Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

Remy’s eyes grew increasingly heavy as the mysterious figure slowly approached him.

And the angel wondered if the same mercy was about to be shown to him.

Squire hadn’t wanted to get involved, but there was something about this one, something that he recognized from long ago.

He knelt beside the man on the ground. Keeping one hand on his spear, he used the other to feel the prone figure for injuries. Considering what he’d just gone through, he would have imagined worse. Just minor cuts, bumps, and bruises.

Squire looked closely at the man’s face, hoping he’d made a mistake.

But there it was, plain as day. There was no doubt about it; he was one of the good guys.

“Fuck me,” the goblin grumbled, using the spear to pull himself to his feet. He looked around the landscape, squinting through the darkness, spying the wrecked limousine lying twisted upon its side, knowing exactly where it had come from.

“So, what were you doing out there?” he asked, before he was distracted by a faint moan.

He left the good guy’s side to go to the girl, surprised that she was still alive. In rough shape, but still alive.

His pointed ears picked up the sounds of rustling off in the distance as more predators looking for a meal approached, drawn to the scent of death. Part of Squire wanted to say Fuck it and head back to his camp, where he could forget he’d ever come across these two out here.

For a second he actually convinced himself that he could do that, but then he had to admit what a big fucking liar he was. He knew that what he intended to do would stir up all kinds of old memories and emotions-all things that he’d rather not remember.

He’d been a good guy, too, not so long ago, but it hadn’t done him a bit of good. What he and his friends had been up against…what he and the other good guys were fighting…

It ate fucking good guys for breakfast.

He had been lucky to escape with his life.

Squire picked up the girl and slung her over his shoulder with a grunt; then he walked over to the man. He was muttering over and over about the girl and how he had to save her.

“You’re not in any shape to do shit,” the goblin growled. He plunged the spear into the black ground and reached down to take hold of the good guy’s wrist.

He guessed that the guy was probably from some other, alternate world, one that hadn’t fallen to the threat that had claimed his own.

Hasn’t fallen yet, Squire thought as he started to drag the man across the ground. In the end, no matter how many there are, they always fall.

Squire had sensed the opening that had likely brought the good guy here some time ago, but had chosen to ignore it.

Why set himself up for future disappointment? The worlds he’d found on the other side of the shadow were often just like the one he and his friends had fought so hard to protect. Sure, there were differences, but there were similarities, too.

Like the fact that there was always a war of good against evil in various stages of development, and that the worlds always had protectors who believed they would triumph over the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that were set down before them.

Images of the place he had left behind and the number of other worlds that he had stumbled across in the throes of death appeared unwanted inside his skull.

And Squire wondered if he had it in him to see yet another.

He paused for a moment, getting his bearings, before his senses zeroed in on the passage.

Of course I have it in me, he thought, trudging across the shadowscape.

For once upon a time, he had been a good guy, too.

Algernon Stearns knocked lightly on the wooden door as he opened it.

The little girl appeared to be sound asleep, but upon seeing him, her eyes brightened and she smiled.

“Uncle Algernon,” she said happily, pushing herself to sit up.

Stearns went to her bed and sat down beside her. She wrapped her spindly arms around him and, feigning affection, he hugged her back.

“How’s my little Angelina feeling today?” he asked her.

She released him from her pathetic grip and stared up at him, eyes wide. “The angels came to me, Uncle,” she said.

“They did?” Stearns responded earnestly. “How exciting.”

“And they told me that it would soon be time for me to tell God’s message to the world.”

He smiled at her as best he could, the muscles in his face uncomfortable with the expression. “How marvelous that will be.”

“Very much so,” she agreed, grabbing a nearby doll and clutching it to her chest.

“And when it is time, who will be there to help you deliver this important message?” he asked her slyly.

“You will, Uncle,” she said adoringly.

He couldn’t help but be impressed with her. Even though he knew the truth, he could still not find a single flaw in her design.

The Watchers had far surpassed anything he could have created on his own.

“Yes,” he told her. “Yes, I will.”

Angelina crawled out from beneath her heavy covers and maneuvered herself into his lap.

“Tell me again how you will help,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. “Just in case I might have forgot.”

He chuckled, feeling a slight revulsion from the contact, but he allowed it to pass so that the charade could go on.

“Let’s see,” he said. “I hope that I haven’t forgotten.”

The little girl giggled, laying her head upon his shoulder. “You’re just being silly, Uncle. You would never forget anything so important.”

“You know me too well, my dear. Let’s see…” He paused for effect before continuing. “When the angels come to you and tell you that it is time for all the worthy to hear God’s special message, I will come for you.”

“In a big car-right, Uncle?”

“Exactly,” he said with a nod. “I will send my special driver to pick you up and bring you to my building.”

“The one that goes way, way up into the sky,” she said, lifting one of her arms above her head.

“Almost to the clouds,” he told her. “High enough so you can hear the message that you will share coming all the way down from Heaven.”

“And you’ll help me share that message,” little Angelina said, placing a tiny hand lovingly upon his cheek.

“Yes, I will,” he told her. “Inside my building there is a special place…a studio that has been set up just for you.”

She smiled widely, her eyes twinkling, even though she had heard this information countless times before.

“A special place for you, the angels, and your message from God.”

Stearns felt the palms of his hands grow itchy as the mouths wanted to manifest. He held them at bay, exerting his will on them.

“And when you receive His special message, I will be there with my television cameras, broadcasting to all who wish to hear it.”

“How many do you think will be listening?” the little girl asked.

Stearns smiled not at the question, but at the answer.

Far more than the number killed in Hiroshima in 1945, he thought, the mouths on his hands eagerly appearing before he forced them away again.

“Millions,” he said, leaning in close to whisper in the child’s ear.

“And I will touch each and every one of them with my message,” Angelina said.

“You most assuredly will,” Stearns agreed. “Each and every one; they will never be the same after they hear you.”

She placed her head upon his shoulder again, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. “Why me, Uncle?” she asked. “Why did God choose me over so many others?”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Stearns said. “You are very special, and God would select only a very special someone to deliver His message.”