I moved into a rather quiet part of the city, actually, just outside of Raleigh in a sub-division called Oak Place Villa. Relatively knew, as all the houses had been built within the last five years. All look-alikes, including mine.

The neighbors I would call your average fair, mid-twenties to early thirties, the traditional two kids, two car set up, I’m sure you get the idea.

Shopping malls were in easy driving distance and there was a convenience store five blocks away if I might want a snack, or, like most, just stop there for gas when needed.

The Realtor, Sandra Bacon, a pleasant woman in her early fifties, did all she could to make my purchase of this nice two-bedroom home (one room to be my office), as good as possible. A cheeky woman with a cackling laugh that would drive a man to drink I imagine. Nonetheless, friendly, and in some respects, I think a little too friendly. She’s that touchy-feely kind of person, if you catch my drift.

It took about a week to get things settled, what with furniture and appliances being delivered and where to arrange everything, but eventually, I sorted things out and like the looks of things. It feels, homey.

All in all, I’m happy with the place and finally, after years of struggle and hard work, I finally have a home I can call my own. You have to understand, for a good portion of my life I was either at book signings or doing radio and television interviews. When you’re a writer that’s sitting at number one on the Best Seller list like I was for several years, you really don’t have the time to settle down in one place. Now, I can settle in and write with a peace of mind I haven’t felt for a while. I went stagnant almost a year, but I can feel that urge coming back strong, and I intend to make full use of it.

A year.

In some ways it seems longer than that. A whole year since my last book hit the bookstores and Kindle. And like with the other seven books, this one made the Best-Seller list, actually topping sales from my last two books. The “Ride into Darkness’ series, came off better than I would have ever imagined, and my character, Jazzie, was loved by more people than could be imagined. But then call it a quirk, a falling, or whatever, I didn’t know where to go from the last book. I had that dreaded disease: writer’s block, although I call it writer’s cramp. I couldn’t resurrect one idea to keep Jazzie going. It was like she died—or disappeared from my mind.

Now, I’m starting to feel the mood, that tempo I was so used to being in where I can bring Jazzie back for another dark thrill-ride into unknown terrors. I’m feeling it all over again. Take her from the light back into the dark to find more evil-doers, ghosts and goblins, and a slew of other mind-boggling twists and turns. Jazzie is the best bad-ass woman on the planet; well that was what one reader told me once at a book signing.

I think I will make myself some dinner, then settle into my office and begin.

__________________________

By the third day heading into nightfall, that was when the noises started. I would cock my head, and slightly shiver thinking an intruder might be in the house. I did leave my office and walked through every room, turning on every light, looking under the bed, in all the closets, checking every nook and cranny—but found nothing, or no one.

The minute I went back to my office though, the noises started again. It was aggravating. Was it just the house itself maybe settling? I had no idea. But maybe it was. The scraping against the walls from inside were driving me crazy. This continued until my grandfather clock struck twelve times to indicate midnight, and then the noises stopped. It was the oddest thing.

I joked about it, thinking maybe this was the ghost of Cinderella and had to be home by the stroke of twelve or she, not her carriage, would turn into a pumpkin.

Looking at where I was on the computer with my new book, I had fifty-seven pages finished and half of fifty-eight. I sat down and finished that page, then got up, went to my bedroom, disrobed and crawled underneath the sheets and closed my eyes. Before sleep seduced me into la-la land, I had a brief thought. If it was Cinderella, she didn’t leave a glass slipper behind.

_____________________________

Day seven wasn’t any different than the days before. Wake up at seven, shower, shave, make breakfast, go for my morning run, come back, add to a list of things to do for my traditional day I use for running errands, shopping, banking, whatever. Some call it Blue Monday, I call it Magic Monday. Just like magic, poof, after I do all I need to do, it’s gone. The old out of sight, out of mind routine, and it frees up the rest of my week. And of course, today is Monday.

Riding around from one place to the next (am I ever grateful for the GPS), I have been slowly becoming familiar with my whereabouts. Raleigh is such an inventive city.

Constantly building townhouses, high-rises, and boasting some of the best music in the region. More restaurants per capita than one could imagine, but like any other big city, it also has its fair share of drugs and crime. Guess it goes with the territory of good versus evil.

Thinking about that, my mind started spinning like a top as I envisioned my next chapter with Jazzie. It will take me a good three hours to get everything done, then I can settle in and take Jazzie down another road of deep darkness. Man, I love what I do.

At the same time, though I’m not losing sleep over this, the constant nightly noises really have me frustrated. I might have to talk with Sandra about this. Maybe she knows something she hid from me. Maybe the house, after all, isn’t the best constructed one on the block. But when you pay $165,000 for a home, the last thing anyone wants to hear is that the walls and floors will cave in in about a year, so enjoy your stay.

Another night like so many. Dark, foreboding, merciless in its eerie silence. Inside my office, I hear the noises again, noises I do not make. They come from within the walls or from under the floor. In the beginning, I thought it must be rats that were running around, playing some sort of morbid game of tag. But the sounds made are much louder than rats. I think perhaps—no that wouldn’t be right. That some sort of human, maybe a creature of unknown origin is running under my floor or through my walls? Impossible.

But every night it has always been the same. It never changes. There has even been a thud-thud-thud, like knocking on a door, but never a voice, never any image to see. I really don’t know what to make of it except for the last five minutes.

In those last minutes, like sandpaper going across wood, I hear a moaning, almost groaning utterance that made me sit up to see if I could understand what might possibly be said, but I couldn’t, and this was a new development. It was the first time I heard something that might be (almost) human.

If this place is haunted, there was never any record of it, but I think there is some sort of spirit that feels trapped here, but what can I do. I told my Realtor, Sandra about it, and all she did was smile and tell me the house is only three years old and only lived in once by a much older couple.

But he or she is about to leave me for the night, this much I know. For when the clock strikes midnight, the quiet will settle in and I will be in an even deeper silence.

Funny perhaps, but now, I wait for the return each night in hopes I may see this image that parades around my home.

But for now, I sleep.

__________________________

Weekends in the summer in Raleigh can be interesting. Downtown they have a large outdoor stadium for concerts that for the most part are free. A lot of local entertainment will simply rock you and if your forty or fifty, when the concert is over, you’ll feel like your twenty again.

I did find a nice little place called Abby’s Tavern that makes the best Rib-Eye steak sandwich I’ve ever tasted. I decided then and there, this place would be a pit-stop for me when I run about on Monday’s. Today was just a day to get in more sights of the city itself.

One thing that is good, traffic isn’t a monster like other big metro areas. Although the Interstate can get pretty rowdy at times, especially if there may have been an accident. And today, it got rowdy. And weird.

Traffic was backed up a good mile and my exit to go home was less than five-hundred feet away. I t was like a slow crawl to get there, like an hour. Stopping and starting and stopping, I turned the radio on, and after a few minutes, that’s when it got weird.

One minute a good song was coming through the speakers by ZZ Top, and the next thing, a second voice, sort of, was crying or moaning above the music. It was the damndest thing. I even switched to another station in the middle of a Guns and Roses number, and that noise was on that one as well. All I could think was, there was some static electricity running from their power stations somehow.

When I finally reached my exit, I felt like a man released from prison after twenty years—free. In fifteen minutes, I pulled up to my house, parked the car and went inside.

Walking into my office, I kicked off my shoes and started a pot of coffee as I readied myself for more writing. Today was going to be another good day for me. Funny, in a sense, I feel like I’ve been reborn with all this energy inside me.

