# Show off your fiction



## RangerWickett (Apr 16, 2005)

Who all here writes non-storyhour fiction, genre or otherwise?  Post some of it here, or put up links to it if you have it online.  I'm considering trying publishing a one-shot EN World fiction anthology, and I'm looking for people's styles.


----------



## Lazybones (Apr 16, 2005)

I've written six fantasy novels, all unpublished. I've posted some of my work on my Web site (in sig). I also wrote some short fiction in the early 90s but it's pretty rough stuff (in hindsight) and I don't share it. I was going to write SHs for a while to improve my dialogue and pacing skills but I ended up getting addicted to the feedback and haven't left since (this was 2001 or thereabouts). I do intend to get back to write fiction that I can actually market at some point. 

LB


----------



## MavrickWeirdo (Apr 19, 2005)

I have lots of "unfinished" work, but nothing "finished" at the moment

What size are you looking for?


----------



## Shadowdancer (Apr 21, 2005)

I've dabbled in writing fantasy and scifi fiction for many years, and have always wanted to get something finished and published. But finding the time has always been difficult.

The "Songs of Other Times and Places" SH linked in my sig is actually closer to fiction than a SH, and is probably the best example of my more recent work.


----------



## Herremann the Wise (Apr 21, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Who all here writes non-storyhour fiction, genre or otherwise?  Post some of it here, or put up links to it if you have it online.  I'm considering trying publishing a one-shot EN World fiction anthology, and I'm looking for people's styles.




Hi Rangerwickett,

Unfortunately, aside from my Story Hour here on Enworld, I only have bits and pieces of writing: none large or developed enough for compilation purposes. However, I would be interested in coming up with a short story for publication and my Story Hour would give you at the very least a taste of my writing style. Rather than pointing you over to the thread, I might as well copy and paste here. These are the two most recent updates. Hope you enjoy.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise

PS: I should most likely warn that the following writing is of a more mature style and content. While not quite as grim or risque as other updates in the story hour, there are most likely bits and pieces here and there that will offend some readers.


*The Gating of Sarrash*

_Deep within a Lesser Hollow in one of the darkest of Hell’s Greater Pits…_

The cacophony of wretched souls and their pitiful moaning combined with the sporadic screaming of unknown entities to produce a dizzying fountain of sound. Blackness of visage and soul was all around, only corrupted here and there by the silent glow of red heat from within numerous rocky depressions. Over one such emanation of tainted light hung the undying body of some pathetic creature, strung up by it’s own distorted ligaments and sinew. The wracks of interminable pain flickered across its indistinct features along with the shadows of various small creatures and imps, flying up to whisper messages of pain to the eternal captive. What life or purpose the being had before its capture was lost now forever. Magicked so it could never depart its ceaseless and unending pain, it suffered the worst of imaginable fates. Sarrash was a cruel master. Sarrash was a terrifying enemy.

A heated wind then swept harshly through the hollows centre causing the grounds heavy blackened ash to stir like tiny maelstroms in a sea of absolute evil. A servant of Sarrash – one of the massive hellish beings of diabolical rank {1} at his disposal - suddenly appeared looking around from its newly established and slightly elevated position. The haunted sounds of the hollow receded and swelled like some insane chorus of forgotten souls unheeding of this latest appearance. There was one however who did notice. Using corrupted senses, the undying soul attached to this particular body repelled in terror, the impulse sending an echoed tightening to muscles and sinew long since turned to hardened rope. As if somehow reacting to the psychic convulsion, numerous engorged maggots were displaced from their bone-caged home, falling from the body’s ribcage to the heated pit below with a spitting crackle. There was no escape for the captive as the obese and corpulent fiend slowly progressed to the vicinity intent upon the torture and torment of this captive’s soul.

However, another sudden appearance distracted the diabolical servant as well as the undying soul. This time, a burst of fetid and superheated air mushroomed out from the monstrous visage in the centre of the hollow. The appearance of Sarrash was terrifying. A complete expulsion of dribbling grubs erupted from the now shaking ribcage, emptying completely from the putrid body as the massive form of Sarrash quickly swung around, its speed totally belying its bulk and height {2}. Its semblance of tattered robes whipped around, flung violently outwards by a hidden, personal and constant tempest of surrounding wind. It abruptly stilled, focusing its vile gaze towards its servant: boring into the obese minion. Sarrash’s true name had been spoken. The diabolical servant froze upon the instant. Sarrash’s face was as a flensed skull, almost of a size as the mark of its gaze. Orbs had not graced the devil’s blackened sockets for an eternity; instead holes of an absolute darkness penetrated into Sarrash’s monstrous braincase. A density of erupted bony protrusions graced the skull’s crown while an overall sense of death and disease hung close to the entire aspect of Sarrash. Its jaw then opened producing a wail of complete horror. Sarrash’s true name had been called.

Carried in Sarrash’s left claw was the mangled body of some balor, its throat and jaw removed, its horns driven backwards through its skull, its explosive finale corrupted. The prized carcass of the balor however was dropped upon the ground, forgotten as Sarrash’s wailing continued fighting some unseen presence; Sarrash’s massive body twisted in maniacal resistance. On this occasion, Sarrash failed to defy the magick that entangled then removed it. The sucking intake of air lifted the hollow’s ashen covering from the ground as the void left by Sarrash was filled. A quiet then enveloped the hollow.

Haltingly, the grossly proportioned servant looked upon the prized body of the balor. It ventured a glance to either side then in a frenzy of psychotic hunger and greed, it lunged using ungainly corpulent steps towards the demon’s carcass. However with Sarrash now gone, the balor’s body had returned to some semblance of its normal abyssal equilibrium and presently exploded in an enormously engorged and loosed spring of eructed energy. The hollow of Sarrash was for the most part no more – a particular soul happily blasted into the placid serenity of utter destruction.


***​
_Earlier upon the headland supporting the littered abodes of the Strauchn Clan and in particular the sizeable pavilion of the Shamaness Ugari… _ 

Light from a myriad of differently shaped and colored candles illuminated the inner sanctum of Ugari’s pavilion as Lucifus Cray carefully floated above his almost finished creation. Laid out upon the cleared ground was a well-scribed pentacle of large dimension, taking up almost the room’s entirety. The only other addition to the area was the crafting of three smaller concentric circles replete with the ancient symbols of warding from which the petitioner was to complete the castings of magic that would trap a being inside the pentagram. Lucifus was cautious testing each of the many specific and arcane triangulatures forming the work. The careful augmenting and attenuation of each of these was imperative in ensuring some measure of protection and safety as well as overall success to the program at hand.

The somewhat dank yet comfortable conditions within the tent belied the ferocity of the vicious storm outside. The raging winds buffeted the sides of the pavilion but through the careful application of specific magicks, only an occasional stirring of wind through the interior or a thrumming above in the web of ropes keeping the pavilion in position could be occasionally observed. Lucifus’s familiar Winter {3} looked on from above, hopping from rope to rope fascinated by her master’s prudential exercises and arcane augmentations. She would give the occasional comment of dissent or approval, her mood one of enthusiasm and excitement compared to the surface placidity of her master. Lucifus’s designs were almost complete.

