Skybound Satanists

by Spark, Luc

  As he reached for the outstanding gleaming pendant the librarian woman grabbed his hand.

  “Don’t you even think about giving me that pendant, I know what you’re thinking but it’s okay you don’t have to give me something like that to say thanks” she said.

  “But how on earth did you know what I was planning to do?” asked Marcello.

  She gave out a sultry laugh and pulled him close so that their lips almost met.

  “Call it women’s intuition Marcello, we have inbuilt radars that know your every thought and move-you will do well in life to remember that, you’re a sweetheart and I know you will make for a proud vicar one that will be loved by all his congregation,” the librarian said sweetly.

  Marcello’s eyes began to well up with tears with the last comment, it touched him down deeper than anything that anyone else had ever said to him.

  “By the heavens above thank you for coming into this world, you certainly have a way with words and I can feel instinctively that you mean what you say,” Marcello said.

  “I really do that’s correct, but now like you said yourself it’s time for you to make haste-you go with my blessing, remember you’re welcome to come here anytime if you need to study… and I do mean books” said the librarian with an impish laugh.

  Marcello leaned over and gave her a lingering smooch, her eyes were so beautiful as she pierced right through his eyes with them, the kiss was intense and Marcello wished that he could hold of his vicar career a bit longer, but his consciousness quickly put him back onto the straight road of thinking, he needed this career and as soon as possible… especially if he was to achieve his goals.

  “You’re a living dream and have you ever considered modeling?” Marcello asked.

  “You’re a funny guy Marcello but don’t push your luck, about turn and get out of here… for now” the librarian replied with a satisfied snicker.

  With that Marcello walked out of the library and off into the night, it was three am and with any luck there would be no muggers out to try it on with him again, he used as big a strides as possible so he could get back to the flat as quickly as he could. Back in the flat Jürgen was laid on his bed listening to some great classical symphony by Mozart. He enjoyed all the great symphonies and most of all the ones with the slight hint of foreboding in them; he was totally oblivious to Marcello’s key turning in the front door. Marcello crept into the big flat, not wanting to rouse Jürgen, who he believed to already be in an intensely foul mood. The lovely odor of Jürgen’s tea making efforts was still apparent in the flat, Marcello walked over to the kettle, opened up the lid to check the water level and it had enough for a quick brew, he flicked on the switch and went to sit down in the living room area. After two minutes of brewing the kettle it gave out its song to signal that the brew was ready-it whistled so loud that Marcello thought the windows would shatter.

  ‘I swear to the lord above I wish that kettle would not do that, I bet Jürgen’s going to come down now and mouth off at me, why do I always forget that this device likes to scream everyone to attention-anyway perhaps we can have a conversation about our future plans-I’m curious about what he wants to do once we finish our studies… knowing his intellect he’ll no doubt become a top scientist for some evil power’ Marcello continued in thought ‘I wonder if we will ever cross paths in the future through the cause of our careers, will we ever be in a situation where we will need each other? Or perhaps have to face each other as enemies?’

  Jürgen just caught the noise of the kettle over his headphones blaring out the Mozart. He gently took off the headphones; he did not want to damage them by pulling too hard and tearing the cable. He was adamant that Marcello was back, but was not sure if he had left the front door unlocked, it had a tendency to happen and in these opportunist, times would be burglars would just walk up to doors and try them to see if they had been left unlocked. The notion of this hit Jürgen Square in the chest, he broke into a cold sweat and cautiously shuffled over to the balcony.

  “Hello is anyone there?” Jürgen whimpered.

  Marcello heard the tone in Jürgen’s voice and afforded to himself a brief chuckle.

  “Yes it’s me you heebie-jeebies recluse’ he replied.

  “You’re a bit of a pea brain really aren’t you Marcello, you know that kettle likes to shout off when it has the brew ready, why didn’t you just wait till the morning to have your drink? You’re lucky that I was still awake anyway, I was listening to Mozart something too sophisticated for you and your cronies” said Jürgen spitefully.

  The words that had flowed out of Jürgen’s mouth suddenly hit a nerve with the upcoming vicar.

  “You know what Jürgen I could tell you something that could make you a better person, a person worthy of respect and popularity instead of the recluse flappernapper you are” Marcello snapped.

  This, in turn, struck a tense nerve with Jürgen, his neck veins began to expand and his face was flushing redder and redder.

  “What did you just call me Marcello?” said Jürgen.

  “I said I could tell you something” Marcello replied.

  “No don’t sugar coat or try and work yourself out of it, you flipping bellend-you called me a recluse flappernapper didn’t you, so now let’s now see you back up your mouth,” said Jürgen angrily.

  Marcello suddenly realized what he had done, and he felt the overwhelming desire to once again open the front door and head off out. Jürgen was fixing on him a stare he had not seen him give out since Marcello had accidentally set fire to his favorite Napoleon poster. The disdain in Jürgen’s face could have made Medusa break down in tears of regret for all those folk she turned into stone.

  “I’m really sorry Jürgen I don’t know what came over me just then, you know I respect you as a flatmate and an individual,” said Marcello.

