Devil's Kingdom

By the end of this story, I’m about to give you, you’ll say it’s fake or you’ll wish it’s real. Well fake or not it’s up to you to decide if there is another world out there, where people- people like us- live and go about their day talking, working, laughing, all of that.

Some people say it’s crazy and not possible for another world like ours to exist. Others say it’s possible outside our solar system. Then there’s that small amount of people in the world like me who’ll tell you, “Yeah. Oh, yeah. There’s a world alright. What’s in it you ask? You don’t want to know."

It started when I was sixteen. A naive kid who was done with Junior year and ready to kick back and enjoy summer. Heck, he was ready for summer to be over so he could get his Senior year done with and explore the world.

He had his whole future laid out nice and easy. If the military hadn’t sent back his dad’s possessions then eighteen-year-old Carter Raylen would be with a girlfriend (Possibly) or have a nice luxurious car parked in his driveway. Not sitting at a desk writing this story with a 2-year-old shotgun leaning against the wall waiting to be used again.

Man, was I stupid. Anyways military shipped boxes that belonged to my dad. My Guardian, Jack Cisneros, Shop owner of Leafy Gree-tea-ings had brought them in and was calling my name.

“Carter?” A voice called from somewhere downstairs.

I got up and off my bed. Nothing special to my room. Just a bed, desk, closet, dresser, and a bathroom plus a shower. I opened my door and walked down the hall. I went downstairs to find Jack lifting a large box onto the counter.

A couple of things about Jack. He’s young, just turned twenty-six last month. Sandy yellow hair, light skin, and brown eyes. Slightly taller than me, I was 5"8. He owned the coffee and tea shop below us called Leafy Gree-tea-ings.

Yeah, not the best name for a coffee and tea shop and it’s even worse when I have to hear him say the shop name when welcoming customers. He’s nice though. After my dad died, Jack took care of me since he served in the military for a couple of years, met my dad, and Dad somehow took a liking to him.

He sighed and pat these abnormally large boxes. Then he grinned once spotting me come down the stairs. I counted them, three in total.

“Y’know what these are?” He asked excitedly.

I wasn’t too stoked about more cardboard.

“A box?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Why are you always so dense?”

He opened the lid of one box and set it down on the floor.

“The US Army sent this in today. It belonged to your dad.”

He pulled out a picture of my dad in a camo uniform, smiling. I remember Dad’s right eye would always twitch when taking a photo. His right eye in this one was half closed.

Seeing it made me feel a bit happy. I laughed and pulled out another picture. I froze, this picture had my dad also but there was a woman next to him.

“That’s your mother,” Jack said softly. “You never met her cause-”

“She died when I was born.” I finished. “I know. . . It’s just. . . This is my first time seeing her.

The woman who was my mom, had brilliant light blue eyes like mine. I got my short black hair and brown skin from my dad, my mom had blue eyes which I got from her. If I had gotten to meet her at least for one day maybe I wouldn’t have felt so lonely.

I’d always see kids with their moms and dads when I was little. I would always ask my dad why I didn’t have a mom and the look on his face. . . I never realized why he looked so guilty and sad till after he died and I was old enough to understand one’s feelings. Thinking about it now made me feel terrible. I wiped the tears forming in my eyes before they could fall.

Jack pat my shoulder. “I’ll take the rest up to your room. How does grilled steak and homemade mashed potatoes sound?”

I nodded silently and put the picture back in the box. I silently carried them up to my room. While going back and forth I why Dad never kept any pictures of my mom around the house. Was he that guilty that he wanted to forget about it entirely?

“I got it,” I said to Jack grabbing the last box, “you focus on cooking.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I need to head to the store real quick. I have no vegetables.”

I hefted the box. Talking to Jack made me feel a little better.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Could you get more Oreos? We’re running out.”

He frowned and walked over to the snack cabinet above the microwave. He opened it and sighed. Usually, he keeps snacks for his customers’ drinks but sometimes I snack on those till he notices.

He glared at me. “I bought those 12 stack Oreos, how did you manage to eat all but one pack?”

I smiled. “You said milk was good for me.”

He rushed to the fridge and opened it. “Jesus, Christ! I didn’t mean the whole carton! Great, adding onto the grocery list: Milk, vegetables, Oreos, what else did you take?” He asked, closing the fridge.

I pretended to think. “Hmm. Oh, your matcha green tea ice cream.”

His face dropped. You see, he does tea and coffee for adults but teens come in groups for one thing: His smoothies. In the summertime, his place is packed because it’s like, 90 degrees out on the street and Jack puts up this sign stating that he has a season special going on. This is unbelievably effective, like moths to a flame.

He has these very expensive tubs of ice cream that he plops in his drinks with a couple of other ingredients and then blends the whole thing. My personal favorite is his Green Tea Ice Cream Smoothie.

On the downside, it’s about 100 US dollars for one of those large tubs you might see at a local ice cream shop. He has a friend who makes homemade ice cream and it is the best ice cream I ever had.

Jack is so paranoid about these tubs of expensive ice cream that he locks them up in this giant walk-in freezer and tells me if he catches me eating any of it he’ll lock me in the freezer till I become a popsicle.

To this day I’m still not quite sure if he was serious or not but his face looked serious.

Before he could run downstair and throw open the freezer I laughed.

“I’m just kidding!” I said smiling. “Sorry.”

He gasped as if he was holding his breath. He shook his head and called me an idiot then before he left he turned his head and gave me a death glare.

“Popsicle.” He said. Then left closing the door behind him.

I couldn’t help laughing to myself. It went from several sentences to one word. I’ve had friends come over and he would say that single word before leaving the house. I understood it perfectly but my friends would look confused and ask if Jack just called me a popsicle. I would say it’s a long story.

I carried the box up to my room and set it down on my bed. My arms were sore, I must’ve been carrying it for a while. Then I lifted the lid and started digging around.

The first thing I noticed was the amount of Polaroid pictures there were. I bet I could’ve covered the entire wall in my room and still have plenty left over. I found a picture of Jack covered in mud. I was only able to recognize him because like my dad he had a face habit. His mouth would always be in a straight line making him look awkward in every picture.

I kept digging and pulled out a silver necklace.

“Hm,” I mumbled. “Dad wasn’t a big fan of jewelry.”

It slowly changed color. I watched in fascination as the whole thing turned to a midnight black color.

“Wow,” I muttered to myself, “must be one of those heat-sensitive metals.”

I put it around my neck hoping to feel some sort of connection to my dad. Nothing. Just the cold metal pressing against my neck. I sighed and continued digging. I pulled out a water bottle, pictures, some paperwork, and. . . some letters from my mom.