Lucifus had devoted most of the day to studying the Arcadys scroll and his current diagrammatic efforts were carefully tied to his discoveries {4}. There were several elements of interest in his current work. Lucifus needed to carefully modify each point of the pentagram based upon his present reference upon the prime, the current planar positioning of the intended target plane as well as a variety of synchronous factors between the planes, only known by those with dedicated expertise in the field. However, Lucifus was at a loss in terms of exact identification of his intended target in terms of overall power and standing. This caused several conundrums that could be overcome with the solving of several formulas of copious variables – a difficult and lengthy task for most but something quickly accomplished on the run by Lucifus.

It was at this point however that Lucifus had his first conception of doubt. What if “Sarrash” was not as powerful as he had hoped? The thought of some smaller diabolical lackey, impotent to the proposed task caused Lucifus to pause in the middle of attenuating by two paracepts the pentacles third point. The incipient visage momentarily compounded, swimming through his mind like a hazy chimera of invocational disaster before being quickly expunged from his thought processes {5}. Lucifus’s internal confidence and equilibrium was quick to re-establish.

It was during this small crisis of invocational faith that an unexpected guest interrupted Lucifus. Tunthi, drenched from the fierce storm outside, his mop of tangled hair pasted to his features spoke several words to the tuk-tuk. “I kill you and throw you off cliff!”
The fact that he did not advance further into the room led Lucifus to believe that the words were more inarticulate threat than immediate course of action. Lucifus waited patiently for more explanation but the half-orc had obviously not rationalized or conceived inserting a qualification into the previous statement.

Lucifus smiled in answer before saying, “You will sit on skull of Karodo and Jengus… whilst picking the meat from their bones by the time I am finished.”
Tunthi had difficulty following the florid speech although the overall tenor of confidence rang through the larger unintelligible words. For the moment, he struggled for a cogent response.
“You will be leader over all. Any woman will answer your call.”
To this a slowly increasing grin evolved, splitting Tunthi’s features; the image of sexual domination planted firmly within his limited faculties. His moments of fantasizing were distracted by additional information from Lucifus. “Tell Shamaness Ugari that I am ready to serve her needs.”
Tunthi, about to follow the instructions stopped, realising he was being ordered by the tuk-tuk. He would have abused Lucifus but the thought of displeasing Ugari was not something he wanted to contemplate. Tunthi hurried out of the room to find the Shamaness, the inner sanctum subconsciously making him uncomfortable on several levels.


***​
_A short time later…_

Ugari sat to the side of the pentacle upon several cushions of soft hide. Her hair was carefully arranged in a ceremonial coiffure signifying some element of tribal history beyond Lucifus’s knowledge. Lucifus thought she was quite pretty; chin held high in the dappled candlelight as she carefully examined the room trying to internalize the significant arcane constructions inside her private sanctum.
“So it will serve your will without hesitation?” she asked in her deliciously thick accent.

Lucifus trying to think of the most positive way of answering the tricky question continued with his explanation. “Not quite. It will try to escape the arcane binding of the trap but in this it will fail. It will thus be forced to make negotiation with me to ensure its freedom.” Lucifus licked his lips before saying, “and this is where we will bargain the service out of it. While on the surface this may seem a dangerous task, to one expert in the field such as myself, it is somewhat routine and everyday.”
Ugari smiled but sensed a certain level of bravado on Lucifus’s part. The opportunity of victory though could almost be tasted in the air, drowning out any thoughts of difficulty or possible exigence. In fact neither of the pair seemed truly cognizant of any impending danger {6}.

Lucifus lifted the scroll carefully demonstrating its magnificence to Ugari. It glistened with power.
“I will now cast the preparatory magic and then… I will unleash Arcadys’ power into the Seventh Gate of Hell {7}. Prepare to look upon the weapon that will seal your final victory over the Pianatha.”
Ugari smiled a grin of pure insanity.

Lucifus cast the final protective magics before lifting the Arcadys scroll to his view. A slow dimming of candles greeted Lucifus’s incantation of the scroll’s initiator. With careful and precise enunciations, Lucifus intoned the scroll’s contents, each part reigniting brilliant illumination from one of the pentacle’s points. Casting the magics upon the vellum in an invocational direction {8}, Lucifus continued on relentlessly as sweat started to appear upon his taut and constricted features. Even the distraction of Winter flapping down to his shoulder could not stop the syllables of power tumbling from his straining lips. Consummating the final fricative of the Grand Gating spell of Arcadys and with a powerful and dramatic sweep of his flourishing hand, a bursting of brilliant incandescence struck the entire outline of the pentacle. 

With an explosive and blazing thrust, the entire pavilion was immediately lifted over a hundred feet into the night sky through sheets of driving rain, pushed upwards by the sudden and horrific appearance of the Greater Devil Sarrash. A scream of absolute defiance penetrated the entire outcropping of headland as the sonic bombardment issuing from the Devil’s impossibly stretched mouth struck the area like an enormous crack of reverberant thunder. Unbelievable pain quickly stirred into unbridled fury as it twisted against its bonds with deranged and manic ferocity. Waves of panic struck the peoples of the Strauchn as hundreds of the clan ran away from the massive entity that had engulfed the spiritual circle of their home; gouts of exploding flames bursting in random spastic directions. With the rain driving in, the storm increasing in fury as if in answer to the appearance of the colossal entity, Sarrash sought with savage movement for the orchestrator of its current condition upon the prime. Adjacent to its hideously clawed feet over seventy feet below its gaze was the soaked and floating form of Lucifus Cray, comatose with glazed stare at the product of his creation.

Without a wasted thought, Sarrash blasted apart Lucifus’s frail protections, bent over with savage rancor and swung a massive claw to rip Lucifus’s head and body in twain. 


***​
{1} There are many common devils, from the highest pit fiend to the lowest lemure in the Nine Greater Pits of Hell. However, there are numerous types of “individualised” and unique devils who have lived long enough to slowly evolve from the regularity of the previously mentioned “common” types. When a fiend had evolved far enough from its original concept, it was considered to have achieved a rank or place amongst other hellish progenitors. This diabolical rank varied based upon the deeds and reputation of the devil concerned. The servant represented here was of one of the lower ranks.
A quick sidenote: The regular use of the impersonal pronoun “it” is normally used when referring to fiendish beings where gender has no physiological or psychological significance. While most diabolical beings are assumed to be male and are referred to as such, only a select few actually have functional genitalia.

{2} Sarrash literally towered over most of the other devils amongst the Nine Greater Pits. Very few amongst the ranks of diabolical beings provide as large a presence as Sarrash. At over eighty feet in height, its presence is enough to terrify the life out of most living beings. As an angel fallen from heaven almost an eternity ago, millennia of hatred, pillage and evil have totally ruined Sarrash’s appearance although there are still corrupted vestiges of its once celestial origin in terms of appearance and might. Perhaps because of this, Sarrash’s rank amongst others of the Nine Greater Pits of Hell was somewhat limited; of a middling power at best.

