Master of Small Favors

                The fungus on the walls dampened the sound of echoing screams. Whips snapped and flesh tore, chains cranked and bones crunched. The sounds mixed discordantly, culminating in a grotesque symphony that only the Devil could enjoy. Well, the Devil … or the Man in the Onyx Mask.

                He sat in the balcony on his throne and inhaled deeply through the holes in his black façade; blood and must. He relished the scent as he took a second, deeper breath throwing his head back in ecstasy.  The Man in the Onyx Mask exhaled slowly and lowered his eyes upon scene before him. He watched, enraptured, as the unrelenting torture built to a crescendo releasing a palpable sense of terror into the atmosphere. He fed on it for what seemed like hours.

    Satisfied at last, he stood and raised a single gloved hand.

                As the people below him noticed, one by one, the sounds diminished. The screams subsided into sobs, and everything ceased. All who were able looked upon his stone face and waited in silence.

                “Now,” he said staring down at them from above, “feel free to have your way with them.”

                Instantly the torturers began to tear and remove their clothing. They used sticks and parts of machines, anything they could find to make bandages and splints. The victims were tended to through tears of apology, and were offered water though most weren’t able to stomach it.

                The Man in the Onyx Mask turned to leave the dungeon and spoke over his shoulder, “Your debts are forgiven. Take your children and leave.”

La Mechanique

La Mechanique
No, I don't have an I.D. could you wave that rule just this once. I will surely make it worth your while. Yes, that will be alright, Thank you so much, which room is it? 407, oh I see thank you very much.
I must put a chair in front of the door, I'm never safe he is always chasing me, he is so relentless. He has chased me from Kansas to Maryland. Always close behind me. Oh, cruel fate, why me? Why am I the one he is after? Aren't there others?
I haven't had a sound sleep in so long. Everywhere I go it is a new fake name. I keep to the shadows to avoid him. If he sees me I'm done for, but is this chase ever going to end?
No, I can't think of that, it will only end one way, me in the grave and I just won't have that. No, I have lived too short of a life. I want to live so much more. There are such great wines I haven't tasted, but I don't dare drink anymore. And women who I haven't bedded. Ah, so many soft and succulent lips. So many gentle breasts bumping slowly up and down as I give the good ride.
Alas, I can't even enjoy such a simple pleasure anymore. He could get me with my pants down if you know what I mean. He is everywhere. He is unceasing. Am I going mad? Is this just a terrible nightmare that I can't wake up from?
Its an existential trap. I'm forced into despair at the very real prospect of my own demise. Yes, I will be killed by him it is inevitable but how do I face my death? My mortality? I can't! I have to run. Run forever. Run until my heart gives out or my flesh is hacked from my body, if you know what I mean.
Yes I am a sinner, yes I have so much guilt, but aren't there so many more guilty than me? Pimps who beat women. I could never see why a man would hit a woman, they are so comforting. Oh, it has been too long. How long? Perhaps weeks, or maybe months. When you are running desperately for your life it is hard to keep track of time.
It is hard to keep track of anything. Where to begin. Forgive me father for I have sinned. And now on my death bed I fear hell above all things. I know my damnation is soon, and maybe even a death bed confession will take a few years off my sentence.
I have lied, cheated, stolen, blasphemed, and , made a whore of myself. I have failed to honor my parents. I left at seventeen. I ran off to California with a girl. Oh she was so supple. They all are. Each one a work of art.
Don't get me wrong I am sorry for most of my sins. All of them if you will save me. Even more of them if you can even by me another day.
The sun rises, another desperate bus ride out of town. To Boston. Here I might be safe. In the dead of winter will he still chase me? Oh my, I promised not to say dead or death anymore. They remind me of him.  Would that I could bribe him. Or stop him somehow but I fear this is inescapable.
I think someone said man is responsible for everything he does, but not for his birth. I was born by chance. I didn't want to be a debauch. I could have even devoted my life to good deeds or charity. Oh, I remember Charity  didn't she dance at that club? Or was it Crystal?  It doesn't matter. Perhaps, here I will be free.
Another cheap motel. In Jamaica plains or Chelsea maybe. I have more of a chance of remaining anonymous or using a fake name. Can he track my receipts? No, those whores in Baltimore meant nothing to me. Please don't add it to my sins.
I didn't chose to be born I cried at the sheer terror of being alive. Now I cry for being damned. There are so many people in New York, maybe I can escape here.
No there he is, in the street, silently stalking me. Well this motel will keep me safe. I will hide from the window. Bar the door with a chair. And maybe pray. But who do I pray to Christ? Allah? Yahweh? Who can stop the inevitable? Are these religions not fatalist? Don't their very words damn me?
So what? I'm damned. Hell awaits me. Fine I will face my death like the sniveling coward I am. Hiding and running. Weak and base. Oh, what a fool. I am. I hear a knock on the door. It is gentle at first, but it won't stop. It is maddening. I cry out go away! But the knock continues. I begin to beg for my life, but only silence and the knocking remain.
Perhaps, we are all born to die. And this is my time. All the running, the despair. I've lost all hope now. I see the world for what it is. An indifferent hell. Fine bring on the inferno. Come in. I'm ready to face you. Vain, cowardly, but I won't die a cowards death. No, my noble Celtic blood won't allow it. I take the chair from the door and he walks in. Wrapped in black faceless. I sit on my bed as he walks across the room. He pulls the blinds shut. Then takes his hood down to display the face of death and despair.
I collapse as my breathing slows. I can't breathe everything is going numb. Fine death you finally got me. Hell awaits. I'm sor........

