On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  “This place reminds of me of the time Oscar Wilde convinced me that there were bears in an Indian Opium den in Calcutta.” The eyes of the others went to St. Nicholas with disbelief. “He was a dirty, dirty man, but a hell of a judge as to where the best meat was.”

  Barnaby shook his head and tugged on the wooden door to the warehouse. “This is it.” He opened the door and walked inside. The others followed pensively behind him.

  The warehouse was dimly lit by cracks in the paneling trickling light through the cobwebs that hung like chandeliers from the ceiling. Broken glass from bottles glimmered among the sawdust on the floor.

  Jeremiah had seen the worst in men and had a hand in some of it, but this place was bad even for him. If cleanliness was next to godliness these people were standing smack dab in the middle of Satan’s rec room.

  The sounds of hoarse Slavic language jokes chortled from a back room of the warehouse. The twelve made their way through the obstacles of contaminated filth that burrowed up from the slats in the floor. Jeremiah ducked down behind a window that held the view of Ketty’s captors.

  He peeked over the grime covered sill and watched five burly men playing dominoes on a dilapidated card table. They laughed through cigar riddled lungs as the phlegm that escorted their guffaws landed on the tiles.

  Jeremiah turned to the others, brought a pair of fingers to his eyes then threw up five more into the air. The others looked confused at his wanting to play charades during their rescue attempt.

  “First word, five syllables? Is it a movie?” Barnaby whispered.

  “Is it Börn Náttúrunnar, by acclaimed Icelandic director Fridrik Thor Fridriksson?”

  Jeremiah looked at the Norwegian Santa Clause as if his guess were a large toad that had peed on his favorite suede jacket after a day of hiking the Appalachian Trail.

  “Star Wars?” bellowed Loman who had gotten lost in the game.

  “That has a lot less than five syllables.” Barnaby rolled his eyes as he scratched his head and queried a guess of his own, “I’ve got it! Gone with the Wind!”

  “Oh yeah, my answer was dumb; Gone with the Wind has like four words in it.” Loman felt a wave of redemption flow over him after witnessing Barnaby’s dim-witted guess.

  “Gone dot, dot, dot Wind? The dots don’t count as words.”

  “No! It’s not a movie,” Jeremiah sighed.

  “Is it a book?” Questioned Barnaby.

  “I’m not playing a game,” he said as he crawled back over to the group, “I was trying to tell you that I can see five of them.”

  “Well why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Because I didn’t want them to be alerted to our presence.”

  “I think it may be a little too late for that.” Saint Nick stood over them with a gun pointed at his temples by a rather ramshackle-looking mobster.

  “Look what I caught boys,” said the man with the gun, “I got me a sparkly snow witch man.”

  “That makes no sense,” said Santa as he sighed and shook his head in bemusement. “This the time-honored dress for Nicholas’ for the past four centuries.

  The whole red coat and black boots thing has made it so hard for the real men in my job to wear the traditional garb. And, if I have to say so myself, I pull off traditional very well.”

  “Shut up,” said the second as he waved a gun motioning them into the back room. The twelve filled the room as the other three mobsters who hadn’t gotten up sat mouths agape at the parade that ventured in.

  It was a very rare occasion when someone would dare break into their hideaway, but when the cast of Bingo Long’s Traveling All Stars did it, it was cause for perplexity.

  “Look what we’ve got here.” It was more of a question than a rejoinder posed by the one who had been deemed the leader by default. He felt he needed to amend his statement to the others who weren’t as subtle as he, plus he really wanted to know the answer. “What exactly do we have here?”

  “What we have here my friends,” said Barnaby with a furtive grin, “Is your worst nightmare.”

  “You don’t look like our mother-in-laws’; except for the one in the bedazzled house coat.” Santa Clause merely raised his eyebrows and shot them a smile. He had a photographic memory and kept a list of everyone undeserving of presents on a mental list tucked inside his brain.

  “And look at these guys!” he chuckled as he pointed at the eight men shivering along the wall.

