by Ray Wallace
Now Thomas almost did laugh. It was all too much. This… this… crazy man in his crazy suit telling him this crazy story. Just when he thought he’d seen and heard everything...
Ron went on: “So there are all of these unfinished universes. Some of them pretty damned close to the one in which we were born. Some of them with differences so subtle that that they cannot be discerned by the casual observer. And then this past June the twenty-first rolls around. That’s when you... and me… and them…” He gestured toward the window and the people waiting outside. “It’s when we were all pulled through. Brought here to one of God’s castoffs. To one of his mistakes. To one of the forgotten places.”
Now the man was practically hopping up and down in his excitement. Thomas could only stare in disbelief.
“You know all those stories in the Bible, in particular the ones about Lucifer and how he was cast out of Heaven? Well, they’re all true, more or less. Sure, some poetic license was taken on occasion, but the essentials are all there. Now, Lucifer and his followers, they were sent to a very special universe which God had created just for them. You would think of it as Hell. And they have been there for a very long time, completely cut off from Heaven or the universe inhabited by humankind. But these forgotten universes… They’re not so well protected. It took Lucifer and his minions a while to figure this out but if there’s one thing they’ve got, it’s time. And a purpose. A need for revenge driven by a hatred you can never truly comprehend. Once they figured out that the walls—for lack of a better term—between this universe and theirs, and then between this universe and the one humanity inhabited were not so strong… Well, that’s when they realized that it might not be impossible, after all, to one day have the revenge they so desperately longed for. But it wasn’t something they could rush into. For one thing, they had to make sure that God wasn’t watching this universe, that he had, in fact, forgotten all about it. No good would come of alerting him to the plan ahead of time. They needed to do a little experiment first. A test run. So they flexed some of their rather substantial power and had a group of people—selected through the use of some strange method that I won’t even claim to comprehend—brought here to this world. An unfinished world. A malleable world. One that could be shaped to some extent by the minds, the dreams, the memories of those who were brought here. An entire town—buildings and houses and roads and all the rest—created by the collective memory and subconscious of a group of lowly mortals. An act of God, one might say, enacted by humans, wholly unaware that they even did so. Then the torments of Hell were brought down upon them. And guess what? It all went so well that the next phase of the plan has already been set in motion. Hell will be unleashed upon God’s most beloved universe. The black dome that we have built out there ensures it. Today it all comes to fruition! Today, Hell will have its vengeance! That’s the big secret, my friend. And now, besides myself, you are the only person who knows it!”
Ron threw his arms wide like a magician who has just performed his greatest trick, what could only be described as a maniacal grin stretched across his face as he awaited the applause that was sure to follow.
“So there it is. A hell of a secret, wouldn’t you say?!”
Thomas could only stare at him for a few moments. This was too much. Finally, it was all just too much.
“You’re insane,” he said.
Ron’s grin faltered. “What?”
Thomas shrugged. “Whatever they did to you down there… after you died… before they sent you back. It obviously scrambled your brains.”
Ron dropped his arms. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“We’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?” After uttering these words, Ron turned and stomped off like a chastened little boy. Thomas heard the shop’s front door open and slam closed. Then there was silence.
Thomas took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered. Then he stood and left the room, walked outside to see what the rest of this already bizarre day might bring.
*
Ron stood before the tallest of the archways, the seventh opening with the glittering roadway leading out from its ebony maw. The demons stood in rows to either side of him, occasionally flickering in and out of existence as they tended to do. A low murmuring could be heard from the group of onlookers gathered before Ron and the black dome. A nervous energy ran throughout the crowd. Thomas stood between Tanya and Dana, holding each of them by the hand. This is it, he thought, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Any moment now they were going to see exactly what it was.
Ron raised his hands above his head, cane grasped tightly in one fist. Thomas couldn’t get over how ridiculous the man looked in his red tuxedo. Where on Earth did he find that thing? he had to wonder despite the queasy feeling settling into his stomach.
“If I may have your attention,” Ron said loud loud enough for his voice to carry out over the crowd. The murmuring died down. A deathly silence enveloped the area.
Ron said nothing for a time, looked out over those gathered before him, that weird grin once again twisting his mouth. The demons made no sound as they stood there flickering… flickering… Thomas could feel the sweat running down his back in the cloying morning heat. He tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry.
Come on, let’s get this over with.
Ron lifted his gaze to the skies above.
“Behold,” he said.
The eyes of those assembled followed his lead.
There was the cloudless sky. And there was the sun. Red. Bloated. Like something infected.
The sun started to go black.