{3} Winter had been a constant companion for Lucifus through good times and bad. Perhaps more than anyone else, she understood him. Her involvement while not direct provided significant support to Lucifus in his arcane pursuits.

{4} The study of Spellcraft and other arcane magics is an equally fascinating pursuit not only for the beginning or lay wizard but also for the experienced master, magus or archmage. The development of similar but more powerful spell sequences forms an interesting offshoot as in the present case. Most higher version or “greater” spells - a terminology only used by the rank novice or beginner – are in fact normally based upon the lower valance or more stable spell platform. For example, even Arcadys Binding (Similar in form and structure to a Greater Planar Binding) uses the lowly and more generic “Planar Binding” as a foundation. The creation of the more powerful version has used a more concise arcanature (a single or series of magical methods, exercises or components) to achieve a similar but either longer lasting, broader or more powerful effect. The power required by the mage is thus tested more stringently but for greater reward.

In the present case, the Arcadys scroll is an augmentation and focused version of the difficult to master “Gate” spell. Using this as the basis, the magics binding the spell are focused more strictly towards the invocational with a series of ingeniously simple but difficult to master arcanatures beyond the ability of all but the most powerful maesters of the art. Fortunately for Lucifus, the prepared scroll has taken away the need for the repetition of these more difficult processes. The scroll if used by someone of Lucifus’s talents is an inherently dangerous process as its design is more suited to one who has a higher manifestation of arcane power. 

{5} Of interest were several amusing features of Lucifus’s personality. Of most importance was the almost complete lack of wisdom common with most summoners and alienists. However, in most cases, this could actually be viewed as a strength rather than a weakness. It allowed a full sufficiency of effort to be brought to bear upon any task without the usual nagging issues of doubt and indecision common to those with greater wisdom. Such thoughts and doubts were quickly dismissed as ridiculous or of insignificance.

{6} The binding of planar entities onto the prime is an incredibly dangerous and foolhardy exercise normally restricted to those bereft of wisdom, those of insanity, those with an insatiable hunger for power or usually a combination of these quirks and foibles. However, very few have a string of continued successes such as that currently enjoyed by Lucifus. In this particular case though, he has far overreached his abilities, overconfident in his application of the Arcadys scroll. Sarrash was of diabolical rank far surpassing anything he had ever tried – powerful enough even to attract divine attention.

Compounding this were several other factors and events that were to immediately follow Sarrash’s calling. First was the loss of the hated enemy balor Derizahn and the enormous loss of evil sustenance that was to be gained from its partially sequestered carcass. Second was the loss of several key diabolical servants of rank, gained and earned over several millennia. Third was the subsequent destruction of the majority of Sarrash’s personal hollow. However, weighing most heavily against Lucifus and his intended design, program and diplomatic efforts was the sheer insolence of a mortal successfully calling a fiend of Sarrash’s diabolical rank to the prime. In short, Sarrash would be pissed.

{7} It was known by Lucifus that the Storm Soldiers of Galasso had access through unknown means to the third and seventh gates of hell. However, various descriptions made by Lucifus’s former slave pointed towards the seventh demi-plane more so than the desolate third as the eventual source of Sarrash. Without this knowledge, Lucifus would have been trying the impossible.

{8} As opposed to the reverse or “warding” direction.


*The Negotiation Begins*

_In the Clan Circle of the Strauchn where at present the Greater Devil Sarrash has just been called to the prime via Arcadys’ Grand Gating…_

Ugari watched, frozen in terror as the hideous claw of Sarrash coursed a destructive arc downwards, through Lucifus’s floating body in front of her and back around in a ferocious butchering sweep. She could barely see as the lashing rain attacked everything, the hurricane-like conditions intensifying. Her gaze was drawn upwards as she could only just observe what was left of her pavilion hundreds of feet now in the night sky; its blazing silhouette just visible as the ferocious winds blew it out to sea like some ragged scrap of burning cloth. Her attention was drawn once more to the scene in front of her as the beast seemed to lurch forward. There was something unusual and unexpected in what she saw but her senses were raw, her perception flawed. As the gigantic creature’s deafening bellow thundered once more along the landscape like a wave of destruction, it made a second arcing strike aimed directly at her. She had already closed her eyes as blackness engulfed her senses.

It was an undetermined period of time later with the punishing rain and cyclonic wind all around her that Ugari noticed that she was still alive, the quiet after-echo following a booming voice providing her with a suddenly awakened consciousness. She was whole; how could she not have been torn apart by the creature’s deadly attack? Her long hair was strung across her face in sodden strips as her thin arms lifted her weight from the wet and muddied ground. Her considerable faculties took several moments to take in the visage of the beast and scene before her. Amazingly, Lucifus too seemed unaffected by the creature’s onslaught as he floated determinedly, screaming up at it over the tumultuous din of the storm. This was what she had seen before but had not registered. The creature’s claws had passed directly through him as if they carried no substance. She tried to carefully edge away from the scene but was confronted by the creature reacting unexpectedly to her movements; it’s massive features arching over the wizard and looking directly at her. The immense eyeless gaze hovered menacingly in front of her and ate directly into her senses; everything turned to black once more.


***​
_At this time…_

The squall still bit into every fibre of Lucifus’s body although the overall savageness had been muted somewhat in the last few moments as if the storm was catching its breath. Miraculously, Lucifus found that his body had not been touched, the creature’s massive claws passing through him ineffectively. Looking around, the clan’s population had been scattered with only a few of the more powerful warriors looking on from a cautious distance. The clan’s leader Tunthi however was beyond Lucifus’s immediate perceptions. Almost beneath his own position laid the still form of Ugari. Lucifus then stared up at Sarrash as he floated directly in front of the devil. As if by mechanical routine and habit, he began stipulating certain infernal guidelines and instructions, “I have called you to the prime so as you can perform for me a service. Upon its completion will I allow you passage back from whence you came. You must accept this charge.”

Sarrash’s infernal response to Lucifus’s initial demands boomed over the clamour of wind and rain. “DIE WRETCHED AND FOOLISH MORTAL… NO SERVICE WILL I COMMIT FOR THEE… LET LOOSE THESE BONDS SO I MAY SMITE THEE TO HELL.”
Sarrash followed this up with a further sonic assault upon the vicinity of the peninsula: the crackling storm providing savage accompaniment to Sarrash’s deafening roar of absolute fury.

Lucifus having been well and truly aroused from his previous torpidity attended several varying thoughts; recent events had not exactly proceeded to his initial concepts and planning. Fortunately for him, one of the magics within the Arcadys scroll held the diabolical creature quite securely while a further amazing sequence of arcanatures had rendered its offensive actions completely ineffective upon the prime. Lucifus had felt Sarrash literally explode past his wards and by rights this should have been the precise moment of his own grizzly demise. The mystical magicks of the Grand Gating however superseded even Lucifus’s wildest expectations. Sarrash - as far as he could judge – seemed to be held prisoner beyond its capacity to escape. Perhaps for the first moment he truly realised what he had accomplished. Lucifus had somehow managed to entrap a Greater Devil upon the prime.

