Spawn of Satan

Part III: The House of the Damned

When the shock of seeing Si-Si and Papa in Hell, of all places (and exactly what did her Si-Si do to end up in Hell, anyway? She could think of a few reasons why her Papa ended up in Hell, but Si-Si?), little Pearl's big blue eyes—which, due to all the shocks and surprises that had pounced upon her unsuspecting little self in the Afterlife, were now effectively twice the size than would be considered healthy by numerous opticians and other medical experts—soon saw that if, indeed, the man that the woman-who-was-not-Si-Si-but-undeniably-looked-rather-like-a-Si-Si-should had called "Hornie," and indeed, the woman-who-was-not-Si-Si-yet-certainly-looked-like-a-Si-Si that Father Dickinson had referred to as "Your Infernal Majesty," but when Her Infernal Majesty had been confronted with Pearl and had squealed and had asked darling little Pearl to call her "Mama," yes, that woman…

—And now, due to all of her scattered internal ramblings, little Pearl had quite forgotten what she was going to say, or rather, what she had been trying to say. Whimpering, she put her small little hands to her face whilst silently complaining about how difficult it was to live inside her head, an action which caused the Si-Si look-a-like (and sound-a-like, and feel-a-like, and smell-a-like, come to think of it) to pull the little girl, who she had plopped into her shocked husband's slack arms, from out of the Devil's stunned embrace, kissing and cradling the child as though she were her own.

"Oh, honestly, Lucie," (Lucie, of course, being short for Lucifer) Her Infernal Majesty sighed, irritated. "Our first daughter, gone for eight years, and this is how you greet her. I honestly can't think of why she wished to return." And then to Pearl: "Why did you come back, hmm?" she cooed between vaguely nauseating cuddles and kisses. "Did little Pearl miss her Mama? Mama missed little Pearl, oh yes she did."

His Infernal Majesty winced at this, embarrassed by such a sickening display of affection, and surreptitiously glanced about to see if anyone important was about.

"Darling," he began, stepping a little closer but making certain to remain out of the stupefied Pearl's reach, "Haven't we both agreed a millennium ago that she really was too old for such talk?"

"No, we did not," the wife replied, now rearranging little Pearl's silky black hair amidst yet further hugs and kisses. The child was still too shocked to notice, let alone react.

"Sweetheart," he tried again, "she's sixty-five million years old…"

"Yes yes yes, Lucie," Her Infernal Majesty brushed away, "I'm well aware that spiritually, she's sixty-five million years old, but oh, look at her! She looks like an ickle eight year old human Pearl! Don't you?"

"Avie…" he said warningly, but would say no more, for at that very moment, Pearl opened her mouth and released a piercing scream. Both Devil and wife remained unaffected by this.

"Oh, they never change!" the woman that the Devil had called Avie gushed, apparently pleased that little Pearl was shrieking as loud as her little lungs would allow.

"Yes, she's still as attention-seeking as ever," the Devil remarked, and was rewarded a glare at this.

"Hush hush, little Pearl," Avie said soothingly, stroking her hair whilst Satan sighed and settled down into a chair that had miraculously appeared, using the still-prostrated Father Dickinson as a footstool. "Mama and Papa are both here now; you no longer have to be around that strange, incompetent, neglectful, dirt-ridden pirate—"

"NO!" Pearl squeaked, now attempting to wriggle herself out of Avie's grasp. "No no no! Don't you dare say that about my Papa!"

The reaction Pearl's words caused was unprecedented; the Devil, who had been sipping at an alcoholic drink, began to choke amidst a disbelieving "What?"; his wife let out a gasp of horror, and proceeded to drop the little Pearl, where she bounced harmlessly off of the ground; and Father Dickinson unexpectedly straightened the better to bellow an enraged "How dare you?", accidentally knocking the Devil off of his throne in the process.

For a moment, Pearl simply sat on the ground, mouth opened in dazed shock; then she shook her head, jumped onto her feet, and ran away screaming.

"Hornie, are you alright?" Avie cried, rushing to her husband's side and worriedly helping him up, running her hands over every inch of his body in search of injuries, whilst the Devil merely smirked and enjoyed the attention. "Darling, are you hurt?"

"I'll survive," Satan replied with the all the air of a seasoned warrior. "But I fear, my sweet, that our girl may not."

