Happily Never After

by Kristen Duvall

  The Door Mouse Does Death A Favor

  by Windsor Potts

  The Door Mouse did not like to be disturbed when he was bathing. It suited his temper to take his time to lather up, scrub, rinse, towel off, and then powder himself. During this particular bath, someone rang the buzzer at the front door, and the Door Mouse muttered as he dripped down the hallway. “Oh, I’ll never get the blood out of my fur at this rate.” He opened the latch, water still running down his snout, and gruffly asked, “Yes, yes, what do you want?”

  With a scythe leaned over his shoulder, Death towered above the Door Mouse’s childlike frame. He was twice the size of a full grown man, draped in a heavy, dingy, sun-faded grey hood and cloak. “Greetings, Mouse. I seem to have gotten you at a bad time. I do apologize.”

  Wiping drops of water from his whiskers, the Door Mouse waved off the apology. “Not to worry, Sir. I’m sure you catch people at more awkward times. It has been a while since I’ve seen you. How may I be of service to you, Sir?” When Death didn’t reply, the Door Mouse remembered his manners. “I’m sorry, Sir, won’t you come in?”

  Death followed the wet trail that the Door Mouse left into the kitchen. Death pulled out a chair, propped his scythe against a wall, and leaning back, placed his hands on his knees. The Door Mouse used a blue gingham kitchen towel to wipe his snout dry. “If I may ask, Sir, is it now my appointed final time to meet with you?” Holding the towel over the sink, the mouse squeezed it dry, wringing out a bloody, soapy mixture, and lay it on the counter.

  The grey cowl shook from side to side. “No, now is not your time. In fact, it is someone else’s time and that’s what I came to see you about. I noticed the bit of work you did just before your bath and I want your help in this matter.”

  Pulling out his own chair, the Door Mouse climbed into it, and stood across from Death, twitching his whiskers in a rather pleased manner. “Well, Sir, I must say I’m flattered you noticed. This village was a bit of work, but I got it all done in a day, as is my habit.”

  With a skeletal finger pointing towards the door they had entered, Death replied, “This village is a military instillation. You killed an entire army. Flattery in this case would fall short of its true mark.”

  Shrugging, the Door Mouse laced his lithe fingers together, and placed them on his fat belly as he leaned against the back of the chair. “They weren’t much of a fight. There were just so many of them. The ones in this little hideaway were the difficult ones.”

  The bone hand motioned to the structure they sat in. “This little hideaway was their last line of defense. Supposedly, they build these to prevent things like you from happening to the people inside them.”

  Tapping a knowing fur-covered claw next to his snout, the Door Mouse winked and replied, “But getting into places is what I’m good at, Sir. And killing the stuff there…” He looked at the bodies of the soldiers that littered the floor and the smiled at Death. “Well, Sir, that’s just a privilege.”

  The cowl nodded as Death rested his hands upon his knees again. “That is the level of skill I need. Also, the creatures of your original realm are not known for dying easily, which will benefit you for where I am to send you.”

  Leaning onto the table, the Door Mouse propped his head upon his hands. “Really now? And where exactly is that?”

  oo00oo

  Moving through the Tunnels always made the Door Mouse hungry. He kept a portion of dried meat in a small satchel, right beside a flask of cold tea and a very, very sharp knife. The Tunnels compressed gravity and magnetism into another force of attraction, one so strong that it not only distorted time and space, but also the Planes of Existence and Possibility. This attraction didn’t penetrate every single dimension, but it had the ability to do so, if it so chose.

  That was the secret of how the Door Mouse was able to move anywhere he liked: He was made of the stuff of the Tunnels. His birth world existed on a plane that the Tunnels all led to and the reality there was very silly indeed. Nothing was serious. Even the threat of killing someone held no weight, because no one ever really died. That’s why the Door Mouse left years ago. He grew bored of nothing ever dying. And deep down, he knew he was made to kill.