It was at this point that a surge of arcane hubris and adrenalin coursed through Lucifus’s veins as he marvelled at the product of the Arcadys scroll. He floated up to the altitude of the creature’s gaze and yelled with great force and precise infernal at the monstrous devil, “I have you bound Sarrash… bound by a binding so tight… even you in a thousand and one turnings could never escape its icy grip!”
This produced further insane wailing from the beast as it attempted to swing out once more, pushing all of its efforts into breaking and extracting itself from the trap so it could literally atomise the mortal tormenting it. Looking down, Lucifus saw that while the candles and other arcane appurtenances had been scattered during the process of Sarrash’s arrival, the pentagrams outline glowed strongly underneath its feet. Sarrash was wholly trapped. {1}

“YOU WILL PAY DEARLY FOR YOUR ACTIONS MORTAL! I WILL HUNT DOWN YOUR SOUL AND IT WILL BE MINE FOR ETERNITY.” 
While unsure of how long the bindings would last – well beyond his own lifetime he hoped – Lucifus was comforted by the familiar ground the current discourse of negotiation was upon, albeit with a creature perhaps beyond his ability to bargain with. Unsure of an immediate course of tactics for negotiation, he sought to use standard practice as a means of securing Sarrash’s service. Perhaps not so surprisingly, he failed.

Over the top of the wind and beating rain Lucifus continued, pressing his point as an intriguing idea coalesced into the beginnings of a plan. “You are weak upon the prime Sarrash. In fact I ponder sending you back and trying once more for a devil capable of greater scope. Or perhaps I will leave you here to ponder your influence upon the prime. How does it feel to be completely impotent, naked as a mewling lemure?”
Sarrash’s response was a deafening howl of rage and the firing of a score of infernal flames in Lucifus’s direction. As before, the blasts of flame were of insignificance, whatever power they carried being completely emasculated upon the prime material plane by Arcadys’ supreme magicks.

“A pretty display Sarrash but neither here nor there really. I think I might leave you to ponder your fate before I give further stipulations upon my convenience”. {2}.
While providing a mixture of elation and disappointment, Lucifus felt the episode was not a total loss. He descended ignoring the attempted slashes, foul gaze and mien of Sarrash. His nonchalant demeanour to its presence had the obvious effect of upsetting the diabolical creature further. Lucifus then noticed that Ugari was stirring.

Ugari looked up at Lucifus, the form of the greater devil outlining the wizard’s silhouette. He spoke to her, his voice just audible over the tempest. “I suggest we repair to my private facilities. I shall have a collation prepared and warmth made available so as we may best discuss current events”.
Ugari, still in a state of absolute terror could do little more than nod her head. Lucifus picked up her slight form and floated away, the storm having drenched and soaked her to the point of drowning.


***​
_Inside Lucifus’s private facility, somewhat apart from the usual tribal hubbub… _ 

A number of differing thoughts competed for Lucifus’s attention as he floated at a casual altitude of a several feet. The fire furnished by a small elemental was providing suitable heat whilst several small platters of nibbles and tidbits were presented by a series of unseen servants at Lucifus’s command. The secure stonework provided by Lucifus’s conjuration (a slight variation upon The Grandee’s Cottage {3}), was a suitable if somewhat limited area designed for comfort and pleasure if not providing for the more expansive utility of high entertaining. Ugari had extracted herself from her soaked attire and was presently wrapped in a cloak of good cloth warming in front of the fire’s heat and glow. Her manner was one of dissatisfaction.

“Well!?” Ugari questioned.
“There are obviously several things to consider when adjudging the merits of our program.”
“Your program you mean,” interrupted Ugari. “I cannot remember advising neither the destruction of the clan nor the appearance of some beast beyond your talent to control!”

The harsh words hurt Lucifus but only for a moment. With quick and professional thought, he applied the correct “spin” to his current position. “But Ugari, do you not understand that this is all part of the negotiating process? It will soon tire itself…”
“Part of the process was inciting a creature that big!?” she screamed, pointing in the general direction of the entrapped creature.
“Well in all honesty”, answered Lucifus, “I had not pondered the possibility of a creature of such magnitude in my estimations but… all the better do you not think in it accomplishing the task at hand?”
Ugari not fully understanding the intricacies of the nature of binding beyond that expediently explained by Lucifus responded, “The creature will rip you apart as soon as it has the chance. Any agreement it speaks would be…”
“Ah but Ugari in this you are wrong. If it agrees, it is bound hand and foot to the technical letter of my stipulations. It cannot so much as fart without my prior consent…”
“And exactly how do you plan to reach such a binding agreement with it? I did not sense this creature eager to listen to your banter.”

“Ah hah” jumped Lucifus. “And here you have the precise reason for my actions and the method by which we shall force this creature to our collective will. If you have in fact noticed, by angering it to the point of complete obfuscation, it has become more focused upon the useless exercise of trying to obliterate my existence than engaging itself with its own extrication from the spells binding.”
Ugari processed this rather novel approach for a moment then asked, “And you expect this creature to be more kindly disposed because of this?”
“Well on this you your point might be cogent. The overall negotiation may actually take some degree of time.” Lucifus ruminated upon this concept before continuing. “In fact by my calculations, the dilation of time is currently waxing as we speak at the coterminous between our own plane and that of the seventh gate.”
“So?!”
“In other words” enthused Lucifus warming to a particular thought, “time does not remain dormant in this creature’s demiplane… in fact, quite the reverse.”
“Time will be reversed?”
“No, no, no. For every parcel of time experienced upon the prime, many parcels of time will have been exhausted upon the seventh demiplane of Hell.”

A smile developed upon Lucifus’s face as he continued with his didactic efforts. “You must understand that infernal politics is not a dormant entity. The to and fro of numerous factions will go on much to our friends detriment. In fact, I imagine that its diabolical influence will be significantly hampered through an extended absence. Further, if word gets out that it has actually been entrapped upon the prime, I dare say the creature will return to its domain to find it overrun by some enemy or another gorging upon the remains of its entourage and minions. Can’t you see… that by being entrapped here, its influence upon its home plane rapidly diminishes in our favour?” {3}

Ugari, not fully comprehending the exact merits of Lucifus’s design did not look wholly convinced. “As long as you feel it cannot break the bindings of your trap, I will allow you to test your concepts. For myself, I had better see to the clan’s welfare. I will attempt to make them understand that this creature is here to destroy our enemies and not us”. Ugari’s demeanour however was not one of confidence. With nary an additional word, she stood up, wrapped the cloak around her body and left Lucifus to ponder his thoughts.