  “Don’t give me that beeswax Marcello and don’t retreat on what you were starting, have the guts to cross the finish line on this because I’m not going to back off until you apologize properly” said Jürgen.

  “But I just did apologize and I was totally sincere,” said Marcello.

  “No and no again, you have a problem with me and the way I do things haven’t you pepperoni snout?” said Jürgen.

  “Look my chum I’m not going to do this okay, we are both intelligent men so let’s act like it, we are better than this come on buddy let’s just forget what we said okay?” said Marcello.

  “You can take a long walk off a minuscule pier, Marcello, I demand to know what your problem is” Jürgen snorted.

  “Look Jürgen now you’re starting to get me vexed off, I’m leaving this argument now so you can go and argue with yourself, which I’m sure you do every night anyway sat in your room feeling sorry for yourself!” Marcello shouted.

  Jürgen started to crack his knuckles as if he was getting pepped up to rumble with his flatmate, his veins were pumping his blood harder than ever-he and Marcello were about to have a major falling out, one big enough to test the resolve of any friendship.

  The blood was pumping so hard in Jürgen’s body that he felt like a volcano about to erupt, the classical music which had kept him relaxed earlier on now seemed a million miles away as he began to rotate his neck to loosen it for the impending tussle.

  Marcello was in a state of confusion, that last thing he wanted to do was get into a scrap with someone he was living with, but his heart was beating faster than he had ever felt before, his flatmate was giving off a very hostile aura and Marcello knew that he had pushed Jürgen too far on this and now blood was going to be spilt, who’s was anyone’s guess. Jürgen made a swift and macho lunge forward and pulled back his arm to land the first punch. Marcello just managed to bob his head out of the way and was surprised at the velocity of the intended hit. Jürgen was now coming for him at full speed, he looked like a man possessed by demons as he began to flail his arms all about to get at Marcello.

  “I’m going to make you pay for disrespecting me Marcel
lo, you will learn tonight of the real me!” shouted Jürgen.

  That was enough for Marcello, despite the knowledge he had contained in his brain that it was him who had started this dispute, Marcello could not hold his own rage any longer and began to let instinct take over the course of events. He waited for another Jürgen swing and with that grabbed his skinny arms and pulled hard so that something gave a crack.

  “Aargh you total knobhead you have just disjointed my elbow!” screamed Jürgen.

  Jürgen launched into another high-speed assault aiming for Marcello’s nose, he managed to connect with a rather meaty shot which forced Marcello’s nose to produce blood from the nostrils. This increased Marcello’s rage meter to maximum and with that he felt like his virtual hit points might increase too, the anger holding back sensations of pain. The wannabe vicar ran into the kitchen to grab what he could as a makeshift weapon, diplomacy was not going to work here; Jürgen was not going to listen to reason for some time yet. As he ran for the kitchen he could hear Jürgen behind him moaning in excruciating agony from his disjointed elbow. A few pots and pans were hung on the wall over the cooker, Marcello made a reach for the nearest one, it was a fine piece of craftsmanship which the pair of them had imported from Taiwan, in simple terms it was not designed to be used to clobber someone but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Marcello unhooked the pan and made a firm grip around its finely manufactured handle; he swiveled around and headed in the direction of the still downed and moaning Jürgen. He could see that tears were streaming down the side of Jürgen’s face; the pain must be too much for him to bear. Like searing hot and sharp knives in his skull Jürgen could barely focus properly due to the overpowering adrenaline that had flooded his body, he was starting to panic internally that he might be going blind and although this was not the case, Jürgen was very much the drama queen and always had a tendency to make a mountain out of a mole hill. Marcello had a momentary relapse in his own developed anger, probably due to the sight of Jürgen sprawled out in front of him, but he shook this sympathy off as a bad thing because at this point in time Jürgen had been a total troglodyte in causing the situation in the first place.

  Marcello raised the pan above his head and brought it down on Jürgen’s conk, the noise the impact made resonated through the entire flat.

  “Jesus Christ on a bike!” screamed Jürgen his head swelling up like a balloon.

  Suddenly Marcello realized what he had just done, the enormity of it and the sheer surprise in himself that he could deliver such a mighty blow.

  The pan handle had bent with the force of the strike, and what was once a fine piece of craftsmanship was now reduced to the appearance of any run of the mill household appliance used in domestic violence situations. Essentially Marcello had knackered it true and proper. Coupled with the fact he was no carpenter or metal worker, the chances of him fixing the damage was minuscule. Marcello lowered the pan to the floor where it made a tense clunking noise; he was shaking with all the emotional effort and physical strain of the past few minutes. It has been well documented that the average person can only fight for a couple of minutes before running out of brawl gas.

  Jürgen was rolling around on the floor trying to get a hold of the intense pain surrounding his head-blood was seeping through his fingers, thick globules of it running down the sides of his hands like a blood waterfall.

  “You have really done a job on me, Marcello, I’m truly injured here, I would never have imagined you being so tough” murmured Jürgen.

  “Look Jürgen I’m sorry that it went so far, we both lost our tempers like a couple of school kids, I’m equally as shocked and confused as you are, I have never flown into a rage like that before, even throughout all the years at school when I would get bullied for my dinner money” said Marcello.

