by E. B. Huffer
She called out again: "Who's there?"
Margie thought she could hear something other than the scratching. A muffled sound. Shouting perhaps. Or moaning. And then something in the ice caught her eye. What was that? She moved closer, her eyes flickering and blinking until they finally came into focus ...
Shocked at what she saw, Margie shrieked and threw herself backwards, landing in a heap on the floor.
Now she could see that the ice surrounding her was filled with bodies. Contorted bodies of men and women with anguished faces; their tired, terrified and tortured eyes all boring into Margie's, pleading for help. Hundreds of bodies of all shapes and sizes hung suspended in the ice, as though thrown into a lake that instantly froze capturing their moment of death in a gruesome three dimensional snapshot. Only these people weren't dead. The pain in their eyes was very much alive and the scratching was a futile bid to escape their torturous prison.
Margie scrambled to her feet in a bid to make a run for it. But before she could take even take one step, a hand broke through the ice wall behind her and grabbed her by the neck. Margie writhed in pain, her feet barely touching the ground. She dug her nails into the hand but the hand, which belonged to an angry looking business man, squeezed relentlessly until Margie blacked out.
The Menagerie
When Margie woke up, she found herself lying on a cold damp floor. The smell of urine soaked straw, rotting meat and faeces burning the inside of her nostrils like sal volatile. What was left of her tattered clothes had been replaced by a large, bristled animal-skin coat. Margie slowly, tentatively sat up and looked around. What she saw took her breath away.
She was in a vast stone room. An exquisitely vaulted ceiling towered above her and every inch of the walls was richly decorated with statues, sculptures and carvings. It would, thought Margie, have been beautiful were it not for the foul stench that assaulted her olfactory sense.
As Margie's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed that set back into the walls were thousands of small recesses that had been fashioned into cages of all sizes. The cages were dark, but Margie could just make out an assortment of unusual looking creatures contained within them.
"Welcome," said a quiet, raspy voice. "I do hope the ice people weren't botherin' you none. I just thought you might like to see some of your handiwork."
Margie scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting all around her. "Who's there?" she cried out.
An elderly gentleman with a wide smile and a well worn cowboy hat, stepped out from behind one of the pillars.
"We've been expecting y'all," he said, raising an eyebrow at what he saw.
"Really?" said Margie, not sure whether to feel excited or afraid.
The man stepped forward and observed Margie as one might examine cattle. "You're somewhat of a disappointment, it has to be said. We were expecting something quite different. Something a little bigger. Dare I say scarier?"
Margie could see now that the man had crooked, discoloured teeth and dirty overgrown fingernails. An ordinary looking man, this clearly wasn't the person she was looking for in the Darkest of All Places.
"And so was I," she replied testily.
The old man continued his observations seemingly oblivious to Margie's irritation.
"You're nothing but a child."
"And you're nothing but an old man."
"Well," he said, eventually stepping back, "there's no doubt about it; you are the foundling. It's just a shame you've come empty handed." The man's unremitting, unchanging smile made Margie feel uneasy. "Never mind, we're in no hurry."
"Well, actually I am ..." replied Margie.
"Come, come now," interrupted the man, "that ain't no way to talk to an old man that saved you from those ice folks."
"I'm sorry. It's just I ..."
"I ... I ... I ..." he barked. "Is it always all about you? And what if I told you that I was the biggest toad in this pond?"
Margie opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.
The old man stepped forward and held out his hand. "Let's start again little girl. Your name?"
"Margie," said Margie, shaking the old man's hand weakly.
"Margie, huh?" he said. "Well then Margie, you can call me Sam. I'm the caretaker round here."
"What is this place?" asked Margie.
"It's a museum," he replied, his wide eyes twinkling even more crazily than before. "Would you like me to show you round?"
"I'd love to, but I ..."
