Salvation through Hades

It is the 25^th of May. He had been lounging around for a while, wanting to make a sandwich. Ham and cheese, no tomato, no sauce. He looks back over his shoulder, to the lounge room with books and newspapers strewn everywhere.

There is only one person who could make that kind of mess, sitting off opposite the television like some great jaguar is his apprentice, Rose Parker. The atmosphere of this place had grown over the time they had spent here, becoming tighter and tighter, everything about it felt oppressive as there movements faded into the deep shadows of the polished floor.

The cat, Rose awakens from her slumber, “How bad do you think tonight is going to be, Sam?”

“Bad? This isn’t even close to the ones I’ve been through.”

“Oh, so there’s a possibility that this could be worse, well, you’re just a bastion of positivity right now.”

“Someone has to be.” Sam waits for the toaster.

A stark voice interrupts him. “Aren’t you meant to be on the case?”

“Arthur, I see you’re ready to get started.”

His breath smelt clean. The last time it had been thick with brandy.

He stood with arms crossed, the scars of a lifetime at war on his forearms, returning with nothing but the deaths of lifelong brothers. Schoolyard mates that were into basketball and rides down a mountain with brakes close to breaking, thrill-seekers and lovers of life. Those joyous cries of elation dissipated under gunfire. He had heard the birds of the wood, the machine-gun fire of beaks hitting wood, it would always wake him. Nothing could keep him down, the medication couldn’t silence his instincts, nor that honed anticipation for conflict. He had a family, if more scars came along, he would take them without complaint. His grizzled complexion, his tanned face, and his torn skin.

“I am. I want this done.” He reflexively scratches at his jaw.

Rose answers. “It will be. Is everyone outside?”

“Of course.” Arthur barks. “You said you wouldn’t waste time.”

“If you would leave them, dear, they wouldn’t need to.”

“Ruth.” Arthur turns around in a mix of annoyance and love.

“You need to let them prepare properly. If they don’t the situation could be made worse.”

“Worse? It couldn’t get any worse. I’ve been generous with you, Sam.”

“That you have.” Sam heads towards them. “I thank you both.”

Arthur half-turns to his wife, Ruth who merely nods. Her golden hair had been growing paler and thinner for a while, her smile in the photos wasn’t worn. Her bubbly personality still appears time and again. “Please, Arthur, let them get ready. If you two need anything, let us know.”

At their feet, a young girl stood fiddling around with a doll in her hands.

“It’s time to go.” Ruth takes her by the hand.

She waves to Sam and Rose before they turn out the door.

“I had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy.”

Rose mutters. “Don’t be a bother, Sam, they’ve already got one already.”

“I think I’m done with the toast.” Hearing it pop in the distance. “I can get something later.”

“Well, all of us need to lose weight now and again.”

They stood together for a moment, feeling the familiar residual energy of the house. No human eye could comprehend its fullness, the way the lines and awnings broke and leapt with pride, a manic juxtaposition in the dark wood and weighty carvings that bent and twist on their own, set beneath the dim staircases and rooves that rise and fall with irregularity. The hallways and long, spacious rooms of the house were always full of air and leaves, as if were breathing through the windows, the breaks in the walls, the gaps beneath the doors, as if a giant heart was beating relentlessly. There were invisible footsteps, some loud, some soft. Consuming everything that lay outside the straight, unbreaking walls.

There were papers that detailed its construction. The thing is illegible – it creates its own rules, flying together into its own design, the angles, the lines like whisps of mist curling and unfurling over the walls, rearing its great head against the sky. The previous owners had a hard time describing it. They had desperately added color and brightness to it, trying to fight against it. But still it stood, unknowable in color, style, and size. It is enormous and dark, looking down over Sam and Rose, waiting for their move.

It felt most observant at night when the hallways and stairs were less certain in the dark, the light switches harder to reach and the shuffle of feet rushing down like a breath of wind. The rate of these occurrences increased the longer they stayed. ‘The Heart’ as they took to calling it was taking in a breath, the patterns and niceties that ran the length of the wall bending inwardly.

Their dreams were strong, violently strong. As if everything appears more organically.

Rose asks, “It feels like its building, isn’t it?”

Sam nods reflectively, “More than before. It’s moved to the next stage.”

“You ready for the crossover?”

“We’ll have to be careful, there are plenty of portals that are open at the moment.”

“I don’t think its portals this time, Sam. They compared this thing to a heart.”

Sam considers the point. “Regardless, we’ll need to watch out step.”

“Make sure you don’t trip and fall, that would be awful.” Rose manages with a smile, craning her neck to look around the somber arrangement.

Leading the way, Rose kneels down onto the ground, holding out her hands.

“The children are nervous, Sam. They’re saying that we ‘need to run’. What is the call?”

“We proceed.” Sam takes a moment feeling his body begin the gradual shift. He could feel it, the violence that went from generation to generation bearing down on him. Wanting him to feel fear. As he slowly opens his eyes, the layers of the conscious and unconscious link, he had gotten use to this, most of the pros said it was the lens of a camera struggling to refocus, the vision through the lens blurs into a haze, and the gateway into nothingness opens.

Are you in?

He could hear the words vibrating at the back of his skull. Yes. Take the next steps.

Sam went on, following the natural layout as closely as he could.

He could hear the rumbling of the heart, the screams, and the bestial cries. He can see the bloody vessels and arteries that line the expansive tunnel. With doors and windows glowing like red cells that make up the human body. Malevolence seeps through every crevasse.