Along the left edge of the scarlet disk a dark indentation became visible. The indentation grew rapidly, eating its way into the sun, creating a slight but noticeable crescent there. Thomas felt the cold touch of terror trace a line down his back. It’s being devoured, he told himself, quite irrationally. But irrationality had ruled his existence for too long now. It was as though the past few thousand years of human civilization, all of the knowledge that had been collected throughout those long centuries, had been stripped away leaving him floundering in the absence of scientific reasoning like some prehistoric man. He was momentarily convinced that the heavens were ruled by various gods and great beasts which harbored nothing but disdain in their immortal hearts for the pathetic creatures scurrying about the surface of the world below. People cried out around him as the crescent grew and grew until half the sun had disappeared.
Thomas heard laughter, lowered his gaze to see Ron jumping up and down like a madman, swinging his cane around and shouting, “Yes! Oh, yes!”
An eclipse, thought Thomas as he looked once again to the sky, freeing a hand to shield his eyes against the glare, as the rational, thinking part of his brain assumed control once more. What we’re witnessing is a solar eclipse.
In practically no time at all, the red sun was effectively blotted from the sky and the world was claimed by darkness. A low droning sound began to emanate from the dome. It was a voice, barely audible at first, pitched in a low key, almost inhumanly so, that gained in volume as additional voices were layered upon the first. Thick with reverberation, it gave the impression of originating at the end of a long tunnel. Or at the bottom of a deep chasm. To Thomas’s mind came the image of a demonic choir, rows of horned devils dressed in black robes, heads tilted back and open mouths lined with curved, pointed teeth as they looked upward toward the top of the unimaginably deep hole beneath the black dome.
Staring at the dome in the darkness, with that full-throated droning sound filling the still air, Thomas’s eyes were drawn to the runes. For a few brief seconds he thought he understood their meaning, was on the verge of turning to Dana and telling her the terrible message they contained when he noticed that the runes had started to glow. A dull red at first, the arcane symbols were soon beaming their patterns out into the surrounding gloom. It was
at this moment that Ron started calling out numbers.
“Ten! Fourteen! Thirty-eight! Sixty-two! Seventy! Eighty-nine!” His voice was shrill, maniacal. He couldn’t stop jumping about.
After the six numbers were announced the demons went into the crowd and dragged the people with the corresponding brands upon their arms toward the dome. Shouting erupted and there were those who tried to interfere with the demons. These people were knocked viciously to the ground or given a jolt with the spine weapons the creatures wielded. Each of those pulled from the crowd were roughly escorted to a different archway—none were led to the larger, seventh opening—and disappeared inside. Screaming could be heard, terrified and shrill, then silence. The demons emerged from the dome and Ron called out six more numbers. Another half a dozen people were dragged out of the crowd. And then the process was repeated for a third time. Quite fortunately—or did luck have anything to do with it?—Thomas, Dana and Tanya were not called. After the third round of sacrifices no one else was led to the dome. Three rounds of six, thought Thomas. Too easy to see the symbolism there. All the while the droning sound had increased in volume and perhaps marginally in pitch. It was the only sound to be heard. That and the heat and the horror at what he had just witnessed were the whole of Thomas’s world.
“Let’s do this!” Ron shouted before he himself turned and entered the dome through the largest of the seven archways.
There came another sound from the dome, the whirring and hissing and clanking of some great machine come to life. Thomas knew that sound. A couple of weeks back he had stood nearby and watched as a new lift was put into place, this one with a steam driven engine and an enclosed compartment with a door that could be latched shut. Perfect for lowering someone—if anyone wished to undertake such a journey—into the depths of the abyss. And for bringing someone up, of course. He wanted to turn and run, to shout at Tanya and Dana that they had to get away, to shout at everyone. But he knew that there would be no point in such an action. They were still trapped within this town. They would be hunted down like animals. Killed? Now that the dome was complete and their services as laborers were no longer required? Possibly. Thomas had no idea as to the extent of Ron’s control over the demons. Or how much of a friend he still considered Thomas. Besides, there was a part of him that wanted to see how everything was going to play out. See how it ended. He looked around, saw Gerald and his Reborn friends off to the left, Patricia and some of her friends to the right. None of them were fleeing. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who felt the way he did. Or maybe they were just too terrified to move.
Ron emerged from the dome looking quite solemn, even a little afraid as though the level of his responsibility in all that was taking place had set in on him. The demons exited the dome too. They all gathered near the seventh archway just as a heavy mist, about waist high, started to pour forth out of the dome’s entranceways like some stage effect at a 1980’s heavy metal concert.
The runes glowed ever more brightly. The droning sound rose in volume along with a distorted hum that made Thomas think of a powerful electrical charge. The elevator at the heart of the dome clanked and whirred, clanked and whirred…
People backed away as the fog drifted toward them. Still, no one fled. It was as though everyone was transfixed by the spectacle before them. And then, without warning, the clanking and the whirring and the humming stopped. The droning, however, went on. The sky remained dark. As Thomas watched, the demons knelt along either side of the gem-encrusted roadway leading away from the seventh archway. Fog billowed from the opening there, like dragon’s breath on an ancient, frigid day.