Her Infernal Majesty's disposition abruptly shifted; with a fierce battle cry, her elegant fingers, now elongated talons, clenched about her husband's throat, effectively throttling him as she demanded what he meant. Satan merely sighed and slipped easily out of her grip, holding her by the shoulders and fixing her with a displeased stare.

"I'm merely saying," he said calmly to the panicked mother, "that it appears as if little Pearl was running towards the House of the Damned."

Her Infernal Majesty's blue eyes widened. "D-Don't tease," she sputtered. "That's not kind, my Lord."

"And what's more, Your Majesty," Dickinson added, whimpering and falling to the ground in a bow at the glare His Infernal Majesty gave him; to stand whilst addressing one's superior was a clear mark of disrespect. Now, the Devil did not much care at such informal behaviour if it was directed towards his own person, but with his first wife it was another matter.

"Your Majesty," the henchman tried again, embarrassed at his faux pas, "I have been told that the House of the Damned is currently playing host to He who is simply known as the Darkness of God."

Avie closed her eyes and smiled, crumbling into her husband's arms and laughing softly in relief.

"Oh Hornie, you tease," she said affectionately. "You and I both know Bambi would never hurt a fly."

As luck would have it, Pearl was, indeed, running straight towards the House of the Damned. She didn't realise that she was running straight towards the House of the Damned, of course, any more than she realised she was running straight; for though Pearl jumped and leapt and twisted and turned, she had the unfortunate luck of running onto a lost-resistant path.

Now, a lost-resistant path was an enchanted passage, designed to help the inhabitants of Hell easily find their way to any given destination; it achieved this due to an enchantment placed upon it that forced the unwary traveller towards a specific, unchanging location. The moment a valid citizen's foot touched a lost-resistant path, he or she was doomed to follow it to the very end, be that harem or cesspit. Which was a wonderful invention for, say, a drunken Infernal Emperor attempting to locate his bedroom, but could be a little irritating for those who had only recently entered Hell's living quarters—and Pearl was decidedly not a drunken Infernal Emperor.

Presently, Pearl's big blue eyes were able to spot what appeared to be a pale, white-blue edifice rising out of the swirling midst, and her pattering feet stopped as she stared at the building in a mixture of awe and hypnotism. She did not know what stone it was that the House was carved from, but she did know that it was incredibly shiny, and emitted a gentle, irresistible radiance that Pearl found immensely alluring. And without further ado, she forgot her panic, and proceeded to trot happily towards it, her reason being that such a pretty, shiny thing deserved at least three pokes.

The closer Pearl got to the House of the Damned, the further she fell under its enchantment. She saw now that the stone from which it was carved was very much unlike anything Pearl had ever seen before; as a matter of fact, she was certain such a stone did not, could not exist in the human world, and took a moment to praise Hell's architecture.

The material from which the House was composed could best be described as being like polished ivory, streaked with powdered sapphire, and yet it was so much more than that. Why, it was as if someone had gathered fifteen tonnes of ivory (after disposing of the fifteen billion or so elephants that had been slaughtered, of course), had cleansed, buffed and polished each and every individual tusk with meticulous precision, placed them all into a giant melting pot, gently stirred in the five tonnes of pulverised sapphire required, tipped the pot over into a mould of the building looming before her, and had waited for it to set whilst they played a card game, at which they had lost, and had to forfeit the building to the Devil in payment.

She now stood about fifteen feet away from the House, and was studying it most intensely. Not only was it carved from a beautiful material that was unknown to common man, she decided, but it was also, simply put, quite beautifully carved. The entrance, for one, was a work of art; a door of what appeared to be a dark, glossy wood, with an intricate carving of a powerful sea god that could have been either Triton or Poseidon—Pearl was uncertain as to which—surrounded by a bevy of marine beauties. Above the door was a shell, inside which stretched out a sleeping Venus—or Aphrodite. She wasn't actually certain of the difference, little Pearl.

Just outside the door, two sirens stood erect, their magnificent wings furled and gently drooping, as though at rest. In their flawless hands were harps, wreathed with leaves and flowers, and as Pearl studied them, she decided that the Papa impostor must have had some input in the design, for they were shamelessly bare-breasted, and though it seemed as though their lips were parted in song, if she was to look closely at their expressions… Well, she wasn't certain if singing was what they were actually doing.

