On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’re going to find a mound of soaked clothes with a sobbing grey head poking out of them; could you be a dear and fetch that for me?”

  “Anything you say boss!”

  She looked at him pensively, “Why haven’t any of you ever questioned who I am? How do you know I’m safe to trust?”

  Number Two thought about this quandary for a moment, and said, “Because no one ever comes around this place except for the Lord and Lady. Well, except for the cable guy.” He then leaned over to come face to face with Juliet and whispered secretively, “This place is creepy.”

  *****

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” said Aphrodite, pouring a bubbling green liquid into a perfume atomizer.

  “I can’t take any chances. It’s driving me crazy. I’m hanging out with a mortal in tow. I need help.” DANZ & C>500TP sniffed the wafting puffs of steam that emanated from the bottle.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This is potent stuff, my own private collection.” Aphrodite gently pushed DANZ & C>500TP’s nostrils away from the steaming smoke. “Could you hand me that Jasmine over there?”

  DANZ & C>500TP took a sprig of the jasmine and passed it to her own private mad scientist. She knew this was desperate, coming to Aphrodite for help in matters of love; but if you’ve got friends in high places, why not use them to exploit their talents?

  She watched as the bubbling green oil came to a simmer inside its ice crystal tomb. She wondered if she was blowing everything out of proportion. She wondered if she was turning into one of those women whom she despised. A little voice should have told her to forget all of this nonsense; the little voice was tied up, gagged and thrown into a deep dark hole by jealousy.

  “Now, just remember to give a small spray in the face of the person you want to fall madly in love you. Once it’s done, you have five seconds to be the only person he sees or it doesn’t take effect.”

  “Aren’t you going to give me the big speech about what dire consequences will come from messing with love? Aren’t you supposed to give an evil laugh at how you tricked me? How for eternity he will love me and no matter what I can never get rid of him. It’s the whole damned if you do thing.”

  “Honey we’re friends,” Aphrodite handed her the atomizer, “I think we both know how this is going to end.”

  *****

  Loman’s stomach felt like it was auditioning for Cirque De Soleil as he hunched over a trash can, trying desperately for his body not to reject what he had force-fed it. A drivel of saliva trickled down his lip and plopped onto a soggy newspaper as he sniveled in gastronomic torture.

  As he stood upright clutching his rolling stomach he spied the woman he had been waiting for. His body could now take reassurance that whatever damage had been done to it had all been for good. He rushed as much as a man whose insides were doing their best impression of an indicted U.S. senator avoiding an oversight committee could. “Ketty! Ketty!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, waving his arms madly through the air. “Over here. It’s Loman.”

  Ketty stopped and peered towards the shouting she heard over her shoulder. She had never been so happy to see Loman in her life. A wave of relief came over her as she knew he would be a sympathetic ear to complain to. Deep inside she knew how she treated him was wrong, but he was just so repellent that she knew she always made the right decision.

  Loman was running like he was in a field of daisies lit by a soft white-lit camera while sappy love songs played over slow motion lovers. He had gotten to about ten feet from Ketty when a dark hood was placed over her head and she was antagonistically thrown into the back of a black van.

  Loman stopped in his tracks, a Poe novel written over his face. He looked on in dismay as the van sped off in a puff of black smoke and squealing tires. He dropped to the ground, his tailbone meeting pavement that sent a shockwave up his spine. He stared agape at the spot where he had seen his beloved kidnapped.

  He rocked back and forth, whimpering; his mouth fluttering trying to speak the words that would alert someone to what had just happened. “Help?”

  *****

  “Well I guess I should go after her,” said Barnaby as he brushed off a clump of pork fried rice from his lap. “An apology is in order.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Jeremiah, “we haven’t been very good to her.”

  “I meant from her. My feelings were hurt.”

  *****

  The ranch was eerily silent. Small brown mini-tornadoes whirled across the dusty courtyard. The dirt covered everything in their path with a grainy, grimy film. Famine took off her pink cowboy hat and looked pensively around the yard.