Turning on my computer, waiting for it to boot up, I pushed away from it and the desk. That same noise on the radio was coming through my speakers. My first thought, not now. Don’t crash on me. But as quickly as it came, it left just as quickly. Sighing a relief, I began writing.

_____________________________

She searched every room for signs of the green fluid she followed into the house. It was like a trail set before her, easy to follow. Four times she shot this creature and now its blood leaked like a busted pipe. Jazzie was ready to put the finishing shot to its brain that would end this nightmare for others who had been living in fear of the Goblin Ghost.

Okay, that’s enough for one night. Good place to stop. Save my work, then get some shut eye. It’s been a long day.

Getting up from my chair, the lights from the ceiling fan began to shimmer, as if fading but not fading and then the sounds came again. That incessant grating. Sandpaper. I shivered for I had this strange thought of what if someone took sandpaper to my face or hands and rub without mercy.

Then I did something I hadn’t done before and called out to the sound. Not out loud but in my mind.

Who is there? What do you want with me? Why are you doing this?

I sheepishly smiled thinking maybe the Ride Into Darkness books were mentally playing tricks on me. But what I saw next, wasn’t a trick.

The moaning sound came from the wall in front of me, but then something else did as well. A hand. A slender hand. Open and palm up, but it stopped at the wrist. And that was when I heard this time, not just a noise, but one word. Come.

I took a couple steps back and stumbled over my office chair, I was so startled by this.

Come.

I looked at the hand and the wall, knowing the voice came from inside the wall. This was insane. Or was I going insane?

Come.

I didn’t move and then my grandfather clock struck midnight with twelve bongs, and the hand disappeared, and I heard nothing else.

Pulling myself from the floor, I went to the bar I have between the kitchen and dining room and made myself a drink. Actually three drinks. I needed to settle my nerves, try to calm my breathing. I just witnessed something I never should have. Oh granted, I write horror, detail the paranormal, but did I believe in it? Not on your life. But after this—I don’t know what to believe.

It wasn’t until close to one-thirty before I could finally go to sleep.

When I woke up, the first thing I did was go to my office and I ran my hands over the wall. I didn’t know what I was looking for, maybe some kind of special gimmick that would pop a hand out of the wall, thinking that maybe the prior people who lived here had some sort of warped idea for practical jokes—or something.

Then, after finding nothing, I looked around the room for perhaps some sort of projection viewer, again—nothing.

First it was the noises and now a—a hand appearing mysteriously and honestly, that did freak me out, that and the one word—Come.

I couldn’t tell by how the voice sounded if it was male or female, but I had to ask myself, come where? Why me of all people? This was beginning to sound like something from—wait!

Ride into Darkness, book thee, The Silent Ones. Jazzie had to uncover beastly demons who had managed to come up from Hell and invade people’s bodies, but they did it by walking through walls and would come up to the victim-to-be and utter the words, “Come with me, to paradise.” If the victim took a step forward, they relinquished their soul. Jazzie found them after an exhaustive search through other-worldly mishaps and put an end to them when she shot them with a paralyzing spray of blessed water. Those who didn’t disintegrate, fled away in fear and never returned.

Was this one of those demons? Did what I write—could it actually be true? Nah, couldn’t be, but it’s the only answer I have, for now. Oh, Jazzie, if only you were real and could be here, I’m sure you could figure this out.

______________________________________

After breakfast, and a good thirty minutes mowing my lawn, I made a few calls; one to my parents, who are happily retired and spending the summer in Barbados. I then called a good friend of mine in Augusta and we swapped spit on a few jokes and stuff.

The doorbell rang, and when I opened it, a UPS driver stood there holding a large white envelope. Looking at who sent this, I quickly signed for it and went to my office, opened it and read the new contract from my publisher. First, they were ecstatic I was writing a new book, and how much so? Along with the contract was an advance check for $150,000.

Looking everything over carefully (even after all the years gone by, I’m still careful), I was satisfied with the terms, signed it and would return it first thing in the morning. For now though, I had other papers to look through as far as my bills were concerned. I wondered if money were never invented, would we be so eager today to simply barter away for our needs?

_______________________________________

Night came as it always did. Outside the blackness was obvious, so much so, not a single star or the moon could be seen.

For me, it was a perfect setting for what I was about to write. Jazzie had just cornered Maleke’, one of the strong-arms of his boss, King Dumango’ne, once ruler of the western hemisphere of Hell. Since he was banished by the Lord of Darkness once it was learned he was planning a coup; Dumango’ne took it upon himself to do what the Lord of Darkness had always proposed but never did, and that was take control of every living being’s soul and transform them to be part of his Legion. He would then run amuck in Hell and dethrone the Lord of Darkness and finally reign as one true supreme entity.

Jazzie had Maleke’ strapped tightly to a metal chair and started asking questions and when he refused, she would fire small pellets of sacred water to parts of his lower body that would cause Maleke’ to cry out in pain.

“We can make this simple, or we can keep this up all night, Maleke’. Doesn’t matter to me, but I keep shooting you, eventually both your legs will be gone, and you won’t be of use to your boss any longer.”

“You—get—get, nothing from—”

Jazzie fired another pellet. Another agonizing scream.

“All … right! Stop! Ask your questions but know this; you will pay for what you have done to me. King Dumango’ne will see to it.”

“Works for me. I can’t wait to meet him. We’ll dance a dance and then I’ll blow him back to hell. Now, tell me, where can I find him?”

Come.

My fingers were about to type out the answer when I heard that word. My head turned in the direction it came from but as before, no one was there, not even that mysterious hand.

Come. Take my—

And then a hand slid from the wall again, like last time, palm up. This time, three words. Did this person (thing) want me to grab the hand extended? No way was I going to do that. Then the hand retracted and the movement along the wall intensified, and the thud-thud-thud from before became a larger, banging force, as if who or whatever it was, was trying to break through the wall. The voice, garbled, sounded like a warped scratched record being played backward. It made my skin raise goosebumps in the hundreds over my flesh.

What if it did break through the wall? What would, or could I do to defend myself. I have no idea what I’m up against. Honestly, I was scared as hell, and yet, curious as hell. And if it was, is, some kind of demon, what could I do to protect myself? I don’t have blessed water as I’m not Catholic and I know damned good and well, the Pepsi I was drinking wouldn’t do anything if I hurled it at this, this—thing.

“Mom, your son is in deep shit.”

The banging became louder, more forceful. It sounded like two fists and feet were wailing away at the wall. I even thought I caught another sound but not one of anger but as if something on the other side was crying. This was really getting to be a mess and complicated beyond anything I could write.

Then my grandfather clock struck eleven times, and on the twelfth time, the pounding stopped.

It wasn’t until then did I realize not one inch on my body was dry. I was soaked in sweat.

Taking some time to calm myself down, I slowly sat in front of my computer to finish the last page for the night. Page two-hundred and one. My thoughts rambled about the number believing by two-seventy this would be finished, but tonight the numbers weren’t as important as what almost happened or what could have happened.

I might have been a step away from death or maybe living an eternity in Hell, for surely, this didn’t ring of a trip to Heaven.

It’s been three days, and I haven’t been able to sleep, eating very little and my kitchen is getting to be a mess. I’ve still managed to write but it’s slow, slower than when I first started. All of three pages since the other night. Yet each night the voice repeats the same word and the hand appears.

I’ve been thinking about calling a paranormal expert to come out and get his feedback but if he did, I somehow suspect nothing would happen.

