'What?' John said, but god knows why he did. It was the only word he could think of.
The woman wore a leather jacket, with hair that looked as if it hadn't been brushed in years. Or washed for that matter. John scrunched his nose, pulled his lips taut. Augh gross. Maybe it'd been blonde once, but he couldn't say for sure. With a roll to her gait, she strode right up to Michael and stuck her thin, pale nose in his face.
The scowl she wore seemed fiercer than Michael's, maybe because she was so bloody tough looking. 'Fucking ass,' she growled.
As slow as he could, John snuck back, stood against the wall, and watched with wide eyes.
'Thought you'd get away with it, eh?'
A sinister smile grew slow on Michael's face and suddenly he did not seem so glorious anymore.
'Well, I've got something for ya.' She puckered her lips and smiled a lopsided grin, showing one gold tooth. As she grinned, she reached into a jean pocket and pulled out...something. John squinted. He couldn't tell what it was, but Michael squealed an ungodly yowling like a cat on fire, his face distorted, flickered like an old movie. Between flashes John glimpsed glowing red eyes and blackened, rotten fangs. What the fuck? Who was this Michael guy?
'That's right asshole. Time to go hidey-hole in your pit.' The crazy woman flung her hand up in the thing's face and John recognised what was in her hand. A tiny, palm-sized Bible the likes of which his mam had once brought home. Black, with pages that looked golden until you opened them. How did they do that anyway? No other books had pages that looked gold. Well, this was some crazy fucking shit either way. What was this thing? A demon?
It squirmed, wailed, yowled, until finally its true form was exposed in full. It was black, but not as pitch black as the walls of his soul. It had a disgusting face: a flat pig nose, wet and pussy, lips that did not quite close over the black and yellow rotted teeth inside its mouth, god-awful red eyes that glowed bright in the dark room, and rimmed horns that curled around its head.
The thing was tall but stood hunched over, its backbone showing just as its entire skeletal form did under that ashen black skin. Long fingernails wove between each other, as if the creature could not control its fingers' movements. If all of that wasn't strange enough, it had bloody hooves instead of feet, and its knees bent the wrong way. What the hell?
Whilst inspecting the creature, it dawned on John that the thing had probably nearly killed him. What really happened if he stabbed himself? With his right palm, he slapped his forehead. Fuck, he was so stupid.
'Hur hur hur,' the thing laughed, its voice deep and undulating with something similar to static white noise. It slapped the Bible out of her hand, rolled its shoulders, shook its arms, and clopped its hoofed feet into a combat stance. 'Come on bitch, I'll take you.' It grinned, and its disgusting fangs gleamed in the dimness. 'But I warn you, I will not go easy on you.' A frown creased its brow and it snarled, 'I will destroy you.'
The woman laughed, dry and sarcastic, and whipped out a knife that looked very similar to the one he'd held earlier. Was it the same one? He glanced at Death, and Death smiled at him, playing with the other knife, the one he'd almost killed himself with--a nod from Death brought that across clear enough. So did all these crazy people carry the darned things then?
'Come on then fuck face,' she said with a playful gleam in her eyes and a lopsided, gold toothy grin.
The creature did not look impressed. With a growl it charged her, and the ground of his soul trembled with each hoof thump. The woman stood swinging the knife idly in the air, one arm folded over her chest. Just as the creature was about to smash into her, she took one step left and flicked out the knife. It gaffed deep into the thing's arm, and the creature roared with pain, looking around confused. Black matter melted from the wound, a dark, lumpy puss, and the creature grabbed the cut on its upper arm with the other hand and roared its fury and pain.
She smirked. 'Is that all you got, big boy?'
Slime splattered from the creature's nose and it huffed, baring its teeth. 'Aaaarghh!' it screamed and lunged at the woman, who dodged again but only just. The thing didn't stop coming. Both of its hands hung in the air, the nails like weapons, and it advanced on the woman who parried against the nails with her sharp knife and took steps back until she was cornered.
A drop of sweat fell from her brow onto John's soul, or the floor if you like, her eyes panicked. Something tugged at John's heart just after the drop had splattered, something strange, and he felt the fear and panic rolling like waves from the woman. Was it a strange sort of connection they suddenly shared? Whatever it was, it made him uncomfortable and he squirmed where he stood.