  “They might not look tough but under their short-shorts and half shirts they’re a well-oiled killing machine.” Barnaby said as the eight made what was supposed to be fearsome faces but came across more as rouged smirks.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Scoffed the gunman.

  “Where’s Ketty!” Loman stepped up to the leader in a rush of adrenaline-fueled stupidity. Had he known what they were truly capable of he would have been situated in his routine position of curling up in a ball sobbing in the corner. But as with all good heroes he didn’t see the forest for the trees and went head on into the redwood that was the Russian Mafia.

  “Oh god, her?” said one of the kidnappers, “you want her back?”

  If Ketty had been a pain in the side of Barnaby who had dealt with the malevolence of man for millennia he pondered what she could have done to those who were merely just evil. She had a certain way about her, her womanly wiles as she called them, to burrow under the skin and set blood boiling with her sharp tongued intellect.

  Barnaby assumed that if given her way she could very easily have leveled cities and reduced rulers of empires to bed-wetting infants. She had a way about her, a way that was more bull than cow. “Yes, we want her back.” He looked for consent from the rest, “Right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jeremiah his trepidation entering the forefront of his brain.

  “Why not?” the Norwegian Saint Nicholas shrugged.

  “Yes we want her back!” Loman couldn’t understand why the others had risked their life coming into this den of iniquities to be so apprehensive about saving the woman he loved.

  “And why should we give her back to you? Who are you anyway?”

  “Well,” said Barnaby, looking at each of his companions one by one, “I’m Death, he’s a fallen angel from Hell, that, of course, is Santa Clause, and his um, well that’s a long story, let’s just call them; friends for lack of a better word, and he’s some nerd we picked up off the street when we saw him crying like a baby.”

  “Just some concerned everyday citizens,” added Jeremiah.

  The Russian Mafioso couldn’t quite understand anything that was being told to them. They stroked the stubble on their chins in a collective motion.

  They reminisced about when kidnapping lovely young women and selling them on the black market as sex slaves was an easy business; something one did on the side as a way to make a few extra bucks away from the hustle and bustle of racketeering.

  Ketty had been a headache ever since they picked her up; she hadn’t stopped complaining about anything. She was too cold or hungry, the floor was damp and the florescent light made her look fleshy. Getting rid of her was losing money, but what money she brought in would have trumped by the headaches of trying to convince someone to buy her. Plus, they were uneasy about the way the lean, rippled black men were looking at them.

  “Fine. We’ve all talked it over and you can have her back,” said the leader gesturing to one to go get her.

  “None of you said a word,” Loman said.

  “We didn’t need to. That girl’s more trouble than she’s worth and you’re all making us uncomfortable.”

  Ketty was led into the room and the black hood that covered her head was removed. She turned to the one mobster who was closer and slapped him across the face. “Let that be a lesson to you. They’ll be more where that came from if you don’t let me go.”

  “We’re letting you go.”

  “Good,” she said brushing off the cobwebs from her shirt, “Couldn’t take it could you? Being i
n the company of a strong woman.”

  “Your friends are here to take you home.”

  Ketty turned to see the twelve person rescue committee smiling. She was a little downtrodden by the fact that she needed help out of the predicament she had gotten herself into. She was a proud woman who saw the fact that people she wouldn’t let take care of her class’s pet hamster had to be called in to save her.

  “Well I’m not going. I don’t want to be saved. I’ll come to my own rescue thank you very much.” She grabbed the hood from the stony fingers of her captor and placed it over her head. She sat herself down on the floor and crossed her arms in a rigid stance.

  “Don’t be silly Ketty.” Loman reached down and grabbed her by the arm, tugging at her sleeve.

  “Loman. Remember the last time you touched me when I didn’t want to be?” Ketty’s voice slithered out from behind the mask, the words slicing his ears in a cold pitch. “Have you ever had an angry woman’s foot up your ass?”

  “I have,” volunteered Barnaby, “and I don’t recommend it.”

  Loman quickly let go of her arm and backed off a few paces from her spot. His threw hands up in the air in a defensive position to protect him from her hidden scowl.