11:18

Its 11:18, my mind is so far away. A harmless question, "you are not afraid of heights are you?" I stared off for a moment, "no, of course not." But now I was hung on the implied question, what do I fear? What does a man who spends so many hours thinking about death, who spends more time in the caress of lady suicide than in the warm bosom of life.
What do I fear? Weakness. Cowardice. Failure. I fear that I will not be strong enough for the ever dwindling list of people I care about. I feel even the best of them, that their patience with this pathetic little boy will finally break. That their tolerance for all my little acid comments and all my moments where I can't be the better man.
I fear that I will be afraid. That when the cards are dealt that I won't be the man I thought I was. That I will run from the fire not into it. I fear that my strength will never be enough for these long days. I fear failure, most of all failing myself. Which every day I become convinced that I have already done this. That the man who I wanted to be is fading into a memory washed down with cheap wine, and long moments of despair.
Yet I don't feel afraid. I keep my eyes forward. Yes I do fear my own weakness, my own cowardice, and my potential for failure. But I am not a coward. I have not failed. And I am yet still strong. Take a deep breath Jean, try not to over think things. You are younger than you realize.
Come now there is still so much to do......

Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

"Jean,.... Jean,.... Jean" Mathieu called as Jean stared off. "You are always somewhere else." Mat laughed, "And damn old friend, you look like hell."
Jean smiled at his old friend, "I haven't had a good night's sleep since..." as he faked a smile to hide a frown, "Well you know."
Mathieu stared into his eyes, "Well is there nothing to be done for it? Have you seen a doctor about it, maybe get put on some sleeping pills?"
"No" retorted Jean, "I think I will go this one on my own." At this Jean politely stood up, left a few dollars for his cup of coffee and bade his friend a warm farewell.  Although warm it lacked authenticity. And for all his good etiquette Mat knew his friend was not well. But these things could hardly be helped.
When Jean arrived at his apartment he tossed his keys on the counter and walked into the bathroom. On the counter was an overturned photograph in a pretty purple frame. A young woman with black hair and a beautiful smile was hugging a man who looked like Jean did, in happier days.
In the bathroom there were still two towels. A his and hers set from the wedding. It had been a lovely event. Beautiful Anya had looked so amazing in that white dress. Had looked so wonderful always. To the point where Jean could hear himself saying "Anya my love... Anya... please hurry up... you've been in there for hours... I'm sure you'll look fine, but we will miss the play" Or whatever..... He sat down in the shower and began to cry. The cold water couldn't hold back the tears tonight. The tears he shed for dear Anya.
Jean stood up and looked in the mirror. In the reflection he swore he could see Anya standing behind him. But not as she was, not young and beautiful, but tortured and broken. He could see the unclosed wounds where her face broke on the steering wheel.  He could see a few ribs hanging out, and cringed. The sight of it made him vomit, and brought him to his senses as he threw up in the toilet.
Jean cried out once more "Anya" but as he looked around there was no one there. He walked into a kitchen filled with little knickknacks and clutter that his dearly departed had once adorned their quiet little home with. A home Jean had been unable to alter since the accident.  He stared at a ceramic kitten, all white and pure, like his Anya had been. Then in a fit of rage he smashed the figurine on the counter and began balling.
