[Content Warning: Violence]
While it was no small feat for a sinner to get themselves to the human world without help, Alastor was no run-of-the-mill demon. He was a voodoo man and a dealmaker. Traveling alone to Earth without being summoned first was difficult, but he managed well enough. Elida had made a request, and Alastor wasn't going to back down just because it was a little challenging.
He looked human again, though less gruesome than how the coven's spell had manifested him. Aside from the shovel and hidden straps, Alastor appeared like any friendly neighborhood fella. He had a smile on his face and a spring in his step, without a blood splatter in sight. He hummed happily to himself as he walked down the street, practically skipping. This was going to be very entertaining; and Elida would be happy. Win-win!
The only problem left was finding that Purg fellow. Alastor knew where Elida's hometown was, but he had no map to navigate around it. Unfortunately, it seemed people were less inclined these days to carry paper maps. Everyone was always glued to those frivolous handheld devices. It was rather inconvenient.
As luck would have it, Alastor happened across a rather wrinkly old woman in a floral print dress. She stood on the sidewalk, trying to read a printed-out map of the town.
"These gosh-darn words are just too tiny," she squinted her eyes, "I'm never getting to the post office at this point." She sighed, defeated.
"Pardon me, madam," Alastor greeted politely, "But may I see that for a moment?"
The old lady jumped in surprise, "Oh! Oh my, I didn't hear you coming, ha," she clutched her chest, "goodness me. Yes, of course, go right ahead. Maybe you could find out how to get to the post office from here? I need to send a birthday gift to my daughter-in-law, but my poor eyes aren't what they used to be."
"Certainly! I would be delighted." He looked the map over, scanning the streets to find Atory Lane. "I don't suppose you happen to know which road we're on now, do you dear?"
"Yes, of course, it's… Ahh, what was it? Oh, yes, Magonia Way. That's right."
"I see," Alastor adjusted his specs and studied the map. There it was: Magonia Way. "Here we are," he said, "it seems your destination is merely a block away. Perhaps I ought to escort you. A fine young lady such as yourself really ought to be accompanied." He held out an arm for her, a charming smile on his face.
"Young lady? Oh!" she giggled and blushed like flustered old ladies do, "Aren't you a treat!"
"A trick, according to some," he winked as she took his arm. Her steps were slow and shaky, but a gentleman couldn't just leave her there all lost and confused. He had plenty of time.
"You're such a handsome boy," the old lady patted his arm as they walked. "I don't suppose you'd allow me to introduce you to my granddaughter? She loves gardening, too."
"Gardening? Wherever did you get that idea from?" he laughed.
"Your shovel. Isn't it for landscaping?"
"Oh, something like that," he grinned, patiently helping her cross a busy street. "However, it so happens I already have a gal. In fact, I'm currently running an errand on her behalf, which is why I needed to see your map."
"What a lucky girl!"
When they arrived, Alastor dropped the old lady off, and she graciously agreed to let him keep her map. She could get a new one from the post office. Tipping a nonexistent hat to her as he left, Alastor continued down the same road toward a bus stop. A few young people in baggy hoodies and caps looked him up and down, laughing.
"Hey, skibbidi freak," one especially loud young fellow said, "the great depression called; it wants its old-fart drip back." That earned a laugh from the boy's peers.
Alastor ignored their verbal nonsense, standing straight-backed and smiling at the motorcars that drove by. When the bus arrived, he climbed on. The youngsters, however, found that their shoelaces had all been mysteriously tied together in knots so tight, they'd have to cut them off or walk around shoeless the rest of the day. The one who'd tried to insult him ended up falling flat on his face. They missed the bus.
When jolly old Alastor finally found Judas Purg's house, no one was home. So, he picked the lock and let himself in. His host had a pet rabbit. How nice! A snack. Breaking the creature's neck, he found some cutlery from the kitchen and sat down at a dining table. Snapping his fingers, a radio appeared. He enjoyed some fresh raw meat and smooth jazz while he waited for Purg to arrive.
