Chapter 6: The Boy's Deathly Tale

I'm walking down a long hallway. There's something there. It's a glimmer of light. I'm running toward the shimmering glow. Run faster, I told myself. A few minutes past. I'm out of breath. I look ahead. The light didn't reach any closer. I gather up my remaining strength and sprint with all my might. I tripped. I was panting heavily on the stone cold pavement. I was straining to look up. The light didn't even look closer at all. A shadow appeared out of nowhere. It slithered closer to me. As it covered me up with darkness, I knocked out.

I woke up. "Ahh!" I screamed. "What a nightmare!" I groaned. Somehow I must of pulled a leg muscle. I was moving my hand toward the pain to try and ease it. But I couldn't. I wasn't in control of myself! What? I thought. Then I heard something in my mind. It sounded like a rustle of leaves. But I knew that wasn't it. 'Hello, Tetsu,' a voice said in my head. Suddenly, it felt like I was being pushed into the corner of my mind. As a reaction, I somehow flew backwards and crashed into the wall. I was lucky I was able to hold my consciousness. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my head?" I asked myself. 'You should remember me. Do you remember what happened to Kinshi?' I gasped. "Little boy? What's going on?" The boy laughed in my mind. 'I'm not 'Little Boy' anymore. You can call me... Jacken,' he said ominously. I froze. Jacken! No way. But... Jacken is supposed to be green with big ugly yellow eyes, a stupid beak, and a magical staff that's a head taller than him. How can this blonde, blue-eyed wonder be Jacken? 'It all started out with a story several years ago. Actually, it was about 100 years ago,' Jacken said. "Wait. You can read my thoughts?" I asked him. Jacken sighed. 'I'm controlling your mind right now. Duh,' he replied. Great, I thought. I've been humiliated by Jacken (A/N: My friends always joked about how we should blow Jacken's head off. I thought of asking him to come near me, than I pull a rocket launcher out of nowhere and blast his head off to Kingdom Come.). "Get out of my head!" I screamed. 'No way,' he replied. 'But I bet you have wondered how I died, right?' "Right," I said sarcastically. 'You did,' he answered. 'You thought it.' I sighed. "Just get on with the story," I told him. 'Fine. It started like this.'

It all began with a dare. A silly and stupid challenge, the kind my mentor makes to his friends. You know, like, Double dare you to break into the witch's house! Me and my mentors could have spent my birthday, which was on All Hallows Eve, playing pranks, drinking till we puked, not doing all those forbidden things we would brag the next day. But I wasn't happy with that. Not at my mentor's house. Not at my party.

When the entertainment died down, which was a mage turning himself into a tadpole, and then into a purple elephant, and it was clear that we had nothing to say to one another, I suggested something I haven't done in a long time. I got out the Book on Folk Legends I bought at the Green Hog. What imagination!

So we all sat down in front of the fireplace I conjured up, reading about the vanishing mojo doctor, the killer under the bed, and that murderer at camp, acting like we were actually scared. When the book circled around back to me, I read my favorite legend, the legend of Bloody Mary:

"Bloody Mary was a seventeenth-century witch who sold her soul to the devil for supernatural powers. Every Halloween, until she was caught and burned at the stake, she renewed her pact by sacrificing an infant from the village before a mirror, where the head of Satan would appear. At midnight on Halloween, if you sit alone before a mirror in a darkened room, with only a candle for light, and say the name Bloody Mary five times in succession, you'll see the face of the devil."

No one said anything as I closed the book. I could tell everyone was thinking the same thing. Was it just a coincidence that I gave my little performance at a quarter to midnight on my birthday, All Hallows Eve? The only problem was, no one wanted to try it. Of course, we all joked about what a stupid crappy superstition it was. The story made no sense. It was so pointless there was no reason to try it out. A little ridicule goes a long way toward propping up the weak struts of one's courage, doesn't it?

If I hadn't snorted the loudest, perhaps they would have dared me. But I was never one to keep my feelings inside, and I had already had enough of the cider to lower my resistance. Besides, as they bravely assured me, if the story was really so unbelievable, there wasn't anything to worry about. Right?

So we trotted upstairs to my bedroom. I took the black wax candle I bought for black magic and swore that I would wait until the church bell tolled midnight to way Bloody Mary loud enough for them to hear. I closed the door. With candle lighting my face from beneath my chin and making it look like a gaunt party mask, I fixed my eyes on the mirror. On the first toll of midnight, I said Bloody Mary. It came out as a croak that could barely be heard, so I swallowed and said it again. Bloody Mary.