The old man's eyes flashed with anger. "But what?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he pulled a retractable walking stick out of his pocket and walked briskly away from her. As he reached the first cage he turned and motioned for Margie to join him.
Margie hesitated. She wanted to finish her journey to the Darkest of All Places, rid herself of The Big Invisible then head back home. She wished she could just turn and walk away but there was something about the old man that frightened her. She couldn't put her finger on it. She tutted quietly and shuffled forward, the animal skin coat heavy on her shoulders.
For the next few hours, Margie was taken on a seemingly endless tour of the old man's museum. The cages stretched from floor to ceiling and from one end of the colossal room to the other. There were even cages dug into the ground, whilst others were suspended from the ceiling by long heavy chains.
All manner of hideous looking creatures filled them. There were those that resembled huge ugly birds with wide leathery wings. And those that looked like skeletons with glowing red eyes. Some looked like giant crows with the heads of men. And others looked like deep sea creatures with great bulbous eyes and razor sharp teeth. There were those that looked like decomposing corpses and those that looked like snakes and dragons and hideous bearded goats with horns and claws.
"Is that a Malignant?" said Margie spotting a familiar looking creature. A strange mixture of excitement and sorrow coursed through her.
"Well blow me," replied Sam, his crazy eyes wider by the minute. "It sure is. You're a dark little horse now ain't you."
"Why do you keep all these creatures?" said Margie.
"We're both collectors, you and me. You collect stories and I collect these," replied Sam matter-of-factly. "It gets mighty lonesome down here. These are my pets. They keep me company."
"They don't look like pets," said Margie. "They don't look very friendly at all."
"They're not meant to be nice. They're the worst of the worst; the darkest of all dark things," he continued. "Hellhounds, Hydras, Incubus, Jikininki ... you name it. Most of them could disembowel you with one bite."
"Nice," said Margie scratching her cheek.
"Look! Look at this one," shouted Sam excitedly. He pointed to a cage that contained a colossal, hump-back demon with a tiny featureless head except for one small mouth lined with small sharp teeth and three forked tongues. The creature's skin was raw and bleeding.
"It wasn't too happy when I borrowed its coat this morning. As mad as a ragin' hornet if truth be told. Took a while to rip it off too; put up quite a struggle, didn't you!"
As soon as Margie realised what Sam was telling her, she let out a scream of shock and attempted to rip the coat off her back. But it wouldn't budge. It was like it was part of her own flesh.
"Now, now you ungrateful little thing," glowered Sam.
A heavy shiver went down Margie's spine. She swallowed hard. "It's been really lovely meeting all your pets," she stammered, "but I really have to go; I'm looking for The Darkest of the Dark."
"Is that what they call me these days?" said Sam with a theatrical sigh. "I do hate what people say about me. I'm a nice guy. I don't feel things the way other folks do, that's all. Stuff makes me angry. Doesn't make me a bad person though."
"I'm sorry," said Margie shaking her head in disbelief, "are you really The Darkest of the Dark?"
A small troll-like creature reached one of its arms out of a nearby cage and tried to grab Margie's hand. Without missing a beat,
Sam ripped its arm off and thrust it into his mouth. Margie's hands flew up to her mouth as she tried hard to hide her disgust. She couldn't bring herself to look at the screaming limbless creature.
"I am he," replied Sam, chewing the meat noisily. "Can I offer you anything to eat?"
"No ... no thank you," she replied, unable to mask the tremble in her voice.
All of a sudden, the meat fell out of Sam's mouth. He stared at something behind Margie with an expression of both fear and awe. Margie turned cautiously but could see nothing.
"What is it?" she asked. But The Darkest of the Dark remained frozen to the spot, studying whatever it was, his mouth gaping.
"It's here," he breathed excitedly. "The beast is here."
Once again, Margie spun around. "What beast?" she cried, bewildered. "Where is it? I don't see anything."
Sam took a couple of faltering steps towards Margie. "The Big Invisible. It's the most magnificent thing I have ever seen." His eyes were wide and manic, like a hungry animal that had locked onto its prey.