  He’d detected his victim’s scent, and moved into the Tunnel, nibbling on some dried meat. As he floated down the length of the shaft, pictures danced by his eyes. Some of them were ghosts, some of them were memories from previous lives, and some of them were phantoms of a different realm. It was a place of pain, torment, and suffering, and he did not care for those things. As his feet reached the tunnel’s end, he mumbled, “It’s not natural to torture something so.”

  He came to a very large door with some indecipherable writing above it. He walked to the door, and went to move through, but it resisted. The Door Mouse bumped his snout and grumbled, “Well, well, what a cup of tea this is.” He pulled the flask of cold tea out of his satchel and knocked on the great door before him.

  Soon the lock rattled, the hinges squealed, and a Cyclops gird in a black loincloth peered around the door’s edge. “What do you want?”

  “How come I can’t get through the door?”

  Squinting with his one great eye, the Cyclops stared at the Door Mouse and then at the great door he held open. “My Lord had this door bought from a land far away, made so that only those like us could come in. Once again, what do you want, little mouse?”

  Looking over the Cyclops’s head, the Door Mouse pointed to the door post with his free hand as he placed the flask of cold tea into his satchel. “Your sign is misspelled.”

  Stepping out, the Cyclops read the sign quietly, and then turned to face the Door Mouse. “No it isn’t. It clearly says, ‘Abandon h-‘.” His words were cut off by the gurgling sound that came out of his throat as the very, very sharp knife passed through it. The Door Mouse wiped the blood on the Cyclops’s body as he walked through the doorway, and into the bowels of Hell. He was going to kill the Devil, one way or another.

  oo00oo

  As the Door Mouse walked through the circles of Hell, the more irritated he became. He grumbled and mumbled as he descended deeper into the pits. “I can’t stand all these screams. Something needs to be done.” After continuing on for several more miles, he saw a group of small demons, jumping around a pit, tormenting the hapless souls below, attacking them with spears and whips.

  The Door Mouse twitched his whiskers briskly, and then calmed himself by stroking them before approaching one of the demons and asking, “Excuse me? What would a soul have to do to get the attention of the Devil himself?”

  The diminutive demon stood eye to eye with the Door Mouse, and then used the handle of his whip to scratch his chin as he thought. “Well, it would probably have to be a soul so obstinate and unrepentant that even one of the Lords of the Realm couldn’t handle it.”

  Nodding, the Door Mouse pulled gently at the end of his whiskers. “I see. You’re not one of these Lords of the Realm, by chance, are you?”

  After a surprised laugh, the demon replied, “What? Oh my, but no. I’m but an Imp. Not even a Squire. Above them are the Knights, the Masters, the Gallions, Bastions, Ephemerals, the Vices, and then the Lords.”

  Pulling the very, very sharp knife out of the satchel, the Door Mouse sighed. “I had a feeling it would be something like that.” With a simple swipe, he beheaded the Imp before him and then waded into the heavily armed crowd before him.

  oo00oo

  As a second Lord of the Realm lay dead at the Door Mouse’s feet, another one fled from before him. It half-run and half-flew, his bat-like wings not able to get clearance above the mounds of demonic bodies that surrounded the Door Mouse.

  Within moments, Lucifer appeared, dressed in a white robe, his hair long and dark, with beautiful white wings on his back. His face was handsome and confused. “I’m not sure who you are or why you are here, but I’m afraid you’ve made a grave mistake.”

  Pointing his very, very sharp knife at the Devil, the Door Mo
use addressed him in a less than respectful manner. “I am the Door Mouse and I’ve come to end you. And the sooner, the better. I’ve grown bored and disgusted with your realm.”

  A besmirched look crossed the Devil’s face. “So, you’re the Door Mouse. I’ve wanted you down here for some while now. In fact, it seems not long ago that I made a wager with my friend Death that he could not claim you and deliver you into my kingdom.”

  The voice of Death sounded from behind the Door Mouse. “A wager that I have delivered on. Now, friend Lucifer, I would like my bride.”