Death still stood by idly smiling like he knew who would die and found the idea amusing. What a dick. John stood straight, took a pensive step forward. Should he do something to help her? Was there something he could do? Of course yes, the Bible--it still lay on the ground where the thing'd slapped it out of her hands. With slow, measured movements, he snuck over to where it lay. The creature laughed a booming laugh that shook the walls of his soul. Whoa! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
'You think you've won, Grimsol?' the woman snarled, the knife held in front of her mere inches from the creature's black nails, and she shuffled deeper into the corner.
'I will finish you now woman, and then John's life will be forfeit too.' With one hand the creature blocked her knife, and with the other he reached from above to her head. What was it planning? She now pushed the knife against its nails with both hands, and her arm muscles trembled with the effort.
'This is not the day I die, Grimsol,' she said with clenched teeth. 'This is your time to end.' She looked for John where he was supposed to be standing against the wall, and then frowned until she spotted him crouching to pick up the little Bible. All fear left her face, even though the Grimsol bloke's nails now touched her scalp.
'I will slice you open and eat your sooouuul,' it said drooling.
'Stab it in hard,' she said to him with a huge grin on her face. But in a split second she looked straight at John and nodded the minutest nod. Ohh, so she meant he should stab this Grimsol thing with the Bible, not that Grimsol should stab her. Of course. God, sometimes his own stupidity was too much to believe.
'Come on,' she said, and her smile faltered. 'Do it now.'
The creature's nails paused and it said, 'So eager to die all of a sudden, Semila?'
John gathered his courage, sucked in a deep breath, and charged, Bible in hand.
'I told you Grimsol, today it's your turn to die.'
Bang, he hit the creature's back and the Bible dug into its flesh. It yowled into the air and lifted both hands in pain. The woman, Semila, took the opportunity and jammed the knife into the creature's chest with both hands and a satisfied smirk.
Grimsol's yowl bubbled to a groan and it sank to the floor. Semila yanked the knife out and wiped it on her jeans. Black matter sludged from the gaping wound on the creature's chest and it curled into itself, hands over its head.
'Told ya,' Semila said and kicked the creature once in the stomach. Turning to John, she smiled and extended her hand. 'Thanks mate. I'm Sem, your guardian angel.' She kicked Grimsol again and he groaned. 'Your real guardian angel.'
For a moment John stood awe-struck, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide, staring at this crazy woman. Was she really a guardian angel? She looked nothing like a guardian angel. She looked like a filthy criminal for Pete's sake. But he got over the shock quick enough and fumbling, extended his hand to shake hers, which was sticky with sweat. At least he hoped it was sweat.
She smiled at him and he noticed her eyes--green and gold--much more beautiful than he'd have expected. They drew him in just like Samantha Grimes' boobs always had, and he felt a warmth in his... heart. Well that was unexpected. John averted his eyes, gulped once, wiped his clean hand on his pants. Things were already bat shit weird enough, thank you.
'Uhhh...' he looked at the squirming Grimsol creature on the floor then at Semila, but not her eyes. 'So now what?'
'Well Johnny boy, this is your soul.' With one hand she combed back her hair from her face, and with the other tugged up her jeans. 'You're in charge.' She cocked an eyebrow and it slanted with that lopsided smile of hers. 'Bet you'd like to get out of here though, right?'
Death coughed once in the corner, very feigned, and Semila glared at him--her stink eye was very convincing too. Very dirty. Fuck, his palms were sweaty. He wiped them down on his pants again, but the sticky feeling stayed. John nodded and looked at her chin. 'Thing is I've tried, and it doesn't work.'
'Okay, well let's do this then,' she said. 'I need you to focus on this scumbag.' She kicked Grimsol's ribs and he cried out and curled into himself even more. 'Imagine him falling through this here floor. Decide it must happen. Believe it. Make it happen. Send him back to his fucking hole in hell.' She spat on its head.
What was he supposed to say? 'Uhm, okay I'll try.' John frowned, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and trained his eyes on Grimsol's disgusting form in the puddle of black-ish goop. Get out, you fucker. Out of my head, my...my soul, my life. His frown grew and the muscles in his shoulders tensed.
'It's not working,' he mumbled and deflated like a bagpipe without removing his eyes from the Grimsol.
'Just keep trying, I know you can do this.'
'But,' John looked up and forgot not to look at her eyes. 'I...' God they were breathtaking. 'It's impossible is all.'
Those eyes were really beautiful...mesmerising...
'John.' She punched him once on the shoulder and smiled. 'You're no gay boy, are ya? Man up and do it, alright?'