Hours later, while the Radio Demon doodled a smiley face on the table in rabbit blood, Elida's enemy returned home. Alastor's eyes flashed in anticipation. He pulled a rope from his toolbelt, twisting it excitedly between his fingers.
Showtime.
"What the… Who's there?" Purg called, hearing the radio's music. He might have just assumed he'd left the TV on by mistake, but the door had been unlocked. Purg never left the door unlocked. "Whoever it is, come out slowly or I'm calling the cops!"
An evil, hair-raising whisper of a laugh chuckled from behind him, but when Purg turned around, there was nothing there. The darkness cackled again, this time from another direction. He spun toward it, and something moved out of the corner of his eye. Heart racing, Purg grabbed the nearest object to him. A cheap binder full of lesson plans was hardly anyone's weapon of choice, but it was better than nothing. He held it up, ready to strike the second the intruder showed their face.
"Come out," Purg snapped, sounding far braver than he felt.
No one responded. Aside from the staticky, off-putting music, the house was quiet. Purg inched forward. When he was finally able to reach the light switch, he flipped it on. Instead of illuminating his home, however, the lights above Purg's head exploded, sending red sparks and broken glass raining down on him. He hid beneath the binder, crouching to the ground on instinct. One of the bulb shards lodged itself in his finger, making him hiss in pain.
Shaking with adrenaline, Purg pulled his phone out of his pocket to dial 911. No signal. How was there no signal? Purg paid for unlimited data. He was in his own house for God's sake; he should have signal!
Something moved in the corner of his eye again. He turned toward it, eyes straining in the darkness. One of his windows was open. It hadn't been open before. His soft white curtains billowed in the nighttime breeze like a specter waving at him in the moonlight. The sound of crickets chirped from the open pane, beckoning him forward. He had to close it in case the intruder had gone outside. He couldn't let them get back in.
Slowly rising back to his feet, Purg inched forward as quietly as he could. He held his breath. It was too dark. He couldn't defend himself blind like this. Turning his phone's flashlight on, Purg pointed it toward the window and nearly jumped out of his skin. Was he imagining it, or had he just seen a clawed hand with long black fingers disappear behind the windowsill? It was as if it had been made of pure shadow.
It must have been a tree branch. Yes, that's all it was. So why was he still paralyzed with fear? He forced his feet to continue creeping forward. He had to get the window shut and find a way to call for help. Bracing himself, he finally jolted forward and slammed the window shut, closing the latch tight.
Purg pressed his face against the glass, shining his light toward where the shadow had been. All he could see was his own reflection, so he turned the light off to get rid of the glare. The streetlamps outside illuminated an empty road, a well-kept lawn, and a crooked mailbox. There was nothing else; only the glowing windows of his neighbors' houses.
Something brushed against his ankle. "AH!" He shouted in surprise and jumped back, frantically turning his phone light back on to check the ground. After a moment of panicked fumbling, he relaxed. There was nothing there, but Mr. Fluffles' cage was open. The bunny must have escaped again and ran past his feet in the dark. He really needed to calm down. It was probably just a thief who'd gotten spooked and run off.
Purg followed the sound of the music, checking to make sure his dining room TV wasn't broken. There was clearly some kind of electrical issue going on, and he didn't want to have this annoying old-timey music playing all night.
As his light scanned across the room, Purg could have sworn he saw something sitting on the table that didn't belong there. The music suddenly stopped. Doing a double-take, he looked again, only to see a dirty plate and utensils. The intruder must have helped themselves to his pantry. They drew a smiley face on his table. What a dick move.
The silence was jarring. Purg could hear nothing but the muffled sound of crickets from outside and his own jagged breathing. He approached the table, inspecting the dirty plate. What was all that red? Had they used his last jar of spaghetti sauce?
Only there were bones. And fur. And teeth. And… Oh God… Mr. Fluffles!
Wait.
If Mr. Fluffles was dead… then what had touched Purg's ankle?
Through the deafening silence, he heard another chilling, insidious laugh. This one was coming from right behind him.