  The Door Mouse turned his gaze between Lucifer and Death. His look wasn’t one of pain or confusion, but one who sought the truth. “Sir? You sold me out? For some succubus?”

  Chiding the Door Mouse, Lucifer explained. “She’s far from a succubus. Not really a member of my realm at all. She’s an immortal whom has had the misfortune to be trapped here for some time. Death expressed an interest in me finding him a partner that could stand the test of time, so to speak. And here she comes.” A creature in a shimmering gown was brought forward, surrounded by a group of demonic denizens. The figure was definitely female, but the face had no discernible feature, not an eye, nose, or mouth. “She is akin to you in nature, born on one of the planes of the gods.”

  The boney hand of Death reached towards her as he said, “We exchanged one servant for another. And I’ll have her now.”

  The faceless figure recoiled from Death’s grip and images appeared above her head, her thoughts becoming moving pictures of her fear of her suitor. A clawed hand of a demon shoved her forward, pushing her to the ground. She fell at the feet of the Door Mouse, and as he stepped to her side, he extended his small paw.

  As she got to her knees, he whispered to her, “You really don’t want to go with him, do you?” The formless face showed no expression, but tiny images formed above her head. They were so small that only the Door Mouse in front of her could see them, and they kept showing her running away from Death. Looking around at the demons surrounding them, he whispered, “I doubt you want to stay here either.” The picture show in front of his eyes was a series of tortures being performed on her, her blank face somehow still managing to show pain. Nodding, the Door Mouse said, “I thought as much. What happens to you when you do die? Your folks have a happy hunting ground or something?”

  The images that appeared above her were so large and vivid that they superimposed themselves over the surrounding misery and darkness that was Hell. Instead of cavern walls and looming shadows, the Door Mouse was now surrounded by an Orchard with trees that bloomed not only both fruit and flowers, but leaves that changed colors as the light hit them. The wind whistled beautiful melodies as it wound through branches. There were scents that stirred deep emotions in him, deep even into his past lives, and it caused him to shutter. Then the images disappeared.

  He closed his eyes as a tear ran down his snout.

  The infernal spectators that surrounded them had been ignorant to the first images but the encompassing vision of the Orchard hit them like a wall of flame. The Devil barked angrily, “What’s going on here?”

  With unmatched speed, the Door Mouse had his very, very sharp knife at the throat of the faceless woman. “We’re renegotiating your bargain. It seems neither she or I are satisfied with being your pawns.”

  The Devil snarled. “You are a fool, Mouse. Death closed the door entered, so you can not escape my kingdom. The woman is an immortal, much like you, and your paltry blade can not harm her, so give Death his prize. Furthermore, for all that you’ve done, I’m going to make your eternity here most unpleasant, I promise you.”

  Twitching his whiskers, the Door Mouse said, “You’re wrong on two accounts. Firstly, this is no paltry blade; it’s a very, very sharp knife. From my home world. And thought she is immortal, much like me, she is not from my world.” With that, he leans forward and whispers towards the empty face, “I am, for the first time in my life, sorry for what I’m about to do.” He pulled the very, very sharp knife across her throat and then sank it into her chest.

  There was no blood. There was nothing but a great silence throughout all of Hell. Even as the Devil and Death screamed, their words were absorbed into the void of soundlessness that rang throughout the realm. Then light exploded from the woman’s body and flakes, like a thousand mirrored snowflakes, floated down. “The other thing you didn’t take into account is that I only use a door to enter. I don’t need one to leave.” And without another word, he disappeared.

  oo00oo

  In the annals of Time and Space, it is said that Death and the Devil never spoke again. Death reportedly scoured all of the realities he could to find the Door Mouse, all to no avail. The Devil sat in his kingdom, sulking for a century as he rebuilt the army the Door Mouse destroyed in less than a day.