Reluctantly dragging her eyes away from the entrance, she chose to study the walls of the building, noting that it seemed to be nothing more than various carved murals of frolicking, winsome mermaids, some with tails curled, darting amongst one another, heads thrown back in eternal laughter. Some of the mermaids carried flowers, whilst others sat curled on rocks, vainly combing their hair. Others simply sang.

Faced with such divine, intricate, and undeniable splendour, it was only natural that Pearl would go up and poke it.

Hard.

The result of such folly was a stubbed finger and a whimper of agony as she fell back, cradling the wounded hand as she bleated in pain. Her cries were such that it was inevitable the door would open, and a woman with flowing red hair peered out, curious as to what was creating such a noise. Seizing her opportunity, Pearl promptly burst into tears, and made a show of looking rather lost and sweet and forlorn.

"Oh, you poor thing!" the woman exclaimed, eyes studying Pearl with interest. "How did you find this place? Do come in; we never have visitors here, you know…" And she gestured that little Pearl come towards her, apparently unwilling to step outside the safety of her door.

Now Pearl, of course, was as hesitant as any other girl being invited into a shiny building by a pretty red-haired stranger, but she did so regardless, sneaking a peek pass the smiling stranger and deciding that any building playing host to a flying chipmunk was surely a building whose inhabitants Pearl could trust.

So in Pearl trotted, and she would have no doubt been rendered speechless by the beauty of the statues and aquatic frescoes alone, had she not been so intent on following the procession of the flying chipmunk. Rudely leaving her hostess to close the door, little Pearl bounced innocently after the rodent, giggling as she attempted to reach up and grab the creature and failing every time. The chipmunk veered left, into a room, and Pearl followed, stopping abruptly in the doorway, mouth open in shock.

The room, she saw, was full of flying chipmunks.

And there, seated in the centre of it all, was a small creature with black wings and a mop of brownish hair, who was apparently conducting the entire spectacle. Beaming, the creature—who, Pearl supposed, did resemble a human boy—turned around, staring up at his airborne rodents in delight. Eventually, he sensed Pearl's presence, and turned to face her. He abruptly released a squeak, and the spell was shattered; all of the chipmunks came crashing down around him as he simply stared in shock. One even landed on his head, and proceeded to remain there, lifeless and unmoving.

Pearl supposed that the winged creature before her was humanoid in that he had two arms, two legs, a face, a neck, hands, feet, fingers, hair, skin, mouth, nose, eyes, ears, toes, and, from the small glimpse of the mouth's interior she was able to glimpse, white teeth and a red tongue; but there the similarity ended.

The creature had two wings of fine leather, dangling lazily behind him; perhaps a little too small to be of any use for him, but they were there. Hidden in his hair were two small red horns, perhaps only an inch in length, thick and slightly curved. His eyes were black, blacker even than his wings, and completely so; unlike humans, he had no iris, or pupils, just a complete black… thing that was very shiny and inky, like polished onyx. Framing these eyes were a pair of very human eyelashes that were extremely flutter-worthy, in Pearl's opinion. She assumed that the eyes were wide in shock; they appeared to be larger than would be deemed normal. His teeth, she supposed, were very clean, and all of them were a little sharpened; but the canines were the sharpest of them all, like a vampire.

All in all, she thought that he would make a very good pet; and with this objective in mind, she took one confident step towards him.

The creature squealed in fear, and, still seated on the floor, attempted to wriggle back, away from the approaching Pearl.

"Don't worry," she said cheerfully, patronisingly to the humanoid animal. "Pearl promises she won't hurt you."

This did nothing to calm the creature down; if anything, it only excited him further. Suddenly, he leapt up onto all fours, and attempted to crawl away, releasing several high bleats and squeals that sounded like music to Pearl's ears.

"Aw, you're very, very sweet," she said to it. "I think I'll call you Squeak; is that all right with you?"

Judging by the indignant squeak that followed, it most certainly was not.

"Pearl still thinks you're very very sweet," she repeated endearingly. "Come here, my little Squeak!"

Squeak squeaked and ran, wings flapping in panic, and a decidedly wingless Pearl took chase, all the while shouting, "Pearl's little Squeak! Pearl's little Squeak!"

TBC

AN: Sorry for the late update; so… Do you like "Squeak?"