As his teary eyes looked up he made eye contact with the same horrific caricature as before, his dear Anya, his dear Anya the way she looked the night he lost her. Jean stared at her mangled body standing in front of him judging him. Jean stuttered but finally found a few words.  "Anya, I'm so sorry." The corpse remained silent. Just judging him from those hollow eyes. "Anya" Jean continued pleadingly, "Anya, I should have been driving that night!" The tears running down his face he put out his arms to embrace the corpse of his dearest love but the image faded and Jean abruptly fell to the floor.
"Anya" he cried out again as he laid on the floor, curled up a grown man who felt as broken inside as the corpse of his dead wife.
On the night of the accident it had been raining. Jean had terrible eyesight at night in particular and made all the worse by the rain. He politely asked Anya to drive. Being the adorable couple they were, beautiful Anya gladly took the keys. They kissed right before she turned the keys and then began to drive.  She put a hand on Jean's hip as they drove. He smiled at the beautiful woman, but his mind was elsewhere. They were newlyweds, and had so much to get done the next week if they wanted to be able to go on honeymoon to Barbados.
Anya had always wanted to see the Caribbean, but had grown up so poor. Jean wasn't wealthy, but he always had enough to make his Anya happy. He tucked away money in secret over the three years of their engagement. Surprising her on their wedding day with tickets to Bridgetown.
As Anya squeezed Jean's hip again gently she turned slightly to look into Jean's eyes, but just as that happened a car from the intersection slipped, its brakes failed in the rain and clipped Jean and Anya. The side of her face smashed on the steering wheel. and her ribs broke against it. Jean hit his head badly on the dashboard. As things began to blur he felt her hand still tight on his hip and gazed at what was left of her face. Tears ran down his cheek and his memory faded.
Jean's survival had been miraculous, or so the doctors said. All he could think of was the picture of beautiful Anya dead in the driver's seat.
As Jean got up from the floor he wandered into their bedroom. There sitting on his bed was the same ghastly image. He could not get it out of his head. She seemed so real. He screamed out, "What Anya ! What can I do?" She motioned for him to pick up his journal.
Jean obeyed, grief stricken with tears running down his cheeks. Anya pointed to the pen. Then Jean felt his hand writing without his control. The hand writing was familiar, but clearly not his. He looked again, not yet reading the message. Finally he found some wedding thank you cards he never sent. It was Anya's writing. Jean read the message.
I can't be dead without you.
Jean looked at her. The mangled corpse pointed to the bathroom and vanished. Jean walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Anya's corpse stood behind him in his reflection. She placed her hands on his and moved them to open the drawer. There Jean pulled out a razor blade. He stared at her reflection with tears in his eyes.  Then he moved the blades down his wrists as the ghost moved them in his reflection. As the blood ran from his wrists the Anya's reflection grew fairer, the wounds healed and she looked ever more beautiful. As he fell to the ground he stared into the mirror.
Eventually his eyes began to blur. There written in blood beside him were the words:
Together, Once More, Now and For Eternity