  Marcello walked over to Jürgen and picked him up, the effort to do said act caused Marcello to grimace. He led Jürgen over to the kitchen table and sat him down in the ornate chair they both had chipped in to purchase. They both were great lovers of art and objects that looked more valuable than they are. Essentially they were snobs of the highest order-although neither would care to admit to it. As Jürgen slumped down into the grandness of the majestic bum throne, he let out a rather potent and distinct sounding round of flatulence. This caused him to smirk uncontrollably and momentarily forget the mess that was his face. His knuckles had returned to their regular and nominal color of pink. Marcello had to recoil from the stinky cloud of bottom gas that had been manufactured, his nostrils protested to his senses that he was smelling a foul odor that had to be displaced and sharpish.

  ‘Heavens above the clouds in the sky, I must dispel this nastiness!’ Marcello thought to himself in a hasty fashion.

  He shimmied off to the kitchen cupboard and opened up the lower drawer which contained all the house cleaning products they had, bleach and various air fresheners were inside by the truck load. He made a play for his favorite freshener, the one which smelt of morning dew in the most glorious of Bavarian fields. Inside his head, his brain was just starting to get a grip on what had unfolded, he felt a deep shame for what he had done to his flatmate and felt obliged to offer some level of apology to Jürgen.

  “I’m truly and most unreservedly sorry for knocking ten bells out of you, and for the record, I was out of line calling you a recluse flappernapper, I take back that statement and feel like I should do something for you to show my regret,” he said softly.

  Jürgen looked up at his ambitious god fearing flatmate, and a single tear rolled down his bloodied left cheek-he swallowed hard as not to lose any further composure.

  “I’ll tell you what Marcello how about you put the kettle on a make us a pot of tea, you know the type I like and let us sit together so I can explain to you what my ambitions are, then perhaps we can finally understand our respective selves” replied Jürgen swiftly.

  “That sounds like a plan and half to me Jürgen, also let me get you some ice for the swelling and some gauze for the blood, it’s time for me to play male nurse as well as tea boy, then like you said we can have a proper chat as men and sort out what’s going on in our lives and what the future holds for us, let’s become a team if only for the remainder of our tenancy” Marcello said. Now the two intellectuals had decided to let bygones be bygones it was time for the melding of two genius level minds…at least until their university courses finished and tenancy’s had expired .

  Vampire Training Camp, 25 Miles north of Bucharest 1460

  Viorel stepped up the long sloping ramp that led to the entrance of the brilliant and Gothic training ground. The rain had been bucketing down all night, his feet were soaked through but it did not bother him like it would a human. Standing on either side of the enormous thirty-foot doors were two imposing guards. They had a look on their faces that said plain enough-anyone who wants to get in better prove they have a good reason. They were armed up with a couple of halberds and serrated knives. The halberd blades seemed to have some charge running through them; one looked to be like lightning and the other a green flash. Both guards had long flowing hair under their steel helms. Dretore walked up to the guards and handed over a piece of parchment. The shorter of the guards took it and unfolded it with sturdy and powerful fingers. The taller guard kept his gaze fixed on Viorel, his eyes black as the night made the sinister atmosphere the more prominent. The taller guard handed back the rolled parchment to Dretore, his clawed hands looking whiter than Arctic snow. Dretore made the come forwards gesture to Viorel; with this, the huge doors began to slowly open with a loud thunderous sound. The rain was beginning to let up to a light drizzle almost as if to signify that something was about to happen. Once inside the compound they were greeted by what Viorel guessed must be the owner.

  “My dear sir’s welcome to camp Frică, my name is David it is an honor to accommodate you for the next week,” said the owner.

  “David the honor is ours you have a most resplendent camp a
nd you know that the vampire society holds much respect for your establishment” replied Dretore.

  “Well, I don’t doubt that my friend and over the course of the week you will witness first hand why your friends like to use this place,” said David.

  “I’m sure we will, this here is Viorel a recently made vampire and a young fellow with a stout heart, I’m sure he will enjoy what you have in stock for him” quipped Dretore.

  “Oh are you not going to be partaking of some training yourself Dretore?” asked David.

  “I’m afraid not at this point in time David, there are many goings on around Bucharest at the moment so I need to get back to Ivan and my team, I’m just here to deliver Viorel and for a quick shot of your famous blood wine,” said Dretore.

  “Oh very well Dretore but I’ll be marking you down for some extra bow and arrow practice the next time you’re here, I have noticed in battle your arrows have been hitting bodies slightly below the belly, but for now come to the cellar beneath the assembly point, the new brewing methods I have been using will work wonders on your palate, and I’ll send you the bill via carrier pigeon” David mused.

  “One small point to make before we head off and be merry-why did you tell me your name when we have known each other for decades?” asked Dretore.

  “Don’t worry Dretore the wine has not rotted my brain cells out, I just do that out of habit-customer relations I think some folk call it, I read it on one of my own books which I can’t remember writing… just joking of course” replied David.

  “Oh naturally David naturally, and for the record, that point of impact for my arrows is totally deliberate, I like to castrate men with my arrows as well as kill them” laughed Dretore.