one ticket for the souls of the damned

The muffled snarls got louder when the guests filtered in. The wood creaked from the stress of the ghouls pressing against it. These sounds were still audible, even under the jolly marching band positioned along the docks; even under the clink of champagne glasses. As the water spat on the shores, the city folk spat back at the boat behind their decorated masks, held up by a stick between gloved fingers.

The dress-code was black: black like the dammed souls banging on the oak. It was suitably mocking. It was suitably fitting. The city folk wore their finest silks or velvet, held their hair up with darkened pins, and painted their faces dark behind their dark, hyperbolic masks. For once the champagne hit the side and the boat made for the horizon, these dark clothes would go up in a burst of flames - letting the damned souls bob away on the waves while all they represented blew into the wind in their ashy remnants. From there on, the city would be a place of love, of joy, of hope! Like the bonfire they’d dance around, their city would be as radiant as the angels that clapped them on from above.

The air was electric. Residents would spark with their excitement - energy arcing between each shared celebration. The procession of incoming guests made a rumbling sound that each child and elder keened at. However, no one was happier than the cheery Mayor; he was sat upon his pedestal in his black suit, barely holding itself over his merriness. It had been his idea, his overseeing, to suck all the evil in their city inside a vessel. His city would be free from sin - locked inside a oak casket bound for the underworld. Watching his plan come to fruition, all while soaking in the early July sunlight, was the most satisfactory.

The pubic celebration had been the Mayor’s idea too; he watched, pleased, as the threads of his subjects weaved together on the docks, frays hanging out of windows and rooftops, their roaring cheers like the crashing of the waves that would push their city to salvation. Even the ghouls banging on the wood energized him. Impressively, it had been his idea to have windows wrought with iron so his good city could see the ghostly beasts growling on the other side. It was the sight of them tangled together in desperate misery at which he arose.

The masked heads, clothed in symbolic obscenity, followed him. Even the ghouls twisted themselves into knots following the cheery man’s movements.

It was time now, the Mayor had decided.

For the first time, a human being would be pure.

This notion carried his booming voice.

“What confession could do this?”

Silence responded dutifully.

“What baptism could do this?”

And the void yelled back its answer.

The Mayor took his time to observe. His people looked at him - no, they worshiped him, evident in their wide eyes behind the masks. The Mayor’s chest puffed out further, of course, why wouldn’t they worship him? He continued - a greater urgency, pride, vibrating within.

“Which one of your great priests could have done this? Which one lifted his hand and commanded Eve to spit out the apple? I want this priest - nay, I want a God who can bring a pure soul into this world to raise His hand, and only then I will bow my head in humility to Him. So raise your hand, my Deity, raise it!”

Silence embraced the buzzing air. A bird cawed. Part of the ship creaked. The ghouls still wrestled within their confines.

“Nothing,” the mayor tipped his head back with a throaty laugh. He bathed in the sunlight beating down on him for a moment longer before raising his head. “Nothing, and no one. So I will bow my head to no one. I will keep it up, keep it high, like the sun that greets us each morning.

“This sun, this aching sun, greets us with hate behind its grinding teeth. It hated us! It hated you, and you, and you. Yes, even you! It hated the doctors, the nuns, the children - because while it gave us radiance we gave it the sickening black of our souls. We held up our hearts to the sun, but when it beat it would carry only venom to our sinful bodies. Is this how you want to pay back the love we receive? With the pulsing of your blackening hearts?”

The Mayor turned on his heel, marching along the pedestal towards the boat; he marched until it was only the raging water separating his rage and the dark of rage itself. He pointed to them, and watched in arrogance how they chomped the air eagerly at the waggling of his finger. 

“Now we will repay the goodness of the Earth properly. And furthermore, we will be the first to do so.”

The Mayor grinned. He squinted, looking at the beasts while champagne sloshed into a glass behind him. Taking the drink, he lifted it up to the Heavens.

“The first to be rid of evil!” 

The city erupted into a cacophony. The only thing that could be clearly made out was the bottle that swung from its rope and collided fervently with the side of the ship. People grabbed each other, drained their glasses, cheered, and stomped, and wept, and prayed. They prayed when the horns blasted through their dock. “They pray to me!” The Mayor delightfully exclaimed to himself.

So their city lived peacefully. Well, more joyously than peacefully - the Mayor being the biggest perpetrator. For too long now he had resigned himself to the honour of his people (albeit tempted by a decadent allure he would let himself dabble in. Hey, who would know?) but now, with the water long washing away the traces of the ghouls and all ashes now surely blown away, the Mayor, like all his subjects, was free. The drink wasn’t sinful, and the women certainly were not. There was no one to stop him from sleeping long past the point where the sun hauled itself up - for if the sun peeked within his window they’d see a kind, pure heart, shining back. There was no sin in taking what he wanted. No sin in wearing it on his chest. He was purer than pure, even when striking someone, or when indulging in endless luxurious.

And what great freedom it was! He’d walk the streets he’d cleaned and the buildings seemed to stand taller, prouder, baring their chest to him. The sea had cleansed itself of the procession that taken place months ago, and now when they pulled themselves back and stumbled towards the bay, the Mayor saw within its folds the ocean itself bowing down to him. That he took with the most pride - the image of cleansing revoking itself to him.

Day and night rolled in with greater vigor and the people enjoyed themselves as seemingly fit. This limit expanded, and expanded, and expanded. Greater and greater, they accepted this indulgence with the same arms they embraced their redemption. But while their ‘freedom’ raged on, something sinister bubbled beneath their skin.

It was night when the Mayor felt it - the pulse. It covered the length of his arm, squirming and burrowing like a rodent. It raced round his muscles and squeezed through his bones. The Mayor, confined to his bed, wailed while this beast scratched inside him. He’d managed to stumble to his feet when the swelling subsided, but looking at the mirror there was nothing to be seen. No boils - not even the bubbling of his skin! Flabbergasted, the Mayor switched on the light and looked again. A warm glow replaced the grey of moonlight that leaked from the window and pooled in his bedroom - all except in one spot; his arm stayed dark.

A cast forged of shadows loomed over his forearm. It was foreboding. Alarming. When the pain kicked in again, traveling along him once more and twisting his gaping mouth into one agape in agony, the shadow dutifully followed the traces of his torture. It was when the shadow ripped itself out that it was unbearable, and the Mayor, despite his omnipotence, failed to stay conscious as the evil ripped itself free.

Awareness slowly pulled itself together . The Mayor- eyes heavy and body frail, lifted his spinning head to face the tornado of black that swirled around his bedroom. The lamp was still on, but no light could permeate this dense cloud of sin. And while the Mayor’s consciousness once more betrayed him, he briefly thought, as the ghouls whipped past his ears with wails and howls, that ever so faintly he could feel the gentle rocking of a boat carried by the sea.