***​
_Several hours later with the sun’s rising two hours distant…_

Lucifus had a small period of time to ponder a variety of contingencies but none appealed with any high degree of satisfaction. While he considered the Devil sufficiently trapped, he could not say with certainty that any pressure applied to the case would garner a result of immediate consequence. Negotiation would be a slow process. Deep in thought, he delicately stroked Winter; she had disappeared within his cloak while all the fuss of Sarrash’s entrance to the prime had been happening. At present she was preening distractedly, the whole series of events distressing her.

Lucifus felt weary as it had been at least a day or two since he had benefited from a short slumber. Just as his eyes started drifting upwards from languor to gentle sleep, a disturbance could be heard from outside. A massive roar of rage followed. Within a flashing of light, Lucifus was hovering at best speed out of the stone enclosure towards where Sarrash was supposed to be ensnared.


***​
_Immediately before…_

Upon the sward directly adjacent to Sarrash’s present position, a rather sizeable group of locals had assembled in the now easing rain, watching a certain spectacle involving several younger clansmen. While initially confused by the sudden appearance of the colossal Sarrash, word had gradually spread around that the creature had been enslaved in service to the clan. As such, many of the Strauchn warriors had wandered back to the vicinity out of curiosity. At present a number were provoking each other to new and innovative acts of bravery. At first it started with a clansman bravely venturing to within fifty feet of Sarrash before escalating to further acts of defiance and aggravation. Encouraged by a lack of interest on Sarrash’s part, others joined in raising the stakes to yelling out ancient war cries within the Devil’s immediate proximity. 

Currently a young clansman by the name of Gorastus was swaggering back to the group having ventured within twenty feet of the creature and shouting a blood-curdling scream up to it. Sarrash’s mood was indeterminate. Not wanting to be outdone and with several of the clan’s more significant members present (including their leader Tunthi), another up and coming warrior charged to within ten feet waving his axe with abandon bellowing in fury and challenge. This elicited a murmur from the crowd as Sarrash shifted, the rotten knobs once anchoring angelic wings realigning behind it as its massive head glanced downwards. To his credit, the young warrior held his ground and blustered back a further challenge – highlighting the creature’s obvious lack of a priapic device. The crowd cheered at his bravery. Merrily buoyant with his clans support, the young warrior Furgal advanced into the boundaries of the glowing pentagram at Sarrash’s feet. Quicker than anyone could see, the eviscerated corpse of the warrior flew in several distinct directions. A roar from Sarrash had the crowd scattering to safety.

At this point, Lucifus had reached the scene, floating up to the current position of Tunthi and several others behind a sizeable boulder.
“Tunthi. What have you been doing with my creature?” he spoke urgently in the guttural Dermen. 
Tunthi, obviously disturbed by immediate events looked up waving in the general direction of Sarrash. “Bad creature eat Furgal. Ugari say bad creature help us?” Tunthi’s state of confusion was almost humorous.
Lucifus floated above the boulder and indeed saw the scattered bloodied remnants that must have been one of the clansmen. This caused several internal expostulations within Lucifus’s brain wondering how exactly the creature could have had physical effect upon the prime. Unless…

Tunthi interrupted his distracted thoughts once more, “Tuk-tuk tell bad creature… eat Pianatha… not Tunthi”.
Lucifus floated back down to address Tunthi’s concerns.

“I suggest you keep the clan away from the… bad creature. Don’t play games with it because it’s much much bigger than you and doesn’t play fair.”
Tunthi looked confused as he normally did when the Tuk-tuk spoke the Derman tongue – big words from little man mean big confusion.

Lucifus hoped that Tunthi had understood the rudiments of the warning well enough that he wouldn’t have to be worried about the tribe providing a steady source of sustenance for the Devil. If things were going to go as he hoped, Sarrash would need to be starved of its various needs. Lucifus thought he’d try a new direction in negotiation with the trapped creature. “Tunthi… wait here for a moment. I shall venture over and gauge its mood”.
Tunthi looked perplexed once more as Lucifus drifted towards the monstrous creature, the eyes of the clan upon him.

As Lucifus coasted in Sarrash’s direction, he saw Ugari, who had also been drawn to the area by the disturbance. While the majority of her belongings had been lost amongst the ashen sea bound remnants of her pavilion, she had still managed to find an outfit that projected her position with favour and authority. The leather strapping binding a shortened hide kirtle completed the warrior-woman array whilst her bare chest replete with tribal markings of significance revealed recent contact with the various spirits at her command. She looked at him with stern features, her pointed breasts and upturned chin aloof to the conjurer’s appearance. Lucifus waved to her barely receiving a terse nod in return. There would need to be some level of appeasement before too long thought Lucifus as he drifted closer to Sarrash.

The weather was now no more than a misty rain buffeted to and fro by gusts of wind, impulsive to some unreadable atmospheric command. A red radiance glowed weakly from Sarrash. The absurdly large devil was as a statue bound to the pentagram by its hoofed and clawed feet, the remains of the warrior’s corpse scattered beyond its reach and interest. Lucifus looked more carefully now at Sarrash’s image - at precisely what level of the infernal power structure did he fill? Beelzebub {5} was considered the Lord of the Seventh Pit and had several greater devils under his immediate command. His knowledge could not discern whether this creature was part of the cast or separate: a rogue power behind the seventh gate. He would gamble the latter until proven otherwise. As Lucifus studied carefully the Greater Devil, he concluded its most terrifying aspect was most assuredly its horrid putrescent skull; the remains of a celestial corrupted and blackened to a node of complete evil. Its gaze seemed to take in everything and nothing, perceiving perfectly its surroundings but having no concern of them. Even Lucifus’s renewed presence did not stir its features; he thought he’d see if he could change that.

“I gather the local cuisine is not to your taste?” Lucifus said whilst looking around; a denuded series of vertebrae catching his eye on the wet and bloodied ground. “Still, no need for such poor decorum and table manners, I’m sure a small expulsion of gas would have sufficed?”
The creature remained aloof, not deigning to gift Lucifus with any form of response, its gaze focused on some undefined point in the stratosphere.
“Out of interest, are you currently unwell? I notice several grievous wounds around your right shoulder blade where you must have once had such majestic plumage. In all truth with your injuries and all, I hope I haven’t caught you at an inappropriate time.”
Receiving no reaction, Lucifus continued, “ Actually time is a bit of an issue is it not? While we languorously while away segments here upon the prime, time accelerates at a most hurried pace back home. Imagine all your friends down there wondering where you are? Imagine some of your minions too. While the master’s away the servants will play and all that. I hope they’re strong enough to rebuff the attention they will most likely receive from some of your friends and associates stopping by for chitchat. Imagine if your Master Beelzebub found that you were holidaying upon the prime, you’d be quickly left out of the infernal loop…"

“SILENCE MORTAL FLEA!!!” Sarrash roared, its arms thrusting back as it bent down, its corrupted face within inches of Lucifus’s. “YOU HIDE BEHIND MAGICS BEYOND YOUR POWER LIKE A CRAVEN MAGGOT! LETS SEE HOW MUCH YOU TALK WHEN THESE BONDS FAIL!”
Lucifus’s bowels loosened. The gaze of the putrescent skull bore directly into him; close enough to see unnamed and diabolical parasites crawling around its various orifices. Perhaps he had gone a little too far introducing Beelzebub into the discussion?
“I FEEL THE FETTERS QUICKLY WEAKENING PATHETIC MORTAL... SOON YOUR SOUL WILL BE MINE!!!” lashed Sarrash.
Lucifus glanced down noticing that indeed, the pentagram’s glow had waned somewhat. Surely it must be a trick of the light. Surely Arcadys’ magick was of solid duration and not a momentary trice. The thought of the magicks immediately unravelling made Lucifus queasy in the stomach. A fear struck Lucifus as the pentacle coruscated in a flickering of light. His attention was distracted. 