“You’ve had enough of waiting. So have I.” Sam begins the preparation rights.

He takes out a vial of holy, blessed oil. He pops the cap.

Taking in a breath, he anoints the air with the oil, creating a glowing crucifix. It hovers in the air for a moment, he steps into it. Allowing it to embellish his form. A bright glow of holy fire spreads over and down his body. His once shabby clothes burn to cinders, revealing a tan, black leather cloak over tight combat boots and harsh steel greaves and scale-mail that ran over his chest and arms. These were all loose fitting enough that he could weave and dodge easily if the need arose. He unsheathes his axe, a pale, ghostly silver glow from his belt.

Sam waits to see if something emerges from the deep.

He nods. Before charging off towards the beating heart. The innocent that gave out the warning were beginning to stir, trying to break free of the violent oppression.

I’m closing in on the good ones.

Rose responds instantly. It’s waiting for you. I’ll join you soon.

 Yeah. Just stay on top of it.

He continues forwards with his axe ready.

On instinct, he plunges headfirst into the darkness.

The creatures are there waiting for him. They are cancerous cells forming from the heart with blackened scales and forked tongues, monstrously large and disfigured, nothing soft or round about it. These things had the appearance of a weapon, even worse is the leader. Arthur had been fighting all his life, a life he spent providing for his family. When they were accessing his character, he had spoken at length about the ‘thing’ that pulls on his mind. The thing is gaunt and callous, with alcohol leaching into its skin, a gasmask protruding around on each side of its head.

The fridge stood wide open. It was up to Arthur to close it.

As Sam draws nearer, the cancerous cells wear the faces of Arthur’s friends.

Their bodies changing and morphing into uniforms, they stand to attention.

In unison, they draw their weapons and fire.

Sam gets to work, deflecting the bullets with his axe.

Rose, you wouldn’t mind joining in, would you?

She responds instantly. I thought you’d never ask.

He hacked his way forwards into the officers, their faces twisting to an unnatural degree. Their features and human functions evaporate with each swing of his axe. He could hear the rattle of beer guns, the hiss of fire as the liquor ignites, a spiraling jet of fire that streaked towards him. Without hesitation, he throws his cloak in front, the whiplash and speed of his movement offsetting the fire.

“All I have to do is weaken you. But the real battle hasn’t started for you yet.” Sam addresses the creature. More and more things appear, filling up the hallway as Rose leaps into the fray.

“Arthur is ready for the renouncement.”

“Good. Is he anointed?”

“Yes. Now, we have to finish these ones off quickly. All other entryways have been sealed.”

“Channeled them into a bottleneck. Good work, Rose.”

“I better get a great coffee after all this is done.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Is there anything else on that list?”

“A boutique. The finest one in town.”

“You’re in one right now.” Sam can feel the heartbeat growing more and more violent.

As he closes in the creature throws forwards one of its beer guns, trying to ensnare Sam. He runs halfway up the slimy wall of popping vessels, feeling the bile and poison trying to leach into his leg. He brings the full heft of the axe on its arm, sending golden sparks of holy flame ripping and tearing through its physical manifestation. Almost immediately a smoke cloud of cigarettes and cigars begins filling his lungs, trying to slow him down. A hand made of popping needles lurches upwards towards his jaw, full of sweet juice and enticement.

Same sways back, shooting out the axe head with two lightening jabs that break through one lens of the mask.

“You got a lockdown on the position?”

Rose leaps like a gymnast, springboarding all over the place.

“Yeah, right behind that thing.”

“Did they try and get to you?”

“Oh, they got to Arthur. Had him see one of his girls. Saying that she needed saving. He wanted to do a circle.”

“How’d you manage to stop him?”

“We all had a lovely chat.” Rose draws out a whip, sending it snapping and cracking with vengeance.

“Good.”

The thing that stood in front of Sam continues to grow; it had been here for a long while. Arthur had been lost for a long time and now it became more hideous. It grew ratty and pale like a silverfish with moles and rashes covering every inch of its sickly body. Still, it wouldn’t give ground, not until both Sam and Rose were bearing down on it.

“How’d you think we beat it?”

“I thought you were the one with the plan.”

“I’m open to ideas.”

Rose takes a deeper look. “No wonder.”

“What is it?”

“Usually, this thing would disappear by now. But Arthur hasn’t, he’s gone back into the house.”

Sam curses. “We need to end this in a different way. Whatever injuries we inflict are dealt to him.”

Rose drops down as the creature swings again. Pivoting off her heel to a safe distance.

Sam, notably less agile, flicks his axe around, trying to stun it.

This time, he feels the sharp edge of the nozzle open a cut over his right eyebrow.

He takes his hand away from his forehead, feeling the pain like a small fire.

“You are Arthur Connington.” Rose intones.

The creature smiles, its features a match to the man. No. You plan to leave my little girl.

“No one would forsake her, least of all her family.”

You have done enough. Our needs are met.

“Not even close.” Sam snarls back. “At the end of the day, we can fight as well as we can. But the decision to break free is yours and yours alone.”

“Remember your comrades as they remembered you.” Rose takes out a photo, anointing it with oil.

At once, the spirits of his friends start to press out of the confines of the old black and white film. They stand as fragments and memories of Arthur, as he always held them in his heart.

“We still got one more round to go, Arthy. Don’t give up. You live for us, mate.”