aunk was a very old man now, it was his grandson, Charles Miller who had taken over and renamed the bar. The twenty seven year old owner had been in and out of the bar most of his life and knew well many of the patrons and also the history of the bar and its owner, though he did not share much information about his family.

What was well known was that Aunk was the owner with the greatest longevity, and that the Egyptian Tavern had been a widely recognized and respected establishment long before Charley was old enough to have learned to walk. Aunk Miller had been the owner for more than 75 years at least that’s what had been recorded. But that wasn’t his real name, and no one knew what his real name was or why his family had given him that nickname. They had been calling him that since he was a little boy. There was one tattooed elaborately on his left shoulder. His grandma had told him the left was the sinister hand and Aunk had just laughed and said to his grandma, “Don’t worry grandma, I can handle the sinister one.”

It was said that Charley’s great great grandmother had married a man from Egypt. No matter what the social implications may have been of her marrying a foreigner, no one ever outwardly displayed anything but respect for her husband or his family. He lived a long time and was almost one hundred years old when the bar was given to Aunk’s grandfather Fredrick and renamed. Fred had been twenty six at the time.

Charley wanted the bar to be known worldwide, and that meant exposure. Aunk had no objections to that kind of notoriety. There were other reasons why people would want to come to the bar. Notoriety was a useful thing when it was certain you needed to be found.

Midway through the bars Battle of Onion Rings, as the show’s current episode was called, the phone rang. Charley was in the middle of an explanation of how his great great grandmother’s hand ground Egyptian spices and daily made batter created an onion ring that was a delicacy, when one of his barmaids pulled on his apron and he had to excuse himself. When he returned his face was pale.

Eunice Baker, a local woman had been crying on the other end of the phone. She sounded delirious, and it took several minutes for Charley to calm her down so he could ask her what was wrong. All he could get out of her was that she was looking for Aunk, that she was in trouble and didn’t know what to do. Charley promised to call his grandfather as soon as they finished the show, but he was shaken and it took several minutes before he could get back into the swing of his earlier enthusiasm. After another few hours of filming, chicken strips and shrimp dishes, the film crew packed up and Charley called his dad to locate his grandfather.

Charley’s father was an importer, and brought Egyptian goods to the States. He sometimes also arranged tours for people interested in travel to Egypt. He did not seem alarmed. He attempted to calm Charley and promised to contact Eunice Baker soon.

***

Eunice Baker was married to a man named Tom. Tom Baker had been what you might call a tempered man since he was a young adult. He had not been good in situations of adversity. In addition to this he seemed to lack a tolerance to alcohol. His coworkers liked on occasions to bate him to drink in order to be entertained by his bad behavior. It had sometimes ended in charges for destruction of property, and occasional assault charges, but Tom had never seriously hurt anyone.

Eunice worked for a local fishery, and many of the people she worked with knew and liked her husband, at least when he was sober and happy. But their current financial state had been cause for Tom to spend more frequent nights hanging at the bar with his coworkers. Several rounds had found their way to the floor in sympathy for his current distress mirrored by his friends. The barmaid had signaled closing and turned off the tap. Tom had gotten angry but his friends grabbed him by the arm and ushered him home.

Since he had not been allowed to let off his steam at the barmaid, he took his anger out on Eunice. At first she had tried to be understanding but he took this as being patronizing, then she tried to comfort him but he did not want to be pacified.

“You’re hopeless,” She had said and stood to walk away. But Tom grabbed her arm and swung her around. The slap that grazed her cheek stung but did not have its intended impact due to the momentum of her spin. She did not stop, but continued to spin until she was facing the other direction and could run away. She headed for the kitchen, and grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on. She did not intend to hit him as hard as she had, but he came up unexpectedly fast behind her and the large crescent wrench which had until recently been the means by which she shut off her water, hit him across the temple. As his body fell to the floor she held in a scream. Blood oozed from a deep gash and Eunice stood frozen in shock, gasping and staring in horror.

