...

Halloween was different that year for Michael as well. He had gone trick-or-treating with the ghost boy next door for most of his short life. In the days that immediately preceded the holiday, it felt weird not to plan for trick-or-treat. He almost changed his mind about it but then remembered what a jerk Ethan had been, so he stuck to his resolution.

Mama Constance didn't really want to go anywhere but Michael managed to talk her into going uptown with him and Father Jeremiah for dinner. He didn't want to do baby stuff like beg for candy but Michael still wanted to get out and about on his favorite holiday. He even wore his black Jack-o-lantern t-shirt so people would know he wasn't a Halloween Grinch.

It was a pleasant time. The restaurant was crowded and a bit slow because of it, but the service was friendly and they even put Michael's leftovers in a piece of foil wrapped up to look like a swan. He was admiring the surprising amount of detail on the way back to the car when a scuffle nearby caught his attention.

That's all he registered before a man in a dirty brown trench coat grabbed him. "Death to the antichrist!"

The guy pulled a long knife across the boy's throat. Constance screamed. Jeremiah dove for the assailant. The blade was sharp and cut down to the bone before the priest could tackle the man. The two fell away from the boy, who dropped to the sidewalk, bleeding profusely.

Constance dropped to her knees and gathered Michael in her arms, wailing incoherently in horror as he twitched and gurgled for air. Then he lay still and his eyes got glassy. Jeremiah had disarmed the man and another guy from the crowd was helping Jeremiah hold the attacker down. The man shouted about God and Jesus and the end of days. People called for help and took pictures. In the distance, sirens wailed.

—

The blade felt like hard pressure to Michael and suddenly he couldn't breathe. The world got gray, then faded to black and he felt nothing.

A cold hand on his arm woke him. He opened his eyes and started to shiver because he was freezing cold. Every hair on his body stood on end. Cold hands lifted him and he saw they were coal black. Like solid shadows. The skin absorbed light where most flesh reflected it. Michael looked up the black-robed arms and saw a hooded figure with a strange but masculine face. Like a cross between a lion and a human, but not furry. He wore a padded breastplate studded with strange, dark gems that reminded Michael of eyes. The entity had strong alien power it gave off but Michael didn't sense hostility from it. It was like being in the presence of a churning volcano that was active but not erupting.

The celestial being cradled him close and there was a great rushing sound as it unfurled three sets of bat-like wings. It tipped its head back then and shot straight up so fast, the world blurred. They came to a peak and started back down at a freefall, headfirst.

Michael clung to the front of the creature, too frightened to scream. He had no idea what was happening but he knew he wasn't dreaming. It felt too real. He looked up and saw the street rushing toward them then a wide hole of shimmering blackness opened up and they dove headlong into that.

The cold began to ease, though Michael was hardly of a mind to be grateful as they rushed down,

down,

down,

down.

Red light suddenly bloomed, blinding the boy briefly. When he could see again they were flying parallel to a giant black lake that stretched in all directions. Hazy red points of light stemmed from fires that marked the near and far shores and the distant horizon was the same greasy red. The creature that held him carried him swiftly over the expanse of glittering dark water, to one of those Plutonian shores.

Michael expected they might land on the rocky beach there but the six-winged creature swooped upward, following the slope of the land up a steep mountain, to the very top. Nestled among the sharp crags there was a giant black dragon. The eleven-year-old boy was like a doll compared to its immense size. It lifted its massive, horned head and looked right at him and the creature bearing him.

"So soon?"

The Dragon's voice was a landslide inside Michael's head, heard not with ears but felt and understood. The words, which were no language spoken by man, held so much power, it was like a weight pressing down on the boy's brain.

"It is what it is," the being that held Michael thought-said. Its voice was like distant thunder: A muted rumble.

The Dragon rose and arched its neck. For a moment the boy thought it was going to eat them both but it just opened its jaws for a slow stretch that showed hundreds of sharp ebony teeth and a glistening snake-like tongue. Then it shut the fearsome maw again.

"Come with me, my Son."

The Dragon lowered its neck and the thing that held Michael moved closer. He could have struggled as it placed him on the giant creature but he didn't. He was scared but not panicked. The immensity of the alien situation was overwhelming, so he just went with the flow. He straddled the bumpy neck and grabbed hold of two of the bigger horns, careful of the points. It was like sitting on an enormous horned toad.

