Saturday, January 3, 2009

Bringer of Light, the Morning Star

Suddenly there was an insidious hissing, gurgling noise coming from the floor. Was it possible? The red, mangled chaos that was Monsieur’s splattered head - there was movement. Something was slipping and sliding about, like maggots at their meal. With an obscene sucking noise, it was suddenly airborne.
“Oh my god, what the fuck is that?” Joe was petrified.
It was flapping about, slinging blood and gore from its satanic, leathery wings. He had seen some pretty weird shit these last few days, but this took the preverbal cake. This was evil incarnate. It was glowing, rays of dark, malevolent light emanating from the travesty of a one-eyed head.
The Captain turned and her face fell. She looked with horror into its cyclopean orb.
“No, please, sweet Jesus, no.” She raised her Remington 870s impotently, intuitively realising that the situation had just left the ‘handle it’ stage and entered the hopeless one.
“Who, what is that thing?” Joe turned to the Captain in panic, imploringly.
“What? Don’t you recognise Lucifer when you see him?” she stammered.
The thing made a sickly noise, its voice an open wound. It let out a wet, choking laughter, sounding as if were coming from the rotting throat of a putrescent corpse. The room stood still, everyone motionless, transfixed.
“Frailty, thy name is woman?” It said. “Ha-ha-ha, that’s so rich! These women make you pathetic men look like arthritic mice. Like sclerotic earthworms! Seriously! Vanity, that is thy true name, woman. You can’t kill that. Nor me. No one can; we’re as old as time itself. Tits, ass and a pretty face. That’s what makes the world go round. Especially a pretty face. Helen’s launched a thousand ships. Not bad. How many have you launched, dwarf-lovers? And please, let’s have some sympathy, let’s show a bit of taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or I’ll lay your souls to waste. I’m pleased to meet you, I’m glad you guessed my name. But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.”
“What??? Game? Lucifer? Like, the Lucifer?” Joe was in denial. He was overloading, his fuses were being tried.
“At your service.” The Thing made a mock bow in midair, its hideous leathery wings folding over the singular bloodshot eye. The air smelled of stale farts and sulphur. “THEY called me up, wanting their eternal beauty. THEY invited me into THEIR house. I cannot enter uninvited, you know. Against the rules, it is. But once invited, I delivered the goods. And please - your garlic, crosses and silver bullets – these are silly fairy tales, my friends. Spare me the humility.
Now, I kept my word. I gave you all boundless beauty! And now the bill is due, my lovelies, in blood money, if you like. Or dwarf meat, I don’t care which. I just want what is mine! And I intend to take it. A deal is a deal, especially with Lucifer. So, who is going to pick up the tab?”


Rowena said...


Just goes to show, ya can't turn your back on BL. I thought I had good and done ol' Mister in, and spit on his grave in the comments just to be sure. Shouldn't have gotten cocky.

But it does answer why the frenzy didn't abate.

Damn. What do we do now?

The devil came and got us.

Kate Lord Brown said...

When I saw the title I thought 'Ah, baby James saves the day', then saw the wild illustration and thought 'run for your ikea stepladders - Son's back!' (A master stroke Son ... yikes).

Rowena said...

I thought the same thing, Kate, when I saw the drawing. Son's back. You can't argue with the art. Well, you can, but it's likely to take you down paths you did not expect.

Misssy M said...

May the power of Christ compel you!

So I guess I better get my Bible out and come back into the fold.