It’s possible that she fainted. When she revived she was sitting slumped near her husband’s body. She didn’t know what to do so she put his body in a large sheet and used a wheel barrel to dump him in the compost bin on the side of the building. Next to it were several blocks of baled hay, and chopped fire wood. She went back into the house. She wasn’t certain what to do and she was still quite shaken.

She picked up the phone and called Charley Miller’s Bar. When Charley didn’t answer she broke into tears and the barmaid asked her to hold on. When Charley came to the phone she burst into tears again and began shrieking.

“I don’t know what came over me, I’m in trouble and I need to speak with your grandfather.” she said breathlessly.

“I don’t know where he is….” was all he could get out before she trailed off into another series of unintelligible babbling.

“Calm down, don’t worry I’ll find him, what happened?”

“I can’t explain over the phone, just please have your grandfather call me as soon as possible.” she answered and cradled the phone.

Now all she could do was wait.

When Aunk arrived he was driving a garbage bin, a truck with a long rectangular vessel at the back. It was used to collect tree trimmings, compost able items, and large recyclable items. Aunk stepped from the truck and approached the house. When he got to the door Eunice came to the screen with her finger to her mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he said.

Eunice nodded as if she understood. “If you need anything there’s plenty of stuff in the compost heap.” she said.

“Fine then, why don’t you run your errands and when you come back this evening I’ll have everything taken care of.”

Eunice gathered her things and left the house. When she was gone Aunk first cleaned the blood stained kitchen. He used clean gauze linens he had brought with him, which he placed in a bag, he would need them later. He waited until it had gotten dark and then he went to retrieve Tom from the compost. He placed him in the back of his truck on a bed of hay and placed the bag with the bloody rags beneath his head.

He knew that Tom had not done well in his life, but like many men he might not have deserved to die.

When Eunice returned, her house was restored to normal. She put down her bags and walked into the kitchen. The faucet had been repaired and the wrench had been removed from the counter. Everything was clean. She was sad but she was still feeling a little overwhelmed. She could not bear to look into the compost container; she would save that for the early morning light. So she sat in her kitchen chair and had a glass of tea then she went to bed.

In the middle of the night she thought she faintly heard the whistle of a train and the sounds of a locomotive steam engine, but there had not been such a train in this area for years. She had returned to sleep peacefully, but when she woke she rose with trepidation and went to look into the compost container. When she got outside she was stunned to find what seemed to be a large copper and gold toned sarcophagus. Though it looked like it had been combined with the parts of some steam type machine, it could only have been that. It was not locked or sealed and the top opened with ease. Eunice opened the lid and was startled to find inside a newly wrapped mummy. She released the hood and backed up. She didn’t understand what was happening.

Inside the sarcophagus was the newly wrapped body of her husband Tom. From the looks he had been covered with wrappings that had been covered with his own blood. Eunice was horrified and paced the floor trying to think of what to do. She had just about decided to go to the police and make up some crazy story, when the bell rang. When she answered the door, Tom stood there alive and fully healed.

“The least you could do is let me in out of the morning air, or am I to catch my death of cold into the bargain. You’d think after last night that I had been through quite enough.” he said. “One day I shall have to endure the ‘til death do us part, but let’s not do it again this way shall we.”

Eunice did not know what to say, so she opened the door and let him in. She followed him to the bathroom and ran him a steaming tub of water.

“Not too hot, I don’t think I’ll want a bath that warm ever again. Seems I can remember feeling the steam surging through my blood. But maybe that was all a dream.”

“You ain’t mad at me are you, Tom?” Eunice asked as she cooled the water in the tub.

“I don’t think I could be even if I wanted to. All night all I could think of was how wrong I had been to hit you and what I could have done for things to go differently. What happened was my own fault.”

Eunice looked at him. Something was definitely different. He looked like himself, but it was not the Tom she knew.

