A Can Of Worms
Fallingham was on the precipice of summer’s gentle, warm embrace. Not quite warm enough for shirtless men drinking beers and over-cooking burgers on a BBQ, but also not cold enough to require more than a light jacket when out and about.
The night possessed a warmth that some might call “muggy”.
At the Church of St Clement- a patron Saint devoted to sailors owing to the town's origins as a port and trade hub going all the way back to the Vikings- the graveyard was shrouded in a sinister veil of fog, an absolute boon for any horror film director.
It was the perfect setting for eldritch and morbid events.
Before us mere powerless serfs appeared out of the fog. His Majesty Damien Duclair; The High Necromancer, The King of the Dead and overall powerful wizard.
And what said-necromancer was doing was high tailing it and running at full speed through the graveyard of The Church of St Clement, looking back at the spectral horror hunting him through the fog, bearing a personal grudge against the King.
Damien oscillated between panting from exertion and screaming various profanities.
“Becky! Becky!” He shrieked, panic erupting as his knee length faux-leather jacket flapped in the wind. His black cargo trousers had rips in them from the all-too close lashings of spectral claws. “It didn't work and he's pissed!”.
What our beleaguered friend was referring to, was attempting to send back a monstrous spirit that had escaped from some sinister crevice of the Land of the Dead.
This was not the first creature they had encountered and was unlikely to be the last. However this particular monster did not respond kindly to The King's attempts to subdue it.
Ever since Damien and Genevieve's powers had awakened and they defeated The Blood Wizard, holes in fabric between worlds began to spring up, meaning that all sorts of weird and wonderful things began to appear in Fallingham.
The town, forever blessed with eccentric, occult history, had now become a focal point of monsters and magic, like a real life game of Dungeons & Dragons, minus the dice rolling.
Damien had the misfortune of one of his boots striking a fallen gravestone, sending the poor necromancer tumbling. He face-planted into the grass and grazing his hands and knees as he slid along the ground.
Damien turned and saw the monster up close. It was partially solid but sinews of shadow filled the gaps on its body. It was vaguely crab-like, the monster’s beady eyes gleaming evilly, two smoking embers in the gloom, utterly focused on the boy. A carapace of shadow acted as a shield for its calcified exoskeleton.
The fantasmal legs click-clacking along the graveyard floor like the rattling of bones. The crab swiped with craggy claws, Damien just managing to move out of reach. He fired a blast of black flame at the creature, but it had minimal effect.
I’m not getting killed by a goddamn crab. He cursed to himself.
The creature reared and roared a deafening cry. The crab monster went to strike the finishing blow. It stopped, hesitating as something hurled through the air towards it with terminal velocity.
Damien stared with a gobsmacked, slack-jawed expression as an identically crab monster was launched headfirst at the monster like a javelin at Damien’s assailant. The two eldritch horrors collided, the crunch of clashing exoskeletons echoing as they collapsed upon each other in a crustacean heap.
The sound of tombstones cracking and breaking under their combined weight was unpleasant music which made Damien and Becky wince.
Dust rose from the bodies. Becky walked over to Damien. She smiled and offered a helping hand which was gratefully accepted.
Damien groaned as he stood up, embarrassment and shame crawling around on his skin. This was moderated by the fact that he saw no disgust or annoyance from his friend, just a heart-warming smile and an aura of calm.
Becky brushed off a piece of crab shell from her shoulder, her long-sleeve pink & white hooped shirt and slim fit jeans a little tattered and worse for wear.
Damien glanced at the severely concussed and defeated monsters thoughtfully. An urgent question burned in his brain.
“Hey Becky, how did you…?”
She already knew what he was going to say, and tapped her forehead twice.
“Headbutted it.” She answered, the words a cheery sing-song as she skipped over to the vanquished foes. She cocked her head and frowned as one of them stirred, a low chittering rumbling from its mouth.
She rushed to the crab, grabbed it by its antennae and punched it hard in the face and wisely lay still.
Becky put her hands on her hips and huffed, admiring her now-concussed handiwork.
“Goddamn, that was a lot of work, hopefully it's the only time either of us catches crabs, hey?” She nudged him with her elbow in jest. Damien didn't respond, but stared ahead, trauma clouding his features.
Becky felt a pang of sadness and concern for her friend.
“What's wrong bud?” She touched his shoulder, a small gesture of reassurance and friendship.
Damien turned away, rejecting her touch and bound the two rogue monsters in twisted chains of black flame and shadow, giant golden padlocks binding the chains with a clink. The crabs would not escape now unless Damien broke the lock.
“At least I got that right.” He muttered.
Becky was torn between keeping her distance and proactively trying to help. She decided on the former, not wishing to aggravate the situation.
Compared to his twin sister, Damien was introverted and withdrawn, often finding it awkward to fit in anywhere, perhaps that's why he was suited as King of the Dead, at least the deceased don't make things complicated, they either try to escape from him or kill him.
Damien sat on a nearby bench, arms folded and back hunched staring listlessly at the creatures.
