by Matt Cole
ABODE OF THE DAMNED
By
Matt Cole
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Matt Cole on Smashwords
Abode of The Damned
Copyright © 2011 by Matt Cole
www.TalesFromTheDark.wordpress.com
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may be shared, but not duplicated and redistributed for commercial use. If you would like to gift this book to another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to gift it. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This eBook is a work of fiction. Characters and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual persons and or events are wholly coincidental.
* * * * *
Pain radiated throughout Cole’s body like the lingering kiss of high voltage.
Awareness of flesh, of pain, he was alive or so it seemed. And with this - Cole’s consciousness now emerging from the shadowy depths of nothingness - his eyelids opened reluctantly, as if weighted down. All he could see at first was a stew of colors: black, reds, oranges, and every shade of brown.
Cole lifted his head from the hard, pale earth and propped himself up on his elbows. Alive, it seemed incredible to him, but he could not recall why right away. His memories were like lost children wandering back to him in no great rush or in any particular order. Then, as his vision slowly began to clear, the memory surfaced. He had been executed, only moments ago on the gallows of Arkwood Penitentiary.
Hanged - moments ago. Cole met this perception with utter confusion and suspicion. These pains were inflicted from no hangman’s noose. Clearly his neck was not broken. No, there was still missing time and memories – if there were memories of this lost time.
Still, the memory of his execution was as real as any and could not so readily be discounted. Now, here he was, consciousness and body intact within this physical realm.
Yes, but where – what was this realm?
Cole, now able to visually discern some detail, observed the surrounding terrain to be completely barren. The hard, flat earth beneath him - dry and split open, baring many tiny fissures - stretched out to a dark and menacing mountain range far off in the distance. Above these Black mountains, a fiery red-orange horizon accentuated the range’s jagged peaks and gave way to a darker bloody-brown vaporous sky. The air was dry and devoid of any breeze. There was no vegetation of any kind.
Had he somehow escaped his execution? Perturbed, Cole struggled to answer this question even as an internal voice assured him he had not escaped it.
Cole studied his hands before him, stretching out his fingers and supinating his forearms to inspect his palms. His hands trembled mildly, yet they were his hands. And as Cole looked upon them, he realized he still wore his prison reds.
Suddenly, a monstrous roar - as if some prehistoric beast had ripped open the sky – thundered down from high above. Cole quickly rolled onto his back and searched for the demonic source – searched the dark, ominous clouds. There was something there, moving in and out of the murky cloud cover. The creature appeared to be large and black with a massive wingspan and a long neck and tail.
Again the sky trembled from the beast’s roar and Cole shuddered violently. Then, quickly came two more ferocious cries in rapid succession, as two more black winged beasts appeared overhead. The creatures moved directly above Cole, circling and criss-crossing, in and out of the bloody brown vaporous gloom.
Cole lay absolutely still, unsure if to flee - to chance drawing attention to himself, if in fact these creatures were not there for him. Then, as one of the winged beasts let out another ghastly roar, a rolling rumble emerged and grew stronger as it traveled along the earth - horses at hard gallop!
Cole turned his head to the left, his ear to the earth, still very aware of the great black creatures circling above. He could not see the horses. So, slowly he rolled onto his stomach and spied them on the horizon, approaching, the sinister mountains at their back. They were black and bunched up so he could not gage their number. Yet, as they drew nearer, Cole could see that they were a team, perhaps six, with a coach in tow. Yes, it was a carriage with two dark figures riding atop.
Risking all, Cole rose to his feet and waved his arms over his head, signaling the carriage. “Over here! Over here!” he called. The carriage responded hastening its pace for Cole.
Cole quickly surveyed the sky once more. The monstrous beasts kept their distance, albeit continued to circle overhead.
“Over here!” Cole called again. Yet, as the words left his mouth – as the carriage raced toward him – a sense of foreboding poured into him like ice water. There was now something disturbing about the dark figures atop the carriage.
Cole suddenly had an intense desire to flee, but could not move. He watched as the coach advanced, the team of black horses storming toward him. Every cell in his body cried, flee while you can! But to where? There was no sanctuary in this open ground. He could not possibly evade these horses or the beasts in the sky. Still, the desire quickly grew and Cole trembled as the carriage drew closer. Still, he denied himself his futile attempt at escape.
Very quickly the dark figures driving the carriage could be seen all too well. They appeared naked, shiny black as if horrible burned, with wiry, lean muscular bodies, so defined that every tendon and striation of their musculature could be seen. Their heads were oval and hairless with small pointed ears, large luminous round eyes, and long narrow noses. Their mouths hung open, small sharp teeth bared – their manic eyes on fire – as they charged ahead.
In that instant the carriage was upon Cole and he quickly broke to his right. He pumped his arms and legs as hard as ever and was astounded by his own speed. Still, the demonic coach quickly corrected its course and Cole felt the fiend’s carriage at his back once more – felt the labored breath of the team of beasts hauling the coach, the thunder of their hooves, and the rumble of wooden wheels.
