Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep276: Episode 276: Haunted Mansion Horror

Episode Date: September 18, 2025

Today’s tale of terror is the complete series of ‘Restoration’, an original story by Zithero, kindly shared with me directly via my subreddit. https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/aonvsc/restoration/ https://www.reddit.com/user/Zithero/

Experience a legacy that lasts at Dawn Valley North Lexus. Right now, Lisa, 2026, RX 350 premium package from just 638 per month for 28 months at 3.9%. Plus qualified Lexus loyalty guests, receive a 1.5% rate reduction for rates as low as 2.4%. See Donvalley Northlexus.com for details. A proud member of Wayne's Auto Group. The Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. The night we're introduced to Fred, a seasoned restoration specialist who recalls a job unlike any he'd ever taken before. Normally tasked with cleaning up flood damage or covering the

darker secrets of wealthy clients, he prides himself on discretion, till a man named Timothy hires him for a project inside a sprawling, mysterious mansion. What begins as just another lucrative contract quickly turns unsettling, as Fred and his crew uncover stains that seem impossibly ancient, carrying with them a presence and imagery that defy explanation. As the work progresses, it becomes clear that the house is holding on to something far more disturbing than any ordinary mess. Now as ever before we begin a word of caution, tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Restoration by Zithero. Part 1. I work in Restoration.

Your house or business floods When my crew comes in dries everything up Cleans the baseboards Preps the place Tosses the ruin stuff into a dumpster And hauls it away We leave the place clean and ready

For a fresh coat of paint We're usually pretty proud of the work Me and my crew does We do it all too Mostly we have to do flood damage But there are times when we get caught To rich folks' houses to remove stains from stone and concrete structures

I've had a museum call for the same. I've made a name for myself in being able to just get around any stain out of any stone. You think it's easy? You think you can just scrub away a stain? Folks forget that marble isn't solid material. It's porous and it sucks in liquid. That's why polish and maintenance are important. I'm not naive though, I mean, plenty of times we get for red wine. Yeah, okay, I get it. You were partying with the hooker, she OD'd, cracked her, coked out head on a coffee table, suddenly there's a pool of blood on the marble floor of your penthouse,

and you can't get the stain out. Worse? Well, the wife's home next week. I've done the clean-up enough times to know a few things. One, don't ask stupid questions. Hell, half the time the hook is fine, or would have OD'd anyway with or without the expensive John. No skin off my nose.

If you're cleaning up the scene before the cops, can show up. Honestly, that's on them. I have a job to do, and I do it. Two, don't remember these people. I'm not some guy who's going to get brought in on some indictment hearing or some stupid tabloid media circus, all because I decided to suddenly have a good memory. I do a job like this. I get your address, I show up, I shake your hand, I call you Mr. Smith, and then I leave. I delete your address, and I carry on with my life. The less I know, the safer I am. That being said, I don't get the blood clean up very often.

It's normally innocent stuff. Wine, sewage, floodwater, sometimes human feces. You think that's gross, but it's easier than anything else to clean. The weirdest request? I need to give you context on weird. I had a call to clean up a place after something called a lunar party, which somehow involved a whole lot of menstrual blood and dancing in it. Next time bring a tarp.

That's not my weirdest call. It was a Friday. I don't know why that mattered when I got the call. The secretary was out for lunch, as was the rest of the crew. Rather than let it go to voicemail, I took the phone call. This was my first mistake. M&C Restoration, Incorporated. Fred speaking.

Yep, I'm Fred. There was a pause, and then a guy's voice comes over, kind of timid. Yes, hello, I understand from your ad you can remove stains from all sorts of stone. Marble as well? Oh, kind of our specialty, I boast. What sort of stains are you talking about? Blood. I never had someone just out and say it.

I get all the pussy footing around here, sure. Wine, salsa, sangria. Sancri was my favorite, considering that blood is in the name. This guy just out and set it plainly. Um, how large an area? Another pause. I'd say about some, maybe 10,000 square foot. Not the property, I tried to clarify.

Just the stain. Yeah, I know. You need 10,000 square feet of marble, which is stained in blood. Cleaned? Yeah. Well, this time I had to take a moment. How many gallons was that? I thought back to that lunar party thing or whatever.

But even then, that was only a single flaw. I'm sorry. Some context is probably needed. The voice on the other end continued. My name is Timothy. A work in antiquities. A curator friend of mine referred me to you after you managed to clear her museum steps of some blood

that apparently occurred after. as someone took a nasty fall? I glared my throat. Right, okay. Yeah. I'm still just trying to process 10,000 square feet of stained time. Is it too much?

I was still a bit dumbfounded. Let me be frank. This site was the location of a rather bloody massacre some time ago. My colleagues and I have already examined the site in its entirety, and we're looking to begin restoration. At this point, my concern got overridden by cash.

Antiquities, historical site. This sounded like a fat government contract. Ooh, Christmas came early to old Freddy. Right, what's the budget for this project of yours? Well, time is more of the essence than anything else. We need the site cleaned in preparation for other restoration efforts. as soon as possible would be preferred. Your fee is essentially yours to name.

You're literally the only one I can call on for this task. Well, haggling wasn't this guy's strong suit. It sounded to me like he needs to read the art of the deal. You're talking a whole lot of space to clear. Ten thousand square feet is a whole lot of floor. Oh, it's not all floor. A good portion of it's on the walls and ceiling. How high is the ceiling?

About 50 feet. I was silent again. I was going to need to rent a scissor lift for that. I thought for a moment and cleared my throat. Well, I'm going to need a whole lot of equipment, materials, and at least five guys if you want this job done right and fast. Of course. How long has the marble been stained?

There was a moment of silence. By the current timeline, Oh, well, maybe 200... Oh, wait, what's the current year again? I wasn't too sure why he was asking, but I figured I shouldn't sound stupid. It's 2018. Three hundred and fifty years, roughly.

I thought for a moment, thinking about how, this being the United States, there's no way for there to be a structure like he was talking about. I ignored him and assumed he had. had to be wrong. Anything over a decade is as set in as it's going to be anyway. I took a breath. I can't do it for less than 30 grand. I figured he'd work on needling the price down, but then he shocked me again.

Understandable. I'm assuming I can ignore a number of taxes and paperwork if I provided a cash payment. I coughed in shock, nearly swallowed my cigarettes. Yes, certainly. Cash. I'm going to have this job done and it was going to be tax-free. I felt like I just won the lotto. So the job itself comes up.

I've got my crew rolling to the address. The address has a huge rusted gate, chain on the front, typical of a site you're not allowed to get to. See a guy standing about six foot in a black trench coat, black sunglasses, gloves, black dress shoes and slacks, black hair and pretty pale. It doesn't say a word, and unlocks a chain on the gate, all it off pretty quick. I thought it was a heavier gauge than he made it seem, but I was probably just mistaken, being in a huge truck and not too close to the gate.

The guy opens the gate up and walks up to the side of the truck. Fred, yes, he says flatly. I nod, reaching my hand out to him. You're a Tim? Timothy, yes. He shakes my hand, firm handshake, and his hair is cut short, trim, proper. Military, I ask.

He nods, stepping back and pointing down past the gate, motioning with his non-directing hand to move. Definitely military, so I nod and drive up. I see a huge mansion, white and grey stone steps, old siding falling apart, boarded up windows, a messed up roof, and the entire place looks to be knocked down. Rather, getting rebuilt was apparently on the docket for today, and I was getting paid to not care. As we unloaded, Timothy opens up the front doors and locks them in place. It starts talking loudly. The doors need to be open at all times while you work. There's no ventilation

inside. Here's a pair of pretty heavy-duty door stops on each door. From the outside, I can't see anything inside. Nothing but pitch black. Oh, you're going to need lighting, so I hope you brought a generator. I laugh while my crew unloads the trucks and sets up two generators, pulling down some cans of gas. This isn't my first rodeo. So it would seem, says Timothy, and then he walks inside and vanishes into the blackness. A motion for the crew to set up the lights, and the first place we go is on either side of the door. Oh, he wasn't kidding about needing light. The boards were perfect, and the inside was absolutely pitch dark.

Like the middle of a moonless dark night. I hear the generator kick on, and the lights perk up a second later. That's when I see a massive white face appear out of the dark, with browned. grips across it. It's an angelic woman carved expertly out of marble. I swear I can see the paws on her cheeks and the split ends of her long hair. There's a second similar statue about 30 feet to the left and it's covered in brown stains. I hear one of my guys, Chavez, speak up.

My God! That's about when I got the hint, something wasn't right. Chavez spoke again. Hail Mary, our father protect us. I picked up Chavez from a day laborer's site about a year ago, and I've been paying him under the table ever since. He's either from Mexico or Honduras, and he was a good worker, so I never bothered to care, and could never ask.

This is too much. This place is cursed to high hell. The blood's all over those angel statues. What is this? Chavez was rambling. You see, the reason I never could ask Chavez where he came from was that it doesn't speak a goddamn word of English. Timothy's voice soon echoed across the room, walking over the solid marble in various states of stains and scrapes. I trust this isn't too much for you or your man.

I didn't actually spot where he'd come from, but I wasn't paying attention before Chavez got a smack upside the head from one of my full-timers peaked. "'Hey, uh, since when the hell can you speak English, Chavez?' "'When the hell did you learn Spanish, Peter?' Chavez asked. Timothy seemed agitated. "'Gentlemen, if we can begin the job now?' "'Then he walked past us and outside.' "'I turned to both of my men.' "'Pete, Chavez.

"'Shut the fuck up, both of you. "'We do this job. Go home. "'You all get a good paycheck, okay? No more questions. Let's get moving. This place is cursed, Chavez said before turning around and pulling in the pressure washes and detergent bottles. Well, I got up in Chavez's face now. Certain he can understand me.

Look, the quicker we get started, the quicker we can get the hell out of here, understand. Understood, Chavez said, still looking confused. Beat then spoke up. Hey, boss. He focused a flashlight to a portion of the floor where the stain ended. I looked over to where he was shining the light. The brown stains were everywhere, as described, but toward where one large swath of brown ended

was an impression of the floor in the stuff, much clearer. The impression was of a sword, which had to have been drenched in blood. Well, the sword-shaped stain didn't bother me. It's what was apparently holding it. An outstretched arm shape, and then two massive wing-like stains on either side, with a human-like face profiled on the floor. Everything below the waist of the figure vanished in the largest stain across the floor. We each had an idea of what we were looking at, but we were too stunned at the sight.

Javez was the first to break the silence. Angels died here. Hey, Ontario. Come on down to Bed MGM Casino and check out our newest sixth The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only at BedmGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531, 2,000 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BedmGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Part two. I heard what Chavez said, but I don't think I was going to let it sink in. Angels don't die. Angels don't exist. Personally, I think, but that's neither here nor there. I mean, if angels existed, I'd have seen a damn miracle or two around my house. My mother was a godnut, super religious. Yet nothing saved her from her car accident or stopped my father's cancer.

No, it's got to be some rational explanation. I know there is. I mean, this imprint on the floor. Sure, it could be human. Timothy said this was a massacre over 300 years ago. So, some guy died in a pool of his own blood, sword in hand, and the rest pooled in the shape of wings. No, it couldn't be wings. This was like some kind of Rojat test. Someone sees puffy clouds, Chavez sees wings, because there are two giant 30-foot statues of angels flanking the center of the damn room. It's in his head, that's all. I get a hold of myself. Chavez, Pete, get the scissal lift in here. How about Bob and Mike?