Lucifus failed to note the devastating scene unfolding behind him until it was too late.

***​
{1} The Pentacle in it’s entirety was almost twenty foot in diameter; previously taking up the majority of the private sanctum of Ugari’s pavilion. Currently, Sarrash was magically hemmed within a moveable, arcane and upturned cone anchored by the glowing pentagram. While sufficiently mobile to reach beyond the immediate vicinity, the magicks entrapping the Greater Devil have made its actual physical manifestation discordant with its visual position upon the prime. Without wishing to broach a myriad of obtuse arcane factors involved, it is sufficed to say that the node representing Sarrash’s actual “being” had been tightly forced within a diminutive volume of space within the pentagrams centre. The visual boundaries however are constrained by the anchored, upturned cone. As such, Sarrash’s physical appearance and influence while visually impressive was in fact completely benign. Any attacks being impressively presented but in actuality being no more than a hideous buzzing of Sarrash’s compacted essence. The precise concepts involved however were beyond the outer boundaries of Lucifus’s understanding. 

{2} Sarrash’s initial rebuffing of his demands was not entirely unexpected. In fact Lucifus hoped to work it into his favour. While he could have expressed a new set of stipulations to the Greater Devil, such promptness to back down like as in any negotiation could only ever be taken as a sign of weakness.

{3} This is the accepted name used by Lucifus Cray for the spell usually titled Leomund’s Secure Shelter. Lucifus has performed several adjustments to this particular spell in order to augment its comforts from the sparse to the lavish. In fact, key parts of these adjustments would later be used in his final series of augmentations leading to his greatest personal achievement of magic thus far: Lucifus’s Portable Tower.

{4} Perhaps surprisingly, Lucifus’s deductions in regards to Sarrash’s absence were not only legitimate but also entirely conservative. Lucifus could not have imagined the difficulties his simple act was to cause Sarrash.

{5} I have used Green Ronin Publishing’s Legions of Hell as the base and inspiration for the Diabolical and Infernal hierarchy used in this story hour. Paul the DM has kept such things tightly under wraps so for Story Hour purposes, I have capriciously become a little inventive. An exceptional sourcebook by the way.


----------



## ForceUser (Apr 21, 2005)

*The Hearth Fire*

Aaron Isling lived in a world of grays. Outside his bedroom window, storm clouds shrouded the sky and dumped misty rain on the terraced lawns and sport-utility vehicles of a sleek neighborhood of social climbers. He watched as a yellow-striped cat with a white breast darted across his new dirt lawn toward a neighbor’s carport. It was wet and tawny and thoroughly miserable. Aaron sympathized. He felt thoroughly miserable as well.

“Aaron! Get down here! There’s more to carry up!” Robert, his stepfather, commanded from downstairs. Sighing, Aaron clambered off the box he’d been sitting on and trudged out into the upstairs hallway. He stopped at the head of the stairs and glowered at the scene below.

Robert Bellsly, his mother’s second husband, stood in the doorway to the new four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom home, imperiously directing the movers who carried the family furniture into the house. It was so new that it still carried that peculiar smell of new houses, like stale garlic butter leather.  Aaron found it distasteful. What had been wrong with their old house? His old room had smelled like home. His new room smelled like sawdust and paint.

“Aaron!” blustered Robert. He gestured harshly, as though striking the air with his open palm. “I said come here! There’s still dozens of boxes to bring in before you’re done. Now get to it. You can play later.”

“I wasn’t playing,” Aaron began, but his stepfather cut him off.

“Don’t back-talk me! Just do it!”

“But it’s raining,” Aaron protested, unsure of where he was going with this, or why he was going there so vehemently. He knew the work needed to be done.

“Go!” His stepfather declared coldly. He pointed past the head of a struggling moving man who was trying to wedge the family couch through the front door. Aaron knew that further protest was pointless, that he had pushed Robert as far as he could dare. Further argument would elicit punishment. A tiny voice inside urged him on anyway, just to spite his stepfather, but Aaron was an exceptionally rational young man when he had to be. Annoyed for no reason he could articulate, he did as he was told, stepping through the kitchen, into the carport, and out into the hazy rain.

***

“Coo-coo-coo!” said Aaron’s mother. “Coo-coo-coo! Who’s a good girl?”

The child in the crib wiggled her toes and gurgled happily. Aaron, standing outside the doorway, looked at the scene in disgust. Downstairs, a ballgame blared from the surround-sound stereo system, and Robert could be heard raging at the referee, who apparently knew nothing about calling plays. Aaron wondered how the referee could hold his job if he was really that bad.

“Aaron,” called his mother over her shoulder, “Run to the fridge and bring a bottle up, would you? Your sister’s hungry.”

“Half-sister,” Aaron corrected dully. He turned away quickly, but felt his mother’s hot stare between his shoulder blades as he bounded down the stairs two at a time. Her chastisement evaded, she called shrilly, “Don’t run on the stairs! I’m not paying for a broken leg!”

From the living room, Robert added thunderously, “Aaron! Stop running in the house!”

Aaron reached the kitchen and rebelliously took two quick steps and slid across the polished tile in his socks. He lost his balance and almost fell, but caught himself on the counter. He was very angry with his mother but couldn’t say why. He flung open the refrigerator door, yanked out a bottle of formula and slapped the door shut. The contents of the fridge rattled dangerously. He felt vindicated.

“Here,” he said to his mother when he returned.

“Watch that attitude, mister,” she replied. “I’m not telling you again.”

Aaron wasn’t sure if she meant his attitude toward his half-sister or his running indoors, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He looked at the infant in the crib. She stared at him, mystified, as if trying to figure out who he was and how he fit into her small world of bed and mother and playthings. She infuriated him. He waited until his mom turned away, then he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at the child. Her face scrunched up, and then she kicked and flailed her tiny fists. When his mother began to comfort her – “Sshh, baby, sshh. There, there, Lauren.” – he fled to his bedroom. He felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and regret. As he put on his pajamas and climbed into bed he thought of how his dad had left. His mom had told him that they’d “grown apart,” but Aaron suspected she’d driven him away. And now there was a new stepfather and a new baby and a new house and a new school on the other side of town, and he didn’t know whom to blame.