He whirled around, arm already swinging. He collided with a dark figure silhouetted against what little moonlight could manage to spill into the space. Or rather, he would have collided with it, if his binder hadn't passed straight through the damn thing. He flailed, trying to regain his balance. The laughter got louder, more manic. The shadow-figure loomed over him, impossibly tall. Its hands were just as long and sharp as the one he'd seen in the window. The figure slowly reached for him.
Judas Purg screamed, throwing the binder at the figure's face. He ran, bolting as fast as his feet would carry him towards the door. He yanked at the handle. It was locked. He tried unlocking it. No luck. The door was jammed shut. Freaking out, he pounded on the door, screaming for someone to come help him.
The crazed laughter got louder, scratching at his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He glanced behind his shoulder. The figure was getting closer, walking slowly across the room with jerky, unnatural movements.
"WHAT ARE YOU!?" He cried, pinned in fright against the door.
The figure spoke; a harsh, peculiar static distorting its voice, "I am your fate."
It smiled a smile so menacing and cruel that Purg lost control of his bladder. Warm liquid ran down his leg as he trembled, unable to do anything but stare into the figure's glowing red eyes.
From behind him, A pair of gloved hands phased through the door and wrapped a thin rope around his neck. They pulled, crushing his windpipe and securing him to the door. He tried to cough, but the rope was too tight. His vision blurred as he kicked his legs and clawed at the rope. A grinning ghost poked his head through the wood of the door. He looked far more human than the dark figure, but his eyes glowed the same hellish red.
"Hello Mr. Purg! Pleasure to be meeting you! I see you've met my shadow," he said in a cheerful tone that didn't match the setting. The ghost whispered in Purg's ear, "Why don't the three of us have a little fun?"
Purg shook his head frantically. Purg didn't want to know what this horrific monster considered fun. He pulled desperately at the ghost's hands, trying to get some air. A gulp, a breath, anything!
"No?" The ghost said, feigning surprise, "Well, that is a shame, because I'm going to enjoy this. Come, good man! We have much to do." The ghost loosened up on the rope just enough to let Purg breathe, but not enough for him to slip away. Purg gasped, his lungs burning. Phasing the rest of his body through the door, the ghost pulled the flailing man toward the center of the living area.
While Purg squirmed and cried, the ghost spoke conversationally, "Now then, let's get acquainted, shall we? My name is Alastor. I'm here on behalf of someone I love, to whom you've evidently caused quite a bit of distress. The dear thing didn't tell me what you've done, but from what I can gather, it was personal. By golly, her anger was truly something to behold! Now, as her doting lover, a slight against her is a slight against me. So, it seems you've found yourself in quite the predicament, eh old pal?"
The tall shadow-figure grabbed Purg's arms, pulling them up until he dangled helplessly by his wrists. The ghost, or rather Alastor, smiled at him. Purg tried to kick him in the face, but in response, Alastor grabbed one of his legs and snapped it with a sickening crack. Purg screamed in pain, bone protruding from just below his knee.
"Now now," Alastor tutted, "I can't have you bleeding out so soon. Let's get that taken care of."
Holding up his hand, a small green flame danced in Alastor's palm. He pressed the flame to Purg's new wound, cauterizing it, but doing nothing to stop the pain. Purg screamed again, struggling to free his wrists from the shadow's impossibly strong grip.
"I admit, I'm rather curious as to what your crimes really are," he said, removing the rope from Purg's neck and tying his feet together. "My dearest seems quite confident you'll be joining us in Hell after I've killed you. For someone like her, the severity of your sins must be absolute, or she'd likely feel less sure of the outcome of your divine judgement."
"H-hell? What do you mean join you in Hell? What are you talking about, you crazy-ass creep!?" Purg tried to struggle more, but with his feet tied together, his good leg only served to make his injured leg worse. He was forced to keep his feet still or risk more pain.
"Oh dear," Alastor laughed, "Aren't you in for a rude awakening! Not to worry, good fellow, all will be revealed in due time. But first, I need to package you up for delivery. You're a gift for my doll, after all!"
"Please don't kill me!" Purg begged pathetically, "I'll give you anything you want! Just let me go!"