  The Door Mouse returned home, to his original plane, as much as it pained him to do so. He sat at a table set with many places, yet he only had two companions. Both were lunatics, but they were fairly powerful and good company to him. They drank tea while the Door Mouse regularly dosed himself with a potion that wiped his memory out for lengthy periods of time. The potion made him sleep and he would dream of the Tunnels, women made of stars, the sound his knife made as he sank it into living flesh, and long, hot baths.

  Sometimes though, the potion would wear off, and he would remember. He could still see the trees in the Orchard, the colors of the leaves, and hear the sweetest music playing as the breeze moved through the branches. And he never wanted to remember that again.

  About Windsor Potts

  Windsor Potts is an alchemist, philosopher, minister, and poet. He has a collection of short stories and sayings set to release in 2014, entitled Bones in the Playground, Children at the Grave. He engages in general debauchery and hedonism, mostly in the form of smoking cigars. You can find him on Facebook as the writer, Windsor Potts.

  Wolves At The Door

  by Andrea L. Staum

  The girl stared up at the forty story high metal wall that surrounded Fortress and gave the city its name. No one remembered how thick it was and no one had seen beyond it for several generations. Not even grandmother, the oldest person she knew, could say for sure what lay beyond the structure. Even as she pressed with questions, she was repeatedly told there was nothing beyond the wall.

  “Where do the images come from?” she asked.

  Grandmother stopped a few strides away from her and turned. “Now what are you going on about?”

  “In class, they bring up pictures of what it used to be like before the wall. Where did they get those images?”

  “Databases,” replied the old woman curtly. “Now, hurry.”

  The girl continued staring at the wall. Maintenance crews had been through recently and a fresh coat of copper sealant had been applied. The lights from the nearest building reflected back, casting a soft glow over the walkway.

  She reached out to touch the wall. “Where did the databases get them from?”

  Grandmother gave an exacerbated sigh; grabbing the girl’s arm she led her away. “Someone was thoughtful enough to upload them long ago.”

  “Are you sure? Couldn’t they be of what’s really out there?”

  Grandmother shook her head. “Of course I’m sure. There is nothing beyond the wall.”

  Even with the old woman’s hurried steps, she couldn’t keep from watching the seamless wall. There were no weld marks along in. She hadn’t been allowed to walk the complete circumference because her clearance level would not allow her in some sectors, but somehow she knew there had to be a way to see if there was something out there or not.

  “Juliet! You’ll be late for class,” Grandmother scolded as they turned into the tunnel that housed the imagers. “What are they teaching today?”

  Juliet shrugged. She had skipped the past few class hours and Grandmother knew it. She had found more interesting simulations in the database and spent the time exploring them instead of the boring
classes the Educators insisted were needed. That was why the old woman insisted on taking her to the imagers, to make sure she loaded the correct program. A thought crept into her mind. “Grandmother?” she asked tentatively, knowing the woman was losing patience and was making herself late for her shift at the hospital.

  “What?”

  “If there’s nothing beyond the wall, where are my classmates from?” she asked.

  Grandmother rolled her dark eyes. “Fortress.”

  They had reached the imager bank. Several other students were strapping the image glasses on and making sure the sanitation packs were secured. Biting her lip, the girl pressed on, “But I’ve been all over and there are still nearly thirty people I’ve never seen.”

  “Different rotations,” Grandmother replied as she lifted the shield off an imager and began preparing it for her.

  “If they’re different rotations, wouldn’t they be in different classes?”

  Grandmother shook her head. “Enough of your talk, plug yourself in.” Grandmother keyed in her ID. “Looks like they have you making up your time. Best put a pack on and a diet stream too. I won’t be seeing you for nearly two days.”

  The girl grimaced but took a tube out of her shoulder pocket, hooking it to the supplement machine before stepping into the imager. “Are you sure I can’t help you at the hospital?”

  Grandmother pushed her down into the seat and started forcing the tube down her throat. “Stop it. If you don’t do the classes you might get your wish and find out what’s beyond the wall. No need for laziness in Fortress. If you can’t contribute, what’s the point of you?”