  “I thought someone was supposed to meet us? The place looks deserted.” She kicked a horseless cart, her spurs jingled through the quad.

  “Onaiwu should be here.” Ducat scratched his head as he looked over his former home. The place had gone to hell in the three days since he left. It was a ghost town that appeared as if it had been deserted for decades. “He would never shirk his duties. He took what we did here as his life.”

  Conquest finished tying up the dinosaurs to the post near the kitchen and headed back to the others. “Apparently he was suicidal.”

  “No. He would never leave. Something’s wrong. I have to find him.” Ducat took off into the main housing unit of the ranch. War shrugged and started after him to help.

  The Death took the other direction and headed to the mess hall. Conquest decided to do a run around the outside of the ranch and Famine took a b-line for the stables.

  “This isn’t like him,” said Ducat to War as he backed out of Onaiwu’s bedroom and turned his attention down the hall. “He’s very responsible.”

  “Everything changes.” War followed Ducat down the hall, opening each door to peek in. As they walked through the empty house the floorboards creaked under their feet, amplifying the loneliness of a once bustling community.

  The Death ran his hand over the scattered rice that was strewn across the counters of the kitchen. It was a scene of reprieved desperation by someone who had slowly grown mad. The walls were clustered with crayon murals of a downward spiraling morale and archaic words that made no sense.

  Onaiwu had marked his territory by crude isographs depicting his trials and tribulations. The Death studied the drawings of a feral man and concluded that perhaps it would best if they didn’t find who they were looking for. “Wasn’t he only here for like, two days?” he wondered aloud.

  Conquest searched the outskirt of the ranch but found only tumbleweeds flowing down a river of earth. She jerked when she heard soft calculating laughter coming from thin air. She was not one whom fear took over easily, but the cold hushed cackle made the hair on her arms stand on end. She walked briskly back to the lightened courtyard trying hard to seem in control of her newly fragile emotional state.

  Famine walked into the barn and found the horses in a state of furious calm. The horses had become untamed while waiting for their owners to arrive; their heightened emotional state had taken its toll on their mindset.

  She ventured over to Fikre. The large white Arabian stood towering over her, his eyes glowing red with fire, “You’re a pretty boy aren’t you?” She stroked its mane with a brush she had picked up from off the mantel. “Conquest will be pleased.” The horse snorted and a puff of white smoke billowed from its flaring nostrils.

  “And you must be Selam? What a beautiful young lady you are.” She brushed her hand across the red coat of War’s Clydesdale. The horse nestled its head into her palm and snuggled its nose between her fingers. She patted her on the head and gave the horse a kiss.

  “Death will go crazy when he sees you.” The Pale Akhal-Teke stood regally as she examined its teeth, something she’d seen on a PBS nature show but didn’t know exactly what its purpose was.

  Her eyes went to the next stall. There her horse would be standing, ready to be ridden into battle. She hurried over and threw open the gates to
find nothing but a bed of hay. She searched the small space from floor to ceiling, even pulling back a bushel of hay to find her horse.

  Confused by the lack of a majestic black stallion in the barn she walked out to the courtyard where War, Conquest, Death and Ducat were waiting.

  “Did you find the horses?” The Death asked as she exited from the hangar. “We can’t find Onaiwu anywhere. I think he took off. Of course, Conquest believes he was transformed into the wind and is out to get us with some sort of other-worldly demonic supremacy.”

  “It’s a logical assumption,” said Conquest, not totaling believing her own rationalization of the sinister mirth she had encountered moments ago.

  “I think he stole my horse,” said Famine, sporting a pouty frown.

  “He stole the horses!” War exclaimed, “How in the hell are we supposed to do our jobs when everyone is against us? I swear I don’t know why I even do this anymore. Somebody else can usher in the end of man. I quit.”

  “He only took mine.” She pouted.

  “Oh well, that’s different. Let’s ride.” Exclaimed War.

  The Death looked to the downtrodden woman standing before him. It pained him to see her so sad. Famine had always been the emotional center of the group. She was the only one of the four who actually liked living creatures. She felt bad when a child starved to death as his mother gave up her only sustenance to keep him alive for a little while longer.