"Aaaanything? Then… let's make a deal." Alastor's shadow dropped Purg's wrists, sending him crashing to the ground on his broken leg. He cried out in pain again, and Alastor pressed a foot down hard on the segment of exposed bone. Purg didn't know it was possible to feel this much agony.
"I agree not to touch you for the rest of your life," Alastor offered, "and in exchange, you give me your soul."
Purg didn't believe in souls, and he'd have said anything to get the pain to stop, so he nodded frantically, "Yes! Yes! You can have it, just get off my leg!"
"Very well." Alastor removed his foot. The red in his eyes grew brighter as a glowing document appeared in the air beside Purg's face. "I'll agree not to lay a hand on you until you're dead and buried. In exchange, I get your soul. Do we have a deal?"
"Okay, okay," he cowered.
"Sign here, please," Alastor produced a fountain pen out of thin air. Purg signed. They shook hands.
"Pleasure doing business with you." Alastor straightened, his shadow disappearing into the thick darkness. "Now, as for the matter of your death…"
"Wait, you said you wouldn't kill me!"
"Oh-ho, no. I said I wouldn't lay a hand on you for the rest of your life. I never said how long that would be." Alastor snapped his fingers and Mr. Fluffles' cage began to shake. It rattled and moaned, growing and twisting until it transformed into a sturdy metal coffin. There was a narrow slit near the top to breathe through, and it smelled like unwashed rabbit. Its hinges creaked as Alastor opened the lid; "In you go."
He had to get away. He had to run! Purg backed up, scooting along the ground despite his broken leg. "No, please! You've got the wrong guy!"
"None of that," Alastor wagged a finger at him. "I agreed to deliver you to my Elida, and I intend to do so. And this way, you'll be gift-wrapped, ha ha ha!" He waved a hand, and long metal straps shot out of the coffin, wrapping themselves around Purg's legs and throat.
Purg shrieked, clawing at the floor in alarm, "Wait, wait, wait, no! Please, please, p- mmMMMmmMMMMMM!"
Another metal strap wrapped itself around his mouth, stifling his fruitless begging. The coffin pulled him in, securing him to the bottom like some kind of messed-up, packaged toy. He'd left scratches in the floor, one of which had Purg's freshly torn off nail wedged into the marks. Alastor closed the coffin's lid, laughing sadistically.
Opening the window a second time, Alastor had his magic do the heavy lifting. Purg's coffin floated behind him as he left the house, walking toward a nearby grove of trees. As a ghost, he wasn't worried about leaving behind evidence of Purg's gruesome fate. What were the cops going to do? Arrest him?
He walked cheerily down the street, allowing the cover of night to engulf his cargo. His shadow glided ahead of him, dousing any streetlights that might arouse any unwanted attention from the living locals. He needed to remain undisturbed for a few days. Elida said to make Purg suffer. He'd keep the scum alive until the man died of thirst.
When he'd found a suitably quiet area that seemed unlikely to have any visitors, Alastor took his shovel and started digging. He listened, amused at Purg's stifled screaming.
"You may as well silence yourself for now," Alastor advised with a smile, "Save some screams for when the real fun begins."
When the grave was deep enough to satisfy Alastor's standards, he lowered Purg into the ground. Creating a magical barrier around the coffin's singular window, he ensured that the dirt he filled in would leave a nice tidy little tunnel for Purg to breathe through. Suffocation was too quick; Alastor couldn't let that happen.
When the hole was properly filled in and Judas Purg was thoroughly hidden, Alastor waited. He stood guard for three days, tap-dancing and humming to pass the time. He had to ensure no one came to dig Purg up. On day two, He noticed a rather large hornet's nest on a nearby tree.
For kicks and giggles, he made a small portal inside the coffin. Taking the nest down and shaking it until the hornets were swarming with rage, Alastor dropped the nest into Purg's coffin, and closed the portal again. For the sake of his own satisfaction, he removed the gag from his victim's mouth, savoring the fresh wave of cries and shrieks.
Alastor wondered what Elida would do once her package arrived.
