A.N. - As it's been a busy time for me, I apologize to any of you who follow my more regular stories. In the meantime, here's a short oneshot I threw together on Clavicus Vile, one of the Daedric Princes from The Elder Scrolls series.
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I've been working on this case for months now. They all call me crazy, you know – just talking about this lost me my job. No one believes me, but I know that there's a demon in Los Angeles.
All right, all right, probably more than one. Go one, laugh. It sounds ridiculous, it sounds insane to say that there's a real devil lounging around the city. But I know. Ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to know the truth. It's why I became a journalist.
The first time I suspected something was wrong was when I saw that damn dog sitting outside of my apartment. On the sidewalk, there was a message written.
DNT TRST HM, it said.
You… you don't really want to know what it was written in.
It was a dog, okay? I guess he didn't have much to write with.
Up until then, I'd been a relatively normal guy. Pretty normal job, normal apartment, normal family, weird friends. The average American, you know? I'm not going to say I'd never thought anything out-of-this-world would happen to me – hell, I grew up on Harry Potter. I'm just saying that I thought something out-of-this-world would be good.
After that I was freaked, but not too bad. The natural reaction of people is to make excuses, so that's just what I did. I told myself that the dog had nothing to do with the message, that some sick freak had drawn it out so that they could scare people. For all I knew, this was what the weirder portion of the population did for kicks and giggles.
So I didn't get out much. So what?
Like I said, I wasn't freaked out too badly.
I started really losing my calm when one of my coworkers disappeared and nobody seemed to notice that she was gone. Or even remember who she was.
I hadn't known Michaela that well, but I'd dropped by her house for coffee a couple of times (not a double entendre, I promise), so I at least knew where it was. Or should be.
It wasn't there. I mean, there was a house there, but it was a different color, had different roofing, and a different car outside of the garage. I didn't bother knocking on the door. I already knew Michaela wouldn't answer the door.
As I turned away, I heard a voice with an accent – I didn't recognize what kind. English? British? I grew up in Cali, for Christ's sakes. All I know about foreign accents is what I learned from Hollywood.
I wasn't thinking about Hollywood when I heard it, though.
"And what do you want, little man?"
Seven words to terrify, I suppose. Didn't see anything when I turned back around, though. Just a simple caricature of an imp's face, spray-painted on the pavement near Michaela's old house.
You know the kind – horns, happy eyes, tongue stuck out. The usual deal.
Something had happened to Michaela, and I was going to find out what.
Everyone knows that when there are mysterious goings-on, the hero keeps a journal. I immediately decided that that was a really terrible idea, mostly because then whoever found it would think I was crazy.
If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have bothered. Turns out it's the world that's crazy anyway, and all we humans are good for is as a bunch of meaningless pawns in a massive chess game between beings of such power and madness that their very existence in nigh incomprehensible, going even unto –
Er. Did I get kind of pessimistic then? Sorry. I blame it on my surroundings.
The next incident was at work. I was sitting in my cubicle, typing up the latest story while trying not to remember what that dog looked like. I knew if I started blaming things on the dog, it'd be all downhill from there.
Generally, when you turn in a story, you at least meet with the chief editor. As you can imagine, I was trying to think of a way to tell Ms. Frost all that was happening without sounding… well… a few bananas short of a Harry Belafonte song.
Silly me. I had worse problems. Probably since it wasn't actually Ms. Frost who was in her office. The name on the door read, "Richard Armsbruck, Editor-In-Chief".
Everyone knew Rich Armsbruck – the guy was one of the wealthiest men in town, and he'd been making several overtures towards our newspaper.
My first thought upon walking in and seeing his face was "hostile takeover". My second was, "It's happening again."
I tried not to let on that I knew something was wrong, but I think he suspected something. Maybe I shouldn't have asked so many questions about him, but still, I got what I needed. It was Michaela all over again, except this time, Richard Armsbruck had the life of Anna Frost. Her car, her house, her position – all along with what he'd already had, too.
Should I walk home? Take the risk and take a cab? Walking was probably safer. Ever since the war had started – for what seemed to me like the most idiotic of reasons – no one who took cabs wasn't carrying some extra firepower below the belt.
The damn mutt was outside my apartment again, looking up at me with those big stupid eyes. I tried to avoid looking at him while I let myself in.
As soon as I shut the door, I heard a voice that oozed years of surviving on the streets.
"Hey, there. Name's Barbas."
I really shouldn't have been surprised it was the dog at this point, but I felt the need to point it out to him anyway.
"You're a dog. A talking dog."
He growled.
"Gah. Earth humans. They walk on their moon, they build castles that scrape the sky, and magic that can destroy whole cities. But a talking dog? Oh, no! Never! I can't believe my eyes!"
I coughed awkwardly.
"Fine. I get your point. But why are you here? What's been happening?"
"Look, kid, I dunno. All I know is that for some crazy reason, you can see me. Nobody else can, you know. You can see what's going on in reality proper, instead of all these splinter realities my master keeps pushing."
"Your master?"
"Guy named Vile."
I frowned.
"He sounds like a real piece of work."
"Oh, he's not all bad. Ol' Clavicus Vile? He's got a good side. Only problem is, I'm his good side. Literally. And he's lost me somehow. I've been trying to get him back, but… well, it's a lot easier to do that in the world we come from than in this one. Over here, it's easy for a man to move straight round the world if he wants to. A dog, though…"
"I get your point. What am I supposed to do?"