Let's get this job over with. Sooner we start, soon as we're done. Chop, chop. He gets motivated pretty quick, but Chavez is now on one knee making the cross over his chest and saying God's prayer. I ignore him for now and get to busy myself with a task at hand. The most difficult problem first.

The statue on the left needs to be cleaned, and carefully since it's a work of art. As Bob and I are guiding the scissor lift into the place, I hear Timothy shouting something at Chavez. I rush over, and now I feel like I'm on a normal work site. Hey, hey, don't shout at my guys. What's going on? I intervened. Chavez has both of his hands up, stepping back from a huge structure of canvas and plywood, making up a barricade to the right side of the entrance. I was just checking for more stains, Fred. Understanding Chavez is a new thing for me, but it's not entirely unwelcome. Timothy seems exasperated.

I appreciate your due diligence, but this, look, this area is unstable. Cannot have anyone past these barriers. I apologize I should have made that clear. The main hall is where the cleaning must be done. Only the main hall. Any area that's barricaded is unsafe. I can't be held liable for the safety of your men if they want to pass them. I look to Chavez.

You heard the man. I'll barb with a scissal lift and then get to pretreating the statue. Be careful, okay? Chavez nods and looks to Timothy. Yeah, what saint is she? Timothy looks at the statue for a moment and gets this kind of faraway look in his eyes. Diner of Enoch. Chavez then gives Timothy two thousand.

up and says, I'll take good care of, Saint Dina. She will sparkle. He runs off to help Bob with a scissor lift, and a very confused Bob and Chavez make their way over to the statue of Dinah, I guess. Timothy's smiling an old kind of smile. I almost break my no-questions rule for a moment. Get my hard hat on and start shouting at Bob when I see he's not wearing a harness on the lift.

Typical work-site stuff. Gotta remind the old timers they're mortal and make sure the Greenhorn of the group doesn't fuck something up. I'm happy to slide back into my routine. It wouldn't last, of course. About halfway through the day, we're just about getting done with the bust of this statue. I've got to say, she's looking as good as new.

Oh, and we hear a huge bang. It almost sounds like someone took a large aluminum pipe and smashed it down onto the marble. It echoes over our tools, and even the guys with ear protection are taken back by the sound. A scream and shout to cut the equipment and tell Bob and Chavez to get off the scissor lift. Lord knows if something blew on the damn thing.

It's a rental after all. I call Mike over to take a look. Mike slides under the lift as Bob and Chavez unhook their harnesses. Chavez looks to me. It wasn't the lift, boss. Well, then what the fuck was it? I have his points to behind one of the barricades, and I spot Timothy running towards it. I think I hear him mumbling something like,

Oh, this can't be happening right now. I shout to him. Hey, Tim, you need a hand? Timothy shoots me a stern look, and in a pretty practiced officer tone commands us. No one is to go beyond this point. Something may have collapsed. If there's an issue, I'll let you know. You stay here.

And then disappears behind a piece of, plywood and campus. I looked to my guys and tell them to continue to inspect the scissor lift and then get back to work if everything's okay. God only knows what compelled me to walk toward the barricade at that moment. Moby curiosity, a lapse of sound judgment, a mini-stroke. I'm still not sure to this day, but man was this, at least the third or fourth stupidest thing I did that day. I get just close enough to hear voices. As a woman on the other side and Timothy. I'm sorry, I truly am, and I'm afraid they're all gone, I hear Timothy say, hushed,

but still enough for me to hear. I know your pilgrimage must have been arduous. Female voice sounds frantic and heartbroken. But that can be, surely this cannot be. Who would do such a thing? Who could? Was it an army? It was just two people, unfortunately.

He sounds almost guilty. They seemed to come in relative peace, but it was soon apparent that at least one of them had other ideas. All fought valiantly, but they couldn't be stopped. The woman's voice is trembling. It was her, wasn't it? The daughter of Lop. The pressure washer kicked in and startled me while drowning both of them out,

and I realized how close I was to the barricade trying to listen. I stepped back and made my way quickly to the rest of the group, keeping an eye on the far barricade. Timothy had just vanished behind. I don't see Tim emerge until we're just about done for the day, and the statue clean. Timothy stops as he sees it, in reverence of some kind, I guess,

looking it over silently. I walk over to him. So far so good. We should be able to get some pre-treatment on the flooring. Let it sit overnight, and then we'll hit it hard tomorrow. Timothy just nods. your man do swift work.

Yeah, that's what we do, I say proudly. Pete starts yelling at me from across the room. I excuse myself and hustle over. Hey, what's up? Look where Pete is, and he just points down. There, for the lack of a better word, is a gash in the flooring. I need to explain why this floor is unusual,

more so than just having blood all over it and more than the shape since had blood. You see, this floor doesn't have seams. I mean, it's a solid chunk of marble. I've seen some expensive walls and floors that are huge slabs, I'm sure. It happens all the time. If you have enough money,

they'll tow a mountain to your house, but this was a mansion worth of floor that, for the life of me, I couldn't find a damn seam in. Now the gash, it's almost ten feet long, and at the centre, it looks almost six inches deep. Even with the light,

I can see the bottom, it looks pretty dark inside this gash. He looks at me. I'm going to ignore how this got here, just ask what we're supposed to do. The surface scratches are easy to buff out, but this isn't going to buff out easy. I call Mike over to have a look.

Mike looks it over and just runs his hand over the edges of the opening. as well as the sides. It's all stained, of course. Jesus. He stands up and looks it over. That's one clean swipe. There are no cutting marks like you get if you're slicing into it with a floor cutter.

So, um, he starts thinking. Well, can toss in quick set to fill it. Get it most of the way full anyway. We could just toss on some filler and polish, but, well, I think we can do better with some resin. make it look a bit more natural. It's up to the client, though.

This is going to cast extra. I look it over. A two inch wide, ten foot long, and six inch deep slash in the marble certainly wasn't in the order. I look to see Timothy's already approaching us. Ah, just the man I need to see. Timothy looks down and shakes his head.

She did some serious damage. Don't ask. Don't ask, just don't. I keep saying in my head. Well, we can fill it and get it level. Maybe even make it look pretty. This wasn't in the original quote, so I'd say about another four grand.

I'd feel bad if this entire job didn't feel like some crazy fun house. Timothy just nods. Fine, fine. Don't go crazy. Just so it's level and no one trips over it. Mike heads out to get the materials we need. I'd drag one of the sandblasters over. The gash is smooth, and it'll need to be rougher if that quickset is going to fill it in right.

Everyone gets to work while I start to blast into this thing. Then something black shoots straight up out of the gash and clatters somewhere behind me. This is why I wear a hard hat, folks. I cut the blaster and look around. It doesn't seem like anyone else heard anything. I looked to what popped out of the gash and realized the gash is about nine inches deeper now, I can see it's still solid marble, no subfloor or dirt. Nothing is behind me but my closed toolbox.

Whatever popped up must have shattered when it hit the ground. All I saw was sand and blood popping out of the gash in the floor. I get my ear protection back on and finish up pre-pouring the gash to be filled. We pack up for the day. The floor is pre-treated. We store the tools and search inside and do a quick headcount. I notice I'm short one Honduran. Oh yeah, mystery solved on that one.

Chavez is from Honduras. I look around and then spot him coming out from behind the barrier. Timothy walking behind him, his hand on his shoulder. Ah, shit. I run over. Chavez, what the hell? You were told not to... Sorry, boss.

What happened again? He's very quiet and looks to Timothy. "'Please, consider, I do not mind.' "'Well, it's dangerous, Jorge,' Timothy says. "'Discust with me later, yes?' "'Shavez just nods and walks off.' "'Hey, what was that all about?' I ask. "'Timothy just walks past me.

"'I thought you didn't ask questions.' "'Not when it involves one of my guys. "'I clear my throat. "'I'm sorry. "'Who disobeyed your instructor?' directions. Timothy glanced back at me, and with the light from the door behind him, I kind of got the best look at his icy blue eyes.

I'm sure it doesn't happen again, Fred. I just nod dumbly as the red flags keep waving in my head. Just don't show up tomorrow. Take the money and leave the gear and go on your merry way. Granted, I'd only been paid half of the job, but still, it was a decent amount. We get packed up, and the crew and I head out. packing my toolbox and other small items in the truck. I noticed Timothy's locking up the doors at the place and then escorts us to the gates.

He closes them with him on the other side. I pull my truck up to the gate. Yeah, you live in on sight? Timothy hesitates for a moment, but answers. Yeah, I have a trailer our back. Oh, see you bright and early tomorrow then, Timothy. He just nods and waves me off. I never actually paid attention to where he went from there.

I turned to Chavez in the truck and ask, So, what did you and Timothy talk about? What is all I get from Chavez. Oh, he has to be fucking with me. I put it out of my mind, dropped Chavez off at his place. He waves, as always. Grazie, signorred, and heads home. I head back home as well.

At home the kids are asleep, as is the, the wife, and I've got my toolbox in the garage. I pop open my toolbox, as I've got to swap a few things in and out for the next day, specifically some mixing bits and the like. When I open my toolbox, however, something inside of it is certainly not a tool I've ever used. I suddenly recognize it as the object that came out of the gash. My toolbox was opened behind me, but it must have closed when the thing slammed into it. The object was a little bit of the object. The object was is about three feet deep in the centre, two feet long, and about three inches thick at the top, tapering to a point at the bottom.

It looks almost like a wedge, and I realise it's probably blood that seeped into the gash and solidified over the years. I pick it up, and it's light, but despite my best attempts, I can't break this thing. Looking at this object in the light for the first time, well, it almost looks like a blade. Either that or the shape of the gash just shape this thing into one. The top is flat. The bottom comes to a point. Not sharp, but it could be. Light seems to penetrate through the edge of this thing,

and it's tinted, deep red, and the rest appears to be black. I didn't even know blood could become a solid, but I guess if there's enough of it, it's possible. It's about ten after eleven, when I swear I hear three taps against my front door, as if I had a knocker or something. I don't, by the way.

I leave the object in my toolbox. closing it and locking it and head to the front door. No, I'm not an idiot. I make sure to check my closet next to the door, and I make sure my shotgun's loaded. It's after 11pm, I mean, what psycho comes knocking at someone's door at this time of night? I open the door halfway, and I'm greeted by an outstretched hand with a black ring on each finger, one of which was about to tap again on the door.

The hand pulls back and clasps a wide-brimmed white hat, removing it from his head and lowering it to about chest level. One hand is behind him and he's standing a good six foot three, wearing a white duster of some sort and a red tie over a black, very expensive-looking dress shirt. He has white-rimmed glasses and yellowish eyes behind them, jet black hair that's well kept. As he speaks, it's almost like his voice doesn't match his body.

His face isn't odd but doesn't stand out, and his voice sounds almost like it comes from an old cop movie. Evening, young man. I understand you're working with an associate of mine. Goes by the name Timothy. While client confidentiality isn't my cornerstone, keeping my business out of my personal life sure as shit is. Sorry, buddy, but I'm going to have to ask you to talk to me during business hours.

His face falls slightly. Now, this is important. Regarding that place you're working in. Timothy May of you misled, you see. He's using this place for his own means, not prosperity. I then pulls out some kind of business card and twirls it over each of his fingers before handing it to me. I look it over. It just has a phone number on it, no other information.

