Beware the rubber stamp

In an advanced civilisation in the distant past, a government council enacted laws to benefit everyone, promoting sharing and dividing labour.

Two miles beneath the surface, miners toiled in a dangerous environment where only the most formidable individuals dared to venture. Long shifts and hard work toughened these men.

They earned good wages and gained respect within the community. The entire civilisation relied on the black gold they extracted from the ground with shovels and picks.

A labour gang of muscular men had just finished their 15-hour shift deep in the mines, caked in coal dust from the mine walls. They drank copious amounts of alcohol at a rough bar known for frequent fights. During one extraordinary drunken session, they jokingly created a list of how they would change society.

A bear-sized man stood up, raised his arm, and belched. Laughter erupted; these men lacked social graces.

The shaft hand, Trapend, announced while still on his feet, "I'm tired of seeing only men in here. We should have a few women." He then sat back down and promptly passed out.

The others chuckled.

"I wish women would come down here and do some of our work," said Vergman, another large man with a beard that could easily hide a flock of seagulls. "My wife hands me a list of chores when I'm off work. She thinks all I do is play with a shovel while we're down here. She even takes my expense money to buy food."

One miner remarked, "I don't see why they get to make rules about what we produce with our blood, sweat, and tears."

After some time, they decided to write down new laws to remember them. None had paper, so the bar server retrieved a fancy government document from the recycling chute along with a black pen.

He gave all the remaining conscious drinkers a sobriety test.

“Just walk in a straight line over to the music machine,” said the bar server with a smile.

A fight broke out when one miner stumbled onto a table, spilling drinks everywhere. The barman offered free drinks to soothe ruffled feelings, and the two tables combined. This time, the server retrieved the alcohol meter from under the bar.

Testing each miner, he chose the one who tested four times over the limit for access to work in the mines as the note-taker because he was the most sober of the group—an hour passed. Out of twelve drinkers, only four remained conscious. The note-taker needed help reading the official proclamation of the Supreme Council of the Panilli.

He stood up swiftly, grasped the table to pick himself off the ground, and sat back down again. His eyes focused on the page in front of him.

"Continued from the previous page, mark exhibit 17. Eighteen subsection twenty-four D. The council declared that female hygiene products and toilet utensils must stay in private places to ensure everyone's privacy. Eighteen subsection twenty-four E. Toilet paper requisitions must occur weekly instead of monthly due to last month's diarrhoea outbreak. Special note: the new toilet paper must be soft and moist. The air conditioning units still do not function correctly; a requisition has been applied for and a budget set to install new motorised vents."

A drinker beside him poked his arm and said, "You're on the wrong side of the page. Turn it over."

The note-taker squinted and turned the page over.

He cleared his throat, “The Supreme Council of Paneili declares this list to be a valid new set of laws and ordinances for our future.” Cheers erupted from the crowd.

“Only people capable of lifting 150 lbs of ore will have rights and privileges,” met with miners flexing their arms to show off their muscles.

“No penis, no right to clothes,” followed by laughter as several miners dropped their pants and waved their organs.

“If you can't reach up to 8 feet in height, you can't be employed anywhere for financial gain.” Everyone stood up and reached for the roof.

“Females who reject a miner's advances can be kidnapped and used as he wishes." This comment came from a miner who had lusted after a married woman; after he made an advance at her, she loudly rejected him in front of his friends, leading to her husband delivering powerful punches despite being an office worker.

He later discovered that this “office worker” was actually a middleweight champion boxer. While his lumps and bruises healed, his embarrassment lingered.

Realising what he said, he muttered, “Without legal recourse.” This statement met with frowns and disapproval from others.

The note-taker cleared his throat again, “Carrying on, unmarried women will not be allowed to reject advances from any self-declared unattached miner unless he proves himself to be a man of poor character.” Cheers erupted from the table.

“Division of assets after divorce will depend on what funds each party contributed to the marriage.”

“After this date, all married men will give half their assets to their wives in future.”

One voice slurred, “Who’d want to get hitched then?”

“All marriages will annul upon passing this proclamation.” Cheers followed from the table once again.

The miners stood in unison and carried the note-taker around the bar while cheering loudly. After they fell back into their seats, the note-taker struggled to hold his pen and spilled his drink on the notes.

The group read aloud the list to those still conscious. They rejected suggestions about abusing women; however, the note-taker couldn't cross it out due to the drink he spilled on the parchment.

