Enigmatic Shorts/Snippets

[enigmaticant]

Bedeviled, Beffuddled, Berated

Cloven feet. Curved horns. Red skin. A demon lay bound on the cottage floor glaring at its two captors. The ropes that bound it shone with white, holy light, leaving it with little hope of escape. Despite its dire situation, the demon did not despair, demons never did. Their emotions were only ever really somewhere on a spectrum between furious, and violently elated. Understandably, this demon was currently at the furious end of the spectrum.

"DAMNED WHORESONS! I'LL DRAG YOU TO HELL MYSELF AND FEED YOU YOUR OWN, DIRTY MOTHERS. I'M SURE THE FILTHY LITTLE SLUTS ARE ROTTING IN HELL! BASTARD SPAWN! DISGUSTING FILTH—"

"—I don't think today would be a good day for cannibalism," interrupted the man bound next to the demon, "It's scorching hot outside, and that's no good for a heavy meal." In contrast to the angry demon, he was smiling, jovial even. His lips stretched into a tight, but natural seeming smile during all of his arrest and that of his demonic… accomplice? Co-conspirator? Buddy?

"YOU!" it screamed, "AVERY YOU TRAITOR! YOU PROMISED TO GIVE ME A FOOTHOLD FOR HELL IN THIS WORLD! LIAR! FIEND! I'LL GRIND YOU INTO PASTE YOU LOUSY—"

"—Don't be silly, you're both the fiend and the liar here. Need I remind you about the cat-eating incident?" deflected Avery.

"I SPEAK ONLY THE ROTTEN, VICIOUS TRUTH AND I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT—GRRR!" The demon screamed as one of its two captors poked him with his staff. The blessed wood dug in, white streaks spreading from the wound and making it thrash in agony. Afterwards, all was silent for a brief moment before the demon started growling and snarling. It was as quiet as could be expected of a demon. Quiet was another thing demons didn't really do.

"Thanks, Rob, I couldn't hear anything over all that cursing," said the taller of the two. A tall man dressed in a white police uniform, his staff held in one arm and a police radio in the other.

"You're welcome, Damian, Besides, we need the damn thing to be quiet if we want to get anything out of this guy," replied Rob.

"He has a name, you know? It's He Who Flays The Just And Crushes The Benevolent Amongst Others Not Explicitly Stated."

"DO NOT FORGET MY TITLES!"

"Oh, yes. Torturer of hell, Winner of the 3rd bi-millenial bone crushing championship, and Director of the infernal association for the betterment of torture techniques in the field of defenestration."

The officers stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. You see, demons didn't usually do introductions to… anyone really. Unless it was to their implements of torture. They were very keen on those.

"I understand your doubts," continued the man, "I was surprised by that last one too, but he really is quite a competent administrator—talented even."

"Right… How about you tell us why you were working with this damn thing instead of fleeing for the hills. I think this might actually be a first," asked Rob, incredulous.
Avery's smile dropped a little at the question.

"Society fucked me over and ruined my life. So I figured the social contract wasn't worth the hypothetical paper it's written on, since the rest of you weren't holding up your end of the bargain. If you can't play fair, then I don't see how you can possibly complain about getting some mud slung at you. Or demons, as the case may be."

The officer's facial expression seemed heavily disbelieving, as if someone had told them that Santa had been real all along and it was actually a reverse-ruse all the while. It was in no way clear whether it was the vagueness of the explanation, the line of logic, or just the sheer absurdity of someone seeking redress via demon that had caused it.

"PERFECTLY NORMAL CONTRACT LAW," added the helpful hellish bureaucrat on seeing their confused faces, "PERHAPS I SHOULD I MAKE YOU BUFFOONS STUDY LAW? AND THEN THROW YOU OUT OF A WINDOW AND INTO A PIT WITH AS MANY FLESH EATING WORMS AS THE NUMBER OF QUESTIONS YOU MISS ON THE FINAL EXAM? HMMM… WORTH CONSIDERING…"

The demon worked itself into a bit of a stupor, muttering and shifting its head about as if deep in thought.

"He gets like that sometimes. It's a good thing it makes him less violent, otherwise he might've killed me by now. Demons are usually very violent, you know?"