For the first time since she'd arrived in The Darkest of All Places Margie felt truly afraid. She could see something moving beneath the surface of Sam's skin; like something was writhing and churning inside his body. She watched him intently as he watched her, and wondered what it was that he could see inside of her.
"I'm intrigued," he said, not moving his eyes from the spot behind Margie for even a second, "how someone as insignificant as you could create something so diabolically brilliant. I congratulate you on your achievement."
"Whatever it is," declared Margie. "I don't want it. You can have it. I just want to go home."
The Darkest of the Dark looked at Margie and laughed. "If only it was that simple. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. Only one person could have achieved what you did in a lifetime. Why would I let you go?"
"I'm not the Collector, if that's what you think."
"Then tell me how a mere mortal would attract more than four billion souls to them, like flies to shit," he hissed.
Margie shook her head and frowned. "I really don't know what you mean."
"While you lived your mortal life, every person that died was drawn to you, weighted down by their Stories, unable to move on. Why would they come to you if you weren't the Collector?"
"I don't know," she cried.
"But you ignored them," he laughed. "You hated them. Think about it, Margie May Langley. Four billion dead people growing more and more frightened, angry and frustrated. Four billion." He started counting on his fingers and gave up after seven, grinning an only joking grin. "Their anger and your anger came together and created something bigger and better than all of you."
Margie recalled the voices that had hounded her. Thousands upon thousands of voices that gnawed at her brain every minute of every hour of every day. She remembered her battle to get through each and every day trying to ignore them; and losing fragments of sanity with every year that passed. Was it possible? Was it really possible that people were right about her?
"That beast you created; the monster you carry on your back is a monster of your own making," said The Darkest of All Things. "It's the love child between you and four billion extremely irate people."
"I didn't create anything. It's an illness, a virus."
"The Big Invisible is more than an illness," snapped The Darkest of All Things his eyes flashing angrily. "It's a beast unlike anything I have ever seen before."
A little bit of saliva frothed up in the corner of his mouth as he described The Big Invisible like a great black wolf. "Only it isn't made of flesh and blood," he said, "it's made of the darkest matter. It's like a black hole; so dense, so dark that nothing can escape. Never. Not even heat. Why do you think your back is so cold?"
"Ain't never seen anything like that in Limbuss before," he continued, still transfixed. "It's the work of a genius."
"If it's so powerful then why has it not consumed me?"
"Impossible, "he said, eating something that looked like a piece of kidney ... or a foot. "It's attached to you by the silver cord. The life cord. How do you think it can do the things it does in one place while you are in another; why sometimes you feel its presence and other times you don't. You and The Big Invisible are one. If I destroy you, then The Big Invisible is also destroyed."
"Do it," cried Margie angrily. "Just do it!"
"The problem is," said The Darkest of All Things dryly, "I don't particularly want to. Do you really think I would let anyone destroy the most magnificent thing that has ever existed? It's a marvel. It will be the centrepiece of my collection. I want it. It's just a shame that you come as part of the deal."
Margie sank down to the floor, her legs suddenly too weak to carry her weight. A tear dropped off the end of her nose. "What did you mean when you said you wanted me to see my handiwork?"
"Where do you think all the ice people came from? With no one to collect their stories, all those people were unable to move on and ended up in Limbuss instead. It was like a plague. A swarm of locusts. So many of them. I did Limbuss a favour by collecting some of them. Took me a while to figure out what to do with them all; they take up a lot of space."
"Are they part of your museum?" asked Margie.
The Darkest of All Things snorted.
"Why do you keep them here then?"
"Why not?" he replied, the smile still pinned to his face.
"Do you have to keep them imprisoned in the ice?" she asked, recalling the terror and pain she had witnessed.
"It keeps them fresh!"