One miner with only one brain cell functioning said, “This is terrible stuff. Put it in the recycling bin.” The remaining participants nodded in agreement. He attempted to tear it up but found that it was government paper made from untearable plastic. Rolling it up, he went to put it into a refuse chute. Staggering over, he noticed that the chute needed emptying; office materials overflowed out of it. There was barely enough room to squeeze it in as it was full of mining debris and office paper. He then sat back down again and promptly passed out.

The following day, they shuffled through the bar, stepping over recycling papers spread across the floor before returning to the shafts, feeling under the weather.

One male office worker scolded by his boss needed to find a critical security report he mistakenly placed in the recycler. He reasoned it would have passed through several levels. After hours of searching, he spotted some pages in the mine bar amidst the nauseating smell of alcohol at such an early hour.

Looking around, he noticed government-coloured pages sticking out of the chute and scattered across the floor. Gathering them up, he placed them in his satchel and added them all to go before the High Clerk. When he handed over the reports and papers, his high clerk shot him a murderous look upon smelling alcohol: "I will deal with you later."

He couldn't submit the papers as they were; instead, he sent a minion out for blotting paper to absorb moisture from the pages.

The High Chair of the Supreme Council of Paneili cleared her throat: “Now, minutes from our last meeting.” She spent time sorting pages out to annoy other council members who had golf games scheduled that day while she began reading. Several members fell asleep during her droning speech as she called for votes periodically and stamped pages as she went along.

Forty-five minutes later, she continued reading: “Mark exhibit 17. Eighteen subsection twenty-four C. The lighting in toilets needs upgrading to more environmentally friendly appliances in future.”

“How does the council vote?” she asked, receiving a chorus of “Ayes.” She stamped it with a large embossed metal stamp as it became law before continuing her monotonous reading until she reached a smudged page where she struggled to read its contents before pulling out her magnifying glass.

"Continued from the previous page: mark exhibit 17. Eighteen subsection twenty-four D…” She read through some previously mentioned points regarding female hygiene products and toilet paper requisitions amidst laughter from her audience reminiscing about past experiences with terrible odours and shortages. The High Chair cleared her throat once more before asking for votes on each point she raised until she droned on without realising everything she said after stamping could not become law because she was a woman.

One thousand years later. Academic Petor leafed through piles of newspaper cuttings.

“So they destroyed their civilisation by mistake?” he asked his boss.

She turned to him and replied, “This is a diary from a reporter named Papian.” She picked up a faded printed piece of parchment and read aloud: "Females have zero rights to males. Why bother educating girls? Why would anyone bother? They sit around gossiping, putting on makeup, and combing their hair—so all female education is banned by law. Mothers who bear boys will receive celebration and praise; they will live in large government-supplied residences with pools and extensive gardens while mothers with no sons will reside in shantytowns and face scorn.”

She continued reading: “Mothers struggled to teach their sons about social norms—maths, geography, history, language, economics, architecture, arts—and so forth because boys ignored women; men regarded educating children as beneath them.”

“After someone realised that this generation was devolving, they thought they needed to oppress women even more…” She paused briefly before concluding, “Then came the invasion; no one wanted to fight because they didn't think women were worth fighting over.”

Listen

 Moctave, Wizard of the Water, Earth, and Sky, a member of the High Council of Magickers, took pleasure in relieving his bowels. He had come far in his life. The war he started over a decade ago was coming to fruition. Now, it was time for the final battle. He chewed a rabbit drumstick while he viewed the pieces on the omnascope. What he could see on the table through the omnascope was as an accurate representation of the battle as possible, albeit viewed through the mists. All through the land, red forces were overwhelming the white ones. It was a done thing. The Reds were winning, and he smiled. Just as it should be, he thought. It was a night to celebrate. He decided to bring a boy child up to his rooms to enjoy. Tomorrow, he would sacrifice the boy to the only true God.

He poured himself some ale. His loins stirred. He pictured the things he would do to the innocent child. He called his servant, "Bring a boy child up to my rooms now."

Ten minutes later, the servant, a lecherous old man, thrust a young boy into the room and then closed the door gently.

Moctave said kindly to the boy, "If you cooperate with me, you and your family can go free tomorrow. You'll be a hero!"

The boy was terrified, but he nodded his head. Moctave was a bit disappointed. He preferred them to resist. Loosening his belt, he glanced at the tabletop.

He decided to have another closer look to be sure. Another three whites were gone, their life fires put out like candles. Their souls cast screaming into the void. He observed one white soldier, whom other white soldiers joined. They were holding their own, more congregated near that single white piece. He watched as one white soldier slew four red troops in rapid succession. The whites rallied.

