Eulogy

by J.R. Godwin

Disclaimer: "Labyrinth" belongs to Jim Henson & Co. There's no money being made off of this.

Rating: M

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear."

-Popular proverb around the world

5.

My gun's out as soon as the stranger starts speaking.

"Who the fuck are you?" I yell. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

He doesn't look at all disturbed that I'm pointing the business end of a Sig Sauer at his heart. He's got one leg crossed over the other and one arm draped over the back of my couch as if he owns it. There's an elegance to him that you don't see in the brutes I work with.

He wears a custom suit, pinstriped and fitted. I'd never be able to afford a suit like that, not on my salary. The gloves are thin, probably lambskin. They look like the small unlined gloves James Bond wears in the movies. A scarlet pocket square tops it off, and gold cufflinks line his wrists.

The stranger is immaculate and aloof, like a banker just come from a high stakes meeting at World Trade. From his accent, he sounds like he just fell out of a BBC program. Pure London.

But it's his eyes that stop me. They don't match, like buttons a tailor pulled at random from a drawer. One is a pinprick of cornflower blue, like a Husky's. The other is black velvet and nearly fills the entire eye. Endless night. His eyes hold me as sure as rope. I can't look away, and even though I hold the gun, I'm the one who's trapped. A bizarre idea flitters past my brain and is gone just as quickly: those eyes see every embarrassing thing I've ever done, every regret I've ever had. They know the most intimate parts of my soul.

No, that's stupid. Ridiculous. Pull it together, Williams.

The stranger's grin widens as if someone's pulled on a zipper. If I didn't know any better, he's just heard this internal battle with myself. "Is this how you treat all your guests? No wonder you don't get much company."

"Show me your hands!"

He slowly pulls his arm from the back of the couch and folds both empty hands in his lap. From his calm demeanor, you wouldn't think I had a gun in his face. "Better?"

"Where's my daughter?"

"How should I know where you misplace your things?"

"Don't make me kill you."

Unconcerned, he waves a gloved hand in the direction of the bedrooms. "Still in her room, I imagine. See for yourself. Ah, and don't bother trying to put those ridiculous cuffs on me. You'll just tax yourself."

Which was exactly what I'd been planning to do. Like hell I'm taking my eyes off of him until he's cuffed and frisked.

"I suggest," he continues, "that you put the weapon away, Detective. Someone could get hurt." He hasn't broken his gaze with me from the moment I entered the room. Something cold lies coiled to spring behind the warmth of his smile. It's clear that when he says someone, he's not talking about himself.

I don't budge. "Is there anyone else here with you?"

"Just your daughter and the babysitter. After we're done chatting, you'll find them asleep in the other room, with no memory of any of tonight's unpleasantness. Shock can have negative consequences on the psyche. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

We stare at each other for a long time. His gaze is absolutely unflinching.

"I'm putting the gun away for now," I finally say. "Don't move from that couch."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" he says pleasantly, coming alive again. He remains perfectly still as I holster my pistol. "There, now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

My eyes narrow to slits. "Who are you?"

"I see patience isn't your strong suit. We're old acquaintances, you and I, although doubtless you've forgotten me. I am the Goblin King, Lord of the Southern Marshes, Lesser Emperor of the Lower Lands, Guardian to the Nightmare Realms, and High Sovereign to the Labyrinth, among other titles that would be exhaustive to list at the moment. You may refer to me as Your Majesty the first time, then sir after that."

All of this flows off his tongue as swiftly as water. The schizophrenics I've met were about as confident as this guy, though I admit his presentation skills far outstrip theirs.

"You're in America now, pal. Hate to break it to you, but we got rid of the monarchy a long time ago."

To my surprise, he's not angry at my flippancy. "Ah, Tobias, you always were entertaining! How wonderful that fate has deemed us to cross paths once more. Indeed, I am quite fortunate."

"What do you mean?" What the fuck. How do you know my name?

"I need a detective," His Majesty says slowly. "It would appear that something of mine has gone missing. I'm trying to get it back. Oh, you needn't look so troubled! Years of police work and fighting overseas have given you an admirable poker face, but there's little I miss. Of course I know that your sister has escaped my Labyrinth - again - and fled Aboveground to see you - again. Let me guess, she's engaged you to assassinate me. Am I right?"

I can't begin to guess what my face reveals right now.

His Majesty chuckles. "I thought so. She's a fast learner, your sister, and she learned from the best. I suppose I should be flattered. Still, she's the least of my concerns right now. I have lost a nightmare. I need help getting it back."

"Excuse me?"

"A nightmare," he insists, "created to be the darkness, and the fear of darkness in every human heart. A black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. That is how it was described to me by its creator." He sighs and stretches his long legs. "Nightmares need proper keeping, or else they get ... ah, difficult. This one was entrusted to me, but it escaped my realm and I have not seen it since. Perhaps you have."

"I've had nightmares, yeah."

"This is the sort of nightmare that can exist outside of the human mind. It walks on two legs and, to the untrained eye, appears human ... ish." He wrinkles his nose.

"A nightmare in human form?"

"Your race has stories about such a creature. You call it a bogeyman."

"How would I know one when I see it?" I ask wearily.

"To the layman, it's considerably challenging," he concedes, "which is why you likely won't recognize a nightmare at first glance, only the rippling of its passage. Tell me, Detective, have there been any odd disturbances in your city? Anything stranger than usual?"

"We've had kids dying. The deaths are ... they're brutal. Would this thing kill children?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? You either know or you don't."

"The children," he murmurs softly, like a caress, "were their eyes missing?"

The blood drains from my face. "We kept that from the public because we didn't want a shitstorm."

"My nightmare has a strange fondness for eyeballs. You could say they're his specialty." He hisses this last word.