As soon as he was settled, the Dragon spread its mighty wings. They unfurled as wide as airplane wings and gave an invigorating shake. Dust clouds went up and then, with a mighty leap, they were airborne.

For Michael, it was exhilarating and terrifying. "Where are we?" he asked as they flew over the dusky land. The wind tore the words from his lips and dried his mouth.

Far below, the landscape was dark and shrouded in mist or smoke. Dark green trees with black branches poked through the haze. Where the fog broke occasionally he could see dirt roads but nothing moved.

"Tartarus," the Dragon answered in his head.

The boy expected more of an answer than that but when the great beast gave none, he asked: "Where are we going?" Only this time he thought it instead of using his mouth. He wasn't sure it would work but the Dragon seemed to hear him.

"Above," it said.

"Above?"

"You are needed in your kingdom, young Prince," the Dragon said. Despite the immense potency of the thought-voice, Michael felt at ease hearing it now that it wasn't a new experience.

"My kingdom?"

"You are the Prince of the Earth," the Dragon said simply. "You are the Lion. Your destiny is to lead Men to the Light. The world is yours. What you do with it is up to you. There will come one, the Lamb, the Son of Man, who will challenge your rule. Be ready for him. He will seek to destroy you."

The Dragon sounded like the scriptures Father Jeremiah made Michael recite. He held on tighter as the creature ascended, leaving the shadowy land behind. Cold blackness returned. Michael began to shiver as the cold quickly ate to his core. He wanted to ask more questions but the Dragon sped up then and it was all he could do just to hold on.

The world suddenly exploded into brightness and pain, but the pain quickly went away. He was shivering violently though he could tell it was warmer now.

"Michael!"

It was Mama Constance's voice. The boy blinked and slowly the world swam into view. There was a white ceiling overhead and underneath him was very cold. He sat up and looked around, wide-eyed. He was in a hospital room, on a big metal table. He was naked under the thin bloody sheet that fell to his waist when he pushed himself up. Father Jeremiah and Mama Constance rushed the table. They were in the operating room where his DOA body had been delivered roughly ten minutes before.

"Mama Constance..?" the boy asked, not sure what had happened. The vision he'd had was still vivid in his mind and felt more real than anything else at the moment.

"It's a miracle," the woman breathed. She came close and gently lifted Michael's chin to examine his neck. There was still dried blood there but there was no wound. There wasn't even a scar. "It's like he wasn't even injured."

"I saw a Dragon," the boy told Father Jeremiah while Constance continued her examination. "He said I was the Prince of the Earth."

Jeremiah smiled and his eyes lit up. "You are indeed."

Michael looked thoughtful. "What does that mean?"

The priest pressed his lips together briefly. "It means... When you're older, you will have a lot of responsibility but you'll also have a lot of power to handle those responsibilities with. You'll be as you are now, only stronger and with more control over what happens in the world."

Michael tipped his head. That answer didn't sound like what the Dragon had said. The Dragon made it sound like the world was Michael's toy. His to do with as he pleased, responsibilities optional. The priest knew a lot though so the boy didn't correct him. Yet. "I'm cold."

Constance offered the boy's clothes to him. The nurse had bagged them in anticipation of cleaning the corpse. The items were bloody and Constance wished they had something better to give him. It was too late to go to the gift shop for a t-shirt as they were closed for the night.

"Will I be able to get rid of mosquitoes?" asked Michael, still wondering about himself.

Jeremiah smiled tolerantly. "Quite possibly. But mosquitoes are important to lots of creatures as a food source."

"Even now that the monsters took over?"

Michael was intensely curious about the world now that he'd been proclaimed junior owner of it. If it was really his, he wanted to know everything he could about it and more. He suddenly wanted to re-watch every Planet Earth documentary he'd seen. It was like a virtual owner's manual.

"I'm not really sure," the man admitted. "But it would probably be wise to hold off on wiping out any species without first understanding if it's vital."

Michael could see the value in that statement even if he didn't appreciate mosquitoes any better. "Where's the man who hurt me?"

Constance pushed the dirty clothes into the boy's hands since he wasn't moving to take them from the table. He started dressing but was obviously distracted. He got the shirt on inside out.

"He's in jail right now," said Father Jeremiah.

"Can I see him?"