He waved his hand and him and Becky, with the blink of an eye, appeared in the quiet forests of the World of the Dead.
Before them was a cage of steel and shade. Damien, with a wave of his hand, sent one of the monsters flying into the cage with a whoosh. Becky picked the other one up by its claw and flung it into its compatriot.
The cage door slammed shut with a solemn clang. Damien waved his hand and the cage and its contents faded from view.
A faint white glow pulsed behind them. The light caught their attention. In the air the light was emanating from a crack, they noticed that on the other side they could see the cemetery of the church in Fallingham.
The gate hummed and sang with magic energy. Becky clicked her tongue, a feeling of discomfort arising.
“Another one? That's the second in a week.” Becky noted, the aforementioned apprehension and discomfort creeping in. “I know your Uncle Simon said that it might be to do with you and your sister's powers…or something.” She ended weakly.
Damien said nothing, staring at the light for a moment, Becky directed her gaze at her friend.
Becky tried to brighten the mood.
“Hey, at least we're kicking ass, right? The dream team?” She held out her palm for a high five, which was not reciprocated.
Her brightness dimmed, her smile faded. To try and ease her sense of embarrassment she started gently rolling and kicking branches with her foot.
There's something up with the kid, I just wish he'd tell me what it was. I know he's not exactly a party animal, but I hate seeing him like this.
Damien raised his hands towards the crack. He strained as he brought his hands together, the crack beginning to close, sounding like the tumbling and crunching of rocks.
Damien sighed and snapped his fingers, and they were back in the land of the living.
Becky was usually composed and not one to easily lose her cool, but Damien's behaviour of late was a cause of concern and irritation simultaneously.
“Damien, what is going on!?” She asked loudly and in the tones of an inquisition. “You've not been yourself lately!”
Becky became startled as Damien launched into a tear-laden rant.
“I'm supposed to be the King of the Dead and I can't do anything right, even with these powers. We've been chasing these monsters for the last couple months and everytime I try to get them, they nearly kill me and everytime they try, I have to be bailed out. What good am I to anyone?”
Becky's heart ached. Her and Damien had only properly known each other a couple months, but they had a strong bond and platonic, almost familial love for each other. She cared for him dearly and hated seeing him like this.
“May I?” Becky gently asked as she pointed to the spot on the bench next to him. He nodded and sat to his right.
“You probably think I'm pathetic, huh.” Damien chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head in self-loathing.
Becky was hurt by his words. She knew that he didn't mean it, deep down, but it still felt like ice in her blood.
“Of course not!” Becky exclaimed, a little louder than intended, she blushed at her outburst, calming down, she carried on. “You're way too hard on yourself bud, and I hate it. You're amazing and I think you underestimate not only what you've been through and are burdened with, but also your own strength and courage. Sure, this is all so damn scary, but you've done it anyway.”
Damien was in no mood to be placated, his jaw clenched. “Yeah, but I've had you to bail me out every damn time.”
“But that's what friends do.” She countered, she was becoming increasingly worked up and was desperate to get him to see her point. “We help each other because we care. And remember, without you, I'd have been rotting in the dirt. You talk about being weak? Without you, Damien, I wouldn't have even been here. You're so much more than your self-doubt. I love you and I hate that you can't see what I see.”
“Yeah, but…”
She would not hear anymore negative self-talk.
“But nothing, Damien Duclair! You know what we're going to do? We’re not gonna just sit in this goddamn graveyard like a couple of grieving widows. We're getting out of here and I’m gonna treat you to some chips!”
That last part came so far out of left field that he felt the veil of his loathing collapse around him. He looked at Becky as if she had grown horns.
“Chips? I'm having an existential crisis and you want to get chips!?”
Damien was (albeit not very well) attempting to balance confusion and anger, but Becky had recovered her emotional strength and her stubbornness and would not be beaten.
“You heard me correctly buddy, we’re going to the chip shop and we’re getting chips.” She repeated as if the future was written in stone.
Which in this case, it may as well have been.
Damien gave up. Truth be told, the thought of chips did sound appealing and the fact that they were free made the prospect all the sweeter.
Still, he had to make a little show of things and make it seem like he was being a gracious king.
He sighed and pretended to be nonchalant.
“Fine.” He said with a feigned huff. “I suppose we should get something.” He covered his face with his hands to attempt to hide the smirk that threatened to spread across his face.
“I know you're smiling, buddy.” She said with a chuckle, instantly seeing through the facade. “Let's go.”
They both stood up Becky went to fetch her bright pink backpack which she had stowed in the nook of a nearby tree. She retrieved the bag and pulled out her phone. There was a missed call from Genevieve.
She rang the girl, who promptly answered.
“Hey Gen-ger ale, hope you're good? Me and your bro are gonna go get chips from The Ocean View chip shop, wanna come?” Becky played with a lock of her hair absent-mindedly as she listened to the response.
“Alrighty, see you soon.” Becky hung up and grinned at Damien. “Looks like there's a few of us going!”