My eyes didn't even blink. The next time, I said it louder. Bloody Mary! Maybe it was my imagination, but the candle seemed to flicker a bit, hollowing the look of my eyes into dark pools, as I said it a forth time. Bloody Mary!

I waited for a moment. I wanted to tease them so that they could feel the apprehension I felt, all by myself following through on a fool's bet in that dark room. I wanted them to wonder if my nerves would fail. So I waited until the final stroke of midnight, before blurting out: BLOODY MARY! I didn't know what I expected. A puff of smoke, the smell of brimstone, the operatic howls of the minions of hell. But there was nothing so dramatic. Just the all-too-honest reflecting surface of the polished glass before me.

Outside, in the hallway, my mentor screamed-solely for effect, it seems. They giggled obnoxiously in relief. It must have been a minute before my mentor called out my name. Perhaps another thirty seconds before someone pounded on the door. None of my greatly concerned friends believed the legend any more than I did. But no one wanted to be the first person to open the door. Did they?

When I flung the door wide open, they should have seen their faces. Like a bunch of trick-or-treaters have seen a real ghost. It didn't take much persuasion to convince them that the experience had been a 'real' bore. And that now it was time to get on with the real partying.

I killed my mentor's best friend the first of them in an hour. It was appallingly easy. Add the element of surprise to a little pressure from the thumbs and the average windpipe crushes like a paper cup. I continued on, room to room, showing them just how easy it was. Some of them had to be lulled first by some crappy small talk that passes as important conversation between ourselves. Others were so disabled by the night's festivities it almost didn't seem fair to take the advantage.

But it didn't take much to get each of them alone. And in the final moments I showed them each how vulnerable they were, how dreadful the terror of Halloween could be.

The last one was my sister (A/N: Amazing that Jacken had a sister. She must have been ugly.). I found her in her room. I used her pillow. Can you imagine what must have been going through her mind as she struggled for breath beneath the cushion she had comfortably gone to sleep every night for all these years? Pleasant dreams, I whispered to her.

It was finally my mentor's turn. He was tricky to find. I learned later that he was hiding in the closet. After five minutes of bad results, I had an idea. I went to the garage and took some nails, boards, and a hammer. As I was boarding up all the doors and windows, he must have been praying to God, hoping that I wouldn't find him. Every hammering sound meant one escape route cut off from freedom. I found him hiding in the closet. Since he was such a good sport, I showed him something the others didn't know. He didn't need a mirror. He didn't need a candle. He didn't even need to chant, Bloody Mary. "Look into my eyes," I told him. He saw the face of the devil.

Jacken looked at me to see what my reaction to the story was. I was snoozing. "Wake up!" he shouted. I didn't stir. He grimaced. He took his staff and whacked me on the head. Hard. I screamed in pain. "What was that for?" I roared. "Listen to my story!" he shot back.

After my mentor's death, I felt weird. I knew where I was going, however. There were skyscrapers of jagged rocks. Flames were blazing out of control. The screams of evil minions were deafening. Lastly, I found him. Satan. He looked like a huge red dragon with yellow eyes and sharp claws. The scales were burnt from Christianity.

"Your time is up," he said. "It's time to give me back your powers." I was shocked. "Why?" I asked. "Isn't there a way to keep my powers?" Satan stood in thought. Finally, he said, "I'll let you keep your powers. Heck, you don't even have to stay here with me. But there's one thing, though you may not like it." I looked at him, a touch of disappointment in my face. "What is it?" I asked with a lot of courage. "You'll become a demon. An ugly one. You will be bald, with green skin, yellow eyes, and a pointy beak," he said with a laugh. "Take it or leave it." I thought for a moment. Getting out of here with my powers definitely beats looks. "I'll take it," I said.

I stared at Jacken. "You must be the mayor of Crazy Town. And you've been promoted to dictator of Crazy Town," I said. Jacken glared at me. "Shut UP!" he roared, and hit me on the head with his cane. Hard. Again. I blacked out.

Hope you liked the story in the story! Here's a sneak peek!

I couldn't tell which flower was the right flower. One was dead, another was purple, and another almost tried to bite my head off…

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