His other hand brings an unlit cigarette to his mouth. He inhales, smoke venting out of his nostrils. If you were to happen across something, of note, I'd be appreciative if you could contact me. I'm not doing that. I'm not the kind to take things from a work site. Normally this is completely true.

A shit-eating grin spreads across this guy's face, and his oddly perfect teeth almost glisten in the light on my porch. Ah, true. Be ashamed to take something that you don't understand, only to wind up dead. He cocks an eyebrow at me. Or worse. I had it with that creep on my porch at this point.

Listen, pal. Hit the bricks, you hear me. Get the fuck off my property or I'll call the cups. Try cocking a shit-eating grin myself now. Or worse. But I don't think it works. I mean, he stands still. I can barely tell if he's breathing.

I pumped the shotgun behind the door. I know there's no point to this as I just eject a perfectly good shell. but I want him to hear that I've got a gun. It's pump action, and it's in my hand. His voice suddenly changes, or he just drops the facade, and a raspy voice like that of a lifelong chain-smoker slivers out of his throat, half a whisper, half a wheeze. Ah, not pardon with it then, eh?

Well, I'll have it one way or another, for certain. The accent is hard to place. It's not quite Middle Eastern, but it's not like anything I've ever heard. I now pull the shotgun out and pointed at his face. Now, I'm done with you. Whoever the fuck you are, just get out. He doesn't even flinch. He just grins more, a hissing chuckle dripping out of his mouth.

You are a fun one. Never wants us your sort disappoints. Always resorting to the fire provided by Prometheus, and yet... He pauses, eyeing the barrel of the gun. never considering where it came from. I'm not sure where he pulled it from, but he suddenly crunches into an apple he must have had in his pocket.

I suppose I'll have to reconsider. Maybe when you're asleep, like what happened to that hookah you cleaned up a few years back on Broadway. My heart skipped a beat. I don't talk about clients, and clients would never talk about me. I'd never go into that much detail either.

I just restore shit. Have your skills is bound to clean up a homicide or two, knowingly or not. He tilts his head back, looking at me down the barrel of the gun. Cleaning up the sin left behind by those less scrupulous than yourself, eh? Oh, we've been watching you for some time. Now, for some reason, his eyes go wider. Red, Fred. I click the safety off of the shotgun and put my finger on the trigger.

get the fuck out of here right now. Another loud crunch of his apple, and he seems to mockingly throw his hands up, walking backward, keeping eye contact with me with those yellow eyes. Ah, very well. Another time, then. You are a fun one, Red.

He then turns and starts to walk off. I haven't moved the gun yet. It's still trained on him. Don't you fucking call me Red. You... I realized I hadn't gotten this creep's name. The card that he gave me only had a phone number. Whatever your gut-given name is.

My mother always said this when she was mad. She'd shout out into phones all the time when telemarketers would give her fake names and shit. What's your god-given name? So, it's a force of habit that I picked up. I only said it when I was really pissed at someone, and this guy had me pretty livid. And by none, the day.

dumbest thing I apparently did all day. He stops dead on my walkway, and his hands slowly go down to his sides. Oh, his voice whispers out as if he just won a prize. You compel my God-given name. His head starts to turn toward his right shoulder, but his shoulders aren't moving, not an inch. As I watch I get ready to shoot. Oh, I swear if his head does a full 180-degree to shoot.

turn, I don't care what his name was. I'll just start shooting until he stops moving and probably pump a few more rounds into just to just be sure. His head stops just shy if completely turned. I can see both of his yellow eyes as he slowly placed his hat back on his head. He grins, I swear I watch his pupils dilate till his eyes look almost entirely black with yellowish rings around them. You can tell Timothy my name too. He lets out another hissing laugh and I swear I can hear the gun shaking in my hands for some reason. It's belial. I don't know why, but I felt the blood drain out of my face for a moment,

and the whole area got a bit dimmer, as if something were draining it of light. I stagger slightly, but regain my footing, press the shotgun butt against my shoulder tightly, as if it's somehow going to help me. He turns away from me, and as he walks off, he wheezes out. Don't forget to tell Timothy I stop by.

Another puff of smoke clouds around his head And what I stopped by for I pulled the gun back Shut the door, locked it and shut the blinds My heart was hammering in my chest As I checked the shells in my gun to ensure it had loaded I clicked the safety back on And I rush upstairs to my bedroom

My wife is fast asleep as I sit on the edge of the bed Gun in hand Staring at my front door down the stairs I swear I can hear something make three taps against my window, random times all night. But three. Morning came, and I haven't put the shotgun down yet, still sitting at the end of the bed and checking the windows.

It seemed like the tapping sound stopped sometime around dawn. I hear my wife's alarm clock go off and the sounds of her rousing from her sleep. Morning, honey, she mumbles, brunette hair and massive frizz and tangles. Morning, I say simply, making sure she's okay. She gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom. Any of the kids' alarms go off next, and my boys are heard, rough-housing in their room.

My wife, Sandy, comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, and is about to motion for me to go to contain the wild animals that are my 15- and 13-year-old boys. She stops when she spots the shotgun in my hand. She quickly spits out her toothpaste. Fred, why the fuck are you holding the shotgun? She looks me up and down with her soft brown eyes.

Those clothes you had on when you came home yesterday? Honey, I got visited by a guy who's probably not human in the least. He threatened the family if I don't return a red blade-like object that came from some mysterious excavation sites. Well, it's the most truthful thing I want to say. also sounds batshit insane and the more I play the sentence over and over in my head, the more I question my own sanity.

Fred? Sandy pokes my shoulder. Apparently I was staring off into space while trying to think up a logical response to her completely rational question. I, uh, well, someone was on the lawn last night. banging on the door and wouldn't go away until I got the shotgun.

Sandy cocks her hip and shoots me one of those emasculating wife stares. So rather than call the cops, you reach for the shotgun. I cocked the shotgun and clear the ammo out, before heading back down to the closet to put it and the shelves back. I just wasn't sure if it's a prowler or kids. Sandy pokes her head out of the bedroom. Oh, and speaking of, Colin, Trevor, shake a leg. Close the closet and see my boys bounding down the steps in various states of dress,

dragging their backpacks and heading to the table. They start fighting over the cereal and I quickly resolve it before a good scolding and getting them prep for the bus. They finish up and are soon out of the door with coats and sneakers on. My wife follows down next, wearing her robe. Don't you have that job today? I nod, looking at the time. Yeah, you're right.

Then get motivated. I do and head out of the door. give the wife a kiss and I'm heading back to the site, making sure my toolbox is with me. Same as the first morning Timothy's there at the gate. He undoes the chain and we all head to the mansion again. He props the doors open and the crew heads in. I get the business squared away first.

Chavez and Pete on the scissor lift to finish a few touches on the walls while Bob and Mike get to mixing the quick set and filling in the gash in the floor. They also work on making sure there's a barrier between the gregers. gash and the rest of the work area so we can work on the rest of the flooring. During this prep work, I noticed Mike eyeing the doorway. Mike, digging in the scenery. Mike points to the roof on the outside. He, uh, steepled.

He leans into the doorway, shining a light up to the ceiling. Flat. I look to Mike. I'm attic. Mike pulls out a laser measurer. Steeple Peak is 53-4. feet. He leans in. Ceilings 50 feet.

He leans out again. Low point steeple's 44 feet. He leans back in. Glad ceiling's 50 feet. I grumble a bit. I'll stay here, Mike. Get the job done. That thing's probably on the fritz, eh? My eyes aren't on the fritz, Fred.

Damn your eyes. I see Bob looking at the same thing as Mike. "'Bob, do something. Bob seems startled, but manages to compose himself and get back to setting up his tools. I walk past the crew as they prep and pop open my toolbox. I find the strange object or artifact, or whatever it is, and take it out of my toolbox and head toward Timothy.

Timothy's observing Chavez and Pete when he spots me coming. "'Yeah, this wound up in my toolbox,' I say, "'holding the object out in front of me.' Timothy looks it over without touching it, then looks to me after a solid minute. This came from here? I nod. Yeah, from inside that gash in the floor. Timothy holds his right hand over the thing for a moment.

Then he starts guiding his hand back and forth over it slowly. Well, I have no clue what he's doing. I'm about to ask, but as I look up, I notice his eyes seem to be a more intense blue than they were before, specifically his right eye. Timothy stops suddenly and just grabs a thing with his right hand, pulls it hard out of my grip. Thanks for returning this. Turns it over in his hand again.

His eyes seem to be a normal shade of blue once more. It's a very rare find. That's what your associate said. I was hoping to fish for some info. If this belial guy knows Timothy, then Timothy should know him. Associate? He looks at me quizzically. I nod.

Yeah. Old guy, kind of yellow eyes. Way too perfect teeth. Timothy seems completely confused. I'm afraid I don't know anyone like that. More my associates are here. I figured it was time to stop trying to get him to spill the beans and just come out and say it. Listen, the guy shows up last night.

Tells me he wants that thing. then he tells me his name is Belial and that you know him. Timothy's face goes slightly pale. You're certain he said Belial? I nod. Timothy looks to the object and then walks to the doors. Sorry for this, but I hope you have everything you need inside. Then he shuts the doors.

I'm a bit dumbfounded at this point. Yeah, I thought you were concerned about ventilation. Timothy just walks right past me and toward the barricade. Vandalation is the least of your worries at the moment. A turn around and the entire crew is dead silent. Not sure what to do as we hear some banging, a few doors closing, and then some rustling past the barricade. Well, I just come out and say it.

We have this one last day to get the floor cleaned, get that gash and the smallest scrapes, the hole was plugged. but move it now and then we get the fuck out of here the crew seems pretty much on board and the sounds of work soon overpower anything else almost half an hour since Timothy left and I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder

I spin around out of sheer instinct a small round bottle is shoved into my hands that's for you Timothy says before he hands the bottles to the rest of the crew too I look and see it's just a small round glass bottle with a long spout at the top and a cap. Timothy doesn't have the object in question any longer,

and now he heads toward the barrier again, but as he passes me, I grab him. I need at least a, uh, what the fuck is this explanation, and a, who the fuck is that for this Belial guy? I glare at him. That, Timothy says, as he points to the bottle, is for protection from Belial. Well, it's half of my questions, Tim.

Timothy, who the fuck is Belial? I reiterate. He looks up to the angelic statue when I turn to see the large statue of St. Dinah. He's her opposite. Before he can elaborate, he's bagged behind the barrier. Just finish up today. Get the fuck out.

It's all I can think of. I grab a pressure washer and start working alongside my guys to get things rolling. It's the end of the day, and it's clean up to. time. Timothy opens the doors and checks outside for something, and we all start loading up the trucks. Timothy looks around seemingly satisfied. Well, this is quite excellent work, Fred. Thank you. I nod, hoping we can finish up shortly. The gash in the floor is fully repaired. It'll take a full 24 hours to cure, but you can walk across it without much issue.

Cleaned up the main hall here, got the walls, statue, ceilings, and, of course, the flooring squared away. "'And the amphitheatre,' Chavez says, "'as he and Pete seem to be pulling equipment "'from the left side of the room. "'Pete's face is pretty pale as he walks by, "'but I stop them regardless. "'Amphitheatre? "' Pete just looks at me and shakes his head.