"How has it not killed you yet? How long has this been going on for?" Asked Damian, genuinely curious.

"A few years. And you'd be surprised at how well you can work with him if you just accept the inevitability of ever-lasting torment, and of course, forgive a severed toe or two along the way! By the way, there's some tea in one of my cupboards. Help yourselves, we'll be here for a while."

"No need," answered Rob, "The paddy wagon for demons will get here soon, and then you two will be on your merry way to lifelong and/or eternal imprisonment, respectively."

He, Torturer of hell, was not at all pleased with the reminder, and went straight back to cursing, seemingly no longer cowed.

"WHELP, SCOUNDREL, FUCKWIT, FOOL, SCUM OF THE EARTH BORN FROM A GODDAMN, THRICE BEATEN WHORE! I'LL FLAY YOU FROM HEAD TO TOE! THIS ISN'T OVER!"

"He Who Flays The Just And Crushes The Benevolent Amongst Others Not Explicitly Stated,Torturer of hell, Winner of the 3rd bi-millenial bone crushing championship, and Director of the infernal association for the betterment of torture techniques in the field of defenestration is completely correct—I AM?—We still have two hours left on our trip!"

This put the officers on guard.

"Trip to where?"

"Just look out the window! Don't be shy!"

They looked at the windows, watching, searching for any clue about what was going on. Rob drew his gun, just in case.

"Rob… Doesn't the outside look kind of red-tinted?"

"Sort of, it might just be the—"

It was then that He, Torturer of Hell realized what was going on.

"HAHA! MORTAL FOOLS. YOU'RE DOOMED, DOOMED! AVERY, I'LL MAKE YOU'LL BE MY FAVORITE VICTIM FOR EONS TO COME! I'LL FLAY YOU FOR MILLENIA! YOU'RE A GENIUS!" Shouted the demon, elated.

"Thanks."

"What are you two on about!?" demanded Damian.

Avery stared at them, amused, as his smile turned slowly into a pleased smirk.

"YOU FOOLS!" Answered He,Torturer of Hell, "THIS FILTHY HOUSE IS ON A ONE WAY TRIP TO HELL AND ONCE WE GET THERE… HA!" He said and spat at the officer, exploding with wild, manic laughter. His struggles against his own bonds increased, screaming, shouting and attempting to throw himself at the two of them, emboldened by the news.

Soon enough, the two officers brought him down with a withheir staves and he was left lying on the floor exhausted, but still pleased. He grinned at them from his place on the floor, satisfied with the whole endeavor.

"Explain. Clearly." Asked Rob, pointing his gun at Avery.

"Haven't you heard? We're all going to Hell! Free vacation!"

Having confirmation of what was going on was the opposite of reassuring.

"How do we stop it!?" demanded Damian, "I don't know what you wanted to achieve but if we actually get there, we're all doomed!"

"No, no, no." replied Avery, shaking his head left and right, "I couldn't possibly tell you that! That would ruin my intricate, positively diabolical plans."

"Is your plan to be tortured for all eternity!?" asked Rob.

"I did tell you, officer. Working with demons goes a lot smoother if you're A-OK with eternal damnation."

"Rob," interrupted Damian, seemingly worried, "We should leave." He was pointing to the window again, a window that showed that the outside world now had an unmistakable red sheen to it. Rob swallowed.

"Whyever would you do that?" sing-songed Avery "That's a terrible idea. Brain-dead stupid. Suicidal even.You'd be lucky if you got turned to mince meat."

Rob struck him over the head with his staff. He fell from his knees onto his back, crying out as he fell—theatrically.

"Son of a bitch! How do we get out of here!?"

"Well, once we reach Hell you're free to go wherever you please. Provided you can outrun Demons on their own turf, of course. I suppose you could try leaving now, but your odds are pretty bad. Right now, we're in a superposition between Hell and Earth. Anything going out has a certain probability of winding up in Hell, and anything coming in likewise has a certain probability of ending up in here with us or the part of hell we're switching with. The spooky red sheen is actually caused by the fact that some light from the surrounding hellscape is leaking in, and so is some from Earth, basically creating two superimposed images! Fun! And Judging by the intensity of the redness… I'd say the odds of something going out winding up in hell right now are about… five percent or so."