  In addition to suffering children, there wasn’t an animal that she didn’t shed a tear for when she watched their bones poke through their skin as they drew their last breath. She may have been Famine, but she was compassionate about it. To her it was just a job, to the others it was what they were. “Come on, we’ll find you another horse.” He took her by the hand and started to lead her toward the barn.

  “No, I’m okay,” she said, dropping his hand from hers.

  “But you need a horse,” said Conquest.

  “No I don’t. I have Princess Lollipop.” Famine looked to her purple dinosaur and smiled. She put her pink cowboy hat back on and leapt up on the beast’s back. “Let’s go kick humanity’s butt.”

  “Famine?” War was surprised by her anti-human rhetoric.

  “Humans stole my horse. Humans gonna pay.” She mounted Princess Lollipop, waved her hat in the air, gave a loud whoop, and took off into the night air. The others watched her silhouette across the moon then make a u-turn back to the ranch. She climbed off her dinosaur and gave an almost too embarrassed look to the others. “I guess I jumped the gun a little, didn’t I? I’ll let you guys get ready”

  *****

  Juliet sat high upon Insurance Agent Number Five’s shoulders as they bounced in the deep end of the pool. The party was rocking and as Number Eleven splashed her with chlorinated water that stung her eyes, she was having a blast. She had for the first time in her life let herself relax and have fun.

  She giggled and tossed a beach ball around to the loveable hulks. If this is what hell was like she was happy she had picked the right team to get behind.

  The smells of bar-be-cued ribs tickled her tongue as she pulled herself out of the pool and dried herself off. She collapsed in a wicker lounge chair, laughing and kicking her heels into the air.

  She had forgotten all about what she was supposed to be doing. What she was expected to be doing was taking control of the agents and whipping them into fighting shape. Dana Plough had given her explicit instructions and when Dana Plough had given them to her it was a given that she would do what she had been told.

  Juliet had every intention of doing her job when she arrived at the house, but after meeting the agents she had left her job at the front door.

  The back yard was where she wasn’t subjugated to Dana Plough’s rules and regulations. She did know in the back of her mind that when her boss returned all hell was going to be reigned down in her general direction.

  *****

  “I do,” said Dana plough standing in the middle of a field of grass that massaged her toes.

  “And do you Mr.-- er--?” The Elvis impersonator/celebrant queried, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Well let’s see, you can call me Satan, The Devil, Beelzebub, The Lord of Darkness, Purveyor of Evil, The Destroyer of Good, Mephistopheles, Lucifer, The Adversary, The Serpent--” As he continued his list Dana Plough leveled a stiff elbow into his ribs. Satan flinched and smiled at his bride to be and turned to the Elvis impersonator/celebrant, “Samuel is fine.” He said in a Spanish accent.

  “Okay?” Elvis looked at him apprehensively, “Do you, um, Samuel take this woman as your wife, to have to hold until the end of this world?”

  “Oh I would say probably a lot longer than that.” Dana Plough stared at him ferociously, her eyes burning a hole through his heart. This was her big day, and she wanted it to be perfect. If he wasn’t going to take it seriously she may have to start having second thoughts about this whole til death do you part, and then keep going thing.

  “I do,” he said solemnly. He placed a simple golden ring onto her finger and gazed deeply into her eyes. This was start of something big in his life and he was having doubts about what marriage was going to mean for his extracurricular activities.

  *****

  Jeremiah walked out onto the streets of Los Angeles, followed by Barnaby, St. Nick and his eight companions. They searched the vista looking for Ketty who had left in a huff moments ago. “She went that way.” Barnaby pointed to the right and started to journey off down the sidewalk.

  “How do you know?” The Norwegian Santa Clause had his doubts about Barnaby’s tracking expertise.

  Barnaby pointed to a man slouched over crying, holding onto his stomach. “The woman leaves a path of destruction everywhere she goes.”

  Jeremiah ran over to Loman who was whimpering quietly in the fetal position. “Where did she go?” he asked Loman.

