Hell on Earth

Chapter Seven - Get Behind Me, Satan

As I stared down Tanner, I knew I wanted nothing more than to eat him alive. Oh yes, slow-roasted Tanner, skin the color of coffee beans, eyes rolled back in pain and mouth twisted into an eternal, voiceless scream of agony – it was art in my mind, almost as beautiful as a Van Gogh. I mean, Van Gogh knew his stuff, even if the man chopped off his ear in a moment of drunken emotions, but he had nothing on the image Tanner a-la-rotisserie and well-seasoned.

If I couldn’t eat him, I’d settle for killing him. Slowly, of course, almost as painful as being eaten alive. They’d both end up the same, I’d just have a lot less Tanner-meat in my stomach.

The flashes of hate scrolling out in my brain, a red-carpet invitation to something terribly evil, were so tempting I was nearly out of my skull. But, larger than my temptation was my terror.

I remembered what I’d done to Jessica. I didn’t want to repeat it, and I knew I would if I let myself go.

“Tanner, fuck off,” I gritted out, staring at his intoxicated self.

He laughed, sounding surprisingly lucid. “You know what? You’re such an asshole. I mean…I mean, look at you. You didn’t even ask.” He gestured to the laptop I was currently using. “You didn’t set me up with that girl, either.” He sighed wistfully, but I didn’t miss the little flash of smug satisfaction in his eyes. “I bet she’s good in the sack.”

Oh god, I wanted to control my temper. I did. Something was really wrong with me, something I knew could hurt people – maybe I was radioactive or something, maybe the doctors had diagnosed me wrong when I was a child and had been exposed to a bunch of nuclear warheads or something, maybe I was a long-lost superhero or, probably, supervillan, maybe I was going completely crazy at long last and was just imagining this scenario inside my head, creating all the characters out of thin air.

One thing I knew for certain was Tanner was going to hurt, and badly.

The chair behind my legs went flipping backwards, squeaking on the floor. I stood, feeling my eyes burn and my heart go into overdrive. My entire vision hazed red, focusing in on Tanner, the words Kill, kill, kill on a loop in my thinker.

He doesn’t stand a chance.

His eyes widened a little, then he grinned. “Aww, look at widdle Alexandurrr, finally standing up for himself.” He slurred my name almost the way Jessica had, except he sounded on the verge of fear. His intoxicated mind didn’t seem too worried, but maybe something in my eyes warned him that he had better run, and fast.

He didn’t.

I snapped my hand out, clasping it around his throat and somehow dragging him close to me. “Listen here, you little shit - ”

Okay, I’m going to interrupt here to announce I am not the strongest, bravest guy out there. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was a human. Somehow, though, I managed to drag Tanner, keeping him standing with only my one arm a good two feet.

Let me also announce Tanner is a good 6’3” and 250 pounds of drunken muscle. Dead weight. Yet, somehow, me, Bean-Boy, moved him.

Maybe this sounds small to you compared to all the awesome shit I can do – but man, was it a scary boost to my faltering ego.

I nearly missed the bone-chilling whisper of a laugh in my mind.

I glared at a suddenly very angry Tanner. He was squirming, staring at me with a burning desire to beat me into actual Grape Cool-Aid.

I felt something pushing at my lungs, at the air in them. My mouth moved. “Go to sleep.”

Tanner’s sudden collapse into a loose bag of bones almost made me fall over.

I stared down at myself. “Oh fucking hell.” So now I can make people fall asleep. Maybe I should be the Sandman or something.

I stared down at Tanner. He looked…terrible. Sick. Vague flickers of words flashed across his face, words I couldn’t quite catch they were so fast. I’ve either given him a smaller dose of whatever voodoo juice I got or a lot more, I thought grimly.

I glanced up at my reflection in Tanner’s pristine mirror. As usual, I looked bad. My hair needed a wash and a trim, bangs falling across my eyes occasionally and my hair wisping around my neck. My crazy eyes begged for sleep, confusion and terror making me look about 7. I needed a shave and probably some deodorant.

I took a deep breath, squaring my slightly trembling shoulders. My head felt lighter, somehow, less pressure trying its best to forcibly expand my skull.

I knew what I needed to do. I quickly printed up the page of info from the website, grabbing a cup of coffee for the road. It was time to visit Ms. Margo.

Her house was not what I expected.

I dunno. It was so…simple. I was thinking more along the lines of vampiric, with gothic headstones and bats, the whole shebang. Instead, I was greeted by a small, rustic cabin with warm light spilling from the windows onto a neatly-trimmed garden. Someone has a green thumb.

I walked up, cautiously picking my way through the gravel. Who knows what kind of traps she might have laid for…people?

I rapped lightly on the door, staring in surprise at the five-pointed star that stared back at me, ingrained on the surface of the weathered wood. I felt a terribly bad feeling pass over me and, shivering, I tucked my arms into my armpits and waited.

The bus ride had taken more money and longer than expected. I just hoped Tanner passed off the entire encounter we’d shared as a drunken hallucination. If not, I doubted I’d have a place to live when I came back – or my freedom, for assaulting someone. Two people, now.

The door cracked open and I was observed by a single eye. Then it widened and showed me my first glimpse of Margo.

She wasn’t all that big, but she seemed much bigger than she was – her entire stance and appearance demanded respect. Her narrow, Native-American features were accompanied by short-cropped, shiny silver hair. She looked tough and wiry, covered in muscles and scars. Her dark eyes watched me shrewdly, little chips of onyx set deep in the sockets.

She appeared to be chewing something. She cleared her throat and spit something dark at my feet. “Who are you and what do you want?”

I fumbled for my tongue and dignity. “Oh, uh…my name’s Alexander. I found your website and I thought you could…help me.”

The one halting sentence seemed to soften her frozen eyes and stance a little. She looked me over, pausing at my eyes – a pretty common reaction – then gestured for me to follow her in.

Her house was simple, but warm and inviting. I walked in deeper, treading on the smooth wooden floors, covered here and there with an animal pelt. We reached a room with a small pellet stove and a gigantic-fucking-wolfhound in front of it, who sniffed me once and growled, loud enough that I nearly urinated and quiet enough that I still nearly urinated. What, don’t like a guy who doesn’t have enough time to shower?

The woman sat in an armchair, gesturing I sit in the one opposite. I did, still eyeing the giant beast in front of the room’s only heat source warily. Please don’t eat me. I don’t taste good.

The woman was still eyeing me with a strange blankness. I found myself shifting, avoiding her eyes, feeling guilty even though I didn’t think I had done something wrong.

Besides hurt two people.

“What’s your name?”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected such a…normal…question. I guess, “What color has your urine been lately” or “Have you had any chance encounters with the Devil”? Not anything really about me.

“Alexander Rainwright,” I replied. I had decided on giving a false last name, hoping that she wouldn’t turn me into the police or anything.

She nodded. “Margo Darksky.” She unwrapped some more tobacco, chewing it thoughtfully. “So, boy,” she grunted. “Tell me everything.”

I hesitated. “Well…it all started when I was six years old…