Last night did tell me in part who I was dealing with though I have yet to see a face. When the hand came through the wall, palm up as it has been and the voice saying, Come, another part of the body slipped past the wall and it was a sleek leg and bare-footed, belonging to a woman, or maybe a young girl, hard to tell, but at least I know who is trying to communicate with me, I just don’t understand why.

Why is she tormenting me so? Or is she asking, begging me for help? I just don’t know. But I do know I can’t go on like this much longer.

At least today, I can leave the house and take care of my Monday business. Hopefully that will take my mind off all this.

_______________

The only downside to my day was the ticket I go from a policeman for weaving in and out of traffic as if I were drunk. He did a breathalyzer test on me which came up negative. But I had twenty days to either pay the fine or appear in court. I would just pay the fine. It’s my own fault driving without having any sleep for the last couple days. I didn’t bat an eye when I looked at the fine: $500. It was worth paying instead of explaining to the officer or the judge why things happened the way they did. I do that and instead of jail I’d probably end up in an asylum someplace. And even there I would think I wouldn’t be safe.

I need sleep.

_________________

After stopping at a Big Lots and bought some muscle relaxers and sleeping pills, I had hoped that when I finished writing for the night, I could fall asleep. I really looked a mess. Unshaven for three days, bags the size of a suitcase under my eyes and my once in shape body, looked like it was going south—deep south.

But I had a schedule to keep and I had promised my publishers I’d have this manuscript to them in five weeks. If things went good, I could be done in two, then go back in and make any necessary changes. That part always sucked but even for as long as I’ve had a relationship with Bradley Publishing, I still didn’t trust they would catch any of mistakes, so I always went over very carefully.

Two more chapters and this baby is finished.

Jazzie drove over to Luke’s house to get him to drive her in his car to a warehouse near the docks. She was finally able to track King Dumango’ne again and this time there wouldn’t be any interference like the last time. Last time, she had him in her sights, but he sensed her presence and ordered over fifty of his followers to take her out. Luckily, she had enough extra firepower that she was able to dissuade them from advancing on her and she made her escape.

Jazzie knew she was good at what she does but even fifty crazy mind-controlled freaks were too much for her. This time, her sources told her it would just be King Dumango’ne, three of his thug underlings and four other people. A meeting was set to discuss transport of import chemicals to the Philippines and Moscow. Chemicals that would be distributed by more of King’s thugs to unsuspecting strangers.

Once she was able to talk Luke into taking her and having him wait two miles back for her return, they drove in silence before Luke finally broke the ice.

“Jazzie, I’ve known you almost ten years and I still don’t understand this passion you have about ridding the world of all these evil-doers you talk about. I’ve never seen them, none of my friends have seen them, but you can. Why is that? Why, just you?’

“Luke, it’s a long story—okay, six years ago I was in an accident in California. A bad one where I had to have brain surgery. I was pretty messed up. Right after it was over,

sometime during the night, I had this—vision, I guess. The vision was a man who told me my destiny and what I was to do. Shortly after that, I faded back into a deep sleep, but when I woke up the next day, mind you, I sat up in bed, felt perfectly fine, found my clothes, dressed and left the hospital without checking out. It wasn’t much longer after when I started to … see things, things no normal person could or would. And that’s the short and only version I’m going to talk about.

“You’ve always been a good friend to me, Luke, let’s keep it that way and don’t ask me any more questions about it. The less you know, the better off you are, even though you know too much now as it is.”

Just as she finished saying that, Luke pulled into the south end of the docks.

“Okay, you’re here. Do you know which warehouse it is. There’s like two dozen of them.”

“It has the number: 1623646 stenciled on the door. I’ll find it. Go back and have coffee over at Davy’s Locker and try to relax. Hopefully this shouldn’t take long.”

Not waiting for a reply, she hurriedly stepped out of the car and made her way toward the warehouses situated in four lots.

Luke stared through his windshield at her until the misty fog started to rise erased her from sight and ...

Come.

My head snapped back and turned to the left looking at the wall.

“Come where, dammit!”

That hand, sliding like melted butter came out of the wall, palm up and the tips were aimed right at me. Then one of her legs appeared.

Come. Take my hand. I want you and I know you want me. You have always wanted me.

As those words rushed over me, this time, a portion of her face protruded through the wall. Not really a pretty sight as her face and the wall seemingly blended together.

Whoever this is, she was trying to escape the confines of where she was held. If I ….

“If I take your hand, will I be setting you free, out of danger?”

Come. Take my hand. We will both be free. Forever.

“Who are you? Why me?”

Come. We will be free together. I know you love me, Andrew. You always have.

As she said that, the clock started to strike midnight again. Her face, leg, and hand retracted back to the other side of the wall and once more, she paraded back and forth uttering what I could only think of as foul obscenities and a vile anger.

But, she knows my name.

At least the sleeping pills and muscle relaxers helped. I slept like a baby. The downside to that, twenty hours of sleep. The sun was already beginning its transition from day to night as if the moon were saying, “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn. You’re about excitement, but I’m all about passion, so move over and let me work my magic.”

Right now, I was feeling anything but excited and passionate. Getting up, I made my way to the kitchen to make coffee and while there had some toast and strawberry jam. I just didn’t feel all that hungry. Returning to my office, I noticed I did something I rarely do; the computer was still on.

Sitting down, I take a couple sips of coffee and look over where I left off. I finished the line and then followed Jazzie.

Luke stared through his windshield at her until the misty fog started to rise erased her from sight and with a light sigh, he put the car in reverse to his left then went forward in the direction he came from. Luke is in love with her but doesn’t know how to tell her since she’s changed.

Jazzie made her way past two lots before she spied the one she wanted. Four cars were parked out front and three men stood around in the semi-lit area smoking cigarettes and passing conversational banter to each other.

Finding a strategic spot unnoticed, Jazzie pulled out her specially made hand gun and carefully aimed at the men. Within the span of four seconds, four shots hit their mark, all the men fell to the ground.

When she rushed ahead, she looked to where they fell, and as she already knew it would be, all that lay on the ground were the clothes each man had been wearing.

Easing past the warehouse doors, she quietly walked around until she heard voices. Going to her right, she got a better look at what was going down. Two of the men were blocking a direct hit to King Dumango’ne’s head. He needed to be the first one taken out. The rest would be cake. King is far more powerful than what they know about him. One clear shot and and—

“Did you hear something,” said King. “It came from over there.” He pointed directly where Jazzie was kneeling. Pointing to two of the men flanking him, without a word said, he had them go check out the noise.

Shit, he has good hearing or just excellent perception to detail, thought Jazzie.

Jazzie knew if she stayed where she was, all hell would break fee in a heartbeat and her element of surprise would be gone. Rolling to her right, her shoulder hit a handle. She looked down and saw it was a floor-door. Opening it enough, she crawled in and quietly closed the door. Just as she did, she heard footsteps stop right on top of it.

“King says look, we look, but damned if I see anything. You?”

“Nothing. Maybe we try over there next to those stack of barrels.”

They walked away. Jazzie slowly lifted the floor-door and eased herself out like slow syrup out of a bottle. But now, her advantage had been jeopardized. Three men and King in one spot, and two others in another spot. She would still do what had to be done but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Twisting her silver-chained necklace between her fingers for good luck, she made her next move.

Come. Come to me Andrew. You want me. You have always wanted me. I want you Andrew.

The coffee cup in my hand slipped from my fingers and hit the carpet. There would be a good stain left behind because right then, it didn’t matter. She was back again, just as I knew she would be. Still, her words still left a sweaty chill over my body.

“If I take your hand, will you be free to step out of the wall?”

Come. Take my hand Andrew. I love you. You love me. You have said so many times.