  “Oh this is ridiculous,” Barnaby motioned to the eight men to grab the stoic Buddha. Ketty kicked and screamed as she was carried out of the room and through the warehouse. The others followed at a distance, just in case she got free. If she was going to pummel someone it may as well be the pawns in the game first.

  They headed back to the hotel where they could a get a good night’s rest before undertaking the biggest battle in the history of the universe. As they entered the room a lone solitary figure sat in the dark.

  *****

  Famine waited patiently as the others saddled their horses. She whistled an aloof little ditty while she stroked the rough scales of Princess Lollipop. “They’re very slow aren’t they,” she said in a baby voice, loud enough for the others to hear.

  She gave them an ‘awe-shucks’ grin, which was more smirk than smile, and batted her dark eyelashes. As the three others climbed aboard their steeds she gave a blood chortling whoop and took off into the hot desert night.

  Ducat held his hand to his forehead as The Three Horsemen and One Purple Dinosaur Rider of the Apocalypse climbed higher into the atmosphere. He waved a sad goodbye to the four as they galloped across the sky until they were out of sight. He walked back to the barn and called out “It’s safe to come out now.”

  Out of one of the empty stables came Onaiwu, brushing off stray pieces of hay from his vest. “Are they mad?” he said nervously.

  “I think they’ll get over it. What did you do with her horse?”

  “It’s a long story, but I have a feeling she’ll be seeing it sooner rather than later.”

  *****

  “Who in the hell are you?” Barnaby said as he flicked on the light to reveal the face of the stranger who had broken into his room.

  “I’m Actor Jonathan Frakes.”

  “As I said before, who in the hell are you?”

  “I’m Actor Jonathon Frakes. I’m here to help,” he said to the faces staring in joint confusion, “With the end of the world.”

  “Destroy or save it?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Save it.” He wrestled The Last Days vol. XII: or what to do when it finally does happen from out of his case and showed it to the group. “It’s all here in the book.”

  Jeremiah took the book from him and skimmed the pages, his eyes darting feverishly. “I thought this thing was lost?”

  “It should be.” Said St. Nick, “It’s a scam meant for small minded individuals looking for a quick fix to their egos. No offense.”

  “But I thought--” Actor Jonathan Frakes felt his heart drop down into his gut as he watched the faces of the others look at him with discernible sympathy for someone who didn’t know how pitiful he actually was.

  “No.” Said Barnaby, tapping his foot in a quietly revered indifference to the stranger. “Who are you again?”

  “Actor Jonathan Frakes.” He searched for a glimmer of recognition. “I’m kind of famous.”

  “Sure you are,” said Barnaby, placing a sympathetic hand on the actor’s shoulder. “We all love your work.”

  “You do?”

  “We have no idea who you are.”

  “I know who he is,” volunteered Loman.

  Jeremiah looked at Loman with cocked head, “Who are you?”

  “Loman. I helped you rescue Ketty.”

  “I didn’t want your help,” she said pouting in the corner, blocked from charging by the eight elves.

  “All right,” Barnaby shouted, trying to get a semblance of calm in the ocean of people that was growing by the minute. “You can stay, since you’re in the book and we haven’t been able to prove whether the book is to be taken as fact yet. If we deem it to be the real thing, you can join us. As for you.”

  He turned to Loman who was attempting to emit his best lost puppy dog face, “I don’t know how you fit into all of this. Therefore, I don’t like you and you have to leave.”

  “But--”

  “No buts; get your stuff and get out.” Barnaby put his foot down. Loman made it a lot less painful for people to let off steam, as he was a human irritant magnet.

  “I don’t have any stuff.”

  “Well that makes it easier for you to just leave.”

  Loman looked at Ketty, who was being pinned down by Longis and Julius. She would have liked to help him; she felt sorry for him in a strange way. But, she was having her own struggles as she was now covered in St. Nick’s men’s oiled bodies, causing them slither around her like greased pigs.

  He turned and left downtrodden, giving once last peek behind his shoulder in dashed hopes for a reprieve. As the door slammed shut behind him he had a sinking feeling they weren’t going to ask him back.