The Reds were pulling away. As this man turned to leave some battlements, he decided to look closer at him. His pleasure with the child could wait. He called on the elements. He opened his spirit eyes. Wishing his spirit to travel, he was spun across the continent to a point a thousand leagues away from where his body was.

Opening his eyes, he thought it strange that he could hear perfectly before seeing perfectly. The shadows that were the white troops confused him, and he drew his spirit towards the one he sought. As he pushed his spirit towards the man, he blurred into two creatures for a split second. One appeared to be a lad about eighteen years of age, the other a demon. Moctave sensed great strength from the boy. That was easy to fix.

Moctave grew his talons into his spiritual fingers and made them to murder the man. One push into his soul, and he'd die. The youth spun on his heels and thrust his fist into where Moctave's heart would have been. Then, his spiritual heart was in the youth's fist.

Moctave was terrified. The youth looked into his eyes and asked, "What do you want, wizard?"

Moctave replied, "I am Moctave of the celestial gathering; release me, or I'll call on the Celestial to destroy you."

"Fine threats from a man with my heart in his hand!" said the man, then continued, "I'll allow you to live. Send a message to your meddling amateurs not to interfere with me again!"

The creature before Moctave tossed his spectral heart back at his chest. Moctave felt his head spin as he launched through the mists. He awoke on the floor of his room. The child was still in the room, so he dismissed him.

Given this danger, he made the decision to gather the Celestial and make plans to find this creature and destroy him. A month later, they met in the mighty fortress called Dark Home. In the middle of this fortress was a large chamber two hundred feet underground. Fifty-foot columns were carved from the bedrock to support the roof.

The construction of it was momentous in nature. Two cities were emptied of their inhabitants to feed the workforce. The slaves were treated well except for those who attempted to escape. Torture and slow execution awaited any who attempted escape. Promises of better treatment and big bonuses kept the workforce spirited. The cost of human suffering was enormous. Thousands of slaves died during the construction. When completed, a grand celebration was organised, and all workers and families crammed into the chamber. When the last of them entered, the doors were sealed. At the time, the Celestials' leader made the ritual of sending their souls to feed the only true God, The Morning Star. 

After three months, they opened the doors to find nine thousand men, women, and children crammed in the cavern that became the Sulalite, utterly without conscience or remorse. These were the stormtroopers who destroyed any and all opposition. Three hundred and fifty years later, several were still alive. Moctave didn't know how this was possible. After eating so many bodies to stay alive, it has done something to their souls.

Six hundred Celestial and their apprentices were gathered around the root of the earth, chanting and humming. The entire Celestial Order was here: eighteen hundred priests, all with one thought: kill the creature.

Little groups held hands to increase their power. They were looking for the creature to destroy. They searched the land. Every village, every town, and every hamlet searched. Everywhere there was a rock embedded in the earth, they would listen. Moctave was one of the high councils whose word was life or death. 

He directed the circles of Celestials to search. After several days, it was clear this creature was off the land he nominated to search. They could not travel over water. They decided to search for nations closer to their own.

As they searched, they found nothing smaller circles were added to larger circles,  and larger circles joined other large ones.

Moctave directed the two large circles to join into one. He was holding two of the more powerful makes.

A sighting, he was by the East Coast, only three days away. He was walking with an army. Moctave could see the ships; they planned to travel, most likely to his country.

The creature spoke quietly to his troops, pointing at a map and making signs. They couldn't hear him. The power increased. More of the Celestial and apprentices were directed to where the creature stood, talking to his generals.

They still couldn't hear him. Moctave called for more power. The creature walked to the stone face; they still couldn't hear him. Moctave screamed, "More".

The creature's lips were moving, and he was still directing his generals. Moctave directed the last remaining celestials and all their apprentices to listen. He thought the creature could be using magic to mask the sounds.

They could hear him perfectly now: "We're going to destroy the red armies. We need to remove their spies from the picture." We need to use whatever means we can to destroy them. The creature walked towards a table, upon which there was a leather bag. He opened the bag, which contained a large, long-handled hammer. He turned his spirit eyes towards Moctave, swiftly raised the hammer, and said, "I told you not to meddle." Then, with all his might, he struck the outcrop of rock, which split it in two. Moctave released the mages just as the hammer split the rock.

Eighteen hundred heads blew up in the fortress known as Dark Home as if hammers had struck them.

Moctave covered in skull fragments, blood, and brains. The smell was unbearable.