In the dark of night Aunk had taken him to the chilly caverns below the bar and laid his body on a table etched with hieroglyphs, and as he dealt with the preparation of Tom’s body he laughed and talked to himself.

“Grandma was afraid of the devil, but he ain’t got nothing on the power of Osiris.” He laughed again. He wrapped the body in oils using the blood stained gauze he had used in Tom’s own home. He filled the sarcophagus with items gathered from Tom house and lined the bottom with straw collected from the side of his house. Inside he placed a drop of Tom’s blood, and laid the body in the nest of things gathered there. He poured a mug of beer and set it at Tom’s feet. When all was done he would return to Eunice.

***

Aunk had been the caretaker of this artifact for more than two centuries, though none knew and any time death would approach he would lie in the sarcophagus and Osiris would spirit death away and leave its essence in the caverns below the bar. The stone walls themselves were as cold as death and no mortal could stand to linger there for any duration. Aunk, once reviving himself, would take a new wife, have a son, and train a new custodian for the family business. The bar must always exist for the caverns to go unnoticed. His family was large and prosperous, and his sons and his son’s sons offered redemption to mankind.

In the beginning, they had not known the power or the purpose of the sarcophagus. They had attempted to bring back lost loved ones but had discovered that good people who had lived well and were loved no matter how short had no reason to return and usually ended up ill tempered, or evil in nature. After this discovery they only brought back those who needed to change their Karma, redeem themselves, or improve their lives and the relationships with the people in their lives.

Aunk had been the caretaker of the Sarcophagus of Osiris, as it had been named, though the body of Osiris had never lain inside, since 1810 after the death of his great grandfather who had held caretaker-ship for more than a century himself. Though he could have easily continued, he had begun to feel the weight of the evil and inconsistency of mankind. His son, though he had thought immortality a fine trait, had decided that to protect the aged container and it’ caretaker was just as noble a calling. His great grandfather had enjoyed more than 115 years of living well, and he had helped thousands of individuals change their lives for the better. He sat and tried to remember what the old man who had given him the caretaker-ship had said.

On his 30th birthday, Aunk and his great grandfather had gone for a walk. There was no need for him to explain where they were going or what they were going to do. Aunk knew it was time and he was prepared. He hugged his great grandfather and thanked him for being good to his family. They sat in the bar and made a toast together, tossing their ice filled glasses to the floor in respect for the dead. He knew it was the last time he would see him alive. He sat and recollected the story of how the sarcophagus had come into their lives.

***

Bahman, his grandfather, had been a boy of twelve in 1695, at the time of its discovery and he had been the thirty-seven year old foreman of the dig. It had been discovered by a team of European archaeologists and in the beginning no one had ever explained why it had been given that name.

When it had first been found all the crew was buzzing hoping to find riches and the mummy of some ancient king. The sarcophagus looked more like a steam operated machine fashioned to look like a replica of an ancient burial container rather than an authentic artifact. They were disappointed to discover it was empty.

On the first night after they dug into the chamber, an old man approached him and bid him wrap his aged body in blood covered linen wraps and place his body into the sarcophagus. At first he thought him mad and struggled with the old man as he attempted to bleed himself. In the process he was stabbed and lay dying near the old man, who asked him as he lay bleeding, “If you will take my place, you will live the lives of many men, but take care, besides the caretaker only those seeking redemption may be entered into the box.”

He did not understand. A proud and educated man, he did not want to die and leave his son to live alone. So he agreed to take the old man’s place. The old man stabbed him again and collected his blood in a gold and copper vessel at the base of the tablet upon which the sarcophagus was placed. He soaked the wraps and bid the terrified lad who had been with him to assist him with wrapping his father’s body. Despite his fear he did as the old man said. As they wrapped him the old man explained many things.