Constance and the priest exchanged a look. "I'm sure they'll want you to testify at the trial—" she started.

"I want to see him now."

"I don't know if that's allowed," said Father Jeremiah.

Michael tipped his head and thought. "Can we go there now? And see?"

The adults shared another look.

"I suppose," said Constance. "We'll need to tell the police what's happened anyway. May as well get it over with."

—

The police wouldn't allow the boy to visit the prisoner but they were quite interested in taking down his story. Michael knew he could force them to let him see the man but he decided to play along. He had a moment of inspiration on the way to the station and knew how best to handle the whole matter.

He told the police what he remembered about the attack, which wasn't much. Just the screaming and pressure, then waking up in the hospital. He omitted the dream. It wasn't for them to know what he experienced in the land of the dead.

The police called in the doctors, and they all decided his injury simply couldn't have been as severe as everyone had thought. The boy had likely been deprived of oxygen when the hobo seized him, and had slipped into a coma, explaining his death-like state on arrival at the hospital. The copious amount of blood they couldn't account for but no one pressed about it.

Michael surviving meant the man couldn't be tried for murder. The prosecution would have to push for an attempted murder plea but would likely only prove aggravated assault. That only worried the adults, who didn't want the crazy man back out on the street. A whole bunch rallied to Michael's cause, picketing the municipal building with signs.

At the trial, Michael had to be there to give his testimony. Mama Constance and Father Jeremiah were there to do the same. They kept encouraging him but he didn't need it. He felt confident and calm. Ever since his death dream, he had a new sense of purpose. He had a drive to get things done as efficiently as possible so he could move on to the next thing.

The trial proceeded in textbook fashion, with the lawyers stating their cases and making opening arguments to sway the jurors. They were supposed to start calling witnesses then but the defendant fell over dead from a heart attack. Michael didn't even have to move his hands to do it this time. He could sense the man's heart even across the room so he just pressed on it with his thoughts until it popped.

They rushed the prisoner out of the courtroom to an ambulance but he was already dead before they got him out the door. He was a problem that wouldn't return and Michael could get back to his studies. If the dream taught him anything, it was that he had a lot to learn.

...

2025 - Christmas

It was not a merry Christmas.

Mama Constance had been mad all morning because she thought one of the neighbors at Murder House took all the bourbon she was going to use for cooking and to get drunk on that evening. Getting more would mean driving nearly two hours in order to find a store that was still in business and open on Christmas day. After a couple of hours of listening to her complain about the situation with the bourbon, it started to wear on Michael's nerves. He tried various suggestions:

"Can't you go next door and get it back?"

"You're a ghost. Can't you just make some be in the fridge?"

"I'll go if it's that important to you!"

Nothing he said made a difference. She forbade him to go by himself to the store, even though he knew how to drive. Father Jeremiah had taught him. Michael was a fast learner—and a fast driver. He loved the freedom he felt behind the wheel of a moving car. The whole world was his; the foggy parts especially. No one but him and the priest drove on the abandoned roads near their neighborhood anymore.

He didn't particularly want to leave that day, though. He just wanted his grandmother to stop complaining and ruining everyone else's day over it. Shortly after lunch he reached his breaking point. She came into the living room where he was reading a comic and she started in again on the ghosts next door.

"Jesus H Christ! Will you stop?!" the fourteen-year-old exploded, throwing the comic across the room. It flew so fast, it cracked the glass in a picture frame on the wall. He got to his feet then, livid. "You love your bourbon so God-damned much! Have some fucking bourbon!"

He got an intense look of concentration then and his face turned red. He trembled a little. Little beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. She would have been concerned but she was dead. He couldn't hurt her.

Michael relaxed suddenly and swayed where he stood. His eyes rolled back. Despite the strange encounter, Constance's instinct was to dive in and catch him when his knees gave out. She held him up and pet his hair back from his forehead. He didn't pass out but he was incapacitated for a few seconds.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, not sure what to make of his temper tantrum. "Let's get you to bed. A nap... a nap will do you good. "

She helped him up the stairs and to his room. He was walking on his own by the time they got to the bedroom. Constance fully intended to put him to bed even though he was thirteen, but he stopped suddenly and stared at his fish tank.

She looked over as well and her brows shot up. The water in the tank was golden brown. His pet fish, a palm-sized carp he'd owned for half his life, was belly up at the surface.

