Hell Breaks Loose
I could stay here all day, I thought to myself as I waited next in line at the Starbucks inside Barnes and Noble. Clutching a copy of Inferno in one hand and a wadded ten in the other, I opted out of anything caffienated and ordered a tall hot chocolate instead.
"Could I also get a pumpkin scone, as well?" I asked the barista. I don't even remember the total, aside from it being less than the ten I offered for her to "keep the change." Money meant close to nothing today. This was my first day off in weeks. And it would be followed by an even more rare two additional days off for the holiday weekend.
As I walked with my treat (and drink) to the nearest table, I caught sight of the price tag of a chess board on display next to some action figures. Had I taken a sip of my cocoa beforehand, it may have been spat onto the box. Yeah, right, I thought to myself as I sat at the two person table.
I have no idea how long I sat at the table; my only clues came from the crumbles left on my napkin and my hot chocolate no longer living up to its name. I was fully immersed in navigating Hell with Dante. Only the din of an explosion behind me, followed closely by the eruption of the lobby windows and the deafening screams of patron and employee alike stood a chance at tugging me away.
A man had crashed through the window, toppling the display of figurines and crushing the $40 chess board in the process. Groans were interjected with a variety of curses as the man, a well built man in his early forties, glanced up and noticed that I was the only soul either too petrified or too stupid to be running.
With a crooked smile, he nodded to me. "Nailed that landing, huh? Like a cat."
Why do I feel like he seems so familiar? I thought.
"A dead cat, maybe." The smirk ran from his face.
"I can get up without help," he replied. "Which is good, since it doesn't look like you were going to offer." Bracing on a clenched fist, the man leaned to a side to lift himself to his feet. He quickly removed his black blazer and tossed it aside onto the downed pile of merchandise. It was then I noticed the markings covering his chest and arms.
"Harry," I uttered.
Harry D'Amour, the freelance private investigator/paranormal detective, ignored my discovery as the tattoos covering his torso, actually protective wards from various evils, began to singe just below the skin, indicating the presence of demon magic nearby.
"Yeah, yeah. Danger, Will Robinson. You don't think I already know?!" Harry brushed himself off as he reached to a concealed holster to his revolver. "Look, kid, I don't know what memo you missed, but it's time to run.
"How are you here, and what the hell is going on?
Harry replied with only one word: Hell.
With the bookstore vacant aside from the two of us, the horrifying din of a bell echoed through the shattered window.
"It can't be. Him too?" My blood froze as the PI nodded.
"You have about ten seconds to change your mind about sticking around." A second bell chime sang, this one louder and clearer. He turned back to me. "Okay, maybe five."
"Probably zero!" I shouted as I pointed to the slowly approaching figure across the street.
"Fuck me," we declared in unison.
It was Him, alright. The films, though accurate, did no justice when compared to witnessing the horrors of his anatomy first hand. Tall and very slender, the man wore a black robe concealing him completely from the neck down. Even from the closing distance, several places where flesh and cloth were stitched together were apparent. At his belt rested several various devices of torture. Nausea came over me as a glimpse of his face became clear.
What at first looked like nails turned out to be metal spikes driven in a mapped pattern into his hairless skull. Deep, sunken eyes were alike to bottomless pools when accented by the colorless, lifeless skin clutching tightly to the bone.
Harry wasted no time in firing two shots at the Hell Priest. Both shots hit home, one in the shoulder and another in the lower abdomen.
"Unless you happened to find something useful that Dante hid in that book, I suggest you do us both a favor and get the fuck out of here!
No replies could come to mind as I bolted to the back of the bookstore toward the employee entrance. I overheard the sarcastic retort "okay, thanks!" as I cleared the kiosk in the center of the building.
The Hell Priest, minimally damaged from his wounds, gave my exit (and my presence, most likely) no mind as he stepped through the broken window frame.
"No more of this, Harry D'Amour," the cenobite said as I pushed open the swinging doors and hurried to the exit.
I fumbled for my keys as I raced to the car. Once inside, the car started with no trouble. Lucky, I thought aloud as I sped from the nearly vacant parking lot, ignoring a red light as I navigated my way home.
My head swam with ideas. Police? They won't be any help. And obviously I don't have any demon hunter friends on speed dial. What the hell should I do? Better yet, what CAN I do? Maybe this is best left to an expert like Harry.
As I pulled into the driveway, I quickly exited the car and, once inside the house, headed directly to the bathroom medicine cabinet. Forcing open a bottle of vicoden, I popped three into my mouth and journeyed to my bedroom.
"Fuck days off," I said as I collapsed onto my pillow. "Time to sleep this one off."
And if I'm lucky, it'll all be over before I wake. Or I'll die peacefully in my sleep.
Note: technically I cheated. Harry D'Amour appears in several Clive Barker stories as well as a film. His most recent entry is Scarlet Gospels, in which he and his team face off against Hell Priest (better known by his assigned alias Pinhead, from the Hellbound Heart/Hellraiser lore). So I gave a two for one deal.