"'I sigh. "'Hey, Chavez, that wasn't on the order. "'Timothy chimes in. "'How did you get into the amphitheatre? "'Oh, God. I'm never going to get out of this place, am I? So close, and yet so far. Chavez happily shows us down the left-hand side of the hall

and clicks on the lights. A pair of massive 50-foot double doors stand right in front of us and reach from floor to ceiling. The ceiling looks like it tapers to a dome. It's not so much that there's a pair of massive 50-foot-tall double doors right in front of me that are almost 20-foot wide. No, it's what's on the damn things that bother me. carved into the marble are pictures of armour-clad angels with feathery wings

under their feet are various horrible-looking creatures a few of the angels stand over said defeated creatures with spears shoved in them others were in the process of smiting them as the doors go up the carvings get weirder not just feathery angels but these other winged humanoid things they look like lizards with wings stranger still is at the the very top of these doors is a huge lizard-like figure, a massive bat-like wing spread out, holding a shield with a cross on it and a huge spear.

It's hard to see fully, but the door seemed to meet, or at least have to meet in the middle, where his face would be. If you could call it a face. It's mostly a lizard head with horns over a long snake-like neck. Chavez takes a knee in front of the doors and starts reciting God's prayer. One of them clicks open, voice-activated doors, I ask, hoping there's some kind of rational explanation and wondering why we haven't left yet. Chavez gets up and opens the door enough to walk in. He drags one of the lamps in and powers it up, motioning for us to come in. We found this door here, and I and Pete cleaned it up. It was easier than the rest. The floor here is different.

I look down and, thank God, there's a seam. I finally found a seam in this place. The seam is from marble to granite. As I walk in, it's pretty clear that, oddly, everything's made of granite in this room. Stacking up into the darkness, so high I couldn't even tell, were chairs. These chairs were large stone chairs.

They all culminated around a central chair. A chair is an understatement. This was a throne. The chairs all surrounded the stage we found ourselves on in a huge crescent. I turned to Timothy, whose gaze was transfixed on the central throne, that far away look again in his eyes. Chavez was again the only one to speak.

St. Dina? Timothy nods and leaves the room. I did not know how those doors opened. Thank you, Chavez. Click the lights off and pull the lights out, making sure everyone is out at the now perfectly dark room. I good work guys Now let's get packed

I'm now overly invested In getting out of here as fast as possible Pete leans over to me Whispering The door outside And the amphitheater doors are on the same wall But there's no structure on the outside That could fit that

I noticed this as well As I walk outside the mansion And then back inside Pete Yeah Just don't think about it. He just frowns at me. I guess that's the best.

I give a final examination of the place before we kill the last of the lights. I do have to say the place is looking nice. The white marble floor is polished to the point where I can see my reflection. The gash is sealed up and neat and just looks like a vein in the marble. Everything's looking perfect inside.

The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Give a little nod to the St. Dina statue, and head to the door as the lights are taken down. I do my head count, and once again, I'm short a Honduran. I walk back inside and find Chavez kneeling in front of the statue of St. Dina, only the light from the setting sun reflecting off the floor to light the room softly. Hey, Chavez, end of the day, let's go. I am staying, he says simply. I notice the bottle that Timothy handed him is empty.

"'Hey, did you drink that?' I said, a bit shocked. "'Do you even know what's in it, Chavez?' "'God's blessing.' Chavez stands up and he just looks, for the lack of a better word, "'happy, like a man without a care in the world. "'I'm not just leaving you here, Chavez. "'The client isn't going to like you hanging around here.' "'Timothy chimes in, walking back from behind the barrier again.

Actually, Chavez agreed to assist me in a few things going forward. I turned to look at Timothy. You ever think I might not want to lose a member of my crew? Chavez speaks up. Mr. Fred, it's okay. I want to stay here. I want to help St. Timothy interrupts. He volunteered.

It was hard to say no to him. I give Chavez a look. He just smiles and extends his hand. It's a nice working with you, Fred. I ignore it, though. Get your head on straight. I'm your ride. I'm staying, Fred.

Now I turn and shout. Chavez, I'm not to stay in here any longer, okay. I'm out, done, finished. I stopped for a second. I didn't say finished. I said, finito, but for some reason. reason it came out as English. I'm a hundred percent done with this place, okay?

I'm out. Job's done. You want to stay? Enjoy. I had towards my truck. Look to my toolbox. Ensure that nothing else is there that shouldn't be. I close it, and out I go.

As I head out of the doors, Timothy starts to close them behind us, him and Chavez is still inside. Timothy looks to me before he closes the doors. The remainder of your payment is in the truck. Everything we discussed. I cannot fully express my gratitude. They shuts the doors and we load up. I check the truck and there's an envelope with the second half of the payment.

I'm pretty shocked and I count the bills a few times. I'm up a good 10 grand. I've heard of getting a tip but this was a bit of an overkill. I know one pair of kids whose college fund is going to be in a good place after all of this. At home, I'm doing the husband thing and cleaning up the dishes from the wife's dinner. Sandy and the boys are asleep. That's when I hear a crash in the garage. I run to the closet, grab the shotgun and fill it with a few shells before I rush in.

I'm kind of expecting him at this point. My toolbox and all the tools are strewn about all over the floor. I see my garage door open slightly and suddenly something small and almost glass-like hits me in the face. I look down to see what looks like a chunk of the object that was in my toolbox, about the size of a half dollar, land on the floor. That's but a pittance, Red Fred. I turn to the voice and I see glowing yellow eyes in the darkness. Not nearly what I need.

I pull the gun and go to shoot, but I feel a tug against my entire body as if someone grabbed onto my sweatshirt from the front and pulled it downward. I barely take a step forward. but it's enough to get me to point the gun down at the floor. I look up as Belial's hand is dropping from being in mid-air, steam rising off the black rings on his fingers. Week, not this week, though.

Another hissing love. He offered you protection, eh? How noble! Before I can take aim, A tool shoots off my workbench and smacks into the shotgun, which lands a few feet from me. A lunch for it. but it suddenly leaps off the floor and into Belial's hand.

Belial takes a shotgun and places it against his shoulder, looking down on me. As if a little bobble could do anything against me. I try to get up, but he places his foot on my shoulder. I can't move. You've done something very foolish, Rad Fred. He's soon crouching down onto his haunches over me. You've hidden the only thing that can help me move up from a puppeteer to a guard. The shotgun barrel now slides under my chin as I see Belial's face illuminated by the light coming from the doorway.

I had the airs hope for you yet. I'm shaking at this point as I'm not sure how the tables are turned so fast. You can fix your mistake, and in return I'll spare you and your family's lives. His voice wheezes, but not as much as it did before, he somehow seems stronger. Despite how I look, I've done quite a bit to exist in this world. Possessions normally are lesser demons game, but the discovery of that sanguine amber. He cocks the shotgun.

I could not resist. I'm sweating and slowly try to get to my feet. On my hands and knees by the time I feel the barrel at the back of my head. Now this is your next cause of action. You'll leave here right away and retrieve from me the sanguine amber you found. You'll bring it back here and give it to me. In return, you'll be at my side rather than in my path. I swear I can hear his grin somehow.

Nod, if you understand. I just nod. What else could I do? If you do not bring me the amber, if you do not return home, or if somehow you reach out to Timothy for aid, I'll go upstairs and I'll make your children watch as I violate your wife in every way you can and cannot. imagine. I clench my fists. If you lay a hand on her, I'll...

You're what, mortal? I hear the safety slide off. Bleed on me. I relax, and I hear the safety slide back as the gun clatters to the floor. You're on the clock, Freddy. I look up and the garage is clean. The door isn't open. There isn't even a sign that I dropped the shotgun, as it's sitting neatly on my workbench. I get to my feet, shaking, and turn to see a figure right behind me, causing me to shout in fear. Sandy is behind me, and she punches me in the shoulder.

Jeez, it's just me. Why are you so jumpy Fred? What's going on? I rubbed my shoulder where she nailed me, and I try to figure out how best to protect one's family from someone who's clearly not from this world. That's when I remember what Timothy handed me at the work site. I rushed to the closet to find my coat.

Were you on the phone? I thought I heard you talking to someone, Sandy asks. I pour the bottle out of my coat and turn to her, pressing the bottle into her hands. Sandy, I know this is going to sound bad shit nuts, but I need you to drink this and share it with the boys, okay. Well, they're asleep, Fred, Sandy says curtly. She looks at the bottle and raises an eyebrow.

This isn't some random point, You poison us all and run off to Malibu with some bimbo, is it? I grab her by the shoulders, looking her dead in the eye. I'm asking you to trust me. Just drink half the bottle, split the rest with the kids, okay? I need you to do that for me right now. Just drink half. Sandy's clearly worried now.

She undoes the cap on the bottle. Okay, Fred, okay. Just calm down. She takes a swig, then another until the bottle is half empty and caps it. and so I, um, drank what? She trows off and suddenly closes her eyes, opening them again and looking right into my eyes. Oh, wow, that's probably the best water I ever drank. I nod.

Make sure you give it to the boys, okay. I left something at the work side and I need to go get it. Sandy just nods. He, I love you, Fred. I let go over her shoulders. I love you, too. "'to make sure the kids drink that and keep the doors locked, okay. "'Don't let anyone inside.'

"'Sandy just nods again. "'Okay, Fred. "'Be careful.' "'She walks up the stairs and waves, "'smiling serenely as I rush out the door, "'lock it and make my way to the truck. "'Well, in retrospect, I should have kissed her. "'I was driving swiftly,

"'fast enough to be a little worried, "'but not fast enough to get pulled over. "'I got to the gate of the work-site in roughly, an hour, which was pretty good time from my house. I saw the gate wasn't chained up anymore, which seemed odd because Timothy had to undo that chain every time. Did he never leave the mansion after they closed the doors? I drove down the driveway and hit my brights, knowing it might be dark in that main

hallway, and I ran to the doors. Timothy, open up. Slam my fist into the door. Damn it, Timothy, open the damn door. I look to see there's no padlock on the door and jostle the old door-knob, swinging the doors open. Shavis, Timothy, I shout into the empty room, expecting an echo, but I hear no such sound.

I'm hit with a musty scent, the smell of rotting wood and mildewed fabric. I look around, pulling out a flashlight. The boards are letting light in from the front. There are no statues, no marble floor, just a set of collapsed staircases and a rotting subfloor with a few ripped and torn rugs and graffiti. I'll dig a step outside, just to confirm it's the same place,

then peek back inside. While the barricades are gone, the marble ceilings, walls, the seamless floor, it's as if it was never there. I run through the ruins of this ancient mansion. The mansion is mundane, old, too ruined to fix, should be knocked down. I try a door or two, each opening to one rotting room after another. I eventually became overwhelmed with a fungus in the air and stumble out the door,

falling to my knees near my car. As I tried to catch my breath, I also tried to figure out what the hell was going on. I turned to look at the old mansion behind me. I could only think of one thing. The sight we were working on was gone, or was never there in the first place. And the amber was gone with it. Part four.

I was panicked. I wasn't even sure what to do. Timothy was a don't-ask customer, so I had no contact info saved, no way to reach him, not even a cell number. That's when I realized I did have some hope. I got back into the truck and hauled ass back to my office.

I could get there in about 20 minutes. I could check the caller ID and maybe reach him that way. I zipped out of the long driveway and got moving as fast as possible. leaving the gate open. I don't even think I closed the doors to the old mansion. I got to the office in just under 15 minutes. I fumbled with a lock, having to stop myself for a second

and then calmly get the key into the slot. I pulled the door open and rushed to my desk. I hit the call history on the phone and I finally got a number. Out of state, sure, which from New York, which was fine, and probably the right number. I hit the speed redial while jotting the number down. My stomach dropped when it went directly to voicemail. I heard the message on the other end.