Michael broke away from her and grabbed the side of the tank. Constance joined him and noticed a strong scent of alcohol coming from the aquarium. Bourbon.

"Mama Constance..."

Michael poked the floating fish and then recoiled. He knew death when he saw it. He stared at it with wide, dry eyes.

"I... You. You turned the water... into bourbon," Constance breathed, overwhelmed.

The boy didn't want to hear about how it was his fault. He just wanted the mistake fixed. "I didn't mean to kill him," he said, anxiety growing enormously. Words made it more real. "Mama Constance!"

She pulled her attention off the tank full of liquor and blinked at her grandson. "I can't do anything, honey. He's gone."

Michael scowled at the floating fish. "No."

"Yes, Michael. He is."

"No!"

The teen leaned against the tank and stared at the fish for several seconds. The fish twitched and flopped. Then it suddenly righted itself and started to swim. Once she got over the shock of seeing the creature reanimate, Constance waited for it to die again.

But it didn't die. It continued to swim about in the alcohol like it was born to be there.

—

They discovered all the water in the house had turned to bourbon. The water in the pipes had to be cleared, as did the water heater. Constance saved some from the faucets, storing it in mason jars in the cupboard. The toilets were actually cleaner once they were flushed clear, thanks to the potent potable. Some of the canned food tasted of bourbon when it was prepared for weeks after, which the adults didn't mind but Michael didn't care for.

The whole experience really put him off the holiday, with the lone exception of Morty. Having a fish that lived in bourbon was kind of cool. His fish was unique in the world, not just because it could breathe alcohol but because it was the first thing he'd killed that he successfully brought back.

It gave the teen plenty of food for thought. He knew Ethan and pretty much everyone over at the Montgomery Mansion was dead in some way and that never stopped any of them from having "lives". He wanted to know what had happened to Morty while he was dead. He knew death wasn't like sleep because Mama Constance's body and soul were separated in death. Did that mean Morty had a soul? Where was it when the bourbon killed it? How did Michael call it back? The mystery gnawed at him more, the more time he spent dwelling on it.

When it came time to open Christmas presents, the boy was uncharacteristically subdued. Ordinarily he loved opening presents but this year, there were no plans to do anything with Ethan. The wealth of contemporary toys just looked like so much pointless colored plastic. The candy he still appreciated but he was far more interested in the books Father Jeremiah gifted him with than anything else that year. The books were solid brown fabric over wood, a collection of old fables penned in the early 1800s with titles so faded, they could barely be made out. He would have to read them to discover their nature.

Once everyone had gone through their gifts and Father Jeremiah was shaking out a trash bag for the discarded wrapping, Michael decided to tell them his plan.

"Thank you for the nice gifts," he said politely. "Next year, though, don't get me anything, please."

Constance stared at him like he'd gone mad. A smile tickled her lips. Was he joking? "Why is that, sweetheart?"

Jeremiah paused and looked at him as well but didn't say anything just yet.

"Because," Michael said, since he had the floor. "I'm done with it. I'm not a little kid anymore. You don't need to spend money on toys I'm probably not even going to play with."

She looked hurt and the boy wondered briefly if he could have been nicer about it. Then he decided it was more important that she know the truth than spare her feelings.

"If you really want to give me something, just... make my favorite dessert," he suggested, trying to be nice. "But honestly? I think it's kind of stupid for me to be celebrating Christmas. I seriously doubt Jesus would celebrate my birthday, if he was alive."

...

Author's Note:

It's going to be a busy week for me so I figured I'd post this a bit early. The imagery I used in Michael's dream is derived directly from religion. I tapped the Christians, Hinduism, Greek mythology, Roman, and quite by accident, the Elevator Game.

Apparently my description of Tartarus falls in line with what people claim to have seen after playing the Elevator Game. Supposedly playing the game sends you to a dead land, where an indistinct red light glows in the distance. I hadn't heard that till after this chapter was written. Spooky!

So this Episode got a bit long. There's still a couple more chapters coming. This ep rolls up Michael's adolescence. Spoiler: I'm not aging him overnight so I'm having to skim through the years instead, to give you an idea of how things have turned out over time without turning this into a Walking Dead crossover or Avengers sequel.

Next time: Michael learns he can heal as well as destroy, and he finally tries to talk to his mother, Vivien.