“A drop of their own blood will bring them back as they are but better, a drop of a youth’s blood will take away their age but the formula for how far is not known though always an adult, a drop of the caretaker’s blood will pass the responsibility on to the next. It must be a deliberate act to activate the transfer. It will not occur from a cut or an injury, but must intentionally be place into the container by the individual to whom it belongs.”

When his father had taken his last breath, Bahman and the old man lifted him and placed him into the sarcophagus. The old man dripped his own blood into the container and placed at the base of his feet a chalice of wine. “In celebration of life, from now until the end.” he said and closed the lid.

He sat with the boy in silence for a time. When several hours had past, he bid the boy help him up.

“I do not have long. I shall not see the morning. Bid your father bathe, drink the wine, and thank Osiris for the second chance. Be he a better father to you, and live a life that helps mankind and he shall pass on unto your family the opportunity to offer the same to others. Do not forget the things I have told you.”

“Are you the devil?” young Bahman had asked.

“No sir, nor will your father nor any caretaker ever be. And they need not fear him. The only evil that any need be concerned about is that within mankind itself.

Bahman struggled to hear the old man. His voice was getting raspy and week. “Let the good pass on.” he kept repeating but Bahman did not understand.

He had walked with the old man the entire night and left him near a tavern. He would not see him again. He returned to the dig site before sunrise. When he went inside his father sat at the edge of the basin of water. Bahman relayed the old man’s instructions and information and after his father had followed them to the letter, he apologized to his son and promised until it was his time to pass on the caretaker-ship he would not leave him again.

He sold everything he owned in Egypt, married the daughter of a wealthy archaeologist, and moved to the New World. Convinced the sarcophagus was a fraud his father-in-law gave it to Bahman’s father as a wedding present. When they reached what would later be the port of St George, Bahman’s Father began construction of their home as well as laid the foundation for their business. Everyone thought he was crazy to build on top of the stone shelf. They delved with dynamite for weeks and built the structure right on top of the stone itself. No one knew the caverns directly below would become home to the sarcophagus.

As time passed and his family prospered, his father bought all the land surrounding the business, including the beach property, the dock, and the land on which the shelf rested. It was secure and people did not approach. It had grown eerie and dangerous looking.

Bahman’s Father had been a member of the community for thirty years before he had cause to venture to use the ‘box’ as they lovingly called it. A young girl had fallen from one of the cliffs and drowned. Her mother was in anguish, and his wife bade him help if he could. She knew little of the box, but knew that Bahman’s father had helped others.

The girl was a rebellious youth, troubled and unruly but her mother loved her. Aunk’s father put her in the wagon and took her away. The girl showed up on her mother’s doorstep, the next morning. She was tired, pale, and ever so sorry to have caused her mother to worry. She assured her she had only passed out, that her breathing was shallow but she had not died. She was able to convince her mother, and no one else knew.

***

Eunice sat in sheer disbelief. She had assumed that Aunk would dispose of Tom’s body, not resurrect him. This was certainly better but how was it possible. When Tom was done with his bath, he collected the ice cold mug of beer and made a toast, “In celebration of life from now until the end, and thank you Osiris for giving me a second chance.” He then downed the entire mug of beer.

He looked at Eunice earnestly then said, “We are never to speak of this. Aside from being considered as having lost our minds, it would be a disservice to Aunk and his family. He must have risked a great deal to be able to accomplish this. We must be certain we are never the reason that he comes to any harm. ”

“But what we do about the sarcophagus?” asked Eunice.

The two sat in silence and thought for a moment. The morning was passing rapidly and it wouldn’t be long before people were out and about and someone was sure to notice an ancient sarcophagus sitting on the side of their house.

Tom threw on a robe, and Eunice followed him outside. When they got to the side of the house they were surprised to find the sarcophagus had been removed. Tom shrugged his shoulders and looked at his wife.

“I guess they thought of everything.” Tom said and escorted Eunice into the house.