Now, I had to think. No I didn’t. Of four women I’ve been with in my life that I told I loved, they are still alive.

Loosing my control, my voice cranked higher.

“Look, I don’t know who or what you are but I’m tired of the games. I’m not who you think I’m supposed to be to you. Show yourself dammit, or just get the hell out of my life and out of my, my—wall!”

This time I could see the wall shaking and rippling, and even portions of the paint were cracking. Whoever this was, I just pissed it off.

This time the hand extended to the shoulder, but so did the other hand and arm. The lower portions of her legs were visible and then her face pressed outward even more. It was still shadowed from the walls contour, but I could make out a little bit, and what I saw made me tremble with surprise.

A portion of her neck came into view, and that’s what had me rooted to the floor. She’s wearing a necklace. The same kind I have written about many times in the series that Jazzie wears.

There is no way anyone is going to tell me that—that ….

The words came slowly out of my mouth though I couldn’t feel my lips move.

“Are. You. Jazzie?”

This time, a shrill laugh came and bounced off the walls, ceiling and floor. The lights flickered in and out of darkness. My computer inadvertently shut down. My first thought was that I hoped I hadn’t lost what I just typed.

Come Andrew. Take my hand. Together we can be happy. We can kill the demons together! You and I, forever!

This is like right out of a Stephen King book, The Dark Half. The writer wants to get away from the gruesome novels he had been writing under the name, George Stark. So he does a publicity stunt and pretends to bury Stark and embark on a different style of writing. Over time and out from the fake grave, comes a hand and a spree of murders take place as the dead and buried George Stark comes to life and in order for him to live, the real writer, Thad whatshisname has to die.

Is this what I have done, but in reverse? Have I created someone not real who wants to live? Who’s trapped in the in between life?

ANDREW!

Her yelling brought me back. She’s never yelled before.

Take my fucking hand so we can be together Andrew! We can finish your book together. Kill demons together. Have babies together and kill every freaked-out and fucked-up asshole on the face of the earth! ANDREW! You gave me life years ago! Then you stopped. But you must love me so much because you are writing about me again. ANDREW! Take my fucking hand!

Looking at the lips moving, I did not see teeth, nor could I see eyes. I wasn’t yet finished with the novel, but I was getting it now. As long as I wrote about her exploits she could, I guess materialize, but why not before? Maybe she tried, and I just never noticed. Hell, I really don’t have an answer, but I know I can’t do this. I can’t do what she wants.

I sat in front of my computer and hit the on button and waited for it to boot back up. Sweating like never before, I felt icy chills stab away at every inch of my being. My hands were shaking but I knew I had to do this.

While the computer was nearly finished booting, I looked at the grandfather clock. 11:59.

ANDREW! I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO DO! DON’T BE A FOOL! WE CAN LIVE FOREVER!

The words screamed from between her twisted lips. It didn’t matter. Booted up, the clock started the first of twelve bongs. By the third bong, I was at my documents. I highlighted Ride to Darkness: Ghost Goblin, by the fourth bong.

Jazzie, or whatever it really was, was struggling desperately not to be pulled back through the wall. She/it, screamed so loudly, the window behind me facing my backyard, vibrated and cracked.

NOOOOOO! DON’T DO THIS! I DONT WANT TO DIE AGAIN ANDREW! I LOVE YOU! COME! TAKE MY HAND!

Stopping only briefly, by the eleventh bong, waiting for that split second and with the final bong, my finger mashed down hard and hit delete. Of course all it did was go to my trash bin. And that was the next place I went and did the removal.

I heard no noises. No sounds. No harsh breathing. Jazzie was gone.

____________________________

It’s been four days since that night. Four of the absolute quietest four days I could ever remember. But during that time I made plans to move. Raleigh is a nice city, but after what I went through, I felt it was time to search out a place that would feel more comfortable. I had been thinking of Salem, Massachusetts. I still plan on writing and came up with a new anti-hero. I’m thinking about calling him Freddy. You know, like the Freddy on Elm Street guy, but he wouldn’t be like that Freddy. In more ways imaginable, he would be far worse.

Sandra Bacon wasn’t a happy camper with me. I opted out of purchasing the house, but I did appease her somewhat by giving her $5,000 for her troubles though I suspect by my changing my mind she probably lost a good twenty or thirty thousand in commission.

Honestly, I didn’t care.

One of the first things I did was take my computer and put it in a trash can and set it on the curb as today was trash day, but not before I took a hammer to the hard drive and other peripherals.

I called my agent and told him I couldn’t come up with a plausible ending and that I was returning the check. Of course he wasn’t too happy with that. It meant he would have to return his ten percent as well.

Hey, shit happens, right?

The Photographer

Females for photographic study, wanted.

If you have what it takes, and the body to

be a professional model, now is your chance.

Apply: Argon Studios, 619 Blevins Ave.

Your destiny awaits you!

Libbie spied the ad in the paper and figured, “What the hell. Why not give it a shot? I’ve damn near spent all my savings trying to get a job, and so far, I’m striking out. At least the rent’s paid for the next couple of months, but if I don’t find something soon, there won’t be a place to live in, and no money either. I’ll be damned if I run back home with my tail between my legs and listen to my parent’s rant, ‘I told you so’.”

Libbie dressed the best she could. Looking in her full-length mirror one last time, she liked what she saw.

A tall, willowy blond, makeup applied in a soft, but promising way, her beige skirt hugged tightly to her tight curves, the hem, a modest two inches above the knees, holding a body begging to be released. Her white silk blouse, just as snug, outlined the contour of her breasts, holding no bra; and if you stared at them long enough, you would see a tint of rosy texture rising through her blouse from her twin points.

Libbie’s legs held a seductive promise as well. Long and slender, holding what every man wanted, and she knew it. She knew she wouldn’t have a problem with the photographer. She would have him eating out of her hands.

She didn’t have a clue how much models made, but anything at this point was better than nothing.

“When the guy gets a good look at me, he’ll want to pay double.”

Libbie took another minute to look herself over and to make certain nothing was out of place. Looking at her nylons, checking for runs or snags, then, once satisfied, grabbing a black suit coat off the back of a chair, she picked up her purse and headed for Argon Studios, with a smile on her face.

__________

Inside Argon Studios, old Harry prepared for his first visitor. Breaking out a tripod, and a 35mm with zoom lens, old Harry set up his various backgrounds, with one far different from most; but this one was nothing more than flames. old Harry smiled at this, his favorite of all. The fire background was always the final one he used.

Setting up four floodlights at different angles in the room, he then set his camera to 1/1,000 of a setting, while he also decided upon how he would get his first visitor to pose.

old Harry knew he wouldn’t have much time before Libbie would walk through the front door.

__________

Libbie glided through the front door with all the splash of a sensual woman on the prowl. Her mind was preset on having the photographer drool over her, but the minute she entered the studio, she was far from impressed with what she saw.

The outer lobby was completely barren of chairs, and no carpet. There wasn't even a countertop or a receptionist desk. In a nutshell, the room was empty, and trashy looking.

Libbie turned, about to leave, feeling a major letdown take hold of her, now realizing that this wasn’t such a good idea after all, when old Harry walked out from the back room through a set of red curtains.

“I take it you are here because of my ad, my dear?”

“Uh, yes, but I, I’ve changed my mind. This place doesn’t look like much of a studio to me, and you don’t look like much of a photographer, either.” Libbie began to leave again, one hand on the door to push open when old Harry called out to her.