“Kneel!” shouted Ron. “Everyone! Kneel!”
Thomas managed to ignore the urge to run coursing through his body. Instead, he followed the command given by a lunatic in a red tuxedo, a man he had once considered his friend. Thomas knelt. All around him, people were doing the same. As he watched, a figure emerged from the fog and the black archway of the seventh opening. Like a child frightened by an imaginary monster, he wanted to close his eyes until the source of his fear went away. But he was not a child. He had not run and he would not close his eyes. Whatever came next, he would watch and he would bear witness. And if he was able he would see it all the way through to the end.
The figure became more distinct as it slowly walked out along the roadway. It had the appearance of a man. Tall, even more so than the demons kneeling at his approach. He was naked to the waist, dressed only in a pair of loose black pants and boots. Unlike the demons, his skin was not red but the white of newly fallen snow except for where it was marred along the cheeks, the chest and torso with what appeared to be a network of scars traversing the map of his flesh. Atop his head rested a crown made of some glowing, black metal, a simple ornament with a lone, blood red jewel set into the front of it. He walked with a noticeable limp, aided by a long staff, rune-carved and made of some black wood clutched tightly in his right fist. His body was lean and muscular. His hair long, black, and fine as it draped down over his broad shoulders. The face, despite the scars that marred it, was possessed of some strange, otherworldly beauty. His features were regal—high cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips—and those eyes… Twin orbs of blackness in which Thomas could see, even from where he knelt at a distance of thirty or so feet away, a cold and burning hatred for all that they beheld.
“All hail Lucifer!” shouted Ron, his voice edged with madness and epiphany, just as he fell completely prostrate on the ground at the feet of the imposing figure before him.
So here he is, thought Thomas. The most blessed of all God’s children.
The Devil.
Judging from the myriad scars that marred his flesh, it would seem that Satan’s fall from grace and his time in Hell had not been kind to him.
At the roadway’s midpoint Lucifer stopped and stared out over those kneeling before him. When those black eyes looked his way Thomas lowered his head and stared at the ground, unable to meet that gaze and the pure, unbridled malice burning there. The droning sound died away and then there was only silence as Lucifer stood there. No one made a sound. No one moved. It seemed as though the crowd gathered there held its collective breath.
Lucifer laughed, a gentle, mirthful sound that belied the rage in his eyes. Then he spoke:
“I suppose I owe you all some level of gratitude for bringing me here.” His voice was soft, almost musical, carried easily in the silence to the ears of everyone gathered there. “And I am thankful, truly I am. To demonstrate this I have decided not to kill you all, at least not right away—even though it is in my heart to do so—to murder each and every last one of you. Slowly. Terribly. It’s nothing personal, I assure you. But you must understand that the very sight of you, the very sight of this world that you inhabit, is an affront to me. In all of it I see the handiwork of my father, Dread Emperor that he is. I was to have dominion over the realm from which you were summoned, over each and every one of you. It’s why your world, your entire universe, was created in the first place. I was his favorite. It was intended as a gift to me. But when Father had finished, when he took the time to look upon what he had done, he changed his mind. ‘Something else,’ he told me. ‘Not this, though. Not this.’ I was furious. And who wouldn’t be? Tell me, who wouldn’t be?”
A touch of anger had crept into the melodious voice, the barest hint of it, more than enough to make Thomas quiver.
“I reminded him of his promise. I demanded that he keep it. And that was where I made my mistake. ‘You demand?’ he asked of me. ‘You dare?’ And so he cast me out. Me! His favorite. The most beloved and perfect of all his creations. Worse than that, he cast me down. Tore off my wings and threw me from the very edge of Heaven. I fell for what seemed a thousand years. But I didn’t fall alone. By also casting out those I held dearest, Father figured it would cause me even more suffering. And he was right, of course. He was right...
“Eventually we came to rest in a black and burning realm. No daylight. Only darkn
ess, everlasting and suffocating, driven back by the glow of the lava and the fire that coursed and erupted throughout that miserable place. There we were destined to stay until the end of time. Or until the Dread Emperor turned away, created some new plaything, some new diversion, some other universe to occupy his ancient and unfathomable musings. Only then, when he wasn’t watching, might we hope to ascend, to come here and take what revenge we could. To destroy the very realm he once loved more than anything in existence. A love I can only hope he remembers when he sees it all burning and in ruin.”
The words filled Thomas to overflowing with their passion, their anger, their hatred, and yes, their insanity. He couldn’t help himself, he wept. He could hear the sounds of weeping all around him. He wept for what had been done to this beautiful, once perfect being before him.