  Actor Jonathan Frakes took control of the room, directing his new found allies, “Let’s all get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  Barnaby, St. Nick and Jeremiah decided it best to just ignore the human with the god complex and hit the sheets. If Actor Jonathan Frakes said tomorrow was the day of reckoning it probably was. He had never steered them wrong in the past, not that they had any idea who he was.

  “You say you’re famous?” Jeremiah said to Actor Jonathan Frakes.

  “I sure am,” he said as humbly as he could muster, “Would you like to see some of my movies?” He reached back into his bag and pulled out a handful of DVDs, flashing them in the air.

  Jeremiah looked at his watch. He could sleep later; he was in the presence of greatness, a real celebrity. He had been striving for this day his entire time on earth. To finally get asked to hang out and watch movies with someone.

  *****

  Dana Plough bolted from her horizontal slumber and grabbed Satan’s arm, turning it a dark blue. “It’s time.” She said in a hushed and fevered whisper.

  “It’s time?” he said trying to navigate his brain through the dense fog of sleep.

  “It’s time.”

  They exchanged smiles and climbed out of bed. He grabbed the suitcase from the hall closet and gathered up the Insurance Agents as Juliet helped Dana Plough down the stairs. A nervous pulse went through the house as the anticipation finally made way for actuality.

  The Agents loaded into the van Satan had rented to transport his large convoy to the hospital. Juliet was about to leave when she spied Henry asleep on the sofa. He looked so peaceful, almost angelic, she thought to herself. “What should we do with him?” she asked.

  “Bring him along, he might be useful.” Replied Satan as he motioned toward the van.

  Juliet put Henry in the van and slammed the door behind her as she slipped into her seat. Satan took Dana Plough’s hand in a hopeful embrace, their fingers entwined in the joy of knowing the last nine months were about to come to fruition.

  “This is it,” he said with a serene com
posure. As the van sped off toward the hospital he turned to his new wife and smiled again. “This is going to be so cool.”

  *****

  THE DAY OF THE BIRTH

  Actor Jonathan Frakes greeted the morning sun wrapped the warm capable spooning of Guy-Williams. His eyes grew bigger with the waking realization that the reassuring cooing in his ear was that of Santa’s number one cuddler [Based on a sliding scale ranking gentleness, nail sharpness and knowing when to really get in there and knead away at the hard spots].

  Guy-Williams had always been known as the gentlest of the eight, his soft knowing hands were well renowned for their tender massages after a long, hard day. Not that Actor Jonathan Frakes was opposed to alternate lifestyles, it was just this was a little too close for his diversity acquiescence. He slowly took Guy-Williams’ hand, which was placed on his thigh, and placed it behind him as he slipped from the embrace, rolling across the floor to a safe distance.

  He was a little weirded out by the position he found himself in, but it was definitely the best state in which he’d awoken in quite some time. The knot in his left shoulder that had plagued him for years was suddenly gone. He rolled his arm around in a wide circle around his head and smiled; ‘no crunch’ he thought to himself. His joints were happily noticeably separated from their overlapping touch.

  He walked into the kitchen area of the suite and brewed a pot of coffee. He was the first to awake and was enjoying listening to the soothing sounds of snoring that came streaming in from the surrounding rooms.

  As he poured himself a cup Barnaby walked into the kitchen in a sleepy daze. He was followed by Ketty, then Jeremiah. Santa entered next, flanked by his eight. Soon the kitchen was filled with the busy laughter of early morning, as the horde of thirteen slowly awoke to face the day.

  *****

  It had been four hours since they had arrived at the hospital and Juliet was bored out of her mind. Watching a variety of women shuffle the halls in an ill-fated attempt to induce labor was like watching soccer, a lot of passing and not much scoring. She had checked Henry into the Richard M. Nixon Memorial Medical Center and Cocktail Lounge while Satan was busy filling out forms.

  Henry was currently hooked up to three IV drips, five monitors and an electroshock machine. The doctors who were treating him couldn’t agree on what was wrong with him, but they all agreed that it was bad.