"I THINK IT'S CLOSER TO SEVEN," mused He, Torturer of Hell.

"You might be right about that."

"So you're saying, we have a seven percent chance of winding up in hell if we run for it? That's a ninety-three percent chance we'll be just fine! Let's just beat it, Rob, those odds are good enough!" panicked Damian.

Rob looked at the door, nervous, unsure if he could trust Avery's word. Luckily, Avery tried clarifying some of the finer points of the barrier.

"That's not— For starters the chances are getting worse as we move more towards hell, but mostly it's that—"
Loud voices suddenly filled the room, interrupting Avery's explanation..

"MY KIN HAVE NOTICED OUR ARRIVAL! PREPARE BROTHERS! WE HAVE FOUND FOOTHOLD IN EARTH! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!" shouted the demon even more loudly than usual. Avery supposed it wanted to be heard over the muffling effect of the barrier.

The two cops locked eyes for a moment, then bolted towards the exit. Damian reached it first, and as he crossed the doorway he fell limp on the ground, a thin black mist coming from his body, half of him still lay inside the cottage, unmoving. He'd died.

Rob had stopped running just before crossing the threshold, staring, horrified, at the corpse.

"As I was just explaining, each bit of you that crosses the barrier counts separately, so if you tried to cross it right now about a tenth of you would wind up in hell. I'd always assumed losing a tenth of your atoms would be fatal, but it's good to have it confirmed empirically."

More black mist appeared in the doorway, this time on the inside.

"I suppose that's a demon that tried to enter, or maybe they're just throwing stuff in?"

"DEFINITELY A DEMON," said He, "I SAW THE DOORWAY GET A BIT REDDER AS HE CAME IN."

Rob fell to his knees, sobbing messily, the mist intermingling with his burning tears, soiling his clothes. Not that it mattered.
"Don't worry Rob!" Shouted Avery encouragingly, "I've already told you how to play nice with demons. You'll do just fine in Hell!"

"THE MIST SMELLS WEIRDLY LIKE BACON," Commented He, Torturer of Hell.

Rob cried harder.

 

[enigmaticant]

The Killing Fields 1: The Fortune Teller vs The Hunter

A little chunk of the universe inhabited by but an astonishingly tiny minority of its creatures was currently home to a shabby little cabin in the middle of cold, snow-laden woods. Given its poor craftsmanship, it was both a wonder and a pity that it hadn't already collapsed and rid the world of the witless-craftsman who resided therein, old and worthless as he is.

Nevertheless, inside, the mangy old man responsible for this insult to architecture bent down to take a sip of his tea—bang!—narrowly avoiding the bullet that had just sailed right over his head. Unfazed, He knocked the cup back in one swig, arrogantly unconcerned with the mortal peril he now found himself in.

"I've been expecting you, Alexey," said the hermit, the sound of his voice pouring out like so much thick sewage, "You didn't think sneaking up on a fortune teller would work did you? 'I've been expecting you' is literally our whole schtick. Why, I have half a mind to spoil the ending of our little soirée for you, but my mother always told me that if I had nothing nice to say I shouldn't say anything at all. Not that I usually listened."

The door opened, and a desperately needed gust of fresh air chased the musk of unwashed hermit from the room. A stream of snow followed in its wake, framing a plaid-wearing muscle-man who held a rifle aimed squarely at the filthy bum's forehead.

"The sneaking's for before I get you in my sights."

"True, but irrelevant. My afternoon tea tells me you shouldn't even bother pulling the trigger, you won't hit. It's all in the leaves, you see. Here, have a look!" replied the foul smelling ascetic as he thrust his teacup forward, showing off the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup.

Alexey decided that he'd save the looking for later.
Click.

The gun jammed.

"Now don't you feel stupid?"

Alexey was a man of action. So, instead of in words, he expressed his malcontent in a novel form of interpretative dance—and attempted to impale the hermit with the pointy end of his gun. The foul smelling simpleton did not appear to appreciate such a high-brow approach to art, completely lacking any and all capacity to appreciate the avant-garde. So he made a break for it, contributing an uninspired metaphor on the importance of taking out the trash to the overall performance and running away into the food-preparation area that no-one alive would dare call a kitchen.