IV-The Feast

IV-The Feast

So there they sat. Amin and Bashir cast a distrustful eye at their uncle. Camille happily sucked down wine. And Uncle Achmed with a grand smile on his face recounted a battle just a few nights ago. He said,
"So there we were, it was just me a few janissaries and a couple Bedouin against an entire tribe. They had refused to pay taxes and rather than lose face in front of that stuck up Bey Hussein we rushed out that night to meet them. My Janissaries fired a few volleys  into their ranks but the cavalry quickly recovered.  As soon as things went from bad to worse my Bedouin fled leaving just me and a few janissaries."
Camille looked up, "However did you survive?"
Uncle Achmed smiled wanting someone to egg his story on. "Soon we were surrounded. I dismounted my horse and drew a sword. We slashed and cut out way through one side of the circle, but then they span around and hit us again. Now all that was left was myself and the three remaining janissaries, one of which who had taken a substantial wound on the shoulder. I smiled at my men and cried Allahu Akbar. And ran toward the charging cavalry. The men were puzzled but returned the cry and ran after me."
Camille, "I had forgotten the excitement of battle. Do finish good Pasha"
Achmed continued, "By the end of the fight we had slew 1200 of them and lost merely fourteen. God truly is great." And at this last line Achmed winked at the boys.
Camille, now excited interjected, "How could you have survived!"
Achmed laughed, "Enough of this for now, let's get some food my friends!"
As the old man snapped his fingers the slaves came out carrying a sumptuous feast. There was wine from the best regions in Spain and France. Plenty of Goat and Mutton. And of course there was magnificent bread. Baked by artisans. The four guests ate so heartily they felt as if their stomachs were about to explode. Could there be no end to the delights of Achmed's palace?
As the dinner was finished the slaves cleared the table. In return they brought out Hookah, Coffee, and Baklava.  Amin tried to politely decline desert but his uncle insisted.  And as the hookah was lit three beautiful black belly dancers were brought forward.
Camille stared entranced by their grace and beauty, these women were incredible. Every move followed a hypnotic rhythm and it seemed their bodies were created only to memorize.  Camille felt entranced by the women.
Amin laughed and looked over at Achmed, "Well my uncle, what shall we do from here?"
Bashir interjected, "What can we do for our master?"
Achmed spoke in an eerie voice, "You say you are bound to him, but what do you know of oaths?"
Amin tried to speak, but could not find the words.
Achmed continued, "The man you were bound to fell in Belarus fighting monsters alongside you. This man is merely an reanimated body. His soul is unable to inhabit it forever. Souls cannot live in a body past death. However they don't slip out all at once. No, things like this are never that easy. You see my nephews our soul will remain as long as it can, but it strains itself trying to accept the inhumanity growing in its master. In an average person's life the soul will slip out little by little. A murder, a theft, a lie, and so on. Finally when you reach old age you will have as much soul left as you have goodness in your heart."
Bashir stared into his uncle's eyes,  "Camille still has plenty of good left in him my uncle."
Achmed continued, "Camille will live as long as his body can survive, until someone is strong enough to kill him. Every day he will have to make little sacrifices to survive.  And each little sacrifice will bring him closer to losing his soul forever. Losing his humanity and his self in eternity."
Amin interjected, "Was that why the creature attacked us when we entered the temple?"
Achmed smiled "Yuri Indoslav was a 400 year old vampire. He had lived in that section of the world since long before any of us drew breath. However being an original Yuri was forced to watch everyone he cared about be killed by the Crusaders ravaging his country, or by his own hands as he tried desperately to control the bloodlust. It is no doubt his soul found little goodness left to hold onto, and when a body is finally emptied of all hope, of all light, well there is little left we can do."
Bashir, "You knew him?"
Achmed laughed, "No, I knew of him. In 1710, while I was only a mere boy of eighteen I was called up to war by the Sultan. The Russians had attacked our people. We made common cause with the bitterest foe of Russia, Charles XII of Sweden. The war was costly and we fought each other to a standstill. However it was in Wallachia that I met a man who spoke of an old man in Transylvania named Tepes .
Amin, "Well that doesn't explain everything. Now does it?"
Achmed smiled, "It is getting late. We should all retire. Camille my boy!"
Camille looked up instantly, "Yes?"
The old man replied,  "You will not cause any trouble tonight right? My nephews are still a little nervous, but I know you are a good fellow right?"
Camille nodded.
Achmed smiled "Then be a good gentleman and go to bed."
Compelled once more Camille went to bed without a second word. Amin wanted to speak, but knew words would be wasted on his elusive uncle. All he saw was Bashir mouthing the word tomorrow and they went off to there rooms.