  “Who?” Loman questioned through wet eyes.

  “The woman who hit you,” said Barnaby.

  “Nobody hit me.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of my boy,” St. Nicholas added, “We’ve all been thrown down and kicked around by women. It’s what they do.”

  “I know you,” Loman said rising from his slump and pointing to Barnaby, “You stole my girlfriend from me!”

  Barnaby shrugged and gave and an apprehensive look toward Jeremiah, “I highly doubt I’d be involved with anyone who’d date you. No offense.”

  “Ketty,” Loman said wiping the tears from his eyes.

  “You’re Ketty’s boyfriend?” Jeremiah said stunned.

  “Soon I will be.” He whimpered, whipping the snot that rolled down his nose with his sleeve.

  “Okay?” Jeremiah looked at him with disheartened pity.

  “They took her!” Screamed Loman, who didn’t understand why everyone was being so coy and nonchalant.

  “Who?” asked Barnaby.

  “I don’t know. A couple of men threw her into the back of a black van.”

  “A black van?” added Barnaby, “With a green stripe on the side and a hammer and sickle mud flaps?”

  “Yes. How did you know?” a confused Loman questioned.

  “Come on guys, we gotta go.” St. Nick said.

  “Who took her?” Loman asked, er, Santa?

  “The Russian mob.” Barnaby started walking down the road in the other direction at a brisk pace.

  “What does the Russian mob want with Ketty?” posed Jeremiah.

  “Probably selling her as a sex slave,” said Barnaby nonchalantly.

  “Sex slave!” screamed Loman, astonished by the offhanded way Barnaby tossed off Ketty’s fate.

  “Don’t worry about it. They’ll have to break a few bones and her spirit first. We’ve got plenty of time to find her.”

  “I’m going with you,” declared Loman as he ran to catch up with the rag tag group briskly moving toward the mobsters’ headquarters.

  “Whatever. Just try to keep up w
ith us.”

  “How do you know so much about the Russian Mob?” Jeremiah asked as they marched toward their destination.

  “They supply me with a surprisingly good bulk of my work.”

  *****

  Henry was sawing logs on the sofa as Dana Plough and Satan came home. They scuttled past the strange man attempting to not wake him from his slumber. They had no idea what Henry’s day had been like and that nothing would wake him from his escape from the horrors of waking life.

  They kissed in the way couples do hours after being married. Their lips united like their love would last forever. The snores that rose from under their embrace killed the mood of sexual provocations. Satan took his newly minted wife by the hand and led her up the stairs to the master bedroom.

  As they crept up the stairs trying not to bring attention to their appearance in the house they heard a noise. It was the sounds of excited playfulness seeping in from the outdoors.

  Dana Plough wanted to rush from her sexual embrace and put an end the party that she adamantly opposed. Satan’s hand squeezed harder in hers and she continued up the stairs.

  They reached the bedroom as she slowly undressed to reveal her bulging stomach that glowed in all its pregnant glory. She laid on the bed in a seductive pose and called over her betrothed with a come-hither finger.

  Satan lay beside her, their bodies curled as one. He kissed the back of her neck and down her spine. He stopped as the gentle snoring of Dana Plough filled the air. He grabbed a blanket and placed it over her as he turned on the television. He sat naked in the blue glow that enveloped the room and watched monotonous infomercials until he passed out too.

  *****

  The warehouse was set back from the street with the entrance affixed by bulky bolted doors to a darkened alley. A rat scurried from under a trashcan toward a hole in the building. Soggy papers in rusted metal trash barrels creased the alley; the stench of rotting fruit rinds filled the cramped passageway. The gang of twelve crept through the shadows of fire escapes that beat down from the towers of brick walls.

  The ground underneath grabbed the soles of their shoes with sticky claws from the trash of weeks past. A damp draftiness rushed through the alley, swooping through the unprotected shorts of St. Nick’s eight, Loman would refer to as close friends. Loman sneezed as he sent up a cloud of chalky dust into his face.