A long silence followed and then The Darkest of All Things crouched down and muttered something quietly into Margie's ear: "My pets have to eat something."
"That's awful!" yelled Margie, pushing The Darkest of All Things away. "You're horrible! I hate you!"
"Is it? Is it really? Am I? Do you?" cried The Darkest of All Things derisively. "I really didn't know." Very quickly something caught his eye. He seemed very excited. "Look! Look at this one ... it's one of my favourites."
He rushed towards a cage that contained a bony human-shaped creature with clawed hands and red eyes. "Spring Heeled Jack," said The Darkest of All Things. "Watch this." Using his stick, he proceeded to poke the tormented creature which leapt about violently and noisily in its cage. Startled by the sudden disturbance, a few other demons nearby started making an almighty racket. Very quickly every other demon in the museum had joined in too. Like a meteorite hurtling towards her, the noise grew so loud that Margie couldn't even hear herself think over the ghastly hullaballoo of shouts, howls and screams.
Pressing her hands tightly over her ears, Margie screamed so loudly for them to stop that her throat stung.
The noise stopped instantly.
"You're not enjoying it?" asked The Darkest of All Things. He looked disappointed.
"I am," said Margie, with an uneasy smile.
"You're not," he insisted, his mood suddenly becoming darker. "I know why you're here. You're here because you want to destroy the beast you carry; you want to destroy The Big Invisible."
Margie suddenly felt hopeless. She already knew it wasn't going to happen. The Darkest of All Things would never allow it to be destroyed, he'd already made that clear. Her journey had been in vain. She would never be free of this frozen curse that was slowly destroying her. Tears tumbled down her cheek.
"Do you have to do that?" said The Darkest of All Things suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "It's very upsetting for the animals."
"I shan't stop!" she replied angrily.
"Then I shall have to bid you adieu," said the Darkest of All Things. He tipped his hat then turned and walked away stiffly. "I reckon there's just about time for a quick Kansas sheep dip before feeding time at the zoo."
"What about me?" cried Margie.
The Darkest of All Things stopped and turned. "What about you?"
"What am I supposed to do?"
No sooner had the words fallen out of her mout
h than The Darkest of All Things stretched out his arm and, without even touching her, lifted her by her arm until she was suspended several feet off the floor. For a terrifying moment Margie hung in mid air, writhing and wriggling.
"You are a feisty little thing now aren't you. We'll have to rein in some of them ruinatious ways if you're to stay."
The Darkest of All Things then threw her into an empty cage which slammed shut with a deafening clatter.
"Enjoy your flea trap," said the Darkest of All Things, walking slowly away. "You can stay in there until I decide what to do with you."
Margie couldn't sleep as she lay curled up in her tiny cage. She had no choice but to listen to the vile banter being bandied about by the demons and creatures; most of whom would have been bitter enemies were they not comrades in adversity. Some of them spoke in tongues Margie didn't understand. Mostly, however, they spoke the same language. And it came as no surprise to her that she was the main topic of conversation that night.
"The Dark One said she was the Collector," hissed one.
"She's no more the Collector than I am the Darkest of All Things," growled another.
"Do you see the beast that sits upon her back? It will kill us all," grunted a third.
"It's sleeping. We're safe for now," said the first.
"The beast will die if the girl dies," said the second. "She needs to be destroyed."
"Everybody wants her dead," whispered a fourth voice. "She's got a price on her head."
"Shut up," snarled a woman's voice, so close to Margie that it could have been in the same cage.
The other voices became angry and the banter became just a cacophony of sound as everyone tried to get their own opinion heard. Margie tried to block out the noise but it was impossible. Every sound, big or small, echoed torturously in the huge empty room.
The distant sound of a large door slamming silenced the rabble instantly.
Moments later, the voice that told everyone to shut up spoke to Margie: "Come to the front and let me see you."
"Leave me alone," muttered Margie.
"Yea," rasped a voice from above her. "Leave her alone you old hag,"