Sanglante de la neige: 3

Sanglante de la neige: 3 : As the boat approached the bay the two men smiled raucously. It was almost sun down and their parcel had been locked away for far too long. Three Janissaries approached the boat as it docked. After the traditional assalam wa alaikum the men asked for the ships papers. The Maltese captain exclaimed in a strange French-Arabic patois that they had come from Tunis bringing provisions. The men walked up to Amin and Bashir. The captain spoke "And what brings you to the regency?". Bashir smiled "We are here to visit our uncle, a relative has died and we must burry him soon before the body decays". The man beside the captain interjected, "maybe we should search the coffin, these men might have smuggled weapons." The captain smiled, "No, I do not think that will be necessary, Achmed Pasha would have our heads if we harassed his favorite nephews." The two soldiers began to laugh nervously. Then the captain smiled, "you two will carry the coffin for these boys, and we will get them a cart so they can make for Constantine with haste." As the road to the city winded towards the gate a honor guard surrounded Bashir and Amin. After greeting the boys the old man instructed some men to carry the coffin for the boys to their old uncle's palace. When the boys entered Achmed was still sleeping. He took to sleeping away most of the days, but usually had a look alike posted to greet the less knowledgeable traveler. The men were shocked when Amin demanded the coffin be given a room. Bashir quickly covered the boys tracts explaining "the corpse must be washed and prepared. Doesn't it?" Around four the Pasha woke up. He sent for the boys and held a secret council in his room. Achmed smiled, "I was worried when I heard that the French Sultan had invaded Egypt. So many people were killed or otherwise disrupted by the wars. Now some half-mad Albanian sits on the seat of government. The mamelukes couldn't even stop him. But I sense you have no need for lectures in current affairs, or politics. What brings the sons of my favorite sister to my home?" Amin began to speak, always rashly he never found the quite right words, "It was a half-mad mameluke that wanted mine and Bashir's heads!" Bashir realizing the need for discretion interjected, "Well you see, oh great uncle, we were in quite some trouble, and a French officer saved us. He was very young, barely twenty, but had been appointed by his brother to a decent position, his brother was a great general of the French Sultan." Achmed guessing as much already smiled, "my spies are many, but fewer these days, it took all I could just to know that, and of course of your poor mother's death. Terrible business wars are." Amin continued, "this French officer took us in and treated us like brothers. We fought the mad Cossacks in the east. Terrible men loving nother but killing. They burn churches and raise villages just for sport." Achmed mouthed the word Kufr or dog in the local tongue, Bashir interjected, "We were gathering intelligence in the Russian kingdom when our party was attacked by a strange cultist." Amin held up a symbol from the old pagan temple. Achmed smiled then snapped his fingers, some men were called for the coffin. They brought it in and then were dismissed. Achmed smiled with glee, "And this is your Frenchman I suppose?" The boys opened the casket to reveal Camille in his blue jacket chained in the coffin. The old Pasha laughed, in my house there is no need to restrain him. Achmed called another servant who brought in a young slave girl. In an almost effortless gesture the venerable old man cut her throat deliberately allowing the blood to fall on Camille. Whose black eyes opened as he felt the bloodlust take over his body. "Drink" the pasha said as he handed the girl to Camille. The command, seemed so matter of fact that Camille obeyed without second thought. Achmed smiled, "Rule number one my dear boy, feeding stops the blood lust and keeps you in control, it is the devil's curse, you must feed to rettain your humanity, but you must be inhuman to feed!" At this the old man burst with laughter. "And your cloths! Do you want to look like a corpse?" The Pasha snapped his fingers and some men took Camille away to wash and dress him. Bashir stared coldly at the corpse on the floor and then at his uncle. Amin then spoke, "So it is as we though uncle?" Achmed smiled "Our guest has returned, now Camille, and boys go and have some wine and coffee, we will have a sumptuous feast in a few hours. Camille and the boys began to walk out of the room. Achmed called back, "You feel better now don't you? Rule number two, you are a house guest so behave as one!" The command ran through Camille's mind and he felt like he was under the old man's control.