From then on Tom was a model citizen, a devoted husband, and a credit to mankind. Most of his coworkers and friends found it remarkable that he was no longer affected by alcohol. When they sat in Charlie’s and made a toast, Tom would raise his glass, smile and nod his respect to Charlie and turn his mug upon his napkin. He no longer drank iced drinks, and when he had finished his toast he would stand and bid his comrades good evening and go home to Eunice.

Charley Miller’s Bar © DJuna Blackmon 2014, All Rights

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A Drink and a Smile

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A tale of Clifford Engram, Paranormal Investigator

“Two fingers, Gin, neat.”

I hate Gin. I never drink the stuff unless I am going to talk to a Dweller-in-the-Darkness. They hate it more. I discovered this quite by accident, but I never let it get far from my thoughts when I am about to make a deal with the devil.

The pub he wanted me to meet him in was just shy of a complete dive. You know the place, a redneck bar where everyone is wearing plaid shirts, blue jeans, shit-kicker boots and every third person shaves their head close, wears white tee-shirts and swastika tattoos. A place I wouldn’t normally want to be caught dead in.

Considering my Black face, it’s the kind of place I might only be caught dead in.

There are fifteen people in the place. The bartender called it a slow night when I got here an hour ago. The people seem amiable enough, they drink their drinks, they hit on the waitresses, they flirt with the local girls who are here trying too find someone to spirit them from this one horse town called Desolation, Oklahoma.

Why does he want to meet here, you ask? Something about a nexus of pure evil that runs through this town making it easier for him to manifest. Whatever. The sooner I get out of here the sooner I get back on my case.

I get up from the bar and stretch, noting the quick but covert glances from at least three of the biker types who came in earlier. My cane is propped against the bar, but I don’t actually need it anymore. My injuries were completely recovered. I could move my right hand and left leg easily. I could still feel the enhanced strength in the binding sigils in my right hand and left leg. With them running down my back, my strength was twice what it had been in the past.

If he didn’t get here soon, a fight was liable to break out just because it would improve their evening.

I could see the patterns. They were circling me, sizing me up. Two of them had already walked behind me to see if I would respond to their presence. The third was coordinating two others who were “smoking” out front.

I feigned being overheated and took off my long coat draping it across my seat. No need to get blood on everything I was wearing.

I make eye contact with the barkeep. “Another, and keep ’em coming.”

The gin slid down the bar and down my throat with equal facility. I stretched in preparation. I was looking forward to this.

We were all poised to begin our dance when a woman wearing a skin-tight red dress walked into the bar. She looked and smelled like every sexual dream you’ve ever had. Her movement was fluid, rhythmic, her eyes, green and luminous, lit up even darkest corners of the room. Everyone turned to see her.

Every eye that met hers felt the come hither electrical attraction. Until she got to me. I got nothing. No energy, no electricity. Only the stench of the grave. She walked up to me and kissed me on both cheeks before waiting for me to pull her stool out for her. I obliged, noting her arrival seemed to, at least for a moment defuse what was surely going to be a brawl to remember.

“Scratch.”

“Ingram. Are you going to buy me a drink?” Her voice was a breathy contralto, with a soft country burr. She might have been from around here, but not for a long time.

“You know that’s not my name.” I noticed the intonation on the “i” instead of the “e”.

“I know you don’t like me to use it.” She batted her eyelashes as if to say make me stop.

“Bartender, a gin for the lady. Neat.”

“No need to be rude, Clifford.”

“Tell me what you know and I may find it in my heart to buy you something more palatable.”

“How about that tall one over there, with the swastika on his forehead?

“Once I’m gone. Knock yourself out.”

“Why so hush-hush? You know you can trust me…”

Only as far as I could throw her…

“Nicolas, less flirting, more talking. Or I may forget our arrangement.”

She pouted. A lovely turning out of that luscious lower lip. “In this body, please call me Natasha. As for your inquiry, They’ve been here. They’ve been through town time several times. Each time to take on a small group of renegades and their human flunkies and disappear before sunrise.”