“Wait. Please. Don’t judge what you see until you have at least seen the rest. As for myself, I have been taking pictures forever. I am one of the best at what I do, and I want to prove that to you. Come, girl, there is nothing to be afraid of. Allow me to show you the back room where all my equipment is. If you are still dissatisfied, I will give you fifty dollars for your trouble. Agreed?”

Libbie looked him over again, then looked around the room.

“If I agree, how much will you pay me?”

“One-hundred dollars an hour; that is if you agree to a three-hour minimum.”

Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, she thought. If she didn’t like what she saw; but, a hundred bucks? Three hours? The old guy looks harmless enough. Must be fifty or sixty. Jan noticed the wrinkles covering his face as if each one was a separate scar. What threw her was the way he combed his hair. old Harry’s hair came up in two points, one on each side of his head. The more Libbie stared at him, the more she felt he was harmless.

“Oh, what the hell. I’ll check it out, Mr. ….”

“Just call me Harry.”

“Hello, Harry.”

She stuck out her hand, trying to be friendly even though his looks still took her back somewhat. When old Harry’s embraced her hand, she felt a slight tremor of heat, almost soothing, yet too warm to hold onto for very long had she tried.

“I’m Libbie.”

old Harry smiled, and motioned for her to follow him. When Libbie stepped into the back room, she whistled low. There were curtains draped across all the walls, each curtain a deep satiny red. The carpet was a two-inch orangish shag, and the equipment had to be in the neighborhood of three, maybe four grand.

“Libbie, why don’t we get started with what you are wearing. Stand over there in front of the camera and try to relax. When I tell you, I want you to remove your jacket and drape it on either shoulder and take your free hand and place it on your hip, giving me your sexiest smile. And, always smile.”

It didn’t take for Libbie to get into the mood as old Harry kept shouting out different ways he wanted her to stand, turn, even kneel; always looking as seductive as she could; having Libbie smile at the sound of every clicking motion of the shutter’s camera eye old Harry kept making.

“Libbie, if you will, I want you to go behind the curtain to your left. There is a small dressing room there and I want you to change into the first set of clothes you see hanging in there. I will take a few pictures of you from the neck up, then we will try a few more shots with you in jeans and a farmer’s shirt with a country backdrop first.”

She went into the other room, removed all her clothing except her panties, then stepped into a tight pair of jeans that hugged her hips smoothly, then donned the shirt, also a size too small, and returned to see a large pull-down print of a country field scene.

old Harry took more pictures and Libbie continued to smile.

After another thirty minutes, old Harry asked Libbie to change again. This time, she saw a parka, skis, sun-goggles, and plastic pants. When she returned, she viewed a snowy mountain scene. Libbie continued to smile.

If Libbie had watched him more closely, she would have noticed the fire in old Harry’s eyes.

Once again, she went to the dressing room to change and her outfit was a very skimpy two-piece bathing suit. This time she removed her panties, replaced it with the tiny string suit and walked back to see the scene had changed to the ocean waves breaking on a cluster of rocks.

“This bikini is a bit daring, don’t you think, Harry?”

“Perhaps, but you will be giving the appearance of a California girl on the beach enjoying herself. Unless, well, unless you would rather stop.”

She quickly calculated they had been at this a little over two hours. Another hour, she thought. Three-hundred bucks. Yes!

“No. I’m enjoying myself.”

Libbie shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and posed as old Harry asked. Up on her toes. Beach ball in both hands, both hands in front of her and stretching over her head. old Harry had her turn her head as if looking back, smiling, as if she were running along the sand.

Then, old Harry changed the tempo a bit.

“Libbie, remove your top, and cover your breasts with both hands.”

Libbie stared at him and was about to say no, when she remembered the money. Besides, he was harmless. She did as he asked.

Sitting at a side angle, after several more shots, Libbie was now completely naked, but you couldn’t see anything unless you used your imagination. old Harry had her in such a way where all of her skin was bare, but the pose she was in, made it difficult if not impossible to see any of the important parts you would see in most adult magazines.

Libbie was suddenly exhilarated by all of this. She was posing as if she had been doing this for years. She loved the idea of being naked in front of old Harry, teasing him, knowing he couldn’t touch her.

Without noticing when, or how he did it, old Harry had changed the background, again.

“Libbie, I want you to stand and face the background. I want you to stretch as high as you can with your arms raised overhead and tighten the muscles in your body as much as you can. Make your body as taut as possible. Think tight. Then think, tighter. This will be the final shot and the best shot of all. This one will make you hot.”

old Harry grinned through his eyes.

Libbie heard him and with her back to him, she thought, If this is what the old man wants, this is what the old man gets.

She stretched and reached as high as she could. Libbie could hear the shutter clicking away as it had for almost three hours now.

While stretching, Libbie could feel a growing heat cover her flesh. Eyes closed, she began to feel sweat glide across her cheeks and down her throat. She could feel the sweat begin to thicken as it poured across her breasts, down past her tight stomach and thighs and continually down her back and over her buttocks to her feet, forming a small puddle under each toenail, painted no less than a deep fire-red.

Her body tingled from the salty drops, and her hair became matted against her scalp and the sides of her face. Libbie felt wanton, depraved. She was becoming hornier than she ever felt could possibly be. She wanted to give herself over to old Harry.

Libbie screamed but couldn’t hear herself scream.

The backdrop old Harry had put in place was his favorite.

Fire.

Only this time, its yellow-red flames came to life, flickering across Libbie’s body, bathing her in its blistering inferno.

Libbie could smell her hair singing at first, then burst into flames. She could feel her sensitive nipples being charred to nothing, her very flesh blistering, and being melted away from her bones. Libbie turned to scream at old Harry for turning her life into a horror she would never recover from.

In her final seconds, what she witnessed, scared, and frightened her more than the burning heat dissolving her flesh.

In the center of the room, old Harry, stood as she stood; one huge ball of flame.

Libbie didn’t realize or understand, but old Harry is a term used in place of the word: Demon. old Harry, is from the Nether World; a disciple of the Devil Incarnate.

Libbie was now and forever trapped in a hell that would burn her soul forever.

__________

Lydia Crawford spotted the ad in the paper. This was right up her alley. Lydia had been modeling off and on almost four years.

She never heard of Argon Studio, but it didn’t matter. If the guy was taking pictures, paid at least scale, it would mean a quick hundred for an hour.

__________

old Harry had already cleaned up the back room and reset the 35mm and flood lights as before. He even rearranged all the clothing worn earlier worn by Libbie. old Harry likes things to run perfectly.

Old Harry knew Lydia Crawford would be arriving any moment. Just as Belinda Andrews, and Nancy Hartman were; before Libbie Mason arrived today. Just as old Harry knew Maggie Jones and Theresa Antonio would be here tomorrow. Fate decreed it so.

They would all join the others who have gone on before them in the same manner as all those long since gone from years past. It was old Harry’s job.

The Master demanded it.

__________

The front door opened, and old Harry’s eyes smiled in flames. it was time to go to work again. He walked out into the outer lobby and greeted Lydia Crawford.

Photography: it was old Harry’s job.

“Tonight’s winning lottery number for two-hundred and thirty million dollars is: 7-8-13-19-27, and the red power-ball number is 36. Perhaps tonight will find a lucky ticket holder, a lucky winner, or winners out there. If not, next week’s jackpot drawing will be worth an estimated three-hundred and forty million dollars.”

Shuffling through my tickets, I know one of them has to have the winning numbers on it, one of them has to be the one. Hell, the rent’s due, lights bill, too. I just lost my job two days ago, my girlfriend left me for another guy; three eggs in the fridge and one can of Schlitz left. Can it get any worse?