Deux- A Folly

Deux- A Folly
Bashir called out to Amin, "I think I found him".
Amin began to pull rubble off of a lifeless Camille. The three men were surrounded in the bombed out ruins of a temple. A temple to the old pagan gods. It looked every much as timeless as a Roman ruin. Villagers would be sacrificed to the gods on these old corrupted altars.
Everything had the look of inverted redemption. Gods that should have been saving men demanding a blood price.
Alojzy limped into view calling out to the brothers "I found a peasant farm. They are no friends to the Rus. We can treat him there." Glancing at Camille's pale skin, "Or at least prepare his body."
The brother lifted Camille's body. Although the pallor was gone from his it seemed there were no visible wounds on his body.
They laid him on a table inside of the barn. Then to both the peasant and Alojzy's surprise Amin and Bashir began tying Camille to the table. Then the brothers asked Alojz and the woman to leave. Bashir smiled "Oriental medicine mustn't be witnessed by outsiders. Give us some time and trust in Allah. Camille will be better by the morning.
Alojzy looked lustily towards the peasant girl. He wouldn't have to be told twice. They disappeared into the house.
Bashir and Amin began chanting. As they muttered these lost words Camille's body began convulsing. These death throws were accompanied by an apparent verisimilitude, it looked like his entire body was rejecting itself.
Camille's eyes finally opened but the pupils had expanded so far as to give his entire eyes a blacked out look. As he writhed he began to spit blood everywhere screaming like a mad man. The brothers just kept chanting.
Finally the convulsions slowed and the red blood from his mouth began to look the brownish color of stagnation. The brothers stopped chanting and wiped the blood from his face. Finally Camille spoke, in short halting sentences "Where am I? What happened? Why can't I see?"
Bashir smiled "You are very sick my friend. How much do you remember?"
Camille, regaining his composure "we were going to follow up on some of the information the priest had got for us."
Amin's lips pursed a few more words, "Ah, well I think you found what we were looking for. The good news is that those immortals aren't invincible. We were able to kill one. Or at least you were."
Camille looking shocked "what do you mean?"
Bashir smiled let me explain what happened, "When we found the temple it looked like it had been there since time immemorial. We were welcomed in by peasant girls scantily dressed drugged little servants of the priest. "
Amin "they brought us to the priest. A soft spoken gentle old man. He seated us and began to speak. It was a black mass. As he continued profaning the name of god, the old priest from Königsberg began to grow heated. As if the scars on his body felt the ancient wounds."
Bashir continued "The priest began an incantation from his God. It was to banish this demon back to hell. At the sound of these words the gentle old man grew angry. He ran towards the priest and tore his beating heart out. The men panicked and went to run but the servant girls ascended on them. They ripped our men a part. Only Alojzy, myself, and Amin were the only survivors."
Camille growing impatient, "Well I survived right?" A nervous laugh follows.
Amin paused "Well technically no."
Camille in a joking hesitation said "Yea so what this is hell?"
Bashir looked at him, "Yes in a matter of fact. After tearing the priest a part it came after you. Your bones broke under each punch as the three of us tried to pull him off you. He bit your throat. Ripping you skin off. The blood was flowing out in torrents. Alojzy hit the creature with a candle stick."
Camille "That brave little Pole!"
And Amin interjected, "The priest threw him threw the wall out into the woods. When we found him he could barely even blink. Broken arms, legs, and bloodied to a pulp. We stitched him up and cured him."
Camille laughed "how did you two stop it?"
And Bashir continued, "We didn't. You destroyed it. Amin and I were thrown to the ground and it was planning on finishing us off when you got up, still blood soaked, but something evil was unleashed. Your eyes had turned black and you ran at it like a mad man. You fought him for hours as the temple was destroyed all around you. Finally as the temple started to fall we ran outside."
Camille "I fought him after bleeding to death."
Amin spoke "When we came to we grabbed Alojzy and began rummaging through the rubble looking for you. We found him first. You had torn off one of his arms and there was a gaping hole in his chest. We removed his head then burnt the body for good measure."
"So how long was I out for?" Camille retorted.
Amin smiled "you were knocked out for an entire year"
Camille's shock was obvious, "Well since we cleared all of that up can you tell me why I'm tied up?"