“Renegades?”

“You know all of us are not created equal. Some of us are naturally beautiful, like moi, others of us are gifted with other capabilities. Renegades have a gift for…violence, shall we say. They also have a knack for not following orders, so no one wants to work with them. They are beyond the standard level of violence for my kind, branding themselves renegades from The Cause.”

“Your people are still trying to take over the world? Have you learned nothing from the beat-downs the Agency have delivered on you decade after decade?”

“We are ever hopeful, ever watchful and know you’re all quite mortal. Where you have been diligent, your descendants might not be. Probing the defenses from time to time is how our operatives maintain their edge.”

“And how you get rid of the chaff and undesirables you don’t want or need to be feeding.”

A quick hair flip, she turns and leans in. “You have been quite rude this evening. What’s come over you? We used to be so good together. I remember when you were so friendly a decade or two ago. Now you treat me like a spurned mistress. What could have changed you that much?”

She leans in and sniffs my neckline. “Clifford, is that a woman, a human woman, I smell on you?” Another sniff. I don’t bother to push her away, if she doesn’t want to go, I would have to get supernatural to move her. “Hmmm. I smell nature and plants, she’s older than you. Magical, too. Strong magic. Voudoun, I am guessing. Is that a thigh I smell on your cheek?”

She smiles and leans back into her drink, taking the poison in one strong gulp. “And to think I went out of my way to find something special for you.”

“Where are they, Natasha?”

“They haven’t gone far. They would have come here tonight to deal with this group, but I decided I would handle them myself. They are waiting for you in town. Be careful, Clifford. Demonic cars don’t escape Repossession for long, but while they are free, they raise Hell on Earth. He also has a young man working with him.”

“Have they already made a Pact?” A blood pact would make them only about ten times more dangerous than a lone demon car.

She leaned forward onto the bar, breaking the final bonds with her human host. A pool of inky darkness formed beneath her chair. It undulated barely perceptible to the human eye.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be too hasty. I think you might be able to turn them, if you’re nice enough. Like you used to be. Now go. I will take care of the riff-raff here.”

“No waitresses, no bartender, I know they’re clean.”

“But they have murder in their hearts.”

I looked at the bartender and his two waitresses. What she said was true. They were capable of murder and considered it on more than one occasion. Working in Desolation, Oklahoma, who wouldn’t? “Thinking of murder and being a murderer are two different things. Do what you want with the rest, but if I come back and find anything but a happy establishment, there will be hell to pay. Got it.”

“Party-pooper.” The inky darkness started to spread.

“What’s wrong with her,” the bartender asked, curious.

I reach into her purse and pull out a roll of cash, nothing but hundreds. I throw it to the barkeep. “Get out and take your girls with you. Don’t come back till sunrise. As a matter of fact, don’t even look back now. OUT!” The waitresses run to the bar and the barkeep grabs a shotgun on the way out. I like a prudent man.

I stand up and put on my jacket. “They’re all yours.”

“Bye, Clifford, come around more often. I miss you.”

I walked past the pool table and the large fellow with the swastika on forehead swung his pool cue with lethal force. I put up my right arm and let my connection to Fenrir loose. The cue shatters into toothpicks, some of which fly back into his face penetrating his flesh deeply. Unpleasantly.

He screamed and jelly from his eyes, along with copious amounts of blood splashed behind his hands. He never saw the spear of darkness that penetrated his upper torso and pinned him to the wall. Spears of darkness whirled around chair legs chasing the rest of the less savory fellows who weren’t quite sure what was happening yet. The more aggressive drew weapons, knives and the poorly cared for things they called guns. One fellow even got off a shot missing due to his terror of the black tendril coming right at him.

I didn’t even have to bother deflecting his bullet. The two from outside rushed in and before I could do anything stepped right into Natasha’s shadows. One fellow, he was a bit quicker on the draw than the other managed to get a cross out his pocket.

