Last time on Crimson Surprise the following happened:
...
Looking around my prison, the prison which had once held Beezle, I felt an enormous weight of despair. "Beezle? Gone?" I thought. Then I chided myself angrily, "Beezle has been a pain in my neck since the first summer I spent in this house, way back when it belonged to Uncle Nicholas. Not only that, but he's a demon for crying out loud. He's never stopped trying to get at my soul. It's what he does."
Still, Beezle has been a significant part of my life for over a decade, howbeit obnoxious and dangerous. Maybe it was his devilish charm or his evil sense of humor, but I found myself feeling hollow and empty at his loss. "Just a trick," I thought, "Just a ruse. He's been working on me all these years, trying to make me like him more and more to make me a loyal friend, ready to fall into some deadly trap that would cost me my soul to escape." Honestly, I still believe that what I thought here was fully accurate, but it was no use. I felt like a family member had just been kidnapped, and the culprit hadn't even left me the option of putting up a ransom.
Angrily I threw the letter across the room and began to pace it. I didn't try to look for a way out. There wasn't one. That was the idea. You keep demons in it so that they can't get out. There was the vent in the ceiling of course, but it acts as a pressure valve - lets Beezle reach into the world and interact with it but prevents him from building up enough energy to blast his way out of the wards. The vent wasn't any kind of use to me though. It was several stories above me. I couldn't even see it in the vaulted darkness.
Finally I dashed at the letter and attempted a good kick. It got caught on my shoe and lifted a few feet into the air and settled back down next to a thin trail of demon blood. Grimly I followed it with my eyes to the wall where a larger stain smeared the smooth onyx stone etched with golden runes. I squinted and knelt down next to the smear. A small black circle containing one rune was completely blood free, and it was close to the center of the splatter.
I brushed my finger thoughtfully over the rune and it lit up. I stepped back as I felt intense heat radiate from it and it glowed red. The fiery glow spread to surrounding runes, and from them to others. Soon a full third of the wall was burning like a furnace, forcing me to the the other side. I thought that at any moment I'd be roasted like a pig. The shining onyx stone before me melted away revealing Beezle's fireplace.
The Beezle's fireplace is one of the few things in his room that never seems to change shape or size. It's always the same. Twenty feet tall, surrounded by ironworks and statues depicting torturous burning misery, a blazing inferno - except today there was no blazing inferno. The fireplace was completely empty save one thing: a golden door with a silver handle.
"Of course!" I thought, "I forgot about the fireplace."
I've known for a good long time that Beezle has had a route too and from the demonic realm via his fireplace. It's not anything that's ever concerned me much. What comes in and out of the hell-fires is no business of mine, unless it wanders into the rest of the house. The room and the door see to it that nothing ever does. Now though... now I had to make a decision that I never thought would be difficult: I had to decide whether or not I should leave the safety of my house, and of this world, and enter a the demonic plane.
"Beelze obviously ment me to find this," I thought, "so presumably it's relatively safe for me to go through, or at least close to the door."
"But what if," I added, "What if this is one last kick in the ribs? I never did sell him my soul, so what if he led me to the door out of spite?"
Somehow I doubted that. Not because Beezle isn't spiteful. No, it's because currently Beezle is my demon. That relationship is more important than you might think. It's a matter of pride for Beezle that he gets my soul and no one else. If he sent me as a mortal into the depths of hell and I somehow ended up selling my self to some other demon, Beezle would never live it down. And Beezle wasn't dead. Otherwise I wouldn't have been locked in my room.
If Beezle thought he could get back he wouldn't have led me to the door either. Obviously, he thought that whatever the risks behind it, this golden door was the only way for he and I to be reunited as tempter and temptee.
I walked tentatively toward the door, "Are you really going to do this?" I thought, "Are you really going to risk your life and probably your soul to get Beezle back in your house? Don't you think that maybe you should just sit back for 24 hours, and then throw a 'Beezle is Gone' party after the fact?"
"Well," I countered lamely, "he must think I'm capable, or he wouldn't lead me this way. Beside's he'll owe me one. It might make life better when he's back. Look, I'll just step through and if it looks too risky I'll just say I'm chicken and come right back."
With that final foolhardy thought firmly in mind I gripped the long silver handle. It was curved ever so slightly and felt comfortable in my hand. With measured pace I pushed it down and pressed softly against the ornate door. The moment it cracked open a magical gust of wind caught me from behind and sent me tumbling over the threshold. I tumbled through the air for several feet, landing on my back in the dark on something surprisingly soft and textile. A ray of light above me revealed the door as I looked up, but the ray became feebler and vanished as the door closed with a subtle click.
----to be continued-------
Sorry, but I just scared my own pants off reliving the horrible realization that I was trapped in the dark in Hell of all places. We'll pick up on this again next week when I'm not quite so short of breath.
I attended a writing convention and got a little creeped out by Paul Genesse's over interest in Beezle, so I skipped out on the rest of the convention, went home, and locked my door.
A few days after the convention I came home to find the house unnaturally quiet. Suspecting that Beezle was up to something I dashed off to his lair finding his door open. This left me disquieted because that door is the one thing keeping him contained. Inside the lair I picked up a letter left on a pedestal and in doing so triggered some sort of spell that slammed the door behind me:
"Dear Lord Secrest,At this point I left to have a good cry. Since then, I've left you out to dry as Griseus so sternly reminded me. Let's jump right in, shall we?