Alexey chased him into the not-kitchen, catching his knee on the shabby dining room table which slowed him down just enough to lose sight of the hermit. When he caught up, the not-kitchen was empty and the back door wide open, with a trail of fresh footprints leading away into the endless white snow of the outside world. Used to tracking prints, the simple minded hunter ran out through the back door, surely as eager to escape the musky confines of the hovel he found himself in as anyone else would be.

However, given his admirable artistic abilities, Alexey really should have realized that chasing blindly after someone who saw him coming a week ago wouldn't turn out too well, but instead of slowing down and being methodical, like a normal person, he ran outside, slipping on a tactically placed piece of rotten fruit and landing flat on his back like the idiot he is.

"You know, I would have seen that coming if I were you," taunted the mass of sullen flesh that dared to call itself a man when it gave such childish responses.

The hunter, dazed from the impact of his head against the front porch, couldn't make out where the creaky, geezerly voice was coming from. Even though it was coming from just inside, right next to the door, but in a moment of pure instinct and no outside intervention, he fired a round from his prone position straight into the doorway.

The old man's scream brightened the air like a good scrubbing did a window. Alas, a graze was not enough to rid the world of such ungrateful rubbish.

"Didn't see that one coming, now did I?" remarked the decrepit miser—

Bang!

— as he fired several shots into the hunter's prone form from his own pistol.

Bang! Bang!

"I've kept a gun on me since the last time you stepped in. So in a way that I admit is extremely mundane and unimpressive, I predicted this too," said the repugnant senior to the corpse of the hunter—and to no one else, his eyes drawn briefly to the hand that held the gun.

Black ink bloomed into the silhouette of a little girl on one of his withered wrists, just beneath his sleeve. "I didn't take him for the fatherly type," said the aged fool as he looked upon his newly marked flesh.

"There's really no need to be so rude. I can't even tell exactly what you're saying anyway, so the meaning is lost on me."

…

" — or maybe I can. I know you've seen me looking back at you, practicing. With each passing day the shape of your future becomes ever clearer to me, Liebella of Luvalvum. At this point who's to say that I can't just peer into your future and do my usual routine of subtly guiding things to my preferred outcome. Who's to say how long it will be before you wind up on these killing fields yourself, Liebella, as dead as Alexey is over there, lying in the blood-soaked snow."

The hermit had clearly gone insane from his long isolation. Sooner or later, dementia claims even the toughest of minds. Who does he think he is, to claim to see into the fates of his betters? The failings of his cognition are too numerous to enumerate. Thinking that reneging on his end of the deal, and breaking the implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing was some—

" — oh-so noble thing, is clearly the sign of a creature too lowly and dumb to accomplish much. Tell me, Liebella, are you afraid? You should be. I know that nothing has ever truly threatened you before me, so you might have some catching up to do in the fear department, us mortals have more experience on that front, but I'm sure that an illustrious existence such as yourself will pick up the art of cowering in helpless terror rather quickly with as competent an instructor as I."

There is one fact that you should take stock of, Aaron, just one. Even those that can see the future cannot escape it. The difference between us is so vast and overwhelming that there is no world in which you come out victorious. Choose among as many fates as you please, none will end well for you, that I can assure. And when you have truly seen our shared future, you will see the full extent of the inescapable tragedy that is your life, of which I have chosen to play the role of the merciless playwright.

"Hmm? Did you say something? I wasn't listening."

Disgusting mortal… To think you had almost made me think that the currents of my destiny were within your sight, but you remain yet but a trickster.

"Oh and by the way, next Tuesday will not be a good day for you. It might be prudent to learn some fear before then, but if you can't, and I know you won't 'cause I can see your future, that's on you! "

Said the dirty hermit as he went back inside to lick his wounds, which had surely already festered from his poor hygiene. That night, he would dream evil, restless dreams as the spirit of the fallen hunter joined the long queue of souls waiting their turn to darken his nights in the great beyond.

"That's really petty," commented the misshapen lump of aged man-flesh.