You've reached Major Timothy Crestfall. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you shortly. Godspeed. I hadn't caught my breath by the time the beep occurred. Timothy, please, you need to cut me back. Belial's threatening my family, my wife of the kids. Gave them that water you gave me, but this guy, he's... I don't think...

Should I say it out loud, to make it real? I don't think he's human. Help me. I hung up and tried to call again, direct to voicemail once more. A random thought runs past my frantic mind. He's a bit young looking for an officer right. My cell phone rings. It's a 1-800 number of some sort, calling me in the middle of the night.

I was about to ignore it, but something told me. I shouldn't. I answer the phone. This is Fred. Who is this? There's a crackle on the other line. I think I hear something like a scream before it cuts out entirely. A young man is on the line and he sounds shaken. Sir, are you Fred Macillon? Yes, who is this?

This is your home alarm central monitoring. Sir, we're getting alerts that multiple smoke detectors have alarmed in the home. We've contacted the fire department, but we're not able to reach anyone in the house via the front panel. Are you at home at the moment? I feel a little dizzy, but I stand up regardless and make my way to my car. Oh, God. Have you tried my wife's cell? Yes, sir.

We've attempted multiple times. Are you home? No, no, I'm not home. The fire department's on its way, sir. Do you need me to stay on the line with you? No, no, no, I'm going home. I jump out of the office, leaving it unlocked, and I get in the truck. At this point, I don't give a single solitary fuck about speed limits.

I'm flooring it. Not even paying attention to the speedometer until I look in my rear view and I see police lights. I pull over, shaking, not even sure what's going on, what's happening with my family. I keep thinking that they're going to be safe, and I gave that holy water stuff to them. I'd have to be alive and well because of that. Well, Chavez called it God's blessing. I tap against my window and I roll it down quickly. The cop is a gruff looking heavy-set black guy.

In a hurry. My voice cracks and I try to compose myself. Officer, I got a message from my alarm company that there are smoke alarms going off at my house. I've got about 20 minutes to get there. I need to pass on this. The officer puts his hand out. license, sir My curse and hand in my license

I hear him actually running to his car I contemplate just speeding off right then and there Scenario's going through my head of him shooting out my tires Or turning the entire thing into a police chase A trainer thought he's broken When he runs back to my window giving me my license I follow me, try to keep up sir What?

I'm confused by this I'm giving you an escort. I think I went pale at this point. The cot puts his hand on my shoulder. Sir, do you need me to give you a lift? I look to my shaking hands and just nod dumbly. He opens my truck door, takes out the keys and undoes the seatbelt. Before I know what's going on, I'm in his squad car,

and we're speeding down the streets with the sirens blaring. I hear the radio chatter come in and out, but I can barely understand it. He grabs his radio. Car 314. Got a resident of 335 Loger Street on route to the scene. The scene? Well, I'm still in disbelief, shock, and can barely tell when we're on my street, and the car finally slows down after it was done running every red light and every stop sign.

The car comes to a stop, and I scramble out of the car. I'm half-blinded by the sea of emergency vehicles, ambulance, fire, and other cop cars. I think, briefly, that at least the alarm system did something after ten years of a monthly subscription. The heavysid officer is already out, and parting the onlookers in front of me, stepping past the caution tape. He says something to the other officers as I wander onto my front lawn, stagger onto the lawn to see the smothering remains of my home. Firefighters are working to put one of the fires out.

I look around frantically, trying to spot Sandy in the boys. and eventually I find them. Three body bags are on the lawn, sealed, two smaller forms inside and another that reminds me of my wife when she'd hide under the sheets. I feel pain in my knees suddenly. Apparently I fell at seeing them.

I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, another roughly handling my arms and hefting me up. My legs barely function as I'm led to the back of an ambulance. The heavyset officer helps me sit down in the back of the ambulance. Through all the white noise, I see a very bright light in my face, and a voice slowly, finally comes through. Can you hear me, sir? A young black woman is in front of me with an ophthalmoscope.

I blink, finally, shaking my head. Yeah. She moves the bright light back and forth, and I start to come out of my funk. I look to the pavement. They didn't make it out, did they? Her tone is emphatic, but practiced. I'm sorry, no. We did everything we could,

but by the time the fire department was even able to reach them, it was too late. I do my best not to just burst into tears, but they come anyway. I suppress a sob and try to swallow it down. I blink a few tears out of my eyes, and I hear the female EMT walk away. I hear a few male voices approaching.

That's him. Okay. I've got it from here. You can fall back. Might get ugly, you know. I shake my head, knocking a few tears out. Cops are going to be asking me questions, and I need to be composed. I try to dry my eyes, but it doesn't work.

I feel the ambulance shift slightly as if someone is sitting next to me. Mr. McIone. I nod. I is still downcast. I'm Detective Benjamin Leibble. I've got a few questions to ask, mostly regarding your whereabouts prior to the fire. Smoke. A pack of cigarettes is offered.

I take one, accept the light, and take a deep breath. I'm about to say something when I think about how odd that name sounds. I hear a wheezing snicker, and the voice changes to one I'm far too familiar with. I'm kidding, Freddy. I know where you were. My head snaps to my left, and I see Belil. He's sitting right next to me. Black hair slicked back above his pale face, yellow eyes and two white teeth.

His duster is still white, but in addition to the red tie, he has a police ID badge hanging around his neck. I clench my fist, grit my teeth, but, before I can stand and deck him in his berthic teeth, his hand is on my fist, and he's hushing me, pulling my hand down. He starts. I was just delivering on a promise, Red Fred. I tried to push against his hand, but it doesn't budge.

Stop calling me that. We all call you that, Red Fred. You should get used to it. His grin now fades. I have to give you some kudos, Freddy. That was a dirty trick. What the hell are you talking about? His grin seems to return somewhat.

But I couldn't pull you towards me. me, I assumed you'd drunk some of the sanctified water from the Guardian Temple. Guardian Temple? Belial Snickers, almost hissing. The place you were cleaning, Freddy. He takes a deep breath, wheezing out his next words. As I said, you surprise me. Giving your only protection against me to your family.

Smarter than I took you for. I glare daggers at him, even with tears in my eyes. This seems to make him even happier. You see, Fred, normally what I would have done would have been to march you up to your children's bedroom, wake him up and take him to mommy. Then torture her relentlessly until she forsakes you and the children, then promise her an end to her pain in exchange for her soul. The chill runs down my spine.

Oh, the strong ones resist Right up until I threaten To put the children through the same pain I'm putting her through Oh, he's grining a sick grin now From ear to ear Then I take a soul in exchange for the safety of her children Once that's mine

I remove the love she holds for her family For God Make it one of my whores And she would usually just kill the kids on her own He lights his own cigarette now Well, you know, for fun, you can feel the horror just wash over me. Almost without fail, worked for at least nine out of ten. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

But you, Fred, his grin fades. You rob me of a good time. You see, normally, if you drink a half bottle of that holy water, you're protected from possession and the like. What you did, Fred? giving him your protection selflessly. That bumped the potency up something fierce. Shows me his left hand.

The skin on his palm almost entirely black. His hand shriveled and shaking. One of his rings even falls off his finger and shatters when it hits the ground. He curses in some unknown guttural language as this happens. You see, Fred, that happened when I reached out and grabbed your wife's arm. burned like a bitch I still feel it burning actually Now he glars at me

The yellow in his eyes Seems to be moving So with me being unable to touch them I had to take some more mundane methods Of keeping my promise He pulls his hand away and slides a leather glove over it Brog the door knobs knelt a few windows down

Made sure they didn't get out as I burned the place down Bottom to top He snickers. You protected your family from me. But the house was a different story. I'm gritting my teeth, staring daggers at Belial, as he seems to be enjoying telling me all of this. His tone changes, however.

I've never had to end someone like that. I was so mundane, so dull, and knowing that their souls were saved as I did it. Smoke spews from his nostrils as he huffs. and weezes again. What a nasty taste to leave in my mouth, Fred. He stands. But you've been through enough today.

I'll let you live for now. Belial turns to me. Unless you want to make it easier on everyone and just, you know. He slides a finger across his throat. Might be nice to do something ironic, you know. There's a tire swing in the backyard. You could hang yourself from it. As he speaks, I feel kind of woozy and confused.

Ah, maybe at the hotel. Take the hairdry and take his shower with it. I shake my head. It feels like someone's shoving cotton in my ears, and I can only hear his voice over the background noises. His breath is on my ear now. When you think about it, what sort of man can't even protect his family?

The only honourable way out is to remove yourself from the equation. Suddenly, he's gone, and I can think clearly again. The EMT is back and starts taking my vitals. I'm gazing up at the night sky, and I've got no idea what I'm going to do. The next week goes by like I'm a passenger in my body. I work out details with funeral directors and lawyers and insurance companies. I get tired of hearing the words, sorry for your loss. and bouncing between absolute sorrow and blinding anger,

and I can't control which family members I snap at or sob in front of. At the time the funeral day comes, with me and a few friends and family on my wife's side. I'm in a church, first time in years, the organ is playing a sat old dirge while I sit at one of the front pews alone. My family wants little to do with me. Half of them think I burn the house down in a triple homicide. The news was leaked somehow about how the windows were nailed shut and the doorknobs were removed before being locked.

So I'm pretty shocked when someone in a rather nice suit and some pretty powerful cologne sits next to me. We only just heard. A pretty thick Latin accent chimes in, but a pretty familiar one. I look up to see Chavez, of all people, sitting next to me. He's wearing a pretty expensive tailored suit, too. Chavez? It points to a necklace of some kind around his neck. Temple charm helps you understand me even when we're outside of it.

I sit up, looking him over, extremely confused. Why are you here? I narrow my eyes. And where the fuck is Timothy? Chavez frowns. He's here, but I told him not to come to you yet. I know you blame him for this. Yeah, no shit, Chavez.

I look around the church before Chavez puts his hand on my shoulder. Where is he? Chavez shakes his head. Now isn't the time, Fred. I now glare at Chavez. So what? You're his lackey now? I stare ahead at the three caskets, all closed before me.

What the hell is he? Not what we both thought, is all Chavez said. We were both quiet for some time before Chavez decides to piss me off. Yeah, I know how you feel. Fuck you, Chavez. I glare at him. I'm out of tears at this point. I'm just in an angry mood right now.

You know how I feel? Not Sandy and the boys didn't deserve this. She was an amazing woman. The boys were good kids. They didn't deserve this. It's because of me getting mixed up with Timothy's bullshit temple or whatever it was. So don't give me the, I know how you feel, nonsense. You don't have a fucking clue.

Chavez is silent as he looks ahead at the caskids. When I was in Honduras, I heard the cartels smuggle drugs past the border. I would build chairs, tables, and the like. They'd hide the coke in them, and I made the trap doors. But one day my trap doors all started to get found out. One day the cartel comes to me. They tell me that they're going to try something. you. They want me to make crucifixes and hide the drugs there. They tell me the drugs won't be

found as easy because people won't check the crucifixes. He makes a sign of the cross over his heart. I refuse. I tell them I'm going to leave. Promise not to tell the police, but to tell them I'm done. He turns to me, hands now clasped in his lap. The next day I wake up with a bag on my head. Well, I think they're going to kill me, you know. I make my peace with God and accept my fate. They bring me to a river. Along with it, they have my mother, father, wife, my daughter, all lined up. His normally happy face turns mournful.

They don't even give me a choice. They execute my family in front of me, throw them into the river. They tell me, you live for the cartel, or you die for the cartel. I just look away at this point. Chavez leans back in the pew, now looking to me. You get to bury your family, Fred. Be happy for that. I'll never have that right.

It was taken from me. I turned to him. His story is probably worse than my own. Not that I'm weighing tragedies or everything. Chavez, I ask. You never answered me. Why are you even here? here right now. Chavez looks around as if searching for someone. Fred, you always held me out.

You gave me a job, gave me a ride to my place when I needed it. Chavez gives me a sympathetic smile. I'm here because I'm your friend. As a man I usually leave crying for the macho stuff, Grand Canyon and funerals. I guess this was an exception, though. Of all the people who would show up when I needed it, If you told me it would be Jorge Chavez, the illegal immigrant who's the best guy I know with a sandblaster, I'd never have believed you. Now I'm sobbing next to the guy, and he's doing his best to comfort him. Chavez even volunteers to be a pole-bearer at the end of the ceremony. At the graveyard, he's the last one to stand with me. I turned to him, as I'm still swinging between deep depression and the seething anger.

Chavez, how can you still believe in God? He took everything from you, and yet you're still faithful. Chavez starts to unbutton his jacket as he talks. When the cartel killed my family, they forced me to be their runner. He undoes his jacket, and now is undoing some buttons on his shirt. One day during a drop, I see a hole in the border fence to America. I think to myself. I can live in the cartel or die free.

I pray to God and asked him to protect me during my escape. I've ran. He reveals his chest. There's a hole just below his ribcage on the right. Looks like a bullet wound. It missed my heart, lungs. Didn't even hit a bone. One in a million shot.

A miracle, Fred. God's protection. That's why we should thank him every day. He said, while tapping the scar. Thank him. Chavez, where was he when Sandy and the boys needed help? Where was God? Why didn't he help them?

Chavez looks me dead in the eyes as he buttons up his shirt. Did you ask him to help, Fred? I'm silent, and to stare ahead of me past the graves. Can't possibly be that simple, I tell myself. That whole ask and you should receive nonsense. After a while, Chavez leaves my side. A few minutes later, I hear someone walking up behind me. I look, still facing ahead.

and see Timothy in a black trench coat and suit with black tie behind me. Oh, you've got balls, man, I say, curtly. I never intended for this, Timothy says plainly. He looks over the graves. What you did to protect them was, well, it was beyond what I thought you could do. It started to smile a bit, but now his smile fades. If I'd known you had a family, I'd have given you some other time. tools. I turn and march right up to him. Despite this, he doesn't flinch as I get in his face.

Yeah, your tools were really fucking useful. I gave my wife and the boys that sacred water. Just gave them a quicker death. But save their souls, Fred, Timothy says simply. Because of you, your wife's soul isn't in the possession of Belial. Neither are your children. Oh, bullshit, I shout. That's not how this shit works. You don't lose your soul if a demon possesses you. Sometimes you die, but I know enough about that shit, no, you're just bullshit in me. I talk to the fucking priests. You think Belial is a demon?

I take a step back. What else could he be? Timothy's face doesn't change expression in the least. Belial was at first a dark angel. long ago he was tasked with punishing impure souls that was before the war timothy looks to the sky i look up with him what war the war with cherubim and seraphim the cherubim were high order angels created by god to be his servants but who aligned themselves with lucifer timothy looks to me the war began when belial talked lucifer into defying guard in the first place. I'm pretty defounded at this point, and look to the graves of my family for a moment. Why does such a big shot from down below want to fuck with me then?

Ah, the amber you spoke of, it has enormous power. Power enough where, if Bill Hill got his hands on it, he'd be able to pull himself into this world, Timothy answers. Pull himself. News flashed, Timothy. He's hard. He's hard. He's able to pull himself. Newsflash, Timothy. He's already here. Timothy shakes his head slowly. Belial, it's only possessing a man now. That's why the first day he didn't just kill you and take the amber. The man he had possessed was still resisting him, still fighting. At that stage of early possession, a spirit cannot make someone do something they do not wish to. It wasn't until the next day his will faltered and Belial gained full control. Still, even in full control, only a whisper of his power can get through.

that vessel. Timothy gives me an odd smile. Billil, with the amber, would have brought himself into this world completely, and as a full-powered cherubim laid waste to everything. Now he beamed at me.

So Fred, you saved the world by keeping it from him. I looked away from Timothy, not knowing how to feel about that. I only cost my family's lives. The souls, Are safe. Belliol's still out there?

He's going to fuck with me, isn't he? I imagine he's none too pleased that you protected your family from him. He'll likely continue to torment you. Plan on doing anything about it? I glare at the graves. Or am I going to get a spot next to Sandy here is my protection.

Do you plan on asking? I turn to face him. Please, Timothy. Fucking help me get rid of this thing. Don't ask me. Timothy turns away from me and starts walking. Who the hell do I ask then? I shouts. Timothy ignores me and continues to walk away.

I turn to face the graves again. I get the hint. I look around and clear my throat. Hey, God, why don't give me a hand here? Chavez's hand is on my shoulder suddenly. Do you know how to ask, Fred? I shake my head and Chavez just smiles.

I'll show you. He gets on his knees and starts. Our father in heaven, hallow be our name. Your kingdom come, he will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts. We have also forgiven our debtors. And lead us, not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

I slowly get to my knees and repeat. Chavez whispers next to me. Now ask and end with Amen. Chavez then gets up and leaves. I'm still on my knees, feeling rather awkward, but I just continue. God, I'm kind of a stranger these days, but I need help. This Belial guy, he's killed my family and I need justice. Help me get rid of him.

I hope that's enough and finish. Amen. Suddenly I hear a deep voice above me. Fred McIone. Look up, seeing only the silhouette of a male figure above. God? I'm suddenly pulled up onto my feet, and I see several officers as well as a detective who said my name.

The guy looks like an off-season weightlifter who's been shoved into a detective's uniform. The black officer's head is bold And his voice is deeper than I'm used to hearing Well, never been called God before Well, for you, I might as well be You're under arrest for suspected murder, arson, And conspiracy to commit insurance fraud Oh, great, I say out loud as they cuff me

Hey, watch it As I'm led away from the graves of my family I spot him clad in his usual white duster and red tie, wearing the police badge again. Black detective yells at him. Hey, Ben, got our caller. You were right. He didn't hang out around here longer than everyone else.

Aalil smiles as he greets his fellow officer. Good work, then. He speaks in his false human voice. Didn't think it'd be hard. Left a shitload of evidence behind. He smiles at me. We're going to have fun with you. Thanks, God, I think to myself, as I'm shoved into a squad car.

I look out the window as I see the black detective walk away from Belil. Then Timothy comes out from behind a tree nearby. Timothy stares Belial down, and Belial turns to face him. They contrast each other oddly. Timothy in his black trench coat and Belial in white. not the right match-up, I think. They say a few things to each other, and I can't really hear too well.

Leave is what I can make out from Timothy. Belial seems to laugh, but I can't hear what he's saying. Watching his lips, it looked like he says, Mother, at some point. Timothy seems to narrow his eyes and get serious. Kick his ass, Timothy. I think to myself, as I watch with a baited breath

as the two square off in the graveyard. Timothy seems calm and collected. Belial is grinning from ear to ear. I look back and forth between the two. My heart skipped a beat with what happened next. Belial makes a sudden step towards Timothy in a rapid jerking motion and then falls back to where he was. Timothy flinches, causing Belial to laugh

before turning away and walking back to an unmarked car with the other detective. Oh, Great, I think to myself. My guardian angel is a pussy. Part 5. I get pulled out of the squat car in my Sunday best and led into the police station. Fingerprinted, great. Mugshot?

Awesome. Pat down. This day is going great. Started off by burying my family, only to get arrested for their murders in the evening. The pat down is a bit odd. The officer who's doing it, stops at my coat pocket. It doesn't pull anything out.

It just waves me by after removing my wallet. I'm finally plopped into an interview room. There's a little two-way mirror about two feet square. A table, three chairs counting mine. I notice they're bolted down, which makes sense as I'm sure they don't want folks going full Jerry Springer when being interrogated. Start to contemplate how I wound up here,

thinking about where everything's being going and how. Think of a way, I can maybe convince the detective who arrested me that his partner isn't to be seems. Could that work? I think of scenarios where, if he was convinced, what would happen? I know Belil can move objects and saw that firsthand. Something tells me if I hadn't been handling highly sacred objects, he'd be able to pull me too. If I blew his cover, would he just kill us, everyone in this place?

Or worse, would he kill his partner? a la Darth Vader, force choke and spin another frame job on me. Should I even count Belial as a heel? Should I just be using it? Despite all this, I'm feeling oddly calm when I see both of them walk into the room. The black detective sits down and clicks on a recording device which is embedded in the wall.

So, Mr. Machione, I'm Detective Aaron Brown. Just want to ask a few quick questions, and then we can all go about our day. I looked to Belil, who's letting his partner do the talking for now. I'll be happy to answer them, but I'll say this much. I did not murder my family. Detective Brown just nods and smiles. Of course.

Looks down to a file folder, pulling out a piece of paper. So, uh, the day of the events concerning your family's tragic demise, where were you? Belil is smiling wickedly. I was visiting a work site and there my office. I was looking for some equipment I'd left behind, I say plainly. I'm not entirely lying, after all. Hmm, this work site. How far away from your house was it?

Detective Brown continues. About an hour, I say simply. Why in the middle of the night did you feel the need to check for this equipment? Why couldn't it wait till morning? Didn't have an answer for this, and I tried to think of something that wouldn't immediately. immediately put both Belial and Detective Brown at immediate odds with me. I wanted to try and survive this interview without being in jail, which seemed unlikely at this point.

Well, your demon-possessed partner over there sent me off to get an unholy object, or else he was going to slaughter my entire family. Well, while truthful, probably this would make him think I'm fucking around with them. Despite that being the truth, I decided to stick with my lie. I was afraid it might get stolen. It was pretty expensive. Well, that makes sense. What piece of equipment was it, if you don't mind me asking? Of all the cops in all the world, I get the one competent bastard that can smell bullshit from a mile away, don't I? Remember, folks, get your life straight before you're in the hot seat.

It was a sandblaster, a fairly large one. Well, at least a couple of grand for that, right? Wouldn't look too good on the old expense report if you went missing. the very accurate detective asks. I nod, and I have a good idea where he's going with this line of questioning, but I'm hoping we don't get there. This job was on a Monday and Tuesday, about two weeks ago, right? I nod.

It's very interesting. Belil now interjects. Why is that interesting, Aaron? Detective Brown looks to me now. Feel free to explain why I found that interesting, Mr. Mackey. young. Is my schedule at the office don't say I had a job that day, I admit, hoping some honesty can be appreciated.

The detective bangs his pen on the table three times. We have a winner. He leans over to me, getting uncomfortably close over the table. Your usual crew also doesn't say you had a job. I say what I'm about to say knowing I'm going to start treading some deep water. There was a job, but the client preferred to be non-public. Non-public? Detective Brown's playful smile fades quickly.

You know, every time I get a prick like you, one of these, I can be culpable if I don't know what happened, assholes. You always have another word for it. Confidential. On the down low, under the table, discreet, exclusive. But non-public. Well, that's a nice way of putting... My client's probably dealing with some criminal shit. I don't want to know about it.

The detective leans back in his chair. What do you say, Mr. McIone? Am I in the ballpark? I'm quiet now, waiting. A glance to Belil and catches shit-eating grin. I'm starting to sweat, and there's nothing I can do to stop myself. We had some forensic accounting done on your business, Mr. McIone. Pretty preliminary stuff.

you know he leans over toward belil should have gone under about a year ago or at the very least you should have fired someone belial now interjects now dealing a few jobs under the table here and there isn't a big deal but uh hundred thousand bucks that's a shitload extra stuffed into your accounts detective brown says slyly i look to belil that's not how much i have in my my business, at least not in the bank. Timothy's case was the biggest score I'd had in months, and this year the under-the-table stuff didn't come close to making up the difference. Not between all the expenses, equipment, and so on that I had to pay.

Did Billy Lowe know something? Did he do something? I literally have no idea what you're talking about. So you don't know where a payment of over 30 grand came from in the past month. Say the cash we found in an envelope with it. a thank-you letter that wasn't on your books, but was definitely a payment. Such a nice letter, too. Must a dumbed him a hell of a favor.

Well, admittedly, he had me there. With everything going the way it was, I never had time to properly handle the cash I got from Timothy's job. Normally I'd make sure to pay out a bonus or two. Buy some equipment, pay off some bills, and always do it with the under-the-table cash. I suddenly had an epiphany, because maybe Belil didn't. do anything but crunching the numbers of what I'd done that year.

You'd have two cleanups, but they weren't as high profile. They did overpay, though. I'm sweating more as I think about whether or not I'm a good person after all. Here I am thinking about how my money laundering didn't go over so well, and I think the average kid dealing weed on the street corner could do a better job. This accounts for this year alone. Our guys are sifting through your books as we speak. We keep on finding gaps and payments and bills.

paid that never should be paved. Detective Brown cracks his knuckles. Somehow, I do not think your non-public plans would appreciate us digging through their dirty laundry. Might get ugly for you, especially if you're on the outside. Well, that's the stick. Now this guy is going to give me a carrot. Of course, we could just skip all that. You can tell me, honestly, what happened to your wife and kids?

why the doorknobs were found removed and why the windows were nailed shut. I'm quiet while I think of a way out. But then I hear Belial's human voice. Hey, Aaron, why don't you step out, have a coffee? I'll turn that thing off and I'll have a word or two with him. Detective Brown looks to Belliol. Ben? He clicks off the recorder.

I can have another charge against you for roughing someone up during an interrogation. Belil just nods. It's okay, Aaron. Just step out for a second. It'll be fine. Detective Brown stands up and leaves the room. I'm pretty sure about half of all that was normal good cop bad cop set up.

But with Belil alone with me in the room, I'm pretty sure I got the good cop satanic cop game played on me. Belial wheezes in his normal voice. That was dull and boring, wasn't it? He leans back in his chair They still do the chair here Or just lethal injection I narrow my eyes on him

Lethal injection Is fun A lot can go wrong The Lille's eyes are on me As he leans back grinning You can feel your heart And your lungs start to shut down sometimes I adjust myself nervously in my seat

And suddenly feel something in my jacket pocket my hand discreetly checks it while belial leans back in his seat looking to the ceiling lights it's round cold i feel a cap i try to hide my excitement it's the same type of bottle that sandy and the kids drank i wonder what it would do if i doused him in it i also wonder how it even got into my pocket but i'm much more concerned with what to do now that it's there you know beheadings were technically more painless. It looks me in the eyes now. I miss beheadings. He moves is now healed left hand up to his temple, resting his head on his hand. I notice he's only sporting three of his black rings. I remember how one crumbled away from touching my wife.

Hangings too. Nothing beats when the rope doesn't snap the neck and you're just left being strangled by the rope. or why you piss and shit yourself in front of a crowd. Well, now or never, I think, as I thumb the cap off the bottle in my pocket. Shut up. Aal's gaze shifts slightly.

What if I don't, Red Fred? I remember what my mother used to say whenever she felt she was dealing with things possessed in the house. Normally it was a dryer on the fritz or a bird that somehow managed to get into the house. But the phrase rang pretty clearly in my head for some reason, the second the bottle was opened in my pocket. I hoped I wasn't going to look like a complete moron if this didn't work.

I splashed the contents of the bottle on his hand first, and his face. I made sure to get every one of those rings covered in the water too. While I did this, I shouted. In the name of Jesus Christ, get thee behind me. steam erupted from his rings, and he gasped suddenly in intense pain. Chokes as he inhales the rising steam from his hand. He stands up quickly and presses himself against the wall,

and he began to flail as if he couldn't breathe. I kept splashing him and got a bit on myself in the process. I was a bit frantic at this point. I remember every time I saw an exorcism flick and start chanting. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, leave this man. interjected with a few, The power of Christ compels you. If not for the apparently seizing man across from me,

I likely look ridiculous. Bill Eel is wheezing, hacking and coughing. His rings have broken and crumbled to the ground. I feel like I'm missing something serious in all of this, because he's still in front of me, his yellow eyes swirling and glaring at me. I can almost hear his voice in my head as if it's saying, when this wears off

I'm going to murder you I'm pretty sure I'm just pissing him off right now but he's definitely weakened I look to the bottle and I noticed something's written on it is it a parable I splash billiol one more time

and read the bottle and I give my own shit-eating grin to him read the writing out loud most glorious prince of presence Saint Enoch the Noah of Secrets Heavenly scribe The governor of the

the world, expel from this cursed flesh the fallen before me. After the words leave my lips, I feel dizzy. I'm not sure if that's because I just might have successfully cast out an all-powerful demon prince, or because I'm being tackled by Detective Brown. Either way, when I hit the floor, I'm completely winded. But not sure if I can keep chanting. What the fuck did you just do to my partner? Detective Brown shouts. From his point of view, things have gone far too south, far too quick. Maybe he did just get a coffee and come back to see his partner being dosed in what looked like acid from the outside. Both of us are distracted, however, as a screams coming from Belial change pitch. Suddenly they go higher, shrieking. I watch his mouth open unnaturally wide as his head

points upwards, his back arching unnaturally, arms stiffening to his side as he begins to shake. The form of a man crawls out of his open mouth, naked from the weight. up. His eyes are yellow and black swirls of smoke. His form translucent. His brow is furrowed, as long black hair seems to float over him as if he's under water. Its face, his body, his arms, hands. Every part of him looks physically perfect as if some male fitness model just appeared out of this guy's mouth. His form grows. It fills the room, moving over the ceiling as I notice a pair of black wings appear to be on either side of him. They look like black. flames. The flames rising from each wing seem to make the room hotter, and ash falls from the

bottom of each. The wings are so large they fill the entire room and block off the exit. I'm suddenly hit with a strong scent of sulphur, and the shrieking from the physical body of Benjamin grows louder. The Lille's left hand reaches out toward me. His teeth gritted. Oh, Fred! His voice hisses louder than I'd heard it before. No longer a wheeze, a vile breath reaching me in the detective, which makes me wretch. Not by you, you pathetic sinful mortal, he yells, his voice bellowing and shaking the room. I will not be cast out by the likes of you. The room shakes even more, and his hand almost touches me.

His finger appears to turn to smoke, and his hands grab his chest, his wings wrapped around himself. Above him, there's a more terrifying sight. The spear pierces through him from above, again translucent. A massive hand holds the spear. The hand is black, clawed, seems to be scaled like a lizard. A giant lizard head pushes down from the ceiling, white glowing eyes drowning out the light of the fluorescent bulbs in the room, and more contrasting black scales along its muzzle.

I can make out a pair of horns near the back of its head, but they disappear into the ceiling. I hear an unearthly roar as a spear is pulled back, then thrust through Belial again, hitting him in the chest, right into where I assume a heart would be if the bastard had one. Belial screams once more. His voice shakes me to my call.

No, do not send me back. At his last word, suddenly nothing. but a black ball hovers over the mouth of Belil's previous host. See the black lizard's face opens its more, and a white light dowsies the little ball over Belil's former body. Suddenly all the air seems to be sucked out of the room, and I feel a massive pressure smash into me and knock me in the detective into the far wall, as the black ball seemed to explode in bright white light.

I hear nothing but ringing in my ears, right after I hear glass shattering and the sounds of alarms blaring. Someone grabs me, hauling me out of the room. As I'm being shuffled out, dust and chaos all around me, I see Belil's body lying motionless on the floor, his partner shouting something or other to other officers. The officer who has me keeps pulling me and roughly handling me. I feel weak, and I shield my eyes as I'm suddenly outside, then thrown into the back of a car. ears barely stopped ringing. I think I have myself composed enough until the car starts up, speeding off, sirens blaring. I hear a Latin accent again, from the front seat.

That was amazing, Fred. Good job. I look up and see Chavez, wearing a police cap and uniform, giving me the thumbs up. Right before I pass out, I realized that the cop who gave me the pat-down must have been Chavez. He put the water into my pocket. I chuckle as I lose consciousness. Part six. I'm woken up by a knocking on the rear window. I grogily look up to see Chavez's smiling face on the other side,

now without the policeman's cap on. Fred, wake up, man, let's go. The door opens and I'm dragged out. Chavez gets me to my feet, but I feel weak. I can barely walk. You did great, Fred. You did. Hang on a little bit longer. I can't go on, fall to my knees. Everything's still spinning. Oh, St. Timothy, Chavez shouts, quickly. Before I know what's going on, I see Timothy rushing towards me. You have to heal his spirit, Chavez says. The exorcism took a toll on him.

Okay. I don't know, I hear Timothy admit. Chavez grabs Timothy's hand and places it on my forehead. Ask your grandmother. Timothy then takes a breath and suddenly I feel, well, better. I'll look my eyes clear and start to get up off my knees. By the time I'm standing, I look to Timothy in front of me, still wearing his trench coat, looking at his hand curiously. Chavez is thrilled.

I told you, Pellio's interference wasn't enough to weaken the gift passed on. Timothy nods seemingly in shock and then looks to me. You did well, Fred. Lean up against the car and look Timothy in the eyes. So you're not an angel? Timothy shakes his head, but Chavez protests. He is. Chavez smiles to me, but he's still young and he doesn't know his own strength, Fred. I look to Chavez, oddly. How do you know? How do you know? As I read Fred, I read the Bible. He points to Timothy. He's the grandson of St. Dinah, daughter of Enoch.

Timothy just nods. We can talk later, Chavez. I think Fred needs to know where he is. Chavez smiles and points to a two-story house. That's your new home. Look around. There seem to be a few homes sprinkled here and there. It looks like I'm in the middle of a mid-story house.

West in bum-fuck nowhere. Timothy and Chavez make their way down the walkway toward the two-story home, and I follow. When Timothy gets to the door, he knocks three times. Yeah, Fred's here. Timothy says as he knocks. The door open, and I see Sandy's smiling face.

I run past Chavez and Timothy, and I hug and kiss her for what feels like too short a time, right up until I get a firm punch to the shoulder. Timothy and Chavez both wins Never take a job like this again She says We were scared half to death

She takes a deep breath Also we're gonna start going to church Like a lot God I thought you were dead You and the boys I said softly Suddenly Sandy is glaring at Timothy Oh you did did you

She charges that Timmy and proceeds to hammer his shoulder a few times, punctuating each hit with a word. Timothy, how dare you do that to him? Timothy gasps in pain. I'm sorry, Sandy. She turns around sharply and walks inside. The boys are playing video games right now, and they won't shut up about how the internet sucks. Now get in here while I try and figure out dinner.