Until recently there has been an evil entity occupying this space. Whether you considered it a blessing, curse, or tenant, it will not bother you again. To ensure both your safety and cooperation this room has been sealed for the next twenty-four hours. Have an enjoyable weekend. As always, feel free to submit stories about any demons you encounter for inclusion in 'The Crimson Pact.'
-The Spirit Traveler"
...
Looking around my prison, the prison which had once held Beezle, I felt an enormous weight of despair. "Beezle? Gone?" I thought. Then I chided myself angrily, "Beezle has been a pain in my neck since the first summer I spent in this house, way back when it belonged to Uncle Nicholas. Not only that, but he's a demon for crying out loud. He's never stopped trying to get at my soul. It's what he does."
Still, Beezle has been a significant part of my life for over a decade, howbeit obnoxious and dangerous. Maybe it was his devilish charm or his evil sense of humor, but I found myself feeling hollow and empty at his loss. "Just a trick," I thought, "Just a ruse. He's been working on me all these years, trying to make me like him more and more to make me a loyal friend, ready to fall into some deadly trap that would cost me my soul to escape." Honestly, I still believe that what I thought here was fully accurate, but it was no use. I felt like a family member had just been kidnapped, and the culprit hadn't even left me the option of putting up a ransom.
Angrily I threw the letter across the room and began to pace it. I didn't try to look for a way out. There wasn't one. That was the idea. You keep demons in it so that they can't get out. There was the vent in the ceiling of course, but it acts as a pressure valve - lets Beezle reach into the world and interact with it but prevents him from building up enough energy to blast his way out of the wards. The vent wasn't any kind of use to me though. It was several stories above me. I couldn't even see it in the vaulted darkness.
Finally I dashed at the letter and attempted a good kick. It got caught on my shoe and lifted a few feet into the air and settled back down next to a thin trail of demon blood. Grimly I followed it with my eyes to the wall where a larger stain smeared the smooth onyx stone etched with golden runes. I squinted and knelt down next to the smear. A small black circle containing one rune was completely blood free, and it was close to the center of the splatter.
I brushed my finger thoughtfully over the rune and it lit up. I stepped back as I felt intense heat radiate from it and it glowed red. The fiery glow spread to surrounding runes, and from them to others. Soon a full third of the wall was burning like a furnace, forcing me to the the other side. I thought that at any moment I'd be roasted like a pig. The shining onyx stone before me melted away revealing Beezle's fireplace.
The Beezle's fireplace is one of the few things in his room that never seems to change shape or size. It's always the same. Twenty feet tall, surrounded by ironworks and statues depicting torturous burning misery, a blazing inferno - except today there was no blazing inferno. The fireplace was completely empty save one thing: a golden door with a silver handle.
"Of course!" I thought, "I forgot about the fireplace."
I've known for a good long time that Beezle has had a route too and from the demonic realm via his fireplace. It's not anything that's ever concerned me much. What comes in and out of the hell-fires is no business of mine, unless it wanders into the rest of the house. The room and the door see to it that nothing ever does. Now though... now I had to make a decision that I never thought would be difficult: I had to decide whether or not I should leave the safety of my house, and of this world, and enter a the demonic plane.
"Beelze obviously ment me to find this," I thought, "so presumably it's relatively safe for me to go through, or at least close to the door."
"But what if," I added, "What if this is one last kick in the ribs? I never did sell him my soul, so what if he led me to the door out of spite?"
Somehow I doubted that. Not because Beezle isn't spiteful. No, it's because currently Beezle is my demon. That relationship is more important than you might think. It's a matter of pride for Beezle that he gets my soul and no one else. If he sent me as a mortal into the depths of hell and I somehow ended up selling my self to some other demon, Beezle would never live it down. And Beezle wasn't dead. Otherwise I wouldn't have been locked in my room.
If Beezle thought he could get back he wouldn't have led me to the door either. Obviously, he thought that whatever the risks behind it, this golden door was the only way for he and I to be reunited as tempter and temptee.
I walked tentatively toward the door, "Are you really going to do this?" I thought, "Are you really going to risk your life and probably your soul to get Beezle back in your house? Don't you think that maybe you should just sit back for 24 hours, and then throw a 'Beezle is Gone' party after the fact?"
"Well," I countered lamely, "he must think I'm capable, or he wouldn't lead me this way. Beside's he'll owe me one. It might make life better when he's back. Look, I'll just step through and if it looks too risky I'll just say I'm chicken and come right back."
With that final foolhardy thought firmly in mind I gripped the long silver handle. It was curved ever so slightly and felt comfortable in my hand. With measured pace I pushed it down and pressed softly against the ornate door. The moment it cracked open a magical gust of wind caught me from behind and sent me tumbling over the threshold. I tumbled through the air for several feet, landing on my back in the dark on something surprisingly soft and textile. A ray of light above me revealed the door as I looked up, but the ray became feebler and vanished as the door closed with a subtle click.
----to be continued-------
Sorry, but I just scared my own pants off reliving the horrible realization that I was trapped in the dark in Hell of all places. We'll pick up on this again next week when I'm not quite so short of breath.
(Crimson Pact references used with the written permission of Paul Genesse. Get the anthology or risk your life submitting your own demon related experience at www.thecrimsonpact.com)
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