"How so? Why does he kill children?"

Another bored wave of the hand. "Killing them is incidental. Nightmares feed on fear. And how do we process fear, Detective? Make an attempt to answer now."

I'm a little boy, entering the haunted home of a doomed man. Spiders have made nests of the decayed furniture, and rain pours down through the cracks in the wood. I'm in Kabul, carrying my best friend to his death. Blood on my hands and in my mouth. I'm standing in a morgue, observing the mutilated body of a little girl who looks too much like Lucia, and I fear I'll never sleep again.

"We see things," I whisper in sudden understanding. "We see things that scare us."

His Majesty nods in approval. "Every day. For some humans, that fear is a troublesome afterthought. You process it and move on with your lives. For others, the fear is crippling. I would wager that these children were very frightened indeed when they died. That would be a feast for any nightmare."

"And their eyes? He keeps them as, what, a souvenir?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's eating them."

"He's eating them?"

"What better way to savor one's final moments than to relive their worst fears, exactly as they saw them?" the Goblin King asks. I have no response. I've never been more speechless in my life. Considering the night I've just had, that's saying something. His Majesty takes advantage of my pause to smile again. "I suppose, now that I have your cooperation in this matter, we must talk of payment."

"Payment?" I repeat stupidly.

"Your kind have a saying, 'There's no free lunch'. Do you not? I wouldn't dream of hiring you without talk of recompense. That would just be vulgar. What are your fees?"

I need to sleep. This is a dream. It'll all be over when I go to bed. "... I've never ... I don't freelance. I work for the city."

"A loyal servant to his government. I appreciate that stance. However, I insist on paying my due. I pay my trash collectors, and you shall be taking care of a particular bad piece of trash."

And then the answer hits. "Give me Sarah."

There's that ridiculous smile again, like a yawning pit. It's more than a little unsettling. There's nothing gentle or amusing about that smile. It's the last thing a seal ever sees before it meets its end to a shark. "No," he says. No argument, no explanation. Just flat refusal.

Bile rises in my throat. "You break into my house, you request my help in cleaning up your mess, I have the right. I want my sister back."

"You want many things, Detective," the Goblin King says lazily. "You want a living wife, and living comrades in arms. You want to forget all your regrets and the shame they bring you, lying awake at night alone in that cold bed of yours. Why not wish for that? Oh, but you won't, because you're honorable. The hero always has honor, does he not? Always in service to others, never to himself-"

I take two steps and draw the gun again. My living room is small, so at this range I'll blow his head off.

The Goblin King pauses, not out of fear. "Don't do anything you'll regret, Detective. I daresay you have enough regrets already."

"Give me my sister," I order him.

"No."

"You listen to me, you little shit-"

The energy shifts. Shadows disengage themselves from the corners to invade the center of the room. The space around us contracts to a pinpoint of light. I recoil and almost drop the pistol. The Goblin King hasn't moved an inch from my couch, but his mismatched eyes could incinerate entire worlds. "You have ceased to amuse us, mortal. We require a detective. If you are not available, the crown can make other arrangements. What is your decision?"

I stagger as if punched. "This ... this thing will keep killing kids if I say no, right? What're my other options?"

The room brightens a bit. "Ah, you finally understand the situation. I was beginning to doubt your intelligence. You have no options. Catch my nightmare, and you stop your killer. If you don't, I shall be most displeased, and the children of your city will continue to die. Succeed, and I shall forget tonight's rudeness. That is payment enough, I think."

I'm not too far gone to insist in a shaky voice, "I want my sister back."

"It's not enough that I give you a break in your case. So ungrateful! But never let it be said that I am not generous. Find my nightmare. Return him to me, and you may have a wish."

"But not my sister, is that it?"

"Hmmm." His smile unfolds across his face and stretches like a cat. "Little escapes your notice, Detective. That's rather refreshing from the idiots I usually command. And your deduction is correct. I never share my toys. I won Sarah fair and square, despite what she may tell you. She is my boon from battle. I will never give her up."

"What would it take for you to give her up?"

"Are you challenging me to a game, Detective?" The Goblin King's voice is so soft, it could be mistaken for seductive.

"This is a negotiation. We're discussing possibilities."

"And what could you possibly have that I want? Your daughter?" He barks a laugh. "You'll never risk your daughter. I know you better than you know yourself. Honestly, what need have I of another child? I can take any child like that-" A snap of the fingers. "-so why burden me with yours?"

Something here doesn't add up. "If human lives mean so little to you, why do you care about Sarah so much?"

That makes him pause and regard me as if he's truly seeing me for the first time. "You look but you don't see. In this, you could stand to learn a great deal from your sister. She's far trickier than you. Return my nightmare to me, and we can continue this little discussion of yours. You will find I can be most agreeable when properly enticed."

I don't trust this guy, but it's the best conclusion we'll reach at this point. "Fine. That's all I want."

He grimaces. "You want many things, Tobias. Desire is the surest road to hell. Surely a pious man would know that." And then the Goblin King vanishes just like Sarah did, as if erased from existence. It happens so fast that I question my sanity - not for the first time.

Between one breath and the next, I've bolted to Lucia's room, where I find my daughter and her babysitter asleep in the rocking chair. Kimmy startles as I pluck Lucia from her arms. "Oh! Sorry, Mr. Williams. I guess we nodded off." Her expression is sunny, if confused. Not the look of someone who's seen ghostly faces appearing in windows or strange men in the living room. I say nothing, just cradle my daughter.

"Did you have a good night, little bird?" I ask tersely.

Lucia yawns. "I had dreams, Daddy."

"About what?"

"I dunno." But then she pops her thumb in her mouth, which she only does when she's nervous.

Somewhere in my left ear, a wicked voice laughs. No one hears it but me.