'I'm not gay.' Why did everyone keep saying that? 'Okay, fine. I'm doing it. I'll show you.'
Semila laughed and her laughter reverberated in his soul. 'Right, well while you're doing that, I'm just going to piss off quick and get something bloody important.' Without another word she turned and jumped into the wall. Just like that she was gone.
Death rolled his eyes. 'Women ey?' John didn't have time for that asshole, he just scowled at the dirt bag and turned back to getting the demon creature thing out of his soul.
Before he'd realised it, he was snarling, baring his teeth, straining with all the energy he could muster to imagine Grimsol falling down through his soul's floor, down far past the earth and into what he imagined hell might look like. Had Semila meant hell literally? Well, he hoped so and just went with the gut feeling he had.
The thumping in his chest became louder. He closed his eyes, focused on the beats, and clung to the images in his mind of Grimsol falling, falling, falling. The tips of his fingers tingled, his heart beats seemed to slow, the sound of each intake of breath sounded louder, and for a moment there was nothing but silence and a peaceful darkness.
Through his nose he pulled in a deep whiff of air, and then with all the rage and anger he could muster, he forced the thing out of his soul. For Charlie and his mum, for the years of life he'd lost. For his dad and Marty. When he opened his eyes the Grimsol guy was gone, and even the puddle of ooze from the creature's body had disappeared.
Against a wall on the other side, Death sat yawning and cleaning his nails with the black knife.
John laughed. He'd done it. The feeling of having some control over his life and his fate intoxicated him with joy beyond what he'd felt in a long time. Maybe he could go back to Charlie, make sure Death hadn't done something awful to her. He balled his fists, ground his teeth. God, that dickhead had some nerve. If something'd happened to her, or mum, or dad, shit would hit the fan. He'd get them back no matter what.
Just as John was about to go over and give Death a piece of his mind, Semila burst through the wall, arms and legs flailing and struggling. Blood dripped from her face and a myriad of scratches marred her. Face, legs, arms, body, all of it looked like slasher'd had a go at her. She panted heavily and fell to a seated position next to Death who patted her once on the back. If she'd looked dirty before, she now looked like a bloody corpse.
'What happened?' John asked rushing over, wanting to help but not knowing what he could do. How did a teenage boy help his own bloody guardian angel?
'Don't worry yourself kid.' She huffed and panted a minute more. On her crossed arms she rested her forehead, but with one hand she flicked a somewhat stained piece of paper or something at him. It fluttered to his feet.
When he picked it up, he bit his lip and a tear wet his cheek and clung annoyingly to his jawline. He swiped at it and tried to swallow the burning ache in his chest. The photo was of him as he was now--and fuck knows how he knew that--lying with pipes in his face, on his arms, looking pale and old and broken. Another tear escaped his eye and he cursed inwardly. This was worse than he could've imagined. Death had taken the brightest part of his life. 'You fucker!' He jumped at Death, but Semila jumped up and blocked him, though he could see it hurt her. Death only smirked.
'You should have died, John Finnie, not conked out into a sixteen-year-long coma. This--' He gestured to the photo in John's hand. '--Is not what I had in mind.'
John stopped struggling, all the fight finally out of him, and slumped his shoulders. He stared at the picture for a long time, absorbing every detail. The sallow look of his skin, the facial hair, the boniness of his limbs, the pink ribbon tied around one of the pipes. Semila took his chin in her hand and lifted his face to meet her eyes. Those beautiful, hypnotic eyes...
'Listen kid, don't take it so hard. We're getting out of here. Isn't that better than nothing?'
Tears flowed like rivers down his cheeks. He nodded.
'Well okay then. You know what to do.' With her head she gestured towards the photo he clutched with thumb and forefinger. Oh yeah, Blinking. Of course. God, it'd been so long. Could he still do it? All this time, he'd been in the Blink. What would it be like to live again?
John felt the edge of the photo and the familiarity calmed him further. The ache in his chest seemed less, the tears dried up. There was a white edge around the photo, as if it had been taken with a Polaroid. He'd Blinked those before; he could do this.
With a last tentative glance at Semila, he said, 'Will you be there?'
'Always, John,' she said, patting his one shoulder and smiling.
He smiled too. The time had finally come to leave this dark pit of nothing. In a whirl he was no longer used to, John spun into the photo, and back on the earth his eyes fluttered open.
© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018