There! There it is. 7-8-13-19-26 and … dammit! 35! Two lousy numbers, summanabitch! You’d think after buying these damn things after two years I’d win the big one, but nooooo. Just once I wish I’d get lucky.

Five outta six ain’t bad though. At least the rent’s covered for a couple months plus a case of beer. Hell, If I’d have won, I’d have bought the whole damn brewery.

I guess I better head down to the store and cash my ticket in, get some beer, some more food and some smokes; tomorrow I’ll pay the rent. That’ll leave me with about two grand. I guess I’ll have to start looking for a job because that money won’t last long. This will probably be the only time I will get this close to winning the big one.

I was surprised when I went to the corner store to cash in my ticket and I was congratulated for winning $25,000 dollars that was an awesome surprise. They asked me if they could put my name on a poster along with past winners and I said sure, why not. I found out there had been no winners for the big bucks, so I bought more tickets. The next drawing would be on a Wednesday. I decided if that I didn’t win the big one, then I’d go look for a job.

The only downside, though temporary, is that I had to go to the main lottery office in the city to actually cash in my ticket and get a check. No big deal.

__________

“Okay, let me get this straight. There isn’t any way off your world, I’m the only man on an all-female planet with an unlimited supply of Schlitz, right?”

The tall, beautiful Amazonian woman who stood before me with dozens just like her in the background replied, “Yes.”

I grinned, looked at her and said, “I can live with that.”

The commercial didn’t go quite like that, but it never hurts to dream. It’s almost eleven and time for the next lottery drawing. I swear, I’d give anything to have the winning ticket in my hands. Maybe I do. Okay, here it comes. Call my numbers, you prick.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight’s winning jackpot numbers for three-hundred and forty-five million dollars; the largest jackpot in the state’s history is: 11-19-24-29-31 and the red ball is 32. Perhaps tonight will find a lucky ticket holder, a lucky winner, or winners out there. If not, the next expected jackpot is estimated to reach four-hundred and fifty million dollars.”

Going through my tickets, I thought that announcer should think of something different to say. Always the same. Never changes.

I’ll be damned! If this ain’t something. No winner’s, but I have one ticket that’s off by one number on all of them: 12-20-25-28-30 and 33. I guess tomorrow I’ll have to hit the bricks and find a job. What a revolting thought. I hate working, but it’s the only way I can keep a roof over my head.

I guess I’m just another of many destined to work for the wage and barely get by. If only there was a way to make the big bucks, I’d be on easy street and wouldn’t have to worry about crap any longer. I need a beer.

Walking into the kitchen, from behind me, I smell a strange smell. Sniffing, at first, I thought a cigarette was still lit and fell out of the ashtray to the floor and was burning a hole in the carpet.

Opening the fridge, popping the pull-tab of my Schlitz, I inhaled again, and it almost smells like—charred flesh. It’s coming from the living room for sure.

Freaky.

Going back to the living room where the smell came from, I stopped in mid-stride at what I saw staring back at me.

“Who the hell are you and how’d you get in my place?” I was shocked, angry, and scared all at the same time. What I saw was a man with fiery red eyes, a sinister smile, and smoke billowing from around his huge frame. He had to be over seven feet tall.

“I am all you have ever been and ever will be. I am your chance, your luck. I have been your misfortune, and your troubles. I have been your gamble, and now, I can be your success.”

“Talk English, why don’t you. You’re in my apartment, and I don’t really give a shit what or who you are.” I’m shaking so hard inside, my teeth hurt.

“You will. Return to your kitchen and look on the table. There is something there for you.”

Looking at him hesitantly, I walked back into my kitchen, keeping one eye on him as I do, and see a sheet of paper in old parchment style; letters written in old English form. It read: From this day forward, Brian McAble, your future is assured. All you want and have wished for will be yours until I return to claim your soul.

“If this is a joke, I ain’t laughing.”

“I assure you, Brian McAble, this is far from a joke. Once you sign the agreement, your life will change.”

“Change? How? Who put you up to this crap? Whoever did your makeup did a good job and you smell terrible.”

“I assure you,” this person waved his hand along his frame, “this is not makeup. The smell is that of death, eternal death. Secondly, you put me up to this. You said you would do anything if you had the winning ticket.

“I play no games. I play by the rules. Go back into the other room and look over your one ticket where each number was off by one.”

Walking around him, holding my breath which didn’t help much, I went into the living room, sat on my sofa and looked at the one ticket again. My eyes went wide as saucers as all the numbers changed into the winning numbers. My hands started shaking as I watched them change back into the losing numbers.

“Can’t be. This is a trick, right?”

“Yes, it is a trick, but a trick to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Brian McAble, I can make anything happen. If you fail to sign the agreement, you will not win. Before long, you will have nowhere to live. You will go hungry and die on your city’s streets. I don’t believe you want that, not when you have the chance to be a winner—the only winner.”

“So, I’m supposed to believe you’re the freaking devil and.…”

“No, I am not the Master, only one of his emissaries. I am one of many who recruits new death.”

That freaked me out.

“All right, already. Let me figure this out. You’re saying once I sign that piece of paper in the kitchen, I win the money. Somewhere down the road you come back and take my soul. I disappear and that’s it. Have I got it right so far?”

“Crudely said, but correct. As it states below in the agreement, once you are financially unable to take care of and meet any and all obligations, I will return to claim what is mine. Agreed?”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Then the offer is rescinded, and I will be gone, and your life will begin to go on a downward spiral.”

It was a gag. Had to be. But where did this guy come from? My front door was locked, and all my windows are closed. He doesn’t look like what I’ve always pictured a devil or what a devil’s assistant would look like. He has no red horns, no tail, and no pitchfork; but his face is a pasty-color and he’s dressed in black. Those red eyes hold death in them.

“Brian McAble, there isn’t much time left. You want riches, wealth, and power. I can give all of that to you once you sign the agreement. After all, it is what you want, what you have always wanted.”

I hadn’t noticed before, but I’m sweating badly. My shirt feels like a second skin. My hands are shaking, and I feel as if I’m about to piss my pants. This guy makes me nervous as—well, that place he comes from.

Getting up from the sofa, I went back to the kitchen table, sat down, and stared at the contract agreement. Just below the agreement it stated: Failure to maintain financial stability and/or obligations will result in forfeiture of your soul and will be withdrawn to the Domain of the Master to be placed in servitude.

I got to thinking that if this is for real, I’m on my way to becoming an uptown guy. If it wasn’t, it was on hell of a prank. “What the hell.” I signed and then looked up at him realizing what I just said. “Sorry.”

He didn’t twitch a muscle other than to take the contract and fold it gingerly, tucked in into the dark cloud surrounding him and began laughing.

“Have the fun you have always wished for, Brian McAble. I shall call upon you twice. The next time, shall we say, will be a reminder of our contract. The second time will be when I come for you. Remember this; this isn’t like one of your jobs you can walk away from when you feel like, and unlike your past responsibilities; this is one contract, one obligation you cannot run from and hide in obscurity. I will find you easily enough.”

I blinked the sweat from my eyes and that quickly, I’m alone. If it hadn’t been for that terrible smell throughout the apartment, I would have never believed this actually happened.

Going back to the living room, sitting on the sofa, I looked at my lottery ticket. I began laughing loudly. The numbers were all there as they were called. 11-19-24-29-31 and 32.

Downing the rest of my beer, I went to the bathroom, stripped away my sweaty clothes from my equally sweaty body, turned on the cold water, soaped myself to rid my body of the smell, that stench which seemed to coat every part of me. Death.