Again Cole cut sharply, this time to the left, and as he did – looking over his shoulder – he saw the flaring nostrils and white teeth of the demonic horses, horses with no eyes, their orbits scarred over. One fiend held the reins, franticly driving the team; the other hung off the coach leaning toward Cole, ready to leap.
No!
* * * * *
Cole awoke in the back of the carriage, slumped in a corner close to the cage’s heavy iron barred door. Iron bars surrounded him on three sides. The roof and floor were wooden, the floor sparsely covered with straw. The carriage was now motionless.
A moment passed before Cole took note of the two figures who sat silently in the dark against the far wall at the other end of the cage. “Are you new? I mean, have you just arrived?” spoke a young girl from out of the darkness.
“What is this place? Where am I?” Cole responded, searching the shadows for a better view of his new companions, his head still ringing from the blows he had taken.
“So you are new,” the girl spoke again as she came forward into the light, crouching close to Cole. She appeared to be ten or eleven years of age and wore a white dress trimmed in pink. Waves of thick golden-cherry hair fell over her shoulders and framed a pale angelic face, which - splashed with amber freckles across her checks and small nose - provided a canvas for two immaculate green eyes and full rubescent lips. “How do you do? My name is Lucy Sutherland.”
Cole, wearily pulled himself into an upright seated position. “I’m Cole Sunger. What is this place?” He asked again.
“You’re,” Lucy hesitated, looked back into the darkness at her co
mpanion. “You’re-“
“Your dead, man. You have passed through Limbo and arrived in the Netherworld.” The voice was rough with age and hard living. “You are now a subject of his lordship.”
Cole stared back into the shadows for what seemed like forever, peered up at Lucy, who gave a hesitant nod. “Dead,” Cole sneered, “how?” He gripped his jumpsuit at his chest and addressed the invisible voice lurking in the dark end of the carriage. ”I am flesh and blood. I draw breath.” Cole turned to Lucy, quickly grabbed her wrist and said, “I ask you again, what is this place?”
“Release her!” At that moment, Lucy wrestled her wrist free from Cole as he loosened his grip.
Lucy’s companion came forward into the light. He was a large man in his mid fifties, perhaps, with messy, long white hair, wild wisps tucked behind his ears. A walrus style moustache accented a strong, intelligent face. He wore a disheveled black linen three piece suit; a gold pocket watch chain dangled from his vest pocket. A soiled black western double string tie hung from in his collar.
“I assure you Mr. Sunger you are quite dead. I have been here a very long time.” The man, distracted, peered through the bars of the carriage at their hideous jailers who were suddenly and savagely fucking in the dry dirt some distance away. “True, the capsule you find yourself in now has the feel and look of the body you know. But it is not your human flesh; that you left on Earth, which no doubt has been reduced to ash or lies in a box beneath the surface of some bone-yard.”
“Liar!” Cole grabbed the man by the lapel. “What is this place? What game do you play?”
Again the older gentleman peered through the bars at the demonic creatures, unalarmed by Cole’s aggression. Cole followed his gaze. The fiends, alerted by the shouting, momentarily broke from their snarling and violent thrusting and looked back at their captives – two scorched corpses with frantic, shimmering eyes and blood slick erections - but quickly fell back into their fierce sodomy.
It was then that Cole observed the charred black stumpy appendages that protruded off the medial borders of the demons’ shoulder blades. “What in Hell are those things?”
“What in Hell, indeed.” The older man looked down at the white-knuckled hand gripping his lapel and then up again into Cole’s eyes as Cole released him. “My name is Clancy Adams, Mr. Sunger. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, despite the unforgiving circumstances.” Clancy offered his hand and Cole took it.
“Our captors here are demons who have fallen out of favor with our host. See how there have been burned and their wings severed. It will take centuries for them to regenerate to their former selves. For now, their service is reduced to roaming these wastelands and collecting stray souls who have passed through.
“Souls?”
“We have a physical form in this dominion for one reason and one reason only: so that we may suffer physical pain. We may feel hunger, but never starve. We may suffer any fashion of pain and violence – no matter how severe, but never perish - only to revive to endure more agony.”
“Do you not remember your death?” Lucy asked, her tone subdued, her gaze between her feet as she now sat against one barred wall with her arms around her knees. “We all do.”
Cole turned to Lucy, who looked up to meet his eyes, anticipating an answer. “I was hanged.”
* * * * *
The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled up into the Black Mountains and along the rocky and treacherous terrain, which was comprised of lava rock, stone, sparse patches of russet foliage, and the odd petrified husk of a tree. The road they followed was narrow and at times the rock face of mountain was right up against one side of the carriage while a steep crag lay below the other. Overhead, the ever murky gory-brown sky fell into a scarlet horizon, which bleed like an open wound.
The fiends atop the carriage were curiously silent now with only the odd brief exchange in their bizarre, caustic tongue. Lucy and Clancy ignored these outbursts as they openly recounted their own stories: Lucy had poisoned her grandmother, who she had demonized as a particularly wicked woman. She had then died of fever little more than a year after the murder. Lucy acknowledged that her grandmother did not appear to share her fate and that she may not have been so very wicked after all.