When his mother came by to tuck him in, he pretended to be asleep. She walked in briskly, folded the corners of his sheets under the mattress with several sharp motions, and left without kissing him goodnight. When she turned off the light and closed the door, Aaron felt lost, as though she was shutting him away for good.

***

Aaron awoke sharply. He came instantly, vividly awake with total clarity. He opened his eyes and stared intensely at the wall across his bedroom. The Crab Nebula poster, eerie under the orange halogen light from the street lamp out front, stared back at him. His heart beat rapidly, and he lay tense and unmoving under the sheets, as though frozen in an ancient glacier. He realized that he was frightened and afraid to move, but he didn’t know why. He breathed quietly and listened to the stillness of the house. He found it to be unnatural.

His old house had groaned when the wind blew or the cold settled in, the pipes in the walls had cracked their knuckles like old men when winter blew down, and the floorboards had creaked musical notes when you walked across them, every room in a different key. But this house, this new house, was silent like a tomb. They’d visited several times while it had been under construction, and he’d seen that the pipes weren’t made of iron, but of plastic and copper. The floors were carpet or tile over concrete, not hardwood. And the windows, double paned, hardly rattled at all when the wind blew. His old house had a personality, like an amusing relative that had taken up permanent residence, but this new house was dead. It had the personality of a zombie.

From the next room over, Aaron heard a bump. It was a muffled, shuffling sort of sound with a rasping conclusion. Inexplicably, he flinched in terror. Thoughts swarmed in his head. That was the baby’s room. Was his mother feeding or changing her, as she often did in the middle of the night? Had she fallen out of the crib? Maybe she had somehow climbed the safety rail and was lying on the floor right now, hurt. But why wasn’t she crying? Maybe she couldn’t. He lay there long moments, hoping that his mother and Robert had heard it too. Maybe they’d get up and go see what was the matter.

They didn’t. He thought about yelling, but he decided against it, imagining the trouble he’d get into if it turned out to be nothing. It probably was, after all, nothing.

But then why was he so scared?

The noise thumped again from behind the wall, like someone was moving around a large object. He shivered. How could they not hear it? He realized that he’d been holding his breath, so he exhaled quietly, and was amazed to discover the air frost away from his mouth visibly in the wan orange light. He shivered then, and realized that it was freezing in his room. He looked at the calendar on the wall next to the door. He could read it in the dim light. It said June.

He blinked and carefully rubbed his eyes, moving his body as little as possible. He realized that he’d begun to shiver, and if he wasn’t careful his teeth would rattle and it would give him away and whatever it was that was in his sister’s room would come for him and that would be the end.

What was going on? he wondered desperately. Why am I thinking there’s something in Lauren’s room? It could be nothing. It could be Robert moving furniture around. But in the middle of the night? On a Wednesday, when he worked in the morning? Maybe it was a burglar. But why, then, was it so cold? It felt frigid as November in Aaron’s room.

The bump slithered across the wall again, long and insidious. Unconsciously, Aaron whimpered. The noise stopped immediately.

Oh, no, he thought. He dared not breathe. Seconds stretched into eternity, and he waited. He felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat, and black dots swam before his eyes. He’d have to take a breath soon.

The noise started up again, and he sucked in air carefully, parceling it out like a diver returning to the surface from the ocean floor. Something was very, very wrong. Mom and Robert hadn’t awakened. The baby wasn’t crying. And something was in the house, not fifteen feet away on the other side of a thin wall.

A feeling welled up within Aaron then, and though he couldn’t describe it, he clung to it intensely, for it spread warmth and purpose through his limbs. With the utmost care, he peeled back his sheets and sat up. His feet found his slippers and he wriggled into them gratefully. He glanced around the room, and his eyes alighted on a dim bundle tucked in the corner behind his bed. Softly, he tiptoed to the bundle and gripped a nine-iron, part of a set of golf clubs forced upon him by Robert last summer.

A successful man’s game, Robert had insisted, and one you’ll learn to play. Aaron thought about the snoring brute in his mother’s bed. For the first time, he was grateful Robert hadn’t let him refuse.

The noise from his sister’s room continued, and now it had a harsher, more urgent quality to it, as though the perpetrator had abandoned being stealthy. Aaron sidestepped across his bedroom, turned the doorknob as gently as he could, and stepped into the hall. He realized that had this been his old house, the creak of floorboards and oil-deprived hinges would have already given him up. He trudged silently on the carpet toward the baby’s room, then stopped. For no reason he could rationally explain, he hurried as quietly as he could to the hall closet and retrieved a squat blueberry-scented candle. Fumbling urgently in the dark – for the thumps now came more quickly – he located the lighter and flicked it on. A merry tongue of fire licked the candle’s wick, and with it Aaron dashed toward his sister’s door.

Candle in one hand and golf club in the other, he burst into the room. The crib was no longer in the corner by the door; instead it now sat adjacent to the window, which was open to the night and blowing a cold wind inside. In the darkness under the crib something malevolent moved on two legs, a quick pitter-patter of steps, followed by a tiny growl. Aaron flipped the light switch and nothing happened. He felt this should surprise him, but it didn’t. Instead, the warming flicker of the candle reassured him. Wielding his nine-iron, he half-stepped toward the crib and shouted, “Hey! Get away from there!”

He heard a trio of squeals then, like pigs gargling with soda pop, and two small, dark forms climbed out of the crib and landed wobbly on the plush floor. Another emerged from underneath, and all three forms, like squat shadows, advanced on him and growled. When they growled, the sound they made cut deeper than a pack of stray dogs he’d once encountered. Irrationally, Aaron thrust the candle forward instead of the golf club. The creatures squealed and covered their faces, and Aaron caught a glimpse of piggish noses, slimy gray skin, filthy black hair and rotted, pointy teeth. Each wore badly cured strips of leather wrapped around mildewed cloth, and their miniature hands, gnarled and veined, ended in black-nailed claws. One of the creatures wore a badly stitched skullcap, and another carried a pepper-gray feather in its hand. This one spoke piggishly to the others, who snarled and spread out, carefully backing away from the flicker of flame and maneuvering toward both of Aaron’s flanks. He swung the golf club menacingly but was ignored. They appeared to fear only the light. He held it in front of him like a talisman and stepped further into the room. As he did so he cried “Robert! Mom! Mom!” but they didn’t – or couldn’t – come to his aid. His voice sounded distant to his own ears, as though it was coming from another room in the house.

The tiny pig-creatures swarmed around him. Each time one closed, he would thrust the candle toward it, and each time the little beast would shy away as if stung by a bee. But they were crafty, Aaron could tell, and he realized that his candle would not keep him safe forever. The creature on his left flank, eyes blazing darkly, hissed and darted toward him. Aaron waved his fiery talisman at it and it retreated, but as he guarded his left, the creature on his right flank leapt at him, latching onto his leg with a triumphant piggish howl. It dug into the flesh of his thigh with its horrible little claws, squealing in malicious glee, and bit deeply into his leg and sucked. Paralyzed by a paroxysm of pain, Aaron screamed and dropped the candle. Feebly, he gripped the creature’s infant-sized head in both his hands and shoved and hit it, but the beast, impossibly strong for its size, ignored him. It happily continued to savage his leg.