Unfortunately for him, he fumbled and dropped it. It landed on the ground and the darkness spread around it without touching it, like a drop of soap in a oily sink of water. Dwellers hate those things.

It was the closest anyone came to a victory tonight. I hope he enjoyed it. Because when Natasha’s done, he’ll wish I had just snapped his neck.

Now I have two problems to contend with in this town. Renegades and a demon car already in Pact mode. Normally I would let them take care of each other but that isn’t possible without a lot of collateral damage. While Desolation is a nexus of unrepentant evil, there are still plenty of good people caught in the crossfire.

That is, besides Natasha and her clan. They’re an evil I can manage.

I’m so glad I stopped dating her.

A Drink and a Smile – Fenrir and Phoenix © Thaddeus Howze 2013, All Rights Reserved

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Come Forth the Rising Tide

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The Apocalypse, already in progress…

“Gabriel’s Horn is the only thing that can drive back the Rising Tide and you let them take it to Hell?” Father Finnegan threw the glass of box wine into the fireplace in disgust. Renwick didn’t flinch and threw the chain holding Jillian Pace onto his desk.

“Is that what they were doing? You didn’t say anything about a damned horn. You said get the girl away from the Tide. She’s here. Bounty’s done, I want my money. I intend to be on a plane by tomorrow morning. You can’t beat the Rising Tide. I barely got away and she had to help.” Looking over at Pace, she smiled a toothy snarling smile indicating her respect for the crazed mercenary’s skills.

“You’ll get your lucre, Renwick, as soon as the so-called Master of the Mystic Arts arrives.” Finnegan sat back down in to his armchair after getting a new glass from his cabinet.

The stink of cheap wine permeated the air as the door opened and a short, disheveled, probably drunken man with a scraggly beard and none-too-fresh breath staggered in. “Anyone call for a Master?” Pace’s eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped back into her chair, hiding her face in the shadows.

Another fellow came in behind the Master. Tall. Quiet, with sharp penetrating eyes. His vision swept the room and locked in on the chair where Jillian Pace, cloaked in darkness, clenched her jaw. The tall man’s predatory smile pissed her off.

Darrin Wells, former master of the mystic arts found his way to the dispenser of box wine and placed his mouth on the spigot, slurped noisily without spilling a drop. When he rose, his facade was gone, replaced by the face of a broken man. “Jillian Pace, you are now the only thing between us and the Rising Tide. They’re past trying to initiate you, they were going to kill you. Are you ready to join us?” An unexpected belch at the end of the statement disrupted any chance he had at sounding ominous.

Pace looked at the failed mystic, the danger-averse but efficient bounty hunter, the sex-crazed architect and the priest who sounded the alarm all those years ago and leapt up from her chair toward Wells screaming, “You let my sister die. You promised me she was the Chosen One and that she would be able to turn them back. She’s dead, and now you come to me, second-best, barely worthy of teaching in your opinion and now you want my fucking help? Screw you.” Only Renwick’s quick reflexes kept Wells from getting knocked flat on his backside.

Not done, she turned to the tall man, “Are you finished with me too? I helped you with your designs, you thought it was okay to take advantage of me and then threw me away when you were done. How did your little project work out? Did you tell your clubhouse buddies what you were doing in your spare time?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. And I am the reason you are sitting in this room, instead of dead on the alter of a bunch of crazed and fanatical demons. I enjoyed your…company and you were very helpful. It was the least I could do.” The architect licked his lips staring right into her eyes.

Pace, unflinching, stared back. Renwick, like a dog with a bone, snarled “What does this have to do with my money? I don’t know what those crazed demon-cultist were doing when I left, but there were thirty other people being sacrificed when I made my escape. I know that can’t be good.”

Wells, recovered, staggered to the table and pointed to a series of magical sigils across the map. “This is what they are trying to do. They want to build a gate straight to the door of Hell. It’ll open right in the middle of the city.”

Renwick looked at the map and noticed of the five points, only one was circled. “That’s here, isn’t it?” Finnegan nodded.

“They need this spot and one more to complete their spell. They’ll be coming for this one soon. You, Pace will have to stop them from laying claim to their final location.” The former mystic and Father Finnegan began moving around the room lifting paintings and shoving aside cabinets. Behind them were sigils, old things which made her flesh crawl, something from a time before Man, using a language preceding the Enochian runes used in demon binding.

“We have one more job for you, Renwich, Wells, said. Take her to this address. Your payment has been doubled and already in your account. No complaints. No bitching. Get it done.

Outside the church three vehicles pull up at three different points. Two men get out of each vehicle, stopping only to check the bindings on the three people in the back seats. Slamming the door, each man touches the sides of their vehicle and runes flare causing the cars to burst into flames. The roaring flames disguise the screams of the victims within. The six men step into the center of the triangle of three vehicles. They grab each other hands and are consumed by flames that shoot from each vehicle. When the flame clears, a demon twenty feet tall, with chained manacles and runic symbols etched into its bleeding flesh.

It roared. The walls of the church shake, tiles fly from the roof, doors rattle, windows explode, pre-Enochian symbols flash in response, a bell-like sound reverberates in response to the roar. Surprised, the demon gathers its chains which stretch into its home dimension and crossed the boundary from its world to ours. As the rupture closes, the chains which bound it are severed and it uses them as weapons lashing at the building.

Each strike makes the symbols grow dimmer. Each blow causes more of the church to crumble. Inside, three men, all mystics of one sort or another, make their final peace. The architect takes his pen and tube and heads to the street, drawing symbols in the air that follow him, glowing with his arcane power. Father Finnagan, carries an old wooden cross, a relic blessed three centuries ago with the blood of a saint. His belief coursing through it creates a spiritual shield before the last of the men. The former master of the mystic arts chants and channels the power of ancient gods, redirecting his very life force in sacrifice.

These men have no illusions they can defeat this creature. They only have to hold it long enough.

Renwich looked at the chains holding Jillian Pace, chains which bound her magic. “I can’t make you go. You can’t hurt me with your magic. These three men are about to die for you. Will you do this last thing they asked?” He unlocked the manacles with a simple touch of his hand.

Pace, ran out of the door and down the hall to where what looked like lightning lit the sky outside. Her voice caught in her throat as she saw the demon towering over the three men. They looked so old, so feeble, they were tiny stars trying to glow against a backdrop of towering darkness.

She gathered her power. The Darkness, the Light and the Way, the unique energy she bound together making them more powerful than their individual parts. The demon looked at her. It sensed her as the true threat.

“NO, don’t you dare!” Father Finnagan roared and charged the demon, swinging his cross like a club. Where it struck the demon a star flared and the father, defiant to the end, died. The demon was thrown back and turned its eyes to the remaining two men.

A strong hand grabbed hers. Renwich whispered. “No. If they thought you were ready, you would already be there. They brought you here to give you this.” He handed her a box covered with thaumaturgic circles. “Now, we have to go. Trust their wisdom.”

Renwich gripped her arm, almost holding her up as she watched the two men fight a losing battle. She turned her back and ran with a man she couldn’t forgive for bringing her back to a life she never wanted. As they ran to his car, they could still see the Wells and Reeves holding the demon in thrall, each in their own way.

Wells shouted out as the two of them pulled away. “You can only stop them with sacrifice! Remember that!”

The demon pulled away from the two men and ran toward the car. The architect, Reeves, stopped and drew a sigil on the ground. The archmage took the architect’s tube and revealed runic symbols on the side. He speared the sigil on the ground and both men fell to the ground. The ground where the demon stood lit up, a searchlight speared the heavens.

Tears streaming, Jillian watched as the demon turned to ash. The smell of death was everywhere.

Come Forth, the Rising Tide © Thaddeus Howze 2014. All Rights Reserved