~Boris Doyle

© 2023

A Flat Zero

 Charlie looked at the souls walking in line. He noted one older gentleman who was allowing a female to pass him. Over his head, a white numeral appeared, and the red number diminished from fifty-eight down to fifty-seven.

Charlie saw hope on the man's face and allowed others to pass him by. Once he saw his number stayed at fifty-seven, he pushed past all the people he'd allowed pass him, and his red number increased by fifteen to seventy-three.

The old man cursed, and the red number increased to seventy-four. He fell to his knees, crying. A woman stopped and hugged him. The white numbers over her head increased by one from nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to an even twenty thousand. She looked up, saw the number and asked, "Can I share some of these tokens with him?".

Another number appeared over her head, and she had twenty thousand and one.

Charlie looked up at his number, zero. Such was the circumstances of being born in a cell and having spoken to no one for forty years till he passed one year later. A woman behind him asked, "Can I go ahead? My feet hurt". Charlie could see her number was one white token. Charlie didn't say anything but stayed in his position in the queue. She cursed him. A red one appeared, and now she was marked with a red one.

Charlie tried to make sense of what happened. One minus one was zero, so she should be the same as him at zero.

The line moved on. Two robed bureaucratic types with half-moon glasses were directing people to where they were meant to go. Some with high red numbers fought to avoid their fate. Some tried to strike the bureaucrats, but their hands hit nothing.

Small red figures appeared and would grip them and drag them away. Charlie took note of the scales and talons they used to seize their newest residents. The male in front of Charlie was shaking. He was next in line. The woman in front walked towards the area where all positive numbers were going.

Charlie looked just like a fabulously wealthy evangelist Charlie saw on the television. His number was red, a staggering four million six hundred and fifty-eight thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four.

One bureaucrat with a badge with "Coffee breaks exist to stop mass genocide" said to the other, "I believe this one is mine". The other nodded and said, "Takes one to know one, eh?".

They both laughed at the same time.

"I don't understand how I have a high number. I never did anything bad. I preached the words of the Lord", wailed the older fellow.

The bureaucrat smiled a smile, a mouth full of sharp pointed teeth. He licked his lips with a forked tongue.

"Yes, Mr. Goodall, you've brought many people joy in the Lord's name. Now, let's look at your bank balance," said the bureaucrat.

The man Goodall said, "I've no money. I gave it all away towards the end.".

"Not that one, I mean this one." He conjured a small TV screen on the back that was written, "You don't have to be evil to work here, but it helps".

"I won't bother with the most minor crimes like embezzlement, murder, swindling people. Using your position for sexual favours from the wives or daughters of your congregation to make them fear for their husbands' or fathers' careers".

Images of happy children being excited at seeing him, then photos of their bodies burned. Images of Goodall testifying in court of his friends being murderers and child rapists. Images of Goodall in dark red rooms and screams of his victims.

"None of that happened. I had myself hypnotised to forget it." then his face went pale at the realisation. Here, nothing is hidden or forgotten.

Charlie looked on and felt nothing. The man Goodall fought and was dragged away by several of the imps. As they marched towards his end, one would tear a limb off and put it back in place.

Charlie stood in front of the desk; he had two bureaucrats in front of him.

Simultaneously, both asked, "Is this one of yours?".

Then simultaneously, both said, "No".

One said to the other, " I think we need to see his bank details."

The monitor appeared again. A video of Charlie in a cell by himself appeared. Then, a door opened, and he was released. Then, after a year of therapy to help him adjust to the real world, then nothing.

One robed figure reached for a burning phone that appeared on the desk. Charlie heard the phone ring once, and then a figure appeared. It had horns, bulging muscles, slanted eyes, a goatee and dark skin. A scrubbing brush had been in use. Obviously, it has been bathing. The sound of splashing water and screams and a tiny shark came into view. The figure reached, and the perspective shifted back to its face only.

"Well, what do you want?" asked the figure.

"Your Most Immoral, I regret bothering you, but we have an anomaly here. We have a Nihil,"

A look of impatience flew across the face of the figure on the screen, "send it to Sanctus Duos Calceamenta".

"Yes, you're Most Immoral," said the bureaucrat.

The other bureaucrat sighed and reached for a phone on its side of the desk. It had flowers growing on it.

A figure appeared in a garden. It had been pruning a flower.

"How may I be of assistance to you, my most humble associate?" asked the figure.

The bureaucrat said, "My Most Gracious, we have an anomaly; we have a Nihil".

"Preposterous, that's impossible. Send it to Nothi Mali Mendacem," said the gardening figure.

"Most Angelica Seniