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Yes, There is a God
by Kenneth S. McDunn

I
Down with the Wind


The cold wind that blew through the canyon that night chilled him to the bone. Him, Johnny Case, the man who could ride through blizzards, and the cool winds of Southern California were giving him goose bumps. But that wasn't the worst of his problems: Susan told him to blow it out his ass; his best friend   "Coolie" told him: "You're going nowhere fast, man. And it's not going to be me getting your ass out of trouble anymore!" Coolie always was a hothead. But maybe he was right, maybe Johnny was going nowhere.
Johnny broke out another beer, the first six slowly edging their way into his brain. The wind picked up a little as he sipped, watching the valley below. It was as though the lights of the metropolis were trying to tell him something--"Get the hell out of here!" Johnny thought they were saying. Yeah, but where could he go? With two bucks to his name he could hardly afford gas to fill his bike's tank, let alone travel somewhere with better prospects. Maybe he should knock over the liquor store at the bottom of the canyon road. "Nah, I'd probably end up in county, again." he muttered to his beer.
Johnny definitely needed a place to stay. But with no friends to speak of, that was not going to happen. Faced with becoming a street bum, Johnny knew what he had to. He'd finish his beer and blow his brains out--before things got any worse.


"Mr. Johnson, wake up. Mr. Johnson, Wake Up. Number 36, get your ass out of bed!"
The voice of number Ten yelled into the blackness of the quarters of number 36, Johnson 'the Jaw' a semi-important being in the lower planes of Hell. To Ten, assistant to number One, 36 was just a low-life lucky not have been demoted the year previous for overstepping his station director's orders.
But the Boss had use for him, so Ten dutifully woke him, turning on the lights.
"36, number One has instructed me to make sure you arrive at room 17, section 48, plane 2 in precisely ten minutes. Number One has an important operation for you to undertake. Don't be late, number One hates to be kept waiting."
"Yeah, sure," 36 replied groggily, "ten minutes."
"Good, see you there," and Ten was gone.
Johnson wondered what would make the old beast want to see him; only two reasons he could think of for anyone of his station actually seeing the Boss, either they were being demoted or--less likely--promoted to single digit status. The Boss never personally assigned tasks. He knew it was better to get down there and find out, in Hell late can mean a lot more than a dock in pay.
Johnson arrived to see Ten waiting for him. Number One was nowhere to be seen. Johnson was anxious to see what the Beast looked like, probably a twelve-foot giant with iron-like skin, arms like twin oaks with hands that could palm an elephant's head and crush it like a grape, and the head of an eagle or hawk or something regal like that. This was going to be an exciting day, that's for sure. But reality has its quirks.
A soft, pale-skinned beauty with eyes and hair as dark as the Pit itself stepped through the door of room 17. Johnson thought for sure this was just the old man's concubine.
"There is no 'old man' Mr. Johnson," number One said as she offered her hand to him, "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me."
Johnson was slackjawed, "No problem, Boss, it's just that I kinda thought the Big One was a man, not a beautiful woman."
"Don't look so surprised, everyone knows the power of a woman. Why shouldn't the most powerful demon in existence be one? I enjoy this form, monsters get to be such a bore. Anyway, that's all irrelevant. I have personally chosen you for this particularly important task because you have a very adventurous spirit. That is precisely what is called for here. You need to save a certain human, one John Case, from destroying himself. I have more important goals in mind to be met before I take his soul. You will transform into his ideal man, rugged, physically intimidating, crafty , and an all around rogue. And also a vicious killer. I want this self-hating fool to become the world's most terrible murderer, as well as its most persuasive and charismatic leader. Inside of this next year I want him in a position of power. Ten will monitor your progress and report to me. You will be endowed with a temporary power increase. If you perform well I'll make it permanent-- you'll leave double-digit level for number 9 status. Fail, and you'll be working with the trench demons sifting the shit in the Duad. Understand? Good, Ten, see to it he is properly outfitted. I'll be waiting at portal 18."
Number One was watching the dark of the night beyond the portal when they arrived; the huge head and negligible body of Ten was followed by the newly christened body of Nick, a six foot nine, 300 pound rugged specimen of human maleness. His cut figure well ensconced with the muscles any Mr. Olympia would admire, the black eyes and dark hair reflective of its creator, the Beast herself. Johnson felt completely enraptured by the sensuality of his new body, power literally oozing from its pores.
Outside, Johnny noticed through his alcohol softened senses how cold it had suddenly become. Many a dog in the area that night hid itself underneath its master's bed, knowing the Beast cometh.
"Ah, Nick, you look stunning," number One greeted her employee, "I trust you have full operating capacity?"
"I feel great, Boss. This body is outrageous."
"I know, be sure to use it properly, you have powers in abundance. I wouldn't want to see them go to waste. Now look ahead at Johnny Case. He's been drinking and is, of course, very depressed. Take advantage of the situation and begin his journey to power."
"You got it," Nick grinned as he crossed onto human soil.

II
Inspiration
Randal sat on the back porch, smoking a Marlboro (Light of course, his guilty conscience preventing him from smoking anything harsher, as if it made much of a difference) and drinking a beer. His thoughts in the mire of loneliness, and the futility of thinking it would ever be any better, Randal wasn't too afraid of dying that night.
Randal never was a member the social elite, but his nature saw to it he spent most of his nights searching, alone, trying to create the story that would finally prove his value as a journalist. Besides, people made him nervous; they are the most predictable beings, and yet they did the most outrageous things to one another. No need to endanger oneself by mixing with them unnecessarily.
Randal prided himself on being socially invisible--but wished he could do it without giving up sex. But he knew there would never be a woman who could replace his wife. So his social life consisted of beer and mu4sic on his back porch.
The temperature was somewhat low that night, a breeze brought on a chill. Randal thought of moving tonight's party inside when he saw it: a flashing glimpse of movement in the bushes directly across from him, about ten feet away. Putting out his cigarette, he stared intently into the darkness. A shape moved in front of him, he was sure he saw it; it was some animal, but it glittered somehow. Its fur, skin, sparkled each time it moved. Again it moved, this time, however, Randal saw its face.
A possum-like visage peered out of the bushes, its head moving left and right, trying to see what the animal in the light was. With new-found assurance, the beast began walking towards Randal.
Randal stood and watched as the animal neared. Its form shifting as it moved. One moment it looked like a possum, the next resembling a chimp. When it had reached the porch, three feet from Randal, it was some mutation of an ape. Its silvery fur covered an overly long torso and appendages; long, sharp teeth filled a perpetually grinning mouth.
"Blow it out your ass, Randal," the simian muttered, "You sit here every fucking night, crying and blubbering about how bad, how strange, how harsh the world is. Get with it. What the fuck are you going to do about it? Randal."
Randal stood aghast, mouth agape, watching this reject from a horror flick speak--however accurately--about him.
"What in God's name are you?"
"God, Randal? Funny you should mention him."
"What do you mean 'funny'? Who are you?"
"Come now Randal, I'm just a beast of the field--like yourself. I have needs, desires, passion. You and I are a lot alike. And I know you have something I need."
"What is that, my heart?!"
"No, no, silly little man. I just need your journalistic skills, your penchant for concise communication. I need you to write a biography."
"Who's? Yours?"
"No, I am unimportant in this matter. It's not me you'll be writing of. The being you will be allowed to interview, who's life and deeds you'll document will pay you a visit. After you agree to write it. And before you say no, realize what can be gained from this one work: fame, fortune, the world at your feet. You will be the most celebrated biographer in human history. But you must agree to do it before you know who it is. I'm sure your little mind has some idea by now. What do you say: death as an unknown editor for some small time rag? or A long life rich on the fat of journalistic acclaim? Not too difficult a decision I would say."
Randal, his mind trying to maintain a grip on reality, felt completely assured, somehow, that this beast, however unreal, was telling the truth. He had no doubt (though he was sure somewhere in his head that he knew better than to agree) that the monstrosity was being completely honest. Almost instinctively, Randal said:
"Yes."
To which he added: "But I'm going to need some female companionship."
The ape-beast laughed and took Randal by the hand.

III
Johnny Gets a Lesson
As Nick approached Johnny, he felt how awesome it must be to be number One, he knew he could destroy all comers. The sheer power was new to him, and he intended to make full use of it before this was over.
He crept up behind Johnny, silently moving close to his ear. As he neared he leaned in close, the silence sudden as the wind had stopped. Suddenly, Nick yelled "BOO!" Johnny leapt up, his beer and gun went out into the void of the dark canyon below.
Nick stood back and watched as a sheet-white Johnny turned to see who the assailant was. Nick began laughing hysterically.
"Who the fuck are you!!" Johnny screamed, whipping out a straight razor from his coat pocket.
"Whoa, partner. I was just havin' a bit of fun. No harm intended"
"You're lucky I don't cut your fucking throat," Nick threatened, although he had his doubts he could even dent the giant.
"Don't push your luck. I know you don't want to fuck with me. A puny little fuck like you doesn't stand a chance," Nick taunted Johnny.
"Fuck you, scumbag," and Johnny launched himself at Nick.
      In competition with the average barroom adversary, Johnny could usually stand his ground very well, a streetwise fierceness gave him an edge. He hadn't, however, had the chance to combat the likes of Nick in any local bar. As Johnny swung the blade upward, hoping slice through Nick's stomach muscles, Nick caught the blade. He merely slammed his open palm onto the blade before it even came close to its target. He then twisted the hand skyward, his flesh had a cement-like hold upon the blade embedded in it. Johnny lost hold of it as his wrist turned, taking that chance to strike at Nick's throat close-fisted. When his hand struck what was supposed to be the soft skin of the throat, Johnny felt instead what one would feel had one slammed one's fist full force into a corner between brick walls. His hand shattered, Johnny fell to the dirt.
"So, you want to die? Yeah right. It's time to get out of that fucking pathetic sob routine and get on with life. Stand up."
Johnny stood, cradling his hand, looking at the ground. Nick grabbed his hand and covered it with his own. Almost instantly,
a greenish glow occupied the space between Nick's hands. Johnny stared at the magic as his hand was healed. Nick looked only at Johnny's head, reading his life.
The years of abuse from spiteful parents, life on the streets of Los Angeles as a teen, prison, everything that made the man now flowed across space for Nick's observation. He saw the scared little boy for what he was, knowing what it would take to create a beast from him.
The magic ceased. Johnny looked Nick in the face, while Nick  began training.
"Boy, you got a serious lack of balls. On the one hand you think you can take on anyone, on the other you're afraid to go out and get what you really want from life. But your luck is about to change, and I'm going to give you some aggression training that'll make Ivan the Terrible look like a pacifist. Now get your bike started and follow me."
"Ivan the Terrible?" Johnny thought to himself as he climbed onto his bike. But Johnny had no intention of hanging around to see what else this freak could do to him, while Nick sauntered over to what looked like an old Lincoln Continental, Johnny started his bike and ripped onto the canyon road, roaring into the night, hoping he could slip away into the hills around the valley.
Nick grinned as he watched the bike speed off, this was going to be fun--as well as a good way to get the little man to realize who was in charge.
He was near the bottom of the canyon road when he heard it, one more curve, and a straight shot into the traffic. But as he closed in on the first traffic light, noting how empty the streets were, the roar, which had been steadily increasing in volume, became almost unbearable. It was as if someone was driving some monster four by four, and had a massive sound system amplifying the engine's already outrageous noise level. He checked his mirror and saw only the darkness of the road behind.
The noise was too much now, Johnny sped up to outrun it. That was when he felt the rush of air, as if something were passing him at five-hundred miles an hour. He nearly lost control, but regained composure enough to stop his bike. His soft-tail rumbled its curse, Johnny watched as the beast stopped, instantly, at the intersection 20 feet ahead. He watched as the door opened and the driver stepped onto the pavement, his figure draped in the darkness.
As he stared at the madman Johnny wondered who the hell he was. "Your only hope," was the answer that came to him from directly behind his right ear. The beast that drove had suddenly positioned himself right behind Johnny. He jerked his head around to the source of the prophecy, "Don't take off again," it told him, "next time I may not pass you by. Now, follow me."
"Where we going?"
"We're gonna buy us a house, boy."
Johnny thought he heard him humming "Wait 'til Your Father Gets Home" as he walked back to his car.
Johnny followed the Lincoln to a house on Avenue San Luis, lights were on and a Volvo station wagon was parked in the driveway. The Lincoln pulled to a stop some twenty feet from the house, Johnny parked behind it. Nick walked toward Johnny as he parked his bike,
"What do you think, John 'ol boy? Is this a great house or what?"
he turned and looked at the house then back at Johnny, "Let's go see just what the asking price is, shall we?"
They went to the front door, above which hung a friendly "All Welcome" sign, the man knocked. As the door opened Nick pulled a chrome plated .357 from the pocket of his black leather jacket, an old woman appeared in front of them. "Hello, granny!" he said as he shot her dead in the face. With a grin he stepped over the fallen woman, "Don't mind us, grandma, we'll find our way in. Come on, boy." Johnny followed tentatively behind, wanting to run as fast as he could away, knowing he would never make it.
Nick walked down the hall and into the dining room, a burly man in his forties was running toward them, "Well, well, well!" Nick said as he saw the family at their dinner, "Looks like we're just in time for supper! Ha, ha!!" The family of six had been attempting to rush to the front door, but as Nick waved the revolver in their direction, only the father continued his effort. But he received only a bullet in the chest.
Nick watched as the father lay wheezing and coughing, dying on the floor before him,
"Nice try, old man. Maybe you should stick with watching the Friday night fights. What do you think?" he laughed, looking around at the rest of the family. There stood two teenage boys near their mother and two young sisters.
"Maybe you two would like to come over her and get this piece of shit out of my sight?" The boys stood staring, too frightened to respond. "Well? What the fuck are you waiting for?!!" He bellowed, the boys scrambled to their father. The man pocketed his gun and walked over to the boys, laying his hands gently on each one's head. "You know boys, there's something I always say when things get rough for me and my friends--Let's put our heads together! He, hehehe!" his hands smashed the skulls together,  melding them into one indiscernible mass.
Johnny could hardly hold his beer down, he didn't know who this guy was, but he did know that crossing him--like trying to leave--would be fatal. Maybe he should just go with the flow.
"Ain't that sweet?" Nick asked of the rest of the family, "Now it's just the five of us. Why don't I get to know the little ones a little better, ay little missus?" The mother and her daughters were curled up in the far corner of the dining room, "No, please take what you want just leave us alone. Please." she started to cry, clutching the girls tightly. He walked slowly over to them and again laid his hands gently, lovingly, upon their heads. He looked down at them, a smile subtly playing up his fatherly portrayal. Looking at the eldest, the man spoke: "Do you like to fly, little sweetie?" his voice was so interwoven with caring the girl nearly fell into his arms--save for her mother's tight grip upon her waist-- "Yes" she stammered, "I like to fly."
"Well," he said sweetly, "happy fucking landing!" ripping the girl from her mother's grasp and launching her at the far wall of the dining room. Her mother leapt, screaming, running for her child, leaving the youngest to fend for herself. The little one screamed, and tried to run in her mother's footsteps, to no avail.
Nick latched onto her scalp and swung her savagely, tossing her violently into the air and smashing her into the same wall that brought her sister to an early end. Johnny looked on with surprising disinterest; he felt sure that he should be horrified, at least afraid, of the events that had come to pass. But he was strangely overcome by calm, by a faint, growing, desire to see more. Whatever guilt Johnny felt left him as Nick turned to him, eyes emblazed with the carnage, and said : "By the way, my name is Nick, he he he! Whatta night, hunh?! He, he, he!" Johnny shook his new found friend's hand, and began to feel an excitement the likes of which he hadn't felt since the first time his fingers found their way into Mary Desilvio's panties, their wetness gave him then, like now, a blue steel hard-on, and a fire that turned him into the fifth grade's most notorious girl chaser. No little girls now, only the smell of blood and the thrill of knowing  no one would ever fuck with him again. No one.
"Come on, John 'ol boy, why don't you give the little missus a shoulder to cry on? Nothin' like a little T L C to help a grieving widow, ay?"
     While Johnny satisfied his lust, Nick slipped into the living room, where Ten was waiting.
"Well," Ten began, "it doesn't take you long to get started, does it?"
"I get the job done. What do you want?" Nick replied with a purposeful disinterest.
"I'm here to remind you of your duties, number Thirty-Six. You better keep in mind who is in charge."
"No problem, and when she has any problems I'm sure she'll tell me. Now, I have work to do, so if you don't mind--Get the fuck out of here."
"Keep pushing, 36, you'll end up sucking ass for muck-suckers at the bottom of Shit River." And with that, Ten was gone.
"Good riddens", Nick thought as he lit a Dunhill with his thumb, "That stupid fuck will be cleaning my cornhole inside of a year."
Johnny was just finishing up when Nick returned. The woman lay battered and stripped, huddled in the far corner of the dining area.
"What's the matter kid, why don't you finish your meal?" Nick chuckled with searing mirth, "Don't worry--I ain't full yet!" And Johnny, so strangely distant laughed with him as Nick ran at the lump of woman and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her off her feet. Her neck bulged, head turned red then blued, her body's final ounce of adrenalin pumping into dead end passageways. Nick was roaring with laughter as she died, he flung her into the wall, bouncing onto her daughters.
"Now it's time to learn what efficient disposal is all about." Nick said as he grinned at Johnny.
"How's that?"
"Well, you see kid, any human killed by a guy like me is Hell's for the taking."
"A guy like you?"
"Yeah, a demon. You now, a baddass from Hell."
"I believe it. But what the hell are you doing here?"
"The Boss felt that you were a prime candidate for some special training. I'm here to give it to you."
"What kind of training is all this we just did?"
"Don't ask the teacher too many questions, kid. Just watch and learn. Now, as I was saying, Hell gets first dibs on these souls here, they can also take the meat if they want. Some demons have a taste for it. Me personally, I think it tastes like shit--and I've eaten plenty of that during my long struggle to the top of the Hellish ladder."
"You're at the top of what?"
"The ladder, boy. The hierarchy of the structure of Hell. It's just like any other business--with a lot more leeway in who you get to kill on the way up. But never mind that. Watch now, the boys from the clean up crew will be here any second, probably two crews will fight over who gets the lot."
The two stood, Nick smoking and Johnny staring at the living room, waiting for what only one of them had ever seen before. They both knew it was a revelation.
In a matter of minutes, four shapes, dusty outlines of what appeared to be large man-like creatures, appeared in the dining room. As the density of the forms increased Johnny saw that two had smooth, green skin and the other pair had skin of bright orange with small bumps over their entire body. Neither had hair, nor mouth. And they all had eyes the size of a horse's.
Once the materialization was fully complete, the four immediately moved toward eachother, grappling and wrestling. Johnny felt uneasy watching these bizarre beasts fight, no sound except the muted passage of air in and out of their nose and their body crashing about the room. There was none of the cursing that accompanied a human brawl.
"Oh yes there is." Nick broke into Johnny's revery
"What?"
"You think there not cussing eachother out? Right?"
"Yeah, but how did you know?"
"The same way they're cussing at eachother, the reason the    they have no mouth--they're making crude remarks with their        minds."
"What the fuck. You mean you can tune in on every thing I think?"
"Sure I can. But not all of us can. Some of us use more base    methods, like odor, or speaking. But believe me, when those dudes go at it with their minds it's fast and furious. Imagine being able to not only say the words but also to instantaneously send a graphic picture of what it is you'd   like to do to other guy's sister. It's really something."
"Sounds great. Looks fucking weird, but sounds great." and he grimaced as one of the greens succeeded in ripping an orange arm out of its socket. The other's eyes widening, though not so much as in pain as in anger for the inconvenience, for he immediately had to take his arm back and disappear. The other orange saw that the battle was lost and followed suit.
With the oranges out of the way the greens began the process of soul collecting. Each one put a hand on a different body and stared off at some unknown target. Within seconds, a spray of gray-white light began rushing into their eyes. Minutes later the process had been completed. The two glanced wordlessly at Nick, Johnny thought he heard someone saying "Thanks for the lambs,"
and the two disappeared.
Nick turned to Johnny, grinning the happy-cat grin he knew so well, "You see, nothing to it. And you're beginning to fall into sync with our wavelength. Pretty soon you'll be able to see and hear all the wonderful sights and sounds of hell. Great, huh?"
"Yeah," Johnny answered feeling almost as if he'd just been accepted to the most exclusive club in town, "I can feel this weird warmth, almost like I got my own heater--no my own nuclear reactor deep inside me."
"Well, Three-Mile, let's get a move on, the night's young
there's a meal at every doorstep."

IV
Ah, Love
Tabatha walked the shore of the beach she owned, three miles of uninterrupted beauty she called her backyard. The night wind
caressed her pale, bare shoulders. She was thinking of the dinner and dancing she'd just returned from; the anticipation of tomorrow's quiet dinner here, with him, at her house, gave her a warm felling inside. She wasn't quite sure what love was supposed to feel like, but the past few weeks with Jim had made her feel so good she thought this must be it.
Of course it was obvious that Jim was in love; it seemed like he was calling every five minutes when he was away--those long hours at work he allowed himself to be away. Since he moved in, she felt like she'd never been happier. It had been two months last week, the time had passed so quickly. Tabatha wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. Or does a man
really ever think of marriage without aid of a woman? She wasn't sure she was ready for it herself, but maybe.
Well, anyway, there's always time for marriage. Tabatha stood up in the sand that was her backyard, feeling the cool spray coming off the ocean. As she walked back toward her house, her mind on the package of relics her father had sent her from Israel, she saw Randal's car pull into her drive. "Poor Randal,"
she thought, "since his wife's been dead he's just been a wreck, I'll bet he wants to talk, maybe have a drink. Well, " she muttered, "at least I'll have someone to keep me company until Jim gets home tomorrow." And Tabatha walked around to meet Randal.
But as she neared his car, she noticed Randal was anything but his normal mourning self. Just the opposite was apparent, He had a grin that bordered on sardonic, and just a little drool was working its way out of his mouth. Randal shut the car off and got out, the darkness of the drive only splattered here and there with moonshadows. Tabatha thought, for a brief moment only, that she would be doing herself a big favor if she just turned right around and locked herself in her house and called Jim--the moment didn't last.
"I'm gonna be rich, Tabby!" Randal shouted, a wave of nauseating alcohol erupting from his slavering mouth.
"That's very nice, Randal," Tabatha walked slowly toward the front, only to realize it was locked and her keys were inside the open backdoor, "it's good to see you happy."
"Oh, yes, I'm very happy. Very happy, indeed, Tabby." he took a couple of steps in her direction then stopped, frowning, "What's the matter Tab, you don't look so happy for me, aren't you happy for me?!"
"Yes!" Tabatha cried out, her heart sought exit through her waterless mouth, she backed up into the garage door and Randal pressed in closer,
"I think it's time you and I finally got to know eachother better, I mean much better. You see," Randal pressed his chest against her, his erection pressing through his pants and her soft summer dress, "I'm going to be very famous, very soon, and I need a woman by my side. Now maybe, if you prove your devotion to me tonight, I'll let you live long enough to know true power. But you better not disappoint me."
Randal looked over his shoulder, Tabatha saw something huge walk toward them. Randal turned back to her and smiled, walking to the front door, she tried to run but the silvery beast caught her easily and dragged her upstairs to where Randal was laid back on her bed.
The beast threw her onto the bed and left, closing the door behind himself. Tabatha didn't fight, her will seemed lost to his. Somehow, an anger was sparked at the moment he first put his greasy hands upon her breasts, "Where are you, Jim?" she yelled inside her head, "Where the FUCK are you, bastard?!" That anger she turned into lust, Randal was not surprised when Tabatha started returning his actions, he knew what was like to be left alone when you most needed help.
Jim was angry, his supervisor had let three others leave early that night, she had explained to Jim that they were shifting to the day team. But when she showed up at his station
at around three a.m. it was obvious she wasn't there to give him a break.

Laura, the super, walked over to Jim with an expression of seduction on her face. Jim got up from his position at the radio and stepped back, turning to face her.
"Laura are you okay?" he asked as she stopped a mere two feet away.
"Of course, I just thought that since we were alone on tonight's shift," taking the last few steps, "that we'd keep eachother company. I'm awful lonesome on the first floor, so I locked up the front doors and came right up here," her hand sliding between his legs and up to his crotch, "to make sure you weren't lonesome."
As she tried to kiss him Jim shoved her back, his face flushed with his arousal (and embarrassment--the woman was nearly fifty). His throat went dry as she started walking toward him for the second time.
"Come on, Jimmy, I just want us to be friends. Don't you like me, Jimmy? You don't want to hurt my feelings--do you?" her face perpetrated a mock sadness.
"No, Laura I don't, but. . ."
"But what Jimmy?" she said as she cornered him.
"I'm seeing someone."
"Oh, that's right Jimmy: you're definitely seeing someone!" she said as she thrust her hand down his trousers and her tongue into his mouth.
Jimmy earned over-time that shift.
Tabatha was almost done with her shower, Randal was passed-out on the bed, when she got the queerest feeling; it was like she could see someone touching Jim, someone she'd met before. Be-
fore Tabatha could zero in on who the person was, the phone rang.
Tabatha walked into her bedroom, passed the pathetic drunk (and didn't she feel just a little superior all of a sudden?) to the telephone. Picking up the receiver, Tabatha said:
"Hello?" No reply came, "Hello, who is there?" Silence, then:
"Yes," a feminine voice called to Tabatha, "bring Randal to the Hidden Hotel on the old canyon road. I'll only wait thirty min-
utes. After that. . ."
"Yes, but who. . ." Tabatha interrupts,
"After that I do not believe I'll hold the position open. Thirty minutes. Good-bye." And the phone went dead. Tabatha tried to call the operator noticing that there was no dial tone whatsoever after she hung up. She decided to take the fool to the hotel and see what was going on. Her only problem was how she was going to haul his lard ass (and wasn't it weird how she'd become somewhat crass all of a sudden?) out to the car.
The beast came through the door, his perpetual grin indica-
ting to Tabatha how crazy this situation was rapidly becoming.

V
Hands On Experience
Johnny followed Nick to the underground garage of a condo complex, parking his bike next to the completely black Continen-
tal (the windows weren't just tinted, they looked like someone had painted all of them with flat black and left not a streak).
Nick got out and motioned to Johnny to follow him. The two entered the building and Nick led the way to an elevator; Johnny was slow to realize that the buttons on the control panel to the elevator started at the top with "1" and went down to "15".
"What the hell kind of elevator is this?" Johnny asked of his new found mentor.
"Let's just say that most people never take this ride going up."
"You mean this elevator goes to. . ."
"Hell. Yes, Johnny, the Motherland. Looking forward to introduc-
ing you to all my friends, they don't often get to see a real, live human being. Plus we gotta give you a little conditioning."
"What do you mean, conditioning?"
"Ah, don't worry, it's not like torture or anything, the Boss wants to have you in good shape. We're just going to get rid of a few fears, nothing to it. You'll feel like a million bucks after-
ward. I swear."
"On the Bible?"
"Ha! Ha! Ha! You really gotta good sense of humor, John 'ol boy, but don't talk too much about you-know-who around here, a lot of the new inmates down here are really pissed that they didn't go the other way and they like to lash out at the mere thought of him."
Nick led Johnny through an eye-shaped archway that gave entrance to a long corridor. Johnny surprised himself as his hand brushed against one of the pinkish walls of the corridor and felt its queer flesh-like surface, the moisture of which he had to wipe off on his trousers. As they neared the end of the doorless hallway, Johnny wasn't surprised to see the glowing brightness that was their destination. Stepping through the ambiguous edge of that brightness in the footsteps of Nick, Johnny almost im-mediately felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
"Great feeling, ay John ol' boy?" Nick shouted at Johnny through the almost physical presence of the pleasure they both were experiencing.
"I feel like I just. . ."
"Like you just had the best sex of your life. I know, Johnny boy," Nick said with a grin, "this place was designed with that effect specifically in mind."
"What for?" Johnny asked, noticing he couldn't see anything but Nick and the light filling the room--if that was even what they were standing in.
"A lot of reasons. One: to give the higher-ups a place to relax'
Two: to provide initial incentive to work for our newly arrived souls."
"You mean people who go to Hell can come here whenever they want?"
"Hell no!" Nick laughed, "But they sure as Hell want to, and it only takes one experience here to make them a thousand times easier to control. They never get to come back after the first time; but, for the eternity they're here, they think they will so they need very little coercion to take on even the most hideous jobs we need done." Nick laughed again, "How do you feel? Want to fuck up a chance to get back in here?"
"I don't think so, it's like I'm continually coming."
"That's what I thought." Nick turned and smiled at Johnny, "Now let's go get some work done."
"Whatever you say." Johnny quietly said as Nick pulled him out and the two returned to the small world Johnny came from.
As they approached Nick's Lincoln, Johnny still in somewhat of a daze, two men popped up from behind a car parked across from them. The two opened fired with automatic weapons killing Johnny with ten shots to the head and chest and succeeding in ruining Nick's leather jacket before he let loose of his first real use of destructive power; with lightning speed and lethal accuracy
he shot a single blob of energy from his palm which enveloped both men and ingested their souls, returning them to Nick. Nick suddenly became acutely aware of the power he had just taken into himself, the potential he had for gaining more.
"I wouldn't be too cocky, 36." Ten's voice shot at Nick from be-
hind. Nick didn't hesitate in turning and unleashing the power of his imagination and of the energy derived both from number One's grant and the two souls he'd taken for himself; he imagined six flat, wide sheets of razor-sharp steel racing at Ten and slicing through his body, twisting and intermeshing until Ten was suffused with a network of metal--and that was what happened. Then Nick imagined being connected to the metal and drawing in the power of the being wherein it was contained, and he began, instantaneously, to feel the fifteen thousand year old administrator's power rush into his body.
An instant later Ten was no more. There was not even an empty husk, for the energy that Nick had taken in was what made Ten exist, now that power served a new owner, was reconfigured to do this new user's bidding--until the inevitable day when some other would take from him. For now Nick was quietly ecstatic at his newly realized skill. He must gain enough power to protect himself from all those who would like to see him back in his hole. He must keep ahead of you-know-who.
But you-know-who was busy at that moment, speaking to a newly acquired servant.

VI
The Truth
The Hidden Hotel was aptly named, it didn't exist. Only when number One had need for a meeting with members of the human race did it exist, and she had meetings several thousand times every day, or at least facsimiles of her did. No one on her personal staff could ever tell which was her, and due to the example of the painful elimination of those who took chances and exploited their situation most members simply went along with whomever was there as though she were the real thing.
The real thing was meeting with Randal and Tabatha that night. She was very excited at the concept of finally getting her side of the whole biblical story out; she was eternally tired of being portrayed as the evil, maniacal bastard reject from heaven, especially since it was the asshole upstairs that was kicked out of the Garden and has been acting like the little prick he is ever since. She was ripe for the telling of the truth--no matter whose toes got stomped on along the way.
But Randal was stupid drunk, and Tabatha really didn't know what the deal he had with this woman calling herself Lilith and dragging them out into the middle of nowhere (she still couldn't figure out how she knew the way) was.
"Come now, Tabatha," Lilith prodded her imagination, "you must be aware that Randal has made a deal with someone of incredible power, namely me, and now he has seen to it to falter before even beginning."
"What exactly are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this drunken bastard cutting a deal with me in exchange for--shall we say--privileges with a female in this room, not myself." Lilith leaned toward Tabatha from the comfort of her recliner, the darkness of her eyes gleaming with pleasure as she initiated Tabatha into her world, "Now, of whom do you think I'm speaking, Tabatha.?"
"You mean that idiot sold his soul to sleep with me?"
"In a manner of speaking, but it wasn't to be a one nighter, and he had to perform certain duties in exchange for you as well as other rewards." Lilith sat back, smiling only a little, "It was quite a deal. I say was because I no longer require his services and I intend to void our contract; what would people think if I allowed such a slob to write my biography?. Surely you under-
stand."
"Yeah, sure." Tabatha replied, somewhat dazed, "But. . ."
"What about you? You hold your destiny in your own hands."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you could stay on and help me with my biography, or go back to Jim who even as we speak is 'working late'." With that a screen dropped down from the ceiling and the room darkened; seconds later the clear images of Jim and his supervisor enjoying eachother's topography emerged, and Tabatha's anger returned.
The screen disappeared and the lights came on and Tabatha was ready to write a new Bible if need be.
One stray image floated across her mind as Lilith began informing her of what she wanted: A bronze disc, with concentric circles engraved in it, and four men standing behind it as they shot some man with automatic weapons they were holding--but who else was there, she couldn't make him out?
"Hello," Lilith interrupted, "is anyone in there?"
"Yeah, sorry, I just had the strangest thing happen. It was like I was in movie theater watching an action movie, only it seemed live." She replied in a whisper.
"Don't worry about it dear, most who work with me tend to gain a little ESP. You were probably privy to a drug deal or a murder or something like that. Pay no attention to it. OK?"
"Sure, " she said, still not quite convinced she should let it go, "now what exactly do you want from me?"
"I'm glad you asked."
It was nearly morning.

VII
Georg Hubs
Nick roared with laughter as the four emptied their clips, muttering their disbelief in Yiddish. He knew they did not expect one as powerful as he; some demons just take over bodies, and are relatively easily banished through the particular body's death. But Nick was pure energy from the Abyss, and nothing on earth could bring him down. What puzzled him was the haziness of their thoughts.
"Who do you serve?" he asked rhetorically.
"Who do you think, spawn of Hell?" the tall one retorted.
"Well, you could be the IRS," he shot back, "it's been a while since I've filed a W-2. But if I'm right, you're pathetic servants of the big joker in the sky; and once again he sends in the clowns. You should pick a more reliable master to serve, one that doesn't send his soldiers to battle with litle more than pea shooters," he grinned his grin, "Enjoy the pit." With that each man's heart disappeared from his body, no explosions, no rending of flesh: no heart.
"Sorry guys, but I ain't got no time for no heartless fools."
Nick's Lincoln carried him swiftly away. He knew his time was short; Number One would probably already know of his actions. But she isn't perfect, and he was counting on that to give him time to contact the only demon ever to leave Hell permanently--and remain in one piece. His name was Georg Hubs, and he had been among the living for one-hundred and fifty years now, successful and well liked, and untouched by the forces of Hell. All Nick needed was a little guidance and he too could remain here, he hoped.
He was trying to imagine a way to freedom on his own, but all he could see were some hazy images of a white flag in a fresh mound of earth surrounded by demons singing some awful choir song--what the Hell was that?! He knew had a lot to learn about his powers, but this was rediculous.
"Fuck it," he muttered, "I have clear thoughts on Georg and I'll be there quick as shit."
His Lincoln homed in on Georg Hubs, noted philantropist, quickly. Georg's aura left a well marked trail for the spawn of Hell to follow. Nick figured he must have made one hell of a mark on the Big Two for them to leave him alone. That's just what he wanted to know how to do.
Within a few minutes he was parked in front of a modest, single story tract house in Bakersfield; the neighborhood was by no means wealthy, but the lawns were trimmed and the street was clean, it looked like a new neighborhood of the sixties or seventies. It was the kind of place that has since turned into a slum elsewhere.
"Huh," he said out loud, "well, let's see if Mr. Hubs is in. But if this is what's become of him I doubt he has the power to help me. I sure hope his mind didn't disintegrate." As Nick reached for the door bell the door was opened from within, a young man of about 20 greeted him.  He was tall and slender, slight of build but with dark, intense features; he was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Karl Marx on it.
"Nick? Number 36?" he querried.
"Yeah, that's me. But I've dropped the number bit."
"Come in, please," he motioned Nick forward, "I am Che, my father said you would be here tonight. Care for a drink?"
"Yeah, sure." Nick walked in and followed Che through the short hallway to a very clean, sparsely decorated living room; there was a somewhat weathered couch, a quilted rug covered the hardwood floor, there were a small coffee table and a modest dining table, and there were four chairs around the dining room table. There were no appliances of any sort: no television, no vcr, no telephone, no lights (of any terrestrial type), and no stereo. Strangely, Nick could not discern anything beyond the room he was in. A haze hung about the edge of the room, beyond which only a low light, whose source was not distinguishable, was to be observed. Whatever was providing the light for this particular room, Nick could not see.
Che sat down at the dining room table, a bottle of tequila and two glasses appearing before him. "Please, have a seat, I hate drinking alone." As Nick sat down the light in the room dimmed to something like a spotlight over the table, Nick was tripping. "This is one wacky place, Che. Did your father build it himself?" he asked slamming down a shot of tequila.
"Of course he did. Do you really think he'd let the incompetent freaks around here actually put their sweaty little paws all over his personal abode? What kind of a idiot do you take my father to be?" Che snapped back, suddenly angry.
"Sorry, geeze, what's up your ass anyway? It was just an idle question."
"I'll tell you what's just an idle question and what's not, understand? Because my father is the only being that can help you and that means if you don't want to end up literally nothing you'll pay attention to what I have to say--got it?!"
"Okay, you little shit, you can take your fucking bullishit and put it right back into the hole it came out of, I don't suck anyone's dick and you are not your father, so shut your pie-hole
before I make it disappear!" Nick stood up quickly and leaned ominously over an unemotional Che, whose lack of response lead Nick to mistake it for victory and to sit down. As Nick returned to to his seat Che blurted out, "You're not very smart are you, Dick?" to which Nick responded by smashing his fist into Che's face, breaking every bone in it--at least initially. As Che fell over and away from Nick, Nick saw his face returning quickly to shape, but he started to fall into the darkness surrounding the table and was soon unseen. Nick slammed another shot and muttered a quiet "Oh Shit."
Over what seemed like maybe five minutes a thick white mist arose, cutting sight off virtually completely. No sound was to be heard, no motion sensed. Nick panicked and shape shifted, but he wasn't sure what the hell he'd become--or even if it was really him who mae the decision to change. But quickly enough he felt water rush through his mouth and around his body, he sensed forward motion, and not just his. The glaring whiteness began to dissipate, to fade into blue. Soon he realized he was in a body of water, he could make out some plants, some blue and black rocks below, and another fish--was it a catfish?
He couldn't tell whether he was bigger than or smaller than this other fish, he couldn't see himself. That was when he looked to his right and saw the giant head peering at him with this hiddeous grin on it, "Che?" he thought. "Yes," the head replied, though Nick felt the reply more than he actually heard it, "how does it feel to be my pet fish? Oh, and who do you think that little cat over there is? I'll give you one guess: It's not Kissinger. Oh, and you're a nice female betta, did you notice that big male over in the far corner? He just saw you--I'd be careful, males don't like other bettas in their territory and you're not even ready to mate." Che watched for a while as the big red male chased the slight yellow female around the tank, leaving as he took a small piece out of her tail fin. "See ya, Nick, dad will be home tomorrow, I sure hope he finds this note I'm leaving telling him where you are."
Nick shot through the water, narrowly escaping the male's harassment. Luckily, the male also loses interest quickly, leaving Nick to find a quiet corner in the opposite end of the aquarium.



??

KSM

KSM

Description
Yes, There is a God
by Kenneth S. McDunn

I
Down with the Wind


The cold wind that blew through the canyon that night chilled him to the bone. Him, Johnny Case, the man who could ride through blizzards, and the cool winds of Southern California were giving him goose bumps. But that wasn't the worst of his problems: Susan told him to blow it out his ass; his best friend   "Coolie" told him: "You're going nowhere fast, man. And it's not going to be me getting your ass out of trouble anymore!" Coolie always was a hothead. But maybe he was right, maybe Johnny was going nowhere.
Johnny broke out another beer, the first six slowly edging their way into his brain. The wind picked up a little as he sipped, watching the valley below. It was as though the lights of the metropolis were trying to tell him something--"Get the hell out of here!" Johnny thought they were saying. Yeah, but where could he go? With two bucks to his name he could hardly afford gas to fill his bike's tank, let alone travel somewhere with better prospects. Maybe he should knock over the liquor store at the bottom of the canyon road. "Nah, I'd probably end up in county, again." he muttered to his beer.
Johnny definitely needed a place to stay. But with no friends to speak of, that was not going to happen. Faced with becoming a street bum, Johnny knew what he had to. He'd finish his beer and blow his brains out--before things got any worse.


"Mr. Johnson, wake up. Mr. Johnson, Wake Up. Number 36, get your ass out of bed!"
The voice of number Ten yelled into the blackness of the quarters of number 36, Johnson 'the Jaw' a semi-important being in the lower planes of Hell. To Ten, assistant to number One, 36 was just a low-life lucky not have been demoted the year previous for overstepping his station director's orders.
But the Boss had use for him, so Ten dutifully woke him, turning on the lights.
"36, number One has instructed me to make sure you arrive at room 17, section 48, plane 2 in precisely ten minutes. Number One has an important operation for you to undertake. Don't be late, number One hates to be kept waiting."
"Yeah, sure," 36 replied groggily, "ten minutes."
"Good, see you there," and Ten was gone.
Johnson wondered what would make the old beast want to see him; only two reasons he could think of for anyone of his station actually seeing the Boss, either they were being demoted or--less likely--promoted to single digit status. The Boss never personally assigned tasks. He knew it was better to get down there and find out, in Hell late can mean a lot more than a dock in pay.
Johnson arrived to see Ten waiting for him. Number One was nowhere to be seen. Johnson was anxious to see what the Beast looked like, probably a twelve-foot giant with iron-like skin, arms like twin oaks with hands that could palm an elephant's head and crush it like a grape, and the head of an eagle or hawk or something regal like that. This was going to be an exciting day, that's for sure. But reality has its quirks.
A soft, pale-skinned beauty with eyes and hair as dark as the Pit itself stepped through the door of room 17. Johnson thought for sure this was just the old man's concubine.
"There is no 'old man' Mr. Johnson," number One said as she offered her hand to him, "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me."
Johnson was slackjawed, "No problem, Boss, it's just that I kinda thought the Big One was a man, not a beautiful woman."
"Don't look so surprised, everyone knows the power of a woman. Why shouldn't the most powerful demon in existence be one? I enjoy this form, monsters get to be such a bore. Anyway, that's all irrelevant. I have personally chosen you for this particularly important task because you have a very adventurous spirit. That is precisely what is called for here. You need to save a certain human, one John Case, from destroying himself. I have more important goals in mind to be met before I take his soul. You will transform into his ideal man, rugged, physically intimidating, crafty , and an all around rogue. And also a vicious killer. I want this self-hating fool to become the world's most terrible murderer, as well as its most persuasive and charismatic leader. Inside of this next year I want him in a position of power. Ten will monitor your progress and report to me. You will be endowed with a temporary power increase. If you perform well I'll make it permanent-- you'll leave double-digit level for number 9 status. Fail, and you'll be working with the trench demons sifting the shit in the Duad. Understand? Good, Ten, see to it he is properly outfitted. I'll be waiting at portal 18."
Number One was watching the dark of the night beyond the portal when they arrived; the huge head and negligible body of Ten was followed by the newly christened body of Nick, a six foot nine, 300 pound rugged specimen of human maleness. His cut figure well ensconced with the muscles any Mr. Olympia would admire, the black eyes and dark hair reflective of its creator, the Beast herself. Johnson felt completely enraptured by the sensuality of his new body, power literally oozing from its pores.
Outside, Johnny noticed through his alcohol softened senses how cold it had suddenly become. Many a dog in the area that night hid itself underneath its master's bed, knowing the Beast cometh.
"Ah, Nick, you look stunning," number One greeted her employee, "I trust you have full operating capacity?"
"I feel great, Boss. This body is outrageous."
"I know, be sure to use it properly, you have powers in abundance. I wouldn't want to see them go to waste. Now look ahead at Johnny Case. He's been drinking and is, of course, very depressed. Take advantage of the situation and begin his journey to power."
"You got it," Nick grinned as he crossed onto human soil.

II
Inspiration
Randal sat on the back porch, smoking a Marlboro (Light of course, his guilty conscience preventing him from smoking anything harsher, as if it made much of a difference) and drinking a beer. His thoughts in the mire of loneliness, and the futility of thinking it would ever be any better, Randal wasn't too afraid of dying that night.
Randal never was a member the social elite, but his nature saw to it he spent most of his nights searching, alone, trying to create the story that would finally prove his value as a journalist. Besides, people made him nervous; they are the most predictable beings, and yet they did the most outrageous things to one another. No need to endanger oneself by mixing with them unnecessarily.
Randal prided himself on being socially invisible--but wished he could do it without giving up sex. But he knew there would never be a woman who could replace his wife. So his social life consisted of beer and mu4sic on his back porch.
The temperature was somewhat low that night, a breeze brought on a chill. Randal thought of moving tonight's party inside when he saw it: a flashing glimpse of movement in the bushes directly across from him, about ten feet away. Putting out his cigarette, he stared intently into the darkness. A shape moved in front of him, he was sure he saw it; it was some animal, but it glittered somehow. Its fur, skin, sparkled each time it moved. Again it moved, this time, however, Randal saw its face.
A possum-like visage peered out of the bushes, its head moving left and right, trying to see what the animal in the light was. With new-found assurance, the beast began walking towards Randal.
Randal stood and watched as the animal neared. Its form shifting as it moved. One moment it looked like a possum, the next resembling a chimp. When it had reached the porch, three feet from Randal, it was some mutation of an ape. Its silvery fur covered an overly long torso and appendages; long, sharp teeth filled a perpetually grinning mouth.
"Blow it out your ass, Randal," the simian muttered, "You sit here every fucking night, crying and blubbering about how bad, how strange, how harsh the world is. Get with it. What the fuck are you going to do about it? Randal."
Randal stood aghast, mouth agape, watching this reject from a horror flick speak--however accurately--about him.
"What in God's name are you?"
"God, Randal? Funny you should mention him."
"What do you mean 'funny'? Who are you?"
"Come now Randal, I'm just a beast of the field--like yourself. I have needs, desires, passion. You and I are a lot alike. And I know you have something I need."
"What is that, my heart?!"
"No, no, silly little man. I just need your journalistic skills, your penchant for concise communication. I need you to write a biography."
"Who's? Yours?"
"No, I am unimportant in this matter. It's not me you'll be writing of. The being you will be allowed to interview, who's life and deeds you'll document will pay you a visit. After you agree to write it. And before you say no, realize what can be gained from this one work: fame, fortune, the world at your feet. You will be the most celebrated biographer in human history. But you must agree to do it before you know who it is. I'm sure your little mind has some idea by now. What do you say: death as an unknown editor for some small time rag? or A long life rich on the fat of journalistic acclaim? Not too difficult a decision I would say."
Randal, his mind trying to maintain a grip on reality, felt completely assured, somehow, that this beast, however unreal, was telling the truth. He had no doubt (though he was sure somewhere in his head that he knew better than to agree) that the monstrosity was being completely honest. Almost instinctively, Randal said:
"Yes."
To which he added: "But I'm going to need some female companionship."
The ape-beast laughed and took Randal by the hand.

III
Johnny Gets a Lesson
As Nick approached Johnny, he felt how awesome it must be to be number One, he knew he could destroy all comers. The sheer power was new to him, and he intended to make full use of it before this was over.
He crept up behind Johnny, silently moving close to his ear. As he neared he leaned in close, the silence sudden as the wind had stopped. Suddenly, Nick yelled "BOO!" Johnny leapt up, his beer and gun went out into the void of the dark canyon below.
Nick stood back and watched as a sheet-white Johnny turned to see who the assailant was. Nick began laughing hysterically.
"Who the fuck are you!!" Johnny screamed, whipping out a straight razor from his coat pocket.
"Whoa, partner. I was just havin' a bit of fun. No harm intended"
"You're lucky I don't cut your fucking throat," Nick threatened, although he had his doubts he could even dent the giant.
"Don't push your luck. I know you don't want to fuck with me. A puny little fuck like you doesn't stand a chance," Nick taunted Johnny.
"Fuck you, scumbag," and Johnny launched himself at Nick.
      In competition with the average barroom adversary, Johnny could usually stand his ground very well, a streetwise fierceness gave him an edge. He hadn't, however, had the chance to combat the likes of Nick in any local bar. As Johnny swung the blade upward, hoping slice through Nick's stomach muscles, Nick caught the blade. He merely slammed his open palm onto the blade before it even came close to its target. He then twisted the hand skyward, his flesh had a cement-like hold upon the blade embedded in it. Johnny lost hold of it as his wrist turned, taking that chance to strike at Nick's throat close-fisted. When his hand struck what was supposed to be the soft skin of the throat, Johnny felt instead what one would feel had one slammed one's fist full force into a corner between brick walls. His hand shattered, Johnny fell to the dirt.
"So, you want to die? Yeah right. It's time to get out of that fucking pathetic sob routine and get on with life. Stand up."
Johnny stood, cradling his hand, looking at the ground. Nick grabbed his hand and covered it with his own. Almost instantly,
a greenish glow occupied the space between Nick's hands. Johnny stared at the magic as his hand was healed. Nick looked only at Johnny's head, reading his life.
The years of abuse from spiteful parents, life on the streets of Los Angeles as a teen, prison, everything that made the man now flowed across space for Nick's observation. He saw the scared little boy for what he was, knowing what it would take to create a beast from him.
The magic ceased. Johnny looked Nick in the face, while Nick  began training.
"Boy, you got a serious lack of balls. On the one hand you think you can take on anyone, on the other you're afraid to go out and get what you really want from life. But your luck is about to change, and I'm going to give you some aggression training that'll make Ivan the Terrible look like a pacifist. Now get your bike started and follow me."
"Ivan the Terrible?" Johnny thought to himself as he climbed onto his bike. But Johnny had no intention of hanging around to see what else this freak could do to him, while Nick sauntered over to what looked like an old Lincoln Continental, Johnny started his bike and ripped onto the canyon road, roaring into the night, hoping he could slip away into the hills around the valley.
Nick grinned as he watched the bike speed off, this was going to be fun--as well as a good way to get the little man to realize who was in charge.
He was near the bottom of the canyon road when he heard it, one more curve, and a straight shot into the traffic. But as he closed in on the first traffic light, noting how empty the streets were, the roar, which had been steadily increasing in volume, became almost unbearable. It was as if someone was driving some monster four by four, and had a massive sound system amplifying the engine's already outrageous noise level. He checked his mirror and saw only the darkness of the road behind.
The noise was too much now, Johnny sped up to outrun it. That was when he felt the rush of air, as if something were passing him at five-hundred miles an hour. He nearly lost control, but regained composure enough to stop his bike. His soft-tail rumbled its curse, Johnny watched as the beast stopped, instantly, at the intersection 20 feet ahead. He watched as the door opened and the driver stepped onto the pavement, his figure draped in the darkness.
As he stared at the madman Johnny wondered who the hell he was. "Your only hope," was the answer that came to him from directly behind his right ear. The beast that drove had suddenly positioned himself right behind Johnny. He jerked his head around to the source of the prophecy, "Don't take off again," it told him, "next time I may not pass you by. Now, follow me."
"Where we going?"
"We're gonna buy us a house, boy."
Johnny thought he heard him humming "Wait 'til Your Father Gets Home" as he walked back to his car.
Johnny followed the Lincoln to a house on Avenue San Luis, lights were on and a Volvo station wagon was parked in the driveway. The Lincoln pulled to a stop some twenty feet from the house, Johnny parked behind it. Nick walked toward Johnny as he parked his bike,
"What do you think, John 'ol boy? Is this a great house or what?"
he turned and looked at the house then back at Johnny, "Let's go see just what the asking price is, shall we?"
They went to the front door, above which hung a friendly "All Welcome" sign, the man knocked. As the door opened Nick pulled a chrome plated .357 from the pocket of his black leather jacket, an old woman appeared in front of them. "Hello, granny!" he said as he shot her dead in the face. With a grin he stepped over the fallen woman, "Don't mind us, grandma, we'll find our way in. Come on, boy." Johnny followed tentatively behind, wanting to run as fast as he could away, knowing he would never make it.
Nick walked down the hall and into the dining room, a burly man in his forties was running toward them, "Well, well, well!" Nick said as he saw the family at their dinner, "Looks like we're just in time for supper! Ha, ha!!" The family of six had been attempting to rush to the front door, but as Nick waved the revolver in their direction, only the father continued his effort. But he received only a bullet in the chest.
Nick watched as the father lay wheezing and coughing, dying on the floor before him,
"Nice try, old man. Maybe you should stick with watching the Friday night fights. What do you think?" he laughed, looking around at the rest of the family. There stood two teenage boys near their mother and two young sisters.
"Maybe you two would like to come over her and get this piece of shit out of my sight?" The boys stood staring, too frightened to respond. "Well? What the fuck are you waiting for?!!" He bellowed, the boys scrambled to their father. The man pocketed his gun and walked over to the boys, laying his hands gently on each one's head. "You know boys, there's something I always say when things get rough for me and my friends--Let's put our heads together! He, hehehe!" his hands smashed the skulls together,  melding them into one indiscernible mass.
Johnny could hardly hold his beer down, he didn't know who this guy was, but he did know that crossing him--like trying to leave--would be fatal. Maybe he should just go with the flow.
"Ain't that sweet?" Nick asked of the rest of the family, "Now it's just the five of us. Why don't I get to know the little ones a little better, ay little missus?" The mother and her daughters were curled up in the far corner of the dining room, "No, please take what you want just leave us alone. Please." she started to cry, clutching the girls tightly. He walked slowly over to them and again laid his hands gently, lovingly, upon their heads. He looked down at them, a smile subtly playing up his fatherly portrayal. Looking at the eldest, the man spoke: "Do you like to fly, little sweetie?" his voice was so interwoven with caring the girl nearly fell into his arms--save for her mother's tight grip upon her waist-- "Yes" she stammered, "I like to fly."
"Well," he said sweetly, "happy fucking landing!" ripping the girl from her mother's grasp and launching her at the far wall of the dining room. Her mother leapt, screaming, running for her child, leaving the youngest to fend for herself. The little one screamed, and tried to run in her mother's footsteps, to no avail.
Nick latched onto her scalp and swung her savagely, tossing her violently into the air and smashing her into the same wall that brought her sister to an early end. Johnny looked on with surprising disinterest; he felt sure that he should be horrified, at least afraid, of the events that had come to pass. But he was strangely overcome by calm, by a faint, growing, desire to see more. Whatever guilt Johnny felt left him as Nick turned to him, eyes emblazed with the carnage, and said : "By the way, my name is Nick, he he he! Whatta night, hunh?! He, he, he!" Johnny shook his new found friend's hand, and began to feel an excitement the likes of which he hadn't felt since the first time his fingers found their way into Mary Desilvio's panties, their wetness gave him then, like now, a blue steel hard-on, and a fire that turned him into the fifth grade's most notorious girl chaser. No little girls now, only the smell of blood and the thrill of knowing  no one would ever fuck with him again. No one.
"Come on, John 'ol boy, why don't you give the little missus a shoulder to cry on? Nothin' like a little T L C to help a grieving widow, ay?"
     While Johnny satisfied his lust, Nick slipped into the living room, where Ten was waiting.
"Well," Ten began, "it doesn't take you long to get started, does it?"
"I get the job done. What do you want?" Nick replied with a purposeful disinterest.
"I'm here to remind you of your duties, number Thirty-Six. You better keep in mind who is in charge."
"No problem, and when she has any problems I'm sure she'll tell me. Now, I have work to do, so if you don't mind--Get the fuck out of here."
"Keep pushing, 36, you'll end up sucking ass for muck-suckers at the bottom of Shit River." And with that, Ten was gone.
"Good riddens", Nick thought as he lit a Dunhill with his thumb, "That stupid fuck will be cleaning my cornhole inside of a year."
Johnny was just finishing up when Nick returned. The woman lay battered and stripped, huddled in the far corner of the dining area.
"What's the matter kid, why don't you finish your meal?" Nick chuckled with searing mirth, "Don't worry--I ain't full yet!" And Johnny, so strangely distant laughed with him as Nick ran at the lump of woman and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her off her feet. Her neck bulged, head turned red then blued, her body's final ounce of adrenalin pumping into dead end passageways. Nick was roaring with laughter as she died, he flung her into the wall, bouncing onto her daughters.
"Now it's time to learn what efficient disposal is all about." Nick said as he grinned at Johnny.
"How's that?"
"Well, you see kid, any human killed by a guy like me is Hell's for the taking."
"A guy like you?"
"Yeah, a demon. You now, a baddass from Hell."
"I believe it. But what the hell are you doing here?"
"The Boss felt that you were a prime candidate for some special training. I'm here to give it to you."
"What kind of training is all this we just did?"
"Don't ask the teacher too many questions, kid. Just watch and learn. Now, as I was saying, Hell gets first dibs on these souls here, they can also take the meat if they want. Some demons have a taste for it. Me personally, I think it tastes like shit--and I've eaten plenty of that during my long struggle to the top of the Hellish ladder."
"You're at the top of what?"
"The ladder, boy. The hierarchy of the structure of Hell. It's just like any other business--with a lot more leeway in who you get to kill on the way up. But never mind that. Watch now, the boys from the clean up crew will be here any second, probably two crews will fight over who gets the lot."
The two stood, Nick smoking and Johnny staring at the living room, waiting for what only one of them had ever seen before. They both knew it was a revelation.
In a matter of minutes, four shapes, dusty outlines of what appeared to be large man-like creatures, appeared in the dining room. As the density of the forms increased Johnny saw that two had smooth, green skin and the other pair had skin of bright orange with small bumps over their entire body. Neither had hair, nor mouth. And they all had eyes the size of a horse's.
Once the materialization was fully complete, the four immediately moved toward eachother, grappling and wrestling. Johnny felt uneasy watching these bizarre beasts fight, no sound except the muted passage of air in and out of their nose and their body crashing about the room. There was none of the cursing that accompanied a human brawl.
"Oh yes there is." Nick broke into Johnny's revery
"What?"
"You think there not cussing eachother out? Right?"
"Yeah, but how did you know?"
"The same way they're cussing at eachother, the reason the    they have no mouth--they're making crude remarks with their        minds."
"What the fuck. You mean you can tune in on every thing I think?"
"Sure I can. But not all of us can. Some of us use more base    methods, like odor, or speaking. But believe me, when those dudes go at it with their minds it's fast and furious. Imagine being able to not only say the words but also to instantaneously send a graphic picture of what it is you'd   like to do to other guy's sister. It's really something."
"Sounds great. Looks fucking weird, but sounds great." and he grimaced as one of the greens succeeded in ripping an orange arm out of its socket. The other's eyes widening, though not so much as in pain as in anger for the inconvenience, for he immediately had to take his arm back and disappear. The other orange saw that the battle was lost and followed suit.
With the oranges out of the way the greens began the process of soul collecting. Each one put a hand on a different body and stared off at some unknown target. Within seconds, a spray of gray-white light began rushing into their eyes. Minutes later the process had been completed. The two glanced wordlessly at Nick, Johnny thought he heard someone saying "Thanks for the lambs,"
and the two disappeared.
Nick turned to Johnny, grinning the happy-cat grin he knew so well, "You see, nothing to it. And you're beginning to fall into sync with our wavelength. Pretty soon you'll be able to see and hear all the wonderful sights and sounds of hell. Great, huh?"
"Yeah," Johnny answered feeling almost as if he'd just been accepted to the most exclusive club in town, "I can feel this weird warmth, almost like I got my own heater--no my own nuclear reactor deep inside me."
"Well, Three-Mile, let's get a move on, the night's young
there's a meal at every doorstep."

IV
Ah, Love
Tabatha walked the shore of the beach she owned, three miles of uninterrupted beauty she called her backyard. The night wind
caressed her pale, bare shoulders. She was thinking of the dinner and dancing she'd just returned from; the anticipation of tomorrow's quiet dinner here, with him, at her house, gave her a warm felling inside. She wasn't quite sure what love was supposed to feel like, but the past few weeks with Jim had made her feel so good she thought this must be it.
Of course it was obvious that Jim was in love; it seemed like he was calling every five minutes when he was away--those long hours at work he allowed himself to be away. Since he moved in, she felt like she'd never been happier. It had been two months last week, the time had passed so quickly. Tabatha wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. Or does a man
really ever think of marriage without aid of a woman? She wasn't sure she was ready for it herself, but maybe.
Well, anyway, there's always time for marriage. Tabatha stood up in the sand that was her backyard, feeling the cool spray coming off the ocean. As she walked back toward her house, her mind on the package of relics her father had sent her from Israel, she saw Randal's car pull into her drive. "Poor Randal,"
she thought, "since his wife's been dead he's just been a wreck, I'll bet he wants to talk, maybe have a drink. Well, " she muttered, "at least I'll have someone to keep me company until Jim gets home tomorrow." And Tabatha walked around to meet Randal.
But as she neared his car, she noticed Randal was anything but his normal mourning self. Just the opposite was apparent, He had a grin that bordered on sardonic, and just a little drool was working its way out of his mouth. Randal shut the car off and got out, the darkness of the drive only splattered here and there with moonshadows. Tabatha thought, for a brief moment only, that she would be doing herself a big favor if she just turned right around and locked herself in her house and called Jim--the moment didn't last.
"I'm gonna be rich, Tabby!" Randal shouted, a wave of nauseating alcohol erupting from his slavering mouth.
"That's very nice, Randal," Tabatha walked slowly toward the front, only to realize it was locked and her keys were inside the open backdoor, "it's good to see you happy."
"Oh, yes, I'm very happy. Very happy, indeed, Tabby." he took a couple of steps in her direction then stopped, frowning, "What's the matter Tab, you don't look so happy for me, aren't you happy for me?!"
"Yes!" Tabatha cried out, her heart sought exit through her waterless mouth, she backed up into the garage door and Randal pressed in closer,
"I think it's time you and I finally got to know eachother better, I mean much better. You see," Randal pressed his chest against her, his erection pressing through his pants and her soft summer dress, "I'm going to be very famous, very soon, and I need a woman by my side. Now maybe, if you prove your devotion to me tonight, I'll let you live long enough to know true power. But you better not disappoint me."
Randal looked over his shoulder, Tabatha saw something huge walk toward them. Randal turned back to her and smiled, walking to the front door, she tried to run but the silvery beast caught her easily and dragged her upstairs to where Randal was laid back on her bed.
The beast threw her onto the bed and left, closing the door behind himself. Tabatha didn't fight, her will seemed lost to his. Somehow, an anger was sparked at the moment he first put his greasy hands upon her breasts, "Where are you, Jim?" she yelled inside her head, "Where the FUCK are you, bastard?!" That anger she turned into lust, Randal was not surprised when Tabatha started returning his actions, he knew what was like to be left alone when you most needed help.
Jim was angry, his supervisor had let three others leave early that night, she had explained to Jim that they were shifting to the day team. But when she showed up at his station
at around three a.m. it was obvious she wasn't there to give him a break.

Laura, the super, walked over to Jim with an expression of seduction on her face. Jim got up from his position at the radio and stepped back, turning to face her.
"Laura are you okay?" he asked as she stopped a mere two feet away.
"Of course, I just thought that since we were alone on tonight's shift," taking the last few steps, "that we'd keep eachother company. I'm awful lonesome on the first floor, so I locked up the front doors and came right up here," her hand sliding between his legs and up to his crotch, "to make sure you weren't lonesome."
As she tried to kiss him Jim shoved her back, his face flushed with his arousal (and embarrassment--the woman was nearly fifty). His throat went dry as she started walking toward him for the second time.
"Come on, Jimmy, I just want us to be friends. Don't you like me, Jimmy? You don't want to hurt my feelings--do you?" her face perpetrated a mock sadness.
"No, Laura I don't, but. . ."
"But what Jimmy?" she said as she cornered him.
"I'm seeing someone."
"Oh, that's right Jimmy: you're definitely seeing someone!" she said as she thrust her hand down his trousers and her tongue into his mouth.
Jimmy earned over-time that shift.
Tabatha was almost done with her shower, Randal was passed-out on the bed, when she got the queerest feeling; it was like she could see someone touching Jim, someone she'd met before. Be-
fore Tabatha could zero in on who the person was, the phone rang.
Tabatha walked into her bedroom, passed the pathetic drunk (and didn't she feel just a little superior all of a sudden?) to the telephone. Picking up the receiver, Tabatha said:
"Hello?" No reply came, "Hello, who is there?" Silence, then:
"Yes," a feminine voice called to Tabatha, "bring Randal to the Hidden Hotel on the old canyon road. I'll only wait thirty min-
utes. After that. . ."
"Yes, but who. . ." Tabatha interrupts,
"After that I do not believe I'll hold the position open. Thirty minutes. Good-bye." And the phone went dead. Tabatha tried to call the operator noticing that there was no dial tone whatsoever after she hung up. She decided to take the fool to the hotel and see what was going on. Her only problem was how she was going to haul his lard ass (and wasn't it weird how she'd become somewhat crass all of a sudden?) out to the car.
The beast came through the door, his perpetual grin indica-
ting to Tabatha how crazy this situation was rapidly becoming.

V
Hands On Experience
Johnny followed Nick to the underground garage of a condo complex, parking his bike next to the completely black Continen-
tal (the windows weren't just tinted, they looked like someone had painted all of them with flat black and left not a streak).
Nick got out and motioned to Johnny to follow him. The two entered the building and Nick led the way to an elevator; Johnny was slow to realize that the buttons on the control panel to the elevator started at the top with "1" and went down to "15".
"What the hell kind of elevator is this?" Johnny asked of his new found mentor.
"Let's just say that most people never take this ride going up."
"You mean this elevator goes to. . ."
"Hell. Yes, Johnny, the Motherland. Looking forward to introduc-
ing you to all my friends, they don't often get to see a real, live human being. Plus we gotta give you a little conditioning."
"What do you mean, conditioning?"
"Ah, don't worry, it's not like torture or anything, the Boss wants to have you in good shape. We're just going to get rid of a few fears, nothing to it. You'll feel like a million bucks after-
ward. I swear."
"On the Bible?"
"Ha! Ha! Ha! You really gotta good sense of humor, John 'ol boy, but don't talk too much about you-know-who around here, a lot of the new inmates down here are really pissed that they didn't go the other way and they like to lash out at the mere thought of him."
Nick led Johnny through an eye-shaped archway that gave entrance to a long corridor. Johnny surprised himself as his hand brushed against one of the pinkish walls of the corridor and felt its queer flesh-like surface, the moisture of which he had to wipe off on his trousers. As they neared the end of the doorless hallway, Johnny wasn't surprised to see the glowing brightness that was their destination. Stepping through the ambiguous edge of that brightness in the footsteps of Nick, Johnny almost im-mediately felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
"Great feeling, ay John ol' boy?" Nick shouted at Johnny through the almost physical presence of the pleasure they both were experiencing.
"I feel like I just. . ."
"Like you just had the best sex of your life. I know, Johnny boy," Nick said with a grin, "this place was designed with that effect specifically in mind."
"What for?" Johnny asked, noticing he couldn't see anything but Nick and the light filling the room--if that was even what they were standing in.
"A lot of reasons. One: to give the higher-ups a place to relax'
Two: to provide initial incentive to work for our newly arrived souls."
"You mean people who go to Hell can come here whenever they want?"
"Hell no!" Nick laughed, "But they sure as Hell want to, and it only takes one experience here to make them a thousand times easier to control. They never get to come back after the first time; but, for the eternity they're here, they think they will so they need very little coercion to take on even the most hideous jobs we need done." Nick laughed again, "How do you feel? Want to fuck up a chance to get back in here?"
"I don't think so, it's like I'm continually coming."
"That's what I thought." Nick turned and smiled at Johnny, "Now let's go get some work done."
"Whatever you say." Johnny quietly said as Nick pulled him out and the two returned to the small world Johnny came from.
As they approached Nick's Lincoln, Johnny still in somewhat of a daze, two men popped up from behind a car parked across from them. The two opened fired with automatic weapons killing Johnny with ten shots to the head and chest and succeeding in ruining Nick's leather jacket before he let loose of his first real use of destructive power; with lightning speed and lethal accuracy
he shot a single blob of energy from his palm which enveloped both men and ingested their souls, returning them to Nick. Nick suddenly became acutely aware of the power he had just taken into himself, the potential he had for gaining more.
"I wouldn't be too cocky, 36." Ten's voice shot at Nick from be-
hind. Nick didn't hesitate in turning and unleashing the power of his imagination and of the energy derived both from number One's grant and the two souls he'd taken for himself; he imagined six flat, wide sheets of razor-sharp steel racing at Ten and slicing through his body, twisting and intermeshing until Ten was suffused with a network of metal--and that was what happened. Then Nick imagined being connected to the metal and drawing in the power of the being wherein it was contained, and he began, instantaneously, to feel the fifteen thousand year old administrator's power rush into his body.
An instant later Ten was no more. There was not even an empty husk, for the energy that Nick had taken in was what made Ten exist, now that power served a new owner, was reconfigured to do this new user's bidding--until the inevitable day when some other would take from him. For now Nick was quietly ecstatic at his newly realized skill. He must gain enough power to protect himself from all those who would like to see him back in his hole. He must keep ahead of you-know-who.
But you-know-who was busy at that moment, speaking to a newly acquired servant.