Aaron screamed and screamed, his gray world turning red. The second pig-creature leapt upon him, seizing his left arm and champing down vigorously. He struggled with all his might, but he understood in a detached way that he was going to die. He writhed on the floor of his half-sister’s room. The third creature merely danced a perverse jig, twirling the feather between filthy fingers and cackling hideously, clearly pleased.

Staggered by gouging pain, Aaron’s head lolled as his strength and will to resist began to fade. Just beyond his grasp, the fallen candle lay on its side, the wick miraculously still lit with a diminutive blue flicker of light. Behind the candle and piled against the wall cowered a stack of cloth diapers, recovered from the washing machine and placed there by his mother earlier that day. Feebly, his hope fading, Aaron stretched out the fingers of his right hand. His fingertips grazed the squat blueberry-scented candle. The final flicker began to die away, casting the room into a menacing blackness that would end him and his baby sister.

His sister. She wasn’t the cause of his recent misfortunes in life, merely a result of them. His mother said that babies were a blank slate, pure and clean of sin. Sin came later when you began to make choices. His father had once told him that when he had looked at Aaron as a baby, he knew what hope truly was. At the time Aaron had felt embarrassed by this. Now he understood what his dad had meant. Lauren was hope swathed in life. These creatures, he realized, ate purity, destroyed hope. He knew then what he had to do.

With lassitude overwhelming his limbs, Aaron gave one final push, extending his right arm as far as he could and flopping his body like an Amazonian tourist being devoured by piranha.

He shoved the candle. It rolled across the plush fire-resistant carpet, spindly flame guttering, and came to rest snugly against the pile of cotton diapers. Long, rending moments passed. His arms and legs felt numb, distantly painful and heavily weighted. He heard the tearing, gulping sound of his own flesh being devoured. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

As he drifted toward unconsciousness, Aaron heard horrified squeals. Dazedly, he came to and gazed upon a flickering orange light, growing brighter. Unable to move, he craned his head around to see crisp flames licking their way up the stack of diapers. He felt the weights on his arms and legs vanish as the fire grew taller and more consuming, and the light grew ruddy and pervasive. In seconds, the fire began to eat the paint on the walls like a blazing virus.

Squealing and cursing in their pig-tongue, the little monsters scattered like leaves. One retreated to the window and climbed backward like a spider, twisting its head toward Aaron at an impossible angle. It snarled at him with feral rage and disappeared over the sill. Another dashed into the hallway beyond. The third leapt at the baby’s closet where his mother stored the stroller. The door was ajar, and it bounded inside and slammed it closed behind it.

Aaron lay on the floor in shock. Smoke billowed, the fire raged. Thoroughly defeated, he screwed his eyes shut and waited for the end. Perhaps when they found his charred remains they’d understand what he’d tried to do. He fervently hoped so.

Almost a minute passed before Aaron realized that he no longer smelled smoke. He opened his eyes to discover that he lay in his bed, uninjured. Disoriented, he jolted upright. His gaze crawled across the walls. The calendar said June. The clock-radio said 3 a.m. He sweated through his pajamas in the sultry heat of the summer night.  Aaron glanced behind his bed. The nine-iron he’d grabbed sat in the bag with the other clubs. Disbelieving the evidence of his eyes, he darted to his bedroom door, wrenched it open and flew to the hallway closet. He turned on the garishly bright hall light and opened the closet door. The blueberry-scented candle squatted between a carton of light bulbs and an iron. It appeared unused.

It couldn’t have been a dream, he thought desperately. It was too real. He glanced down the hall at Lauren’s bedroom door. It hung partly open. Aaron thought about getting his nine-iron again but decided against it. Instead, he lit the candle and, feeling a sharp sense of déjà vu, walked toward his sister’s room in a surreal haze.

Inside, he flipped the light switch up, this time flooding the space with electric radiance. The crib sat near the door, as always. The window lurked on the far wall, closed to the night. The room felt warm and stuffy. To Aaron’s left, the stack of cloth diapers sat neat and tidy on the carpet.

He looked at the crib and saw only silence. Fear gripped him then. Not a fear for his own safety, but for the tiny person who had entered his life so abruptly and had been the target of so much of his anger and resentment. Hesitantly, afraid of a thousand awful sights that might await him, he stepped up and peered inside the crib.

Lauren lay in her bedclothes and teddy bear blanket amidst the candy corn sheets and armada of plush animals. She appeared asleep. He reached down and touched her, feeling warmth in her limbs. She wiggled in her sleep, then stirred and yawned. Her eyes opened, and she stared around searchingly for a bit before coming to rest her gaze upon Aaron. When she saw him, she opened her mouth and grinned toothlessly.

Aaron grinned back. “Hi,” he said gravely, “I’m your big brother.”

Aaron played with his sister, relieved. “You look thirsty,” he said. As he searched around for her bottle in the tangle of blankets and toy animals, he heard a dim thump from the baby’s closet. He jerked his head around. The door was closed. Glancing at his sister, who looked back at him curiously, Aaron held the candle tightly in front of him and stepped cautiously toward the closet. Screwing up his courage, he said to the closet, “I’ve had about enough of you!” and pulled it open.  Inside he found nothing but an old vacuum cleaner, the baby’s stroller, and a tiny pepper-gray feather.

***

Penelope Bellsly awoke to an echo of a dream that flittered away from her consciousness and left her with vague feelings of terror, urgency, and maternal protectiveness.

“Robert,” she whispered to her husband. He lay on his back, snoring and crowding her side of the bed as always. “Robert!” she repeated more harshly, pinching him.

He jumped awake. “Huh! Whuzzat? Penny? What do you want?” he blustered blearily. “It’s your turn to change her. I did it last night.” He rolled away.

“Robert, I think someone’s in the baby’s room,” she whispered dramatically. Aaron’s mother had been a theatre major at university and had a knack for drama.

Robert Bellsly grumbled, “No, there isn’t. Go back to sleep.”

Penelope’s voice rose shrilly. “Robert, so help me, if you don’t get out of bed this instant and go check on your daughter, I am going to get very angry!”

“All right, all right,” he groused. “I’m going. We’re in a nice neighborhood, though. I made sure of it, remember? The cops patrol all the time. I swear. Women.”

Ignoring his comment, Aaron’s mother replied primly, “I’m coming with you.” She gathered up her robe and put it on.

What they found within their daughter’s room amazed and perplexed them. Penelope gaped, her eyes immediately glittering. Robert scowled and would have entered threateningly had his wife not restrained him with a pinch on the arm. Aaron sat in a rocking chair next to the crib, holding his half-sister gently, and feeding her from a warm bottle by the light of a single scented candle. He ignored Robert and his mother. They stared at him for long moments, looked searchingly at each other, and then slowly entered the room.

When they came in, Aaron looked up and smiled. “Sshh,” he whispered, “she’s almost back to sleep.”

_The End_


----------