Clancy could not identify any one act that had dammed him, but rather contributed his circumstance to a lifetime of unscrupulous dealings and associations. Clearly, however, he professed little regret as it was all great fun and adventure. That was up until his demise in a gambling den when he had cheated the wrong group of gentlemen.
Clancy and Lucy had been companions for years. They had now been re-captured for the eleventh time together. Each escape had been an attempt to find a portal to another dimension, rumored to be hidden in a cave in the Black Mountains. With each escape they had searched a different region of the Black Mountains for this doorway into the dimension of Lavendor. This time they had covered considerable ground as the legions of Hell were currently pre-occupied by an uprising spearheaded by a demon known as Dregan, which could very likely escalate into all out war for control of Hell.
“This place, Lavendor?” Cole asked, leaning forward, one hand on an iron bar to sturdy himself. “What do you know of it? Have others escaped through this portal?”
Clancy, admitted very little was known of Lavendor and what little was known was more legend than factual first hand account. Nonetheless, it was said Lavendor was a dimension ruled by a council of exiled gods – those deposed and or no longer worshipped. Legend had it that none who made the journey were turned away.
Yes, few others had escaped in search of this portal, who had not been returned to the bowels of Hell. And it was these escapes that fuelled Clancy and Lucy’s own ambitions. It was a thin hope, for sure. But the promise of Lavendor was hope, which had given them a purpose that supplanted the everlasting and miserable reality of Hades.
* * * * *
As the carriage descended the other side of Black Mountains, they came upon the Chambers of Sorrow: thousands and thousands of cells haphazardly cut into the mountain rock, each housing one lone wretched soul. Weaving among these chambers, the carriage was accosted by grey fleshy arms that grasped at nothing while emaciated faces pressed up between heavy iron bars cried out for leniency.
The hideous fiends driving the carriage were numb to these cries and stayed their course.
Clancy nudged Cole and gestured at one ancient shell of a soul in a cell close by as the carriage passed, an unwavering and haunting gaze in her eyes like that of a starving child. “They are the forgotten. There is nothing for them.” Cole held her stare until the carriage descended a steep switchback and her eyes sank beneath the dry amber dirt. “Nothing but time.”
Soon the carriage again wrapped around the face of the mountain side, descending along the narrow and treacherous road toward the river Acheron. Above, the sky was more and more crimson as they inched closer to Pandemonium.
“Clancy, there!” Lucy exclaimed as she pointed through the carriage bars at the mountain opposite them. A pale blue shimmering light emanated from - and hence betrayed - a cave located near a secondary peak of the mountain.
“Yes, yes” Clancy said moving closer to that side of the carriage. “Yes,” he said again studying the radiance. “Well done child. This could indeed be our portal.”
Cole studied the cave’s entrance and the azure sheen radiating from it - thought for a moment a dark figure could be discerned moving across the belly of the light.
“Remember, Clancy. Remember where it is so we know for next time,” Lucy said.
“What is the source of the light?” Cole asked.
“Perhaps the portal is open,” Lucy exclaimed, her green eyes widening.
“It may be our portal; it may not. We’ll surely find out on our next outing, Child,” Clancy said with a reassuring smile. “As for the light-“
“Gaaahg!” one fiend screeched from above as he struck the side of the carriage with a spiked flai
l.
* * * * *
As the molten river of Acheron and the golden palace, Pandemonium, came into view, a collective wailing rose from the depths of the valley – the agonizing cries of thousands. Below, these dammed were bound to stakes row upon row as far as the eye could see.
“Jesus,” Cole muttered peering down into the valley.
“What are those things moving among them?”
“Rycans, horrible things,” Lucy said, “they devour the poor souls by day-“
“By day - every day?”
“Quite right, Clancy interjected. “They are doomed to relive the same fate, a ghastly fate at that.”
“Well, remind me not to get in line for that,” Cole said shooting Lucy a smirk.
* * * * *
At the shore of the river Acheron, the charred demi-demons pulled their captives from the carriage and forced them to their knees, facing the golden fortress. There, they awaited the ferry.
Pandemonium stood far from shore, surrounded on all sides by the slow orange-black current of Acheron. Domed and gleaming amber towers stood at three corners of the original stronghold; a great rectangular edifice with a flat fortified roof deck loomed over the fourth. Between these towers laid thick walls ornamented with the likenesses of the celebrated champions of Hell. Situated behind these walls, massive in circumference, was a domed building. An opulent and spacious balcony wrapped around its upper level, which showcased immense columns. Later additions of towers and other structures - a magnificent fusion of architectural styles - adjoined the golden walls on three sides via bridged passageways. On the fourth side of Pandemonium, that which Cole and his companions now looked upon, three gated tunnel entrances lay beneath the wall accessing the molten river. Over the centre tunnel, a lesser peaked structure stood and extended outward, flying the banners of Hell. And there, before Pandenomium itself and arising from the depths of Acheron, was the golden likeness of the patriarch of all Hell. Held in its outstretched arm was the captured sword of the archangel, Michael.
Cole could see some activity: creatures above the palace, moving against the crimson sky, flying to and from this tower and that building, while others walked the terraces and causeways as if human.