VI
The Truth
The Hidden Hotel was aptly named, it didn't exist. Only when number One had need for a meeting with members of the human race did it exist, and she had meetings several thousand times every day, or at least facsimiles of her did. No one on her personal staff could ever tell which was her, and due to the example of the painful elimination of those who took chances and exploited their situation most members simply went along with whomever was there as though she were the real thing.
The real thing was meeting with Randal and Tabatha that night. She was very excited at the concept of finally getting her side of the whole biblical story out; she was eternally tired of being portrayed as the evil, maniacal bastard reject from heaven, especially since it was the asshole upstairs that was kicked out of the Garden and has been acting like the little prick he is ever since. She was ripe for the telling of the truth--no matter whose toes got stomped on along the way.
But Randal was stupid drunk, and Tabatha really didn't know what the deal he had with this woman calling herself Lilith and dragging them out into the middle of nowhere (she still couldn't figure out how she knew the way) was.
"Come now, Tabatha," Lilith prodded her imagination, "you must be aware that Randal has made a deal with someone of incredible power, namely me, and now he has seen to it to falter before even beginning."
"What exactly are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this drunken bastard cutting a deal with me in exchange for--shall we say--privileges with a female in this room, not myself." Lilith leaned toward Tabatha from the comfort of her recliner, the darkness of her eyes gleaming with pleasure as she initiated Tabatha into her world, "Now, of whom do you think I'm speaking, Tabatha.?"
"You mean that idiot sold his soul to sleep with me?"
"In a manner of speaking, but it wasn't to be a one nighter, and he had to perform certain duties in exchange for you as well as other rewards." Lilith sat back, smiling only a little, "It was quite a deal. I say was because I no longer require his services and I intend to void our contract; what would people think if I allowed such a slob to write my biography?. Surely you under-
stand."
"Yeah, sure." Tabatha replied, somewhat dazed, "But. . ."
"What about you? You hold your destiny in your own hands."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you could stay on and help me with my biography, or go back to Jim who even as we speak is 'working late'." With that a screen dropped down from the ceiling and the room darkened; seconds later the clear images of Jim and his supervisor enjoying eachother's topography emerged, and Tabatha's anger returned.
The screen disappeared and the lights came on and Tabatha was ready to write a new Bible if need be.
One stray image floated across her mind as Lilith began informing her of what she wanted: A bronze disc, with concentric circles engraved in it, and four men standing behind it as they shot some man with automatic weapons they were holding--but who else was there, she couldn't make him out?
"Hello," Lilith interrupted, "is anyone in there?"
"Yeah, sorry, I just had the strangest thing happen. It was like I was in movie theater watching an action movie, only it seemed live." She replied in a whisper.
"Don't worry about it dear, most who work with me tend to gain a little ESP. You were probably privy to a drug deal or a murder or something like that. Pay no attention to it. OK?"
"Sure, " she said, still not quite convinced she should let it go, "now what exactly do you want from me?"
"I'm glad you asked."
It was nearly morning.

VII
Georg Hubs
Nick roared with laughter as the four emptied their clips, muttering their disbelief in Yiddish. He knew they did not expect one as powerful as he; some demons just take over bodies, and are relatively easily banished through the particular body's death. But Nick was pure energy from the Abyss, and nothing on earth could bring him down. What puzzled him was the haziness of their thoughts.
"Who do you serve?" he asked rhetorically.
"Who do you think, spawn of Hell?" the tall one retorted.
"Well, you could be the IRS," he shot back, "it's been a while since I've filed a W-2. But if I'm right, you're pathetic servants of the big joker in the sky; and once again he sends in the clowns. You should pick a more reliable master to serve, one that doesn't send his soldiers to battle with litle more than pea shooters," he grinned his grin, "Enjoy the pit." With that each man's heart disappeared from his body, no explosions, no rending of flesh: no heart.
"Sorry guys, but I ain't got no time for no heartless fools."
Nick's Lincoln carried him swiftly away. He knew his time was short; Number One would probably already know of his actions. But she isn't perfect, and he was counting on that to give him time to contact the only demon ever to leave Hell permanently--and remain in one piece. His name was Georg Hubs, and he had been among the living for one-hundred and fifty years now, successful and well liked, and untouched by the forces of Hell. All Nick needed was a little guidance and he too could remain here, he hoped.
He was trying to imagine a way to freedom on his own, but all he could see were some hazy images of a white flag in a fresh mound of earth surrounded by demons singing some awful choir song--what the Hell was that?! He knew had a lot to learn about his powers, but this was rediculous.
"Fuck it," he muttered, "I have clear thoughts on Georg and I'll be there quick as shit."
His Lincoln homed in on Georg Hubs, noted philantropist, quickly. Georg's aura left a well marked trail for the spawn of Hell to follow. Nick figured he must have made one hell of a mark on the Big Two for them to leave him alone. That's just what he wanted to know how to do.
Within a few minutes he was parked in front of a modest, single story tract house in Bakersfield; the neighborhood was by no means wealthy, but the lawns were trimmed and the street was clean, it looked like a new neighborhood of the sixties or seventies. It was the kind of place that has since turned into a slum elsewhere.
"Huh," he said out loud, "well, let's see if Mr. Hubs is in. But if this is what's become of him I doubt he has the power to help me. I sure hope his mind didn't disintegrate." As Nick reached for the door bell the door was opened from within, a young man of about 20 greeted him.  He was tall and slender, slight of build but with dark, intense features; he was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Karl Marx on it.
"Nick? Number 36?" he querried.
"Yeah, that's me. But I've dropped the number bit."
"Come in, please," he motioned Nick forward, "I am Che, my father said you would be here tonight. Care for a drink?"
"Yeah, sure." Nick walked in and followed Che through the short hallway to a very clean, sparsely decorated living room; there was a somewhat weathered couch, a quilted rug covered the hardwood floor, there were a small coffee table and a modest dining table, and there were four chairs around the dining room table. There were no appliances of any sort: no television, no vcr, no telephone, no lights (of any terrestrial type), and no stereo. Strangely, Nick could not discern anything beyond the room he was in. A haze hung about the edge of the room, beyond which only a low light, whose source was not distinguishable, was to be observed. Whatever was providing the light for this particular room, Nick could not see.
Che sat down at the dining room table, a bottle of tequila and two glasses appearing before him. "Please, have a seat, I hate drinking alone." As Nick sat down the light in the room dimmed to something like a spotlight over the table, Nick was tripping. "This is one wacky place, Che. Did your father build it himself?" he asked slamming down a shot of tequila.
"Of course he did. Do you really think he'd let the incompetent freaks around here actually put their sweaty little paws all over his personal abode? What kind of a idiot do you take my father to be?" Che snapped back, suddenly angry.
"Sorry, geeze, what's up your ass anyway? It was just an idle question."
"I'll tell you what's just an idle question and what's not, understand? Because my father is the only being that can help you and that means if you don't want to end up literally nothing you'll pay attention to what I have to say--got it?!"
"Okay, you little shit, you can take your fucking bullishit and put it right back into the hole it came out of, I don't suck anyone's dick and you are not your father, so shut your pie-hole
before I make it disappear!" Nick stood up quickly and leaned ominously over an unemotional Che, whose lack of response lead Nick to mistake it for victory and to sit down. As Nick returned to to his seat Che blurted out, "You're not very smart are you, Dick?" to which Nick responded by smashing his fist into Che's face, breaking every bone in it--at least initially. As Che fell over and away from Nick, Nick saw his face returning quickly to shape, but he started to fall into the darkness surrounding the table and was soon unseen. Nick slammed another shot and muttered a quiet "Oh Shit."
Over what seemed like maybe five minutes a thick white mist arose, cutting sight off virtually completely. No sound was to be heard, no motion sensed. Nick panicked and shape shifted, but he wasn't sure what the hell he'd become--or even if it was really him who mae the decision to change. But quickly enough he felt water rush through his mouth and around his body, he sensed forward motion, and not just his. The glaring whiteness began to dissipate, to fade into blue. Soon he realized he was in a body of water, he could make out some plants, some blue and black rocks below, and another fish--was it a catfish?
He couldn't tell whether he was bigger than or smaller than this other fish, he couldn't see himself. That was when he looked to his right and saw the giant head peering at him with this hiddeous grin on it, "Che?" he thought. "Yes," the head replied, though Nick felt the reply more than he actually heard it, "how does it feel to be my pet fish? Oh, and who do you think that little cat over there is? I'll give you one guess: It's not Kissinger. Oh, and you're a nice female betta, did you notice that big male over in the far corner? He just saw you--I'd be careful, males don't like other bettas in their territory and you're not even ready to mate." Che watched for a while as the big red male chased the slight yellow female around the tank, leaving as he took a small piece out of her tail fin. "See ya, Nick, dad will be home tomorrow, I sure hope he finds this note I'm leaving telling him where you are."
Nick shot through the water, narrowly escaping the male's harassment. Luckily, the male also loses interest quickly, leaving Nick to find a quiet corner in the opposite end of the aquarium.



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KSM