"We're lucky. He's still in town. If my nose is right – and it ain't wrong – then he should be in a bar just a couple of blocks from here. All you have to do is take me straight to him."
Heaving a sigh, I grabbed a backpack and stuffed my laptop and recorder in it.
"It sounds… how do I put this… Way too simple."
Barbas looked about as uncomfortable as it's possible for a Heinz-47 type dog to look.
"Eh… It is. Vile's not somebody you should make deals with, and he WILL try to make a deal with you. He'll give you anything you ask for. Anything. I'm not exaggerating here."
"And he'll follow through on his word?"
"Kid, you're not listening to me. I said he'll give you anything you ask for. But I guarantee you, with Clavicus Vile, it won't be what you wanted. There was this one time a bunch of vampires asked him for an end to their vampirism. He ended it, all right – a hero came through that very hour and killed every last one of them. I don't know if I can tell you this enough, so I'll tell you one more time. Do NOT trust Vile."
Barbas led me straight, at least. The bar looked like it'd been dressed up for some kind of masquerade party, but it was utterly empty, and the people walking by outside gave it an unconsciously wide berth. There was only one person sitting in it, so I instantly knew who it was.
Vile was dressed for a masquerade. He had on a long white coat, a gold horned mask, and thick gilded boots. He waved as I stepped in, and took off the mask.
Now that gave me a shock.
"Uncle Vick?" I asked in surprise.
"The one and only!" he answered cheerfully. "How've you been doing, kid? I've missed you!"
Every family has a black sheep. Ours was Uncle Vick. I wasn't even sure if he was from Mom's side of the family or Dad's side, and I'd worried when I was younger that he was from both. He only ever visited on Halloween, once a year. No one talked about him. Any questions about him brought the usual, "I'll tell you when you're older."
All in all, it kind of figured that he'd be a demon who bartered for souls.
I shook myself.
"What did you do with Michaela Barcomb? And Anna Frost? I know you're behind their disappearances, it has to be you."
The bastard gave me the widest grin I've ever seen.
"Dear Michaela asked me for a very simple gift. She wanted her friends to stop talking about her behind her back."
I stared at him in confused shock.
"But… she's gone."
"From this universe!" he said, nodding. "And now, none of her friends talk about her behind her back! When you're erased from existence, it's not hard to avoid hatred."
I sat, heavily. Trying to understand how the universe could be so turned upside down that this genial man with the funny accent could wipe out someone from the past, present, and future.
"What about Anna Frost? What'd she wish for? To never dream? To lose her company, her family, her life?"
Vile grinned, and it was wide and toothy.
"She wanted what many people want. She didn't trust the devil, of course, and thought she could outsmart him. So she just said she wanted to be rich, plain and simple."
"I… I don't understand."
The grin grew wider, and I noticed that the teeth seemed sharper than they should have been. It almost seemed as though his face was growing edges and lines, angular and pointed all over.
"So I made her Rich! 'Tisn't my fault if the woman didn't specify which Rich she wanted to be. I just had to pick one, as it turns out, but considering his life I think I chose well!"
My jaw, I realized, hung open slightly, and I closed it before taking a breath.
"You destroyed a woman. You destroyed her more utterly than anything possibly could. You wiped her out of existence for the sake of… a pun."
He nodded.
"But now, lad, I have a proposition to make."
That was when I felt the weight of a gun in my hand.
"I give you one request. Whatever you want. See if you can outsmart the devil, hmm?"
"And in return?" I asked. "The devil doesn't work for free."
"Neither does Vile, neither does Clavicus Vile! So, I give you one wish, and in return – you kill that mutt. Barbas. The dog. Whatever you want to call him. Just take the gun and shoot him."
I was no fool. I knew better than to ask for more wishes, or for world peace, or any of the traditional requests. No money or power for me, and I doubted that Vile would or could grant a wish for eternal happiness. Not in the way I'd be expecting it, anyway.
"I wish to be able to see the truth of things, past, present, and future", I said, and I shot Barbas.
He died with a little whimper, and Vile's form appeared as if it was glowing for a momet.
"Ah, a true journalist's wish. Funny thing, though. It's already been granted."
"Oh, don't look so damn shocked, boy. Why did you think you could always tell when something was off? Why did you think that you were the only one who noticed that your coworker disappeared, and your boss was suddenly Rich instead of Frost-y? You asked to be able to see the truth of things, past, present, and future. Well, you've seen the truth of the past and present. And in the future, you always will."
From that moment on, I knew that this demon, this – Vile thing – had me beaten. He knew it too. He called me many names after I killed Barbas. He said I was his Champion, his hero, and that I would forever be known as Clavicus Vile's across all the worlds.
He told me great secrets of the universe. The existence of other dimensional planes, and the happenings of the one he came from which was called Oblivion. He told me of Mundus and Tamriel, of Aedra and Daedra, and how Barbas had been his conscience. I heard the stories of his bargains with mortals many times, and realized that he had always gotten the better of them.
Clavicus Vile told me much, and never stopped telling me more. I could hear his voice while I worked, and while I slept, and while I walked the streets of town.
It was almost a relief when they took me into the mental hospital. It meant I didn't have to put up with his happy little whispers in my head while pretending I was fine. I could be… honest again. It felt good.
You know, the more he tells me, the more I can see it. Why he does what he does.
It's funny, really it is.
You're not in here with me, so of course you can't tell, but trust me
please
please
please
trust me
I'm laughing as hard as I can.