I hear a litany of other complaints from her, from the stove to the refrigerator, like, which is typical of her. I walk inside, relieved to find my wife safe and still slightly crazy, and greet my two boys. For the first time in weeks, I feel happy and free. After dinner, when my boys challenged Chavez to a round of some first-person shooter, I see Timothy in the backyard, looking out over more than an acre of property, apparently mine, the sun setting in the distance. I walked toward him, looking him over. "'So how old are you?' "'Twenty-five,' Timothy says.

"'Jesus, I have fifteen years on you,' I say plainly. "'Timothy nods. "'How exactly are you an angel?' "'Timothy shakes his head. "'I'm hardly an angel. "'Certainly not a saint like Jorge keeps calling me.' "'So what are you, then?' "'I best, half angel, half...

He looks far away into the sky. Oh, monster. Care to we elaborate? I'm done being in the dark. So we're breaking the no-question's-ass policy. He smiles as he turns to me. Why nod? Yeah, because I won't be doing that anymore.

I shudder. I was worried enough about the cops finding out what I did, but I'll take a deep breath. Well, I guess I didn't realize. what else was just as interested. Timothy just chuckles. Well, to answer your question, I'm the grandson of Dinah and Enoch,

who is the daughter to Enoch, of course, known as the Metatron, the voice of God. Enoch, that's a guy I shouted about in front of Belial. Timothy nods. Most exorcisms don't go that well. Part one is getting the name of the spirit infesting the body. Part two is ensuring you, the correct angel to get the job done.

On most possessions, you can invoke Michael, the archangel, and they'll go screaming because Michael's the commander of God's army. Half the time, Michael will actually delegate the task to a lesser angel, but that depends on the individual's faith and resolve. It can drive out most lesser demons. Now, for Belial, we needed bigger guns, but a stronger resolve. That's why we needed you seeking justice and retribution. otherwise you may have died.

Timothy frowned to me. That's why I had to make you believe Belial had killed your family. It was hard, I can't lie. I tried to let that not sink in. So, you can't lie at all? As a descendant of Enoch, it's kind of in my blood.

I mean, someone who speaks for God has to lack the ability to lie, of course. I try to think of a time when Timothy lied to me. But while he withheld information, he never did lie. My family's souls were safe, that was true, and he didn't even lie about the blood or how long it was there. Also explains why he was shit at haggling.

That means you talk to God. The Metatron speaks for God, right? Timothy sighs and shakes his head. My mother was stolen from Dinah when she was a child, stolen by none other than Belil. He corrupted her, filled her with hatred and despair. She had me with a, let's just say, a mass murderer, a fallen prophet. One of the people who destroyed the temple we had to restore, actually.

So that's the monster half, I ask. Yeah. Timothy places his hands in his pockets. My mother left me alone with my father, so I never learned what she knew. Never even met her. He takes another deep breath. One day I ran away from him, found the entrance to the Guardian Temple. The only thing that comes naturally is my ability to do this, he said, with an outstretched hand,

as a pair of doors appeared in the yard out of nowhere. A look, and inside, now well lit, is the room I was so used to working in, but had no desire to visit again. I used its gates to come to this world, joined the military, rose up the round, and rose up the ranks gained influence, because I'm going to fight my father. He looks to me. I'm going to stop him and his sister from destroying another world. To do that, I needed a base.

I did my best alone, but I needed help to fix the temple up. So you called me. Timothy nods again. Didn't lie about how I heard of you. Everything else is settled. How did you save my family? I thought they were dead. I saw bodies. Timothy laughs.

I got your message. When I did, I realized the mistake I made. That I didn't know where you were or that you had a family. You should thank Chavez. You knew where your address was. From there, I was able to will the gates to open. I just opened them in the basement and found your family there. Sandy's quite the smart woman, by the way.

She'd soaked towels and sheets and shoved them under the doors, windows, was doing her best to hide under a soaked blanket. She was shocked to see a pair of doors appear out of nowhere, but she ran in regardless, taking the kids. He sighed. From there, I was able to substitute some corpses, and Chavez and I figured out a way for you to defeat Balil. I raise an eyebrow.

Why couldn't you defeat him? Timothy's smile weakened as he looked at my new house. I was afraid. He kicks the dirt slightly, frustrated. Belial manipulated my mother, stole her away from my grandmother, nearly gotten his hands on something that could have handed him the world, all because of my miscalculations. Yeah, he's older and more powerful than anything I'm likely ever to face or be.

So, like you thought in the car. Your garden angel is kind of a... He grins a bit at me. Well, a pussy. Like I thought? I said bewildered. Mind-reading is a simple trick, if you're part angel, apparently. But why me?

Honestly, Timothy said, some amusement in his voice. Belial, at his core, is a follower of Lucifer. Like his master, he's most vulnerable when he thinks he's won the day. So me thinking he'd killed my family, and him tormenting me was him, what, boasting? Timothy nods. "'Pride always comes before it will fall, always.' "'I shake my head. "'So I get why I help, but you couldn't call in reinforcements

"'for a thing like Belial?' "'Timothy's smile falls. "'Fred, I am the reinforcements. "'I felt my stomach fall a bit. "'What do you mean?' "'Timothy looks to the temple entrance in front of us. "'Angles existed on this plane, because God needs them to perform his miracles.

God, while omnipresent, is also omnipresent, the angels serve his desires, and he directs them from time to time. He looks to me. Think of it as every time God blinks, a few hundred years past. You can only invoke his will directly from time to time when directly called upon by someone of extremely strong faith. I look to the temple doors again. So, um, that temple,

The Guardian Temple, where God's angels are massed to coordinate his will, choose prophets, create miracles, led by the Metatron. Recall the blood I had to clean up. So wait, you mean... They're gone. Murdered by what is, in essence, my aunt and my father. I'm all that's left. I'm trying to rebuild.

So for now, we need to lean on the resolve and faith of models, like you. Smiled at me. Now I don't feel so helpless. I feel like there's a chance, however small. Timothy looks at the open gaze with a faraway gaze. We are losing, however. I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to recover and get the upper hand.

How long do you need? I ask like I could do anything. Fifteen, maybe twenty years. Which reminds me I need to get back to work. Timothy gives out a sudden whistle Chavez and I should go We've caused you enough trouble Chavez still

I laugh What do you need him for Timothy looks at my house again With a look of serenity As I see Chavez running out towards us With a plate with a slice of cake on it To show me what I can hopefully become Dear St Timothy

I'm coming Also Mrs Macchioni made you a cake, Chavez shouts. Timothy narrows his eyes. I swear Chavez if it's angel food cake. Chavez just smiles broadly at the pun. I groan as Chavez hands over the cake to Timothy, who is also rolling his eyes and they walk towards the doors. Timothy stops before closing them. If you need me again, you have my number. The doors close and vanish. vanish into thin air. Hey, I hope I never see you again.

I say out loud as I head into my new house. Epilogue, ten years later, and I work in restoration. On the weekends my new crew and I check out churches in need of repair, and free of charge work on restoring their stonework. We do it as charity, nothing but the raw materials are paid for. Usually the priest takes up a collection via the old school plates, we get it done by a crowdfunding website. When you guide Devon is on the second floor of this church,

overlooking the center aisle, checking out a stone pillar in bad shape. Fred, this thing can't be secured. We're going to have to get some temporary supports for the roof and literally rebuild it from the ground up. Knock out the old, bring in a new one, whole nine yards. Ah, Padre is not going to be happy. Devin shouts down.

He can pray for it to be fixed, but unless God sends Mason angels, it ain't happening. Ask and ye shall receive. The priest of the church apparently overheard us, and he walks toward me. Dare I ask, I'm sure that's expensive. I nod. I'll get a quote together for you and see what we can do, Father. He nods, and I'll call my insurance company

after I pray to God to help me through the customer support robots. Priests all have terrible jokes, by the way. Something you learn when working in multiple churches. My tinnitus kicks in, which I've had for the past ten years. I wish it was the normal sort where you can hear a high-pitched ringing, but it's not. It's a high-pitched scream. The sword I heard when Belil was cast out. I pull out some ear drops, which I keep in the same bottle that Chavez gave me.

The screaming stops pretty quickly. The priest looks at the bottle for a moment. St. Enoch, obscure. I laugh. It was a gift from a friend of mine, Timothy. The priest nods. That makes sense that he's named Timothy. I looked at the priest oddly.

Why does it make sense? The priest smiles at me. Well, my boy, Timothy means follower of God. I smile and nod. Yeah, that's him. One of the nuns runs up to us. Father, something's happening on the news in Jerusalem. The priest turns and follows her, and I follow out of my newfound curiosity.

We all head into a backroom with a television in it. Two other nuns are inside glued to the TV. Looks like an overhead shot of destroyed streets, and the headline reads, Terror in Holy Land. I see a little I-24 logo in the corner. Never heard of the channel before, personally. Oh, I'm sure it's just hyperbole, sisters.

The brief starts. The camera pans down to a group of five people. Three of the group look like they're wearing a uniform of sorts. Two are women, both blonde, and the man is bald. They're wearing white long sleeves with black vests and matching black pants. Another man is seen next to them. it's hard to make out what he's wearing. It's red and brown and black,

and I swear he could be wearing a cape or something, short white hair on his head. The largest figure of the five looks like a massive man with long white hair braided down the left side or the right side of their head seems to be shaved completely. The larger man wears what looks like a full-plaid armour and a white cape with a blue accent inside of it. Suddenly the bald guy cracks his fingers,

and fire spues forth from his hands, like he has a flamethrower under each palm. One of the sisters watching screams, and the priest tries to comfort her. The anchor man on the TV feed chimes in. Looks like they have some kind of advanced weapon systems. It seems attack helicopters are being called in. Oh my God.

The camera shakily changes as the white figure is suddenly in the air, and a pair of white wings have unfolded from behind. in an instant something suddenly springs from the angel's back lands in its hand and smashes into the helicopter destroying it and an explosion of fire before the figure flaps their wings again blasting the debris away and diving at the next helicopter jabbing the object that was pulled out into the helicopter closer to the camera a lunge for the remote and hit the pause on the TV frozen on the screen it's clearer to see it's not a man but an absolute monster of a woman. In her hands is a massive sword, huge and bulky,

yet she seems to wield it without much effort. Looks like there's a blue omega symbol on one of the shoulders of her white armour. I recall what happened to the helicot as she swung at it, destroyed in a single blow. I remember the bloodstains of the temple as my hellish tinnitus kicks in again.

I remember the gash in the floor as I spot the sword on the skull, screen, Mike's voice echoing in my mind. This looks like one clean cut. The voice of the woman who Timothy was talking to in the temple behind the barricade, and I remember what she said over the sound of the machinery. It was her, wasn't it? The daughter of Lucifer.

One of the nuns asks, Is that an angel? My face goes pale as I realize who this is. What she can do? and what she has done. They're here now. The people Timothy is trying to stop. I try to fathom if Timothy has had enough time to get ready,

and if we have any hope at all. The priest suddenly starts to speak behind us all, a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and I looked and behold. He points at the screen ominously, his hand shaking. A pale horse and his nose. that sat on him was death and hell followed with him and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to

listen now i'd ask one small favor of you wherever you get your podcast wrong please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast that's it for this week but i'll be back Again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.