Alex Lee Martinez - Gil's All Fright Diner

"Bummer," the little piece of his soul still functioning remarked.

"Uh, Mistress Lilith, what about him?" He pointed to the sheriff.

"What about him?"

"Is he alright?"

"For the moment."

"He's just gonna stand there and watch us?"

"Yeah? So? If he bothers you so much why don't you take him to the kitchen. I'm busy. And why don't you stay in there until I need you, too."

Chad was only too eager to comply. Kopp and Loretta and all the blood bothered him, but not nearly so much as Tammy.

He briefly wondered where Earl was and decided he'd rather not know. Then he sat quietly and thought about all the action he'd gotten out of this deal. Somewhere along the way, he decided it had been worth it. It was only too bad he couldn't get one more jump in before the end.

The diner didn't need much help in its sacred task. It had been leeching the supernatural energies of the Gate for years now. All that unnatural potential had to go somewhere. Weird shit attracts more weird shit, and this mother lode of strangeness had no small effect on Rockwood. Under the influence of the Gate, the small town had suffered a veritable invisible plague of otherworldly afflictions. Not that the plague was all that invisible. Just mostly unnoticed through supernatural influence.

Even now, the upswing of power was having its way with this rural patch of desert. The sun hadn't even set, and already darkness was descending. There would be no stars tonight. The population of Rockwood would cower in their homes, stricken with an unexplainable apprehension. The werewolf, who would normally stay dead a good twenty-four hours given the time and method of his demise, was already recovering nicely. His broken skull was knitting itself together so that within a few hours, he'd be back on his feet. Just in time to provide the old gods with their sacrifice.

In the meantime, Tammy performed what little preparations needed to be made. The eternal stain on the floor, the ill-fated final offering of Gil Wilson, boiled and steamed. She dipped her fingers in the crimson pool and used the dark powers within to paint her runes. She set up a few candles in key points of power. She read through chants she had already memorized long ago. And she waited for the hour of the opening.

At some point, the ghost of Gil Wilson showed up.

"How did you get out?" she asked.

"You didn't think to hold me forever, did you?"

She had hoped, but she was not at all surprised. Gil Wilson was no ordinary specter. She didn't have time to bother with him at the moment.

"You need to add a little line here." He indicated a half-finished rune.

"I know," she snapped.

"And that candle over there should be a few more inches to the left."

"I don't think so."

"This is my design, girl. You're merely a pair of hands to finish what I started. Fix the candle."

Her hands tightened into fists. Distant thunder rumbled. "It doesn't need fixing."

Gil Wilson despised his situation. She'd learned the forbidden arts well, but she was still merely an amateur. Her level of magical powers paled to those he'd possessed while alive, but being dead put him at a disadvantage. Though he knew of ways to kill even from the ectoplasmic sphere, he couldn't do it. Not when his plans were so close to fruition.

"Fine. Leave the candle. It won't make much difference anyway."

And it wouldn't. Just a little hiccup in the cross-dimensional matrix. Yet, the very idea annoyed him. Any Armageddon worth doing was worth doing right. When she wasn't looking, he edged over and gave the errant candle a spectral nudge in the right direction. Tammy blasted him with a spirit bolt. His body collapsed into a puddle of blackened ectoplasm.

She calmly readjusted the candle. "I know what I'm doing. Now go and sit in the corner before I splatter you all over your precious diner."

He conceded, slithering into a booth.

The sun set, and a smothering black rolled up like ebony fog. It was almost as if the whole of Creation had vanished. That if one stepped out the door of Gil's All Night Diner, they'd tumble into oblivion. The only light at all came from the moon. The glowing crescent cast down a hard glare that shone upon the diner like a spotlight. As it rose, it grew brighter and fuller. And larger, as if drawing closer and closer to the earth, pulled downward by the unnatural collapse of space. The light filtered through the windows, bending and arcing in ways that defied physics, shining on hideous faces shimmering in the air through the thinning dimensional veil.

Time dragged. Tammy grew impatient. The old gods grew impatient. They filled her mind with hideous growls and shrieks, but when the time of the casting finally drew near, half past seven-thirty, they quieted down to allow her to concentrate.

She called Chad in, performed some last minute checks, and began.

She handed her follower a large knife. "When the moon is full and the sky is red, you have to plunge this in Duke's heart."

"Me?" He held the knife away from him in two awkward hands. "But I haven't ever, uhmm, well, why can't you do it?"

"Because you have to."

"But—"

"But what?" She put both hands on his neck and squeezed with delicate, impossibly strong fingers. "Did you think you could earn the favor of the old gods without shedding blood?"

"Uh. . well."

"Did you think you could ascend to godhood without first proving yourself?" She chuckled. "You stupid son of a bitch. There's no such thing as a free ride."

"But. . "

She pulled him close. Her breath smelled of rot.

"You'll kill him, Chad. It's a great responsibility. The final sacrifice. I know you won't let me down."

"No, Mistress Lilith," he gasped.

"That's my boy."

She let him go and began the Incantation of Reborn Darkness in a quiet mumble.

The knife trembled in Chad's hands. He glanced from the blade to the moon to Duke's body. Something sinister bubbled up in his brain. It was the chorus of hell, and he surrendered to it. It swallowed his conscience and doubts, leaving him with a numb indifference. The moon ascended. Shadows slipped across its face as it grew bigger.

Tammy chanted in ever-increasing volume.

". . And the sacrifice shall be made by one who knows not what he does, and the blood shall wash away the Fetters of Ages. The Gate shall swing wide, and Frush'ee'aghov the Lesser shall be the first. And he shall open his eye and behold the world. In beholding it, he shall unmake the cursed guardians of light. And the old gods will step onto the Earth, and the blight of man shall be wiped away."

Her voice echoed deep and long. Shapes squirmed beneath the floor like malformed sharks swimming just below the surface. Chad held the knife over his head and watched the moon.

"Ee-Thay age-ay of-ay ight-lay ill-way end-ay oonight-tay. Frush'ee'aghov, eye-ay offer-ay ee-thay is-thay aste-tay of-ay udd-blay at-thay ou-yay ite-may eepare-pray ee-thay orld-way oo-tay eceeve-ray or-yay others-bray."

Chad's muscles tightened to deliver the deathblow.

Duke twitched. His head was practically healed, but Chad didn't dare strike before the sign was given.

Tammy kept chanting. Her masters joined in, filling the diner with a thousand inhuman voices. The very earth grumbled beneath them.

A red haze crept across the moon's twisted face.

Cathy pushed her way through the dark soup of the last night. The closer she got to the diner, the more resistance her ectoplasm met — as if the old gods knew her intent and were trying to keep her away. She pushed on, even when she couldn't see anything at all. As long as it kept getting harder, she figured it had to be the right direction. Just when she thought it would become too thick to continue, she broke through.