Grabbing a towel, I dried off, leaving the towel wrapped around my waist and go to the fridge to pop open another beer. Walking back to the living room, plopping back onto my sofa, and fired up another smoke, and take another long look at the ticket. I sort of smile. I’m a winner.

I think.

The next day I brought the ticket to the claims office where inspectors checked the ticket to make it hadn’t been forged, altered, or tampered with in any form.

If they only knew.

Next, I had to fill out forms in triplicate stating who I am, where I live, occupation, next of kin and so forth. The next form I had to check off one box and sign my name. There were two choices: one lump sum, or one payment a year for twenty years. I marked off one lump sum. The next form was for tax purposes. This way, the IRS gets their fair share and anyone else I may have owed before I get the lion’s share, which after taxes came to a little over eighteen million.

These guys should buy their own ticket.

What they didn’t tell me, which I already knew, is that they would run a criminal background check for any outstanding warrants, arrests, things like that. Let’em check. They won’t find a thing. Tomorrow after noon, I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. Tomorrow, a press conference would be held to officially present me with the check.

After I signed all the agreements and complied with their stipulations, I paused and thought about that other contract I signed at my apartment. Screw’em. I’ll get out of that somehow. Now that I have the bucks, I can do anything. I’ll worry about Dr. Death later.

_________

“I can’t take it no more! I’m tired, so tired. Please, let me get some rest. I need to rest.”

“Rest! REST! There is no rest in Hell, Brian McAble. Continue to fuel the master’s fires with more coals!”

I bolted upright from bed drenched in sweat. Looking around me, I realized it was just a dream. Looking at my watch, it’s 2:05 in the morning.

I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

__________

Twenty years can go by in the blink of an eye. But they have been good years for me.

What a hell of a time I’ve had. I’ve bought eight cars, nine homes, six of which I rent out. I have three condos, two villas. A sixty-foot yacht and a Lear Jet.

I’ve been around the world several times. London, Japan, Australia, Spain, Monte Carlo and even spent a year in Vegas in a penthouse suite. I was living the life.

When I was in Vegas, yeah, I spent money but not just on gambling. Entertainment and parties was my thing. I was being flashy, but the staff at the hotel treated me like I was royalty.

Because of my wealth, the hotel even provided me with their own security staff in the event someone might have tried to harm me. Me. A guy who could barely afford a six-pack of Schlitz, and here I am now drinking class scotch, eating the best food, wearing five-hundred-dollar suits (one for every day of the year), and expensive shoes to match. I switched from cigarettes to a pipe, showing I had some class. Class, man. Class.

The best thing was the women. I mean you have no idea what it’s like to have this much bread and have the ladies hang all over you, and under you. Before all this, a broad wouldn’t look at me sideways; now they look at me in all ways. Wherever I go, there are always beautiful women by my side. Hell, when I threw my first private party, the champagne flowed, the food kept coming, the music played all night, and when I woke up the next morning in my overly large bed, there were two women under the cool satin sheets; both blondes and both gorgeous. I couldn’t remember much of what happened with the three of us the night before but after they woke up, I remember what happened that morning. When they left four hours later, I couldn’t have gotten it up with a forklift. Yeah, that first year was special, and it cost me nine-hundred grand. It was worth it.

Like I did from the first year to now, I hired an attorney to take two-hundred grand from my account and invest it in real estate, CD’s, and other shareholdings.

After I call him today, I have to get down to my yacht. I’m going to Jamaica for a three-week cruise with Diana, Jessica and Brittany. Another fun trip. I love how I live.

“Yeah and add the last thirty grand to ICOR Industries. I got a tip from a pretty good source their stocks are on the rise and I want in on the short buck before it hits its peak. Thanks, Dan. Don’t forget to take your normal ten percent and the ten for the broker. Talk to you later.”

After I hung up, I headed for the shower when I smelled that smell.

“Brian McAble, I have returned.”

“NO!” I had forgotten all about him. What do you want with me? It can’t be time yet. I still have money. All of my obligations are taken care of, and I don’t owe anyone a dime.”

I was shaking as hard as I was the first time we met. The sweat was dripping from me as if I had been caught in a heavy downpour.

“You have forgotten like so many others have. I came only to remind you of our agreement. Whatever you do, you cannot cheat the Master. Soon, Brian McAble, you will belong to the Master, who will deal with you as he sees fit.”

“Yeah, well, well you can’t touch me now. I have plenty of money, investments and ….”

“I can smell your fear and it is a good smell. No, I have not come for you, only to remind you when next we meet, it will be to claim you in the agreement of the contract you signed of your own free will and choice, Brian McAble. And it will be soon, sooner than you expect.”

He disappeared as did the dark cloud of smoke that surrounded him. In the empty space where he had stood, I can still see those fiery red eyes of his and hear the echo of his harsh laughter in my mind.

I called room service as I was at a country club and ordered someone to bring me a pack of cigarettes. Within five minutes there was a knock on the door. I gave the porter a five-dollar tip, shut and locked the door and started chain-smoking.

“I forgot about him, but I know I can beat him. All I have to do is die having money. I’ll always have money.

“Always.”

__________

“Listen, Dan, do what I’m going to tell you and don’t ask questions or say one word. I just got back from Jamaica and I’ve been doing some thinking. I want you to put up all the villas, all the houses but one on the selling block. Sell all my cars except the black limo. Sell the boat … yes the fucking boat, are you deaf! Find a buyer for the jet and—quit fucking interrupting me, dammit!

"Get ahold of my broker and have him distribute the profits from the sales evenly into all the stocks that are making big bucks. I want a financial statement of my net worth in my hands by tomorrow morning. Yes, I said tomorrow morning, so get to it, now!”

I hung up the phone, went to the fridge and popped open a can of Schlitz. Look at me, already I’m trying to conserve money.

Sitting on my sofa, I hit the remote and there before me was what started it all. “… and 28. Perhaps tonight will find a lucky ….” I shut the TV off.

__________

I was on the edge of hell. Looking down, I could see red smoke curling upward, rising up and covering my shoes. From far below I could hear wailing cries, piercing shrieks of the damned and already doomed. Hands were clawing forth, reaching out with long thin fingers burnt beyond the color of ashes. They were trying to pull me down into the pit of hell. I could hear their voices.

“It is time, Brian McAble. It is time.”

I tried to back away, but my legs were rooted to the edge.

Frozen.

“You cannot run. You cannot hide. The Master is waiting. He commands you to serve him, to do his bidding.”

I screamed and screamed and screamed.

__________

The portable phone next to my bed rang.

Waking in a sweat, I reached for it and cried, “I’m not going, I’m not … oh, sorry, Dan, it’s you. I was having a bad dream is all. What have you got for me?” Listening, I fired up a cigarette, got out of bed and pulled another Schlitz from the fridge.

“Good enough. Just make sure I get those numbers delivered to me today. Now listen carefully. I want you to take your usual cut, plus twenty more this time. This is the last time I’ll need your services. From here on out, I’m going to deal directly with my broker. Yeah, something’s bugging me, but it’s none of your business, and doesn’t involve you to begin with. It’s personal, okay? Oh, and Dan, thanks for everything.” I hung up the phone back in the bedroom.

__________

Taking a heavy swallow of beer by a heavy drag off my cigarette, I wiped the back of my hand across my lips and smiled. I’m worth a little more than two-hundred million. The way I figured it, being sixty-one, I won’t have a problem dying rich from old age.

There ain’t no way he can collect.

I’ve beat him.

“Yeah, there ain’t no way in or out of hell he can touch me.”

