the mental asylum reject

chapter 6

Twisted, indistinguishable faces swirled around my head, with every step I took, more faces appearing. I carried on, even though there was some sort of invisible force practically punching at my stomach. An incredibly high-pitched squeak, a hurricane of pain whipped at my ears. Through the fog, I glanced at Death. It didn't seem to be affecting him at all, in fact, he almost seemed happy. A few minutes later, the fog had slowly began to fade, and now I could see a large, well, what seemed almost like a modern castle before me, covered in thick brambles, thick, untended brambles which crawled across the walls of the sinister looking building, escaping the windows. I was paying so much attention to this place, that I didn't even realise that we were now inside, with Death's ice cold hand on my shivering shoulder, guiding me through the many twists and turns of the large castle. We walked a little longer, till Death stopped abruptly. He turned me around to face him and began to speak authoritively but hushed.

"Listen, kid you think I'm bad, well The Devil himself is in that very room there," death pointed to a large door opposite from where we were talking.

I gulped. Death carried on.

"So basically, if your polite, he might give you a chance to prove yourself and live, that's all it takes," he glanced at The Devil's door again, before continuing, smirking.

"If not, however you will be stuck here FOREVER!" he gestured around the large castle, his smirk growing wider, before he grabbed my arm and walked across the hall, knocking swiftly on the door.

A small little dude, that looked like an Elf but at the same time different, with its evil smile, dark eyes and a small stanley knife in one hand , answered the door. When he saw Death, his smile grew wider.

"I see you've got the kid," he said in his raspy, gruff voice, which was suprising considering that he was a little Elf, who looked like he would have a squeaky, high- pitched voice.

Death laughed.

"Of course, come on, I'm a Death Angel," death glanced at me, a thick black eyebrow raised. "Besides, it wasn't THAT hard,"

The Elf dude sniggered, putting his knife in a little case, and placing it back in his pocket.

"Doesn't suprise me," he smirked. "This Alex guy doesn't look exactly strong,"

I dirty looked the Elf.

Death looked at me, an evil twinkle in his eye.

"Now, now, watch how you treat the other staff around here, especially the Gremlins, because otherwise I will make it my personal Mission that I see you live a very painful afterlife here," Death said confidently, a cold, determined look on his face, as he yet again took a firm hold of my now sweaty palms which were still chained, and shoved me through the slightly ajar door, as the Gremlin stepped to one side.

Before I had a chance to reply, I heard the heavy door snap shut loudly behind me. I tried to struggle, but death placed a hand to my head and a sudden hot searing pain swept through my entire body, a pain which left me writhing around on the the ground , until someone abruptly stomped a foot on the floor.

"That's enough, Death." This voice, this barely above a whisper of a tone seemed to control Death's every move.

Death carefully lifted his hand, and the agony slowly escaped my body, a cool shiver left in it's place. I lifted my head to see a normal looking man before me. Well, assuming he's human at all, that is. He looked like he was in his twenties. His skin, I noticed, was of the same pale flesh as Death's. He had a messy mop of dark brown hair which fell down into place around his cheeks. Tangled in this mess was a pointy gold crown, which had red and black skulls on top of each point, and a black swirly rose pattern engraved into it. His eyes were emerald green, and he sported a long black trench coat, which hung halfway to his knees. His hands were intwined together in his lap, and he sat up straight with an air of authority about him.

I stared at him in amazement.

"You can't be the devil, you look nothing like him..." I trailed off, as I took in his incredibly human like, yet eccentric, appearance.

Death shushed me, nudging me roughly with his elbow.

"Sorry about that, your highness...." Death muttered, bowing his head briefly.

The Devil narrowed his eyes at me, barely acknowledging Death's flustered apology.

"Don't speak to me unless I speak to you, do you understand me? And who I am is none of your business! " snapped The Devil, his eyes still narrowed.

I quickly shut my mouth.

"Death, take off his cuffs, I would like to speak to him properly." The Devil muttered, whipping out a voice recorder.

Death did as he was told, quickly unlocking the tight metal from my wrists. I sighed with relief as I moved my wrists freely, the cool air of the large room clinging to my hot, humid skin. I was still musing over this, when The Devil threw the recorder to Death. Death stumbled about clumsily, reaching out for the recorder, and barely even catching it .

" turn it on," instructed The Devil.

As I heard the click of the voice recorder being switched on, I turned to look at The Devil. Realising that the recorder was now on, Death adressed me.

"What's the first thing you remember from when death forced you to the light, to the afterlife?" Asked The Devil.

I replied modestly, telling The Devil everything I could remember. We carried on like this for several Minutes, with several questions. Finally, the recorder clicked again.

"Ok, take him back to the cells whilst I think this over," The Devil said simply, with a slight movement of his hand.

"Yes, sir" death replied soberly, placing the cuffs back on my wrists, and leading me quietly out.

Once away from The Devil's room, death breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, you might get to go back to earth afterall." He said, leading me down twist after turn after twist after turn.

Eventually, we came back to the double doors that was the exit from the castle. I noticed that the fog was slightly less thick, as we yet again stumbled through the thick black and red mist. Then we were outside another set of double doors, but these ones were shabby, with the paint peeling off and the handle rough with splintered wood. Death opened the handle slowly, and we were suddenly surounded by cell after cell, the occupents crying out for help as they were passed.