__________

Today, I am a century old.

It’s been years since I heard from that foul-smelling creep. I beat him or else he would have showed his face by now. He knows he can’t win. I’m still rich. I made it and the prick can’t do anything about it.

I don’t get around very good these days. I’m in a wheelchair and I have a private nurse living in my house in Rosemont, just south of San Diego. Great view of the lake and the surrounding property. Every day I watch the boats speeding by and the girls parading around in their bikini’s, their tits bobbing up and down when running around, asses vibrating just so; it makes me remember the old days.

Every night, Louise, my nurse, reads the evening paper to me. She thinks I’m strange as all I have her read is the financial section and stock quotes. Last night she helped me figure out my total net worth was close to three-hundred million. Eat your heart out, red eyes.

Glancing at the wall clock, it’s almost seven. Seven is when she reads to me. Here she comes. And she doesn’t look very happy either.

“What’s wrong, girl? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

“Mr. McAble, I don’t know how to tell you this but ….”

“But what? Spit it out, Louise. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“It’s here, on the front page. I bought several papers today because I knew you would want to know, and, and, it’s been on the news all day, and, and ….” She was crying.

“Calm down, Louise. I haven’t watched television all day. What the hell are you trying to say?”

“The stock market has gone under. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. McAble.”

I looked at her through my tired old eyes and felt the color evaporate from my face. I felt weak and every bit twice my age. Self-doubting anger kicked in and I snatched the newspapers from her hands.

New York Times: MAJOR U.S. INDUSTRIES GO UNDER. Chicago Sun: GOVERNMENT CANNOT GIVE RELIEF. Washington Post: PANIC BREAKS AS AMERICANS MAKE RUN ON BANKS. Boston Globe: STOCK MARKET TAKES ITS DEEPEST PLUNGE SINCE 1929.

I sat back in my wheelchair and expel a whoosh of air in defeat. I have to think about all this. This can’t be happening to me. It just can’t be.

“Louise, please, leave me alone. I need some time to myself.”

As she stood to leave, I watched her short and bulky frame waddle away. All the planning, all the work I’ve done to keep him away was for nothing. Nothing.

My soul can’t be of any use to him now. I mean, I’m old and frail. Maybe he’s forgotten. Maybe, but I doubt it. Guys like him are like bad breath, they just keep coming back and it never gets better.

That smell. I know that smell. Death. He’s here.

“You are right, Brian McAble. I have not forgotten. It is time.”

“Why now? What use am I to you, now? I’m old. My body can’t be of any use, not for what you guys want. Let’s call it a bad investment on your part.”

“How ignorant you are, and others like you have been. Age has nothing to do with our agreement. True, your body is withered and frail, nearing exhaustion, but the soul is always youthful after death, full of vitality. Once you return with me to greet the Master, you will become his slave above your wildest nightmares. You shall suffer the hell you so richly deserve. Brian McAble, when you signed the contract, your soul belonged to the Master at the age you were then. In your new domain, your soul will never be older than it was the time we first met and shall never age.”

My heart was beating faster.

“I know I could have beaten you. I know I could have.”

“Even if you had died rich; is that what you choose to believe? Wrong. Once you had died, you would have no longer have been able to fulfill and meet your obligations and you would still be the master’s property.”

I stared at his piercing red eyes and finally understood the horror of it all. Maybe, just maybe I can gamble in hell and be a winner. Make a trade off of some sort. My soul for another.

“Brian McAble, you have no trade-offs. Your soul belongs to the Master. It is time.”

He extended his arm, pointing his finger, and touched my face.

I felt the heat.

So dry. So hot.

How long have I been here? A day, a week; months, perhaps years. No, it couldn’t have been years or I would long since died to become nothing more than rotted flesh with brittle bones. How I came to be here isn’t important, only that I must not give up a way of escaping; but how?

I don’t know.

I know I am hungry and that my insides feed off me as I’ve lost a lot of weight. My face, my very flesh feels sallow, and were I not too tired to scream, I know I would if I were to see myself, such as it has to be. Pale white in most places, high yellow in others, and I haven’t helped matters by scratching all the places that itch without water to stay clean. Each time my nails rake my flesh, they tear off scabbed over blood and puss marks, leaking out an odor that wafts up to my nearly lost senses.

As I feel around me in between the hours I am able to sleep; hum all the forgotten tunes, force out mangled laughter as the jokes no longer seem funny, I have surveyed my prison and as I sometimes trace my hands along naked stone walls; though not really naked as I can caress the texture of dust that will always be alive as it moves from place to place and I think this is what I will become.

Dust.

I had to be curious. I just had to see what was below the metal door leading into the old tunnel. I wouldn’t and couldn’t listen to all the stories told by the old-timers in Cantry.

Nooooo, I had to find out the hard way.

The metal door led to five steps that led to one room that led to nowhere. Just one room. A room with four walls, a wooden floor, and nothing else. No other door and no windows to look out of.

That was part of the reason that made me come here, to see why. Why would someone build this? Certainly not as a bomb shelter, it isn’t below ground far enough. If it was supposed to be an underground cabin, the idea was plausible but not practical. No running water or electrical outlets.

The stories I heard was that it was just always here. No one who lived in Cantry knew who built the one room, and no one knew where the steel door came from; it was just there. The old-timers said whoever went inside, never came out.

There has to be a way out.

There aren’t any skeletons, no smell of rotted death within these walls; only my own fear sweating around me is all I can smell.

All around me.

I love a good mystery as much as the next person, so in my head I figured there must be a buried treasure in here; why else the stories, but it keeps strangers away? It made perfect sense to me, but if there is a treasure, I wouldn’t know where. The walls are solid; no loose stones to turn and the floorboards won’t pry open.

What food, water and other supplies I had have long since disappeared as well as fifty or sixty pounds. If I’m not discovered soon, I think I will disappear into thin air. I think I am going mad. I don’t think that at all.

I know it.

The old-timers in Cantry must believe I have long since left the area, or else they would have come to look for me by now.

Well, they would have, don’t you think?

__________

Perhaps, but not every belief becomes a reality.

__________

“Mildred, get the pot ready. They should be back before long.”

“Then he’s ready for the festival, Jesse?”

“Yup, he is at that. Tonight we will all be singin’ and dancin’ like we have all these years past.”

“Do you think he’s lost much weight?”

“That, I can’t be sure of woman, but it don’t matter none. The meat on the bones will still be there, and by the time you boil them bones, they’ll be tender as soft moss after a good rain.”

“True enough, Jesse. After the festival tonight, with the passing of the moon’s fullness, our old bones will step livelier and our eyes and thoughts keener. I just wish more young folks like him would stop by this way more often. It ain’t like it used to be back in the day when we could fifty to a hundred a year to fall for that old story.”

“I know, Mildred. But not to worry. As long as some young buck or couple stops off in Cantry, we’ll always be able to keep ourselves goin’. You know, you still look as good as the first day I married you back in sixteen.”

“Why, Jesse; that was over four-hundred years ago, but you know something? I still love it every time you say those words.”

__________

That night, the old-timers had their fill and danced under the stars and the full moon which seemed brighter than usual. They danced and partied until the day captured concealed the moon’s orb and his behind the shadows of a bright blue sky.

And they all slept like a new born.

__________

A year later, a newlywed couple came west on highway sixty-four and spotted a small sleepy village to their left and decided they would spend the night there before it got much later.

And the old-timers began making preparations, for they knew they were coming and smiled.

__________

Cantry. A place of beauty, a place to feel at home.

There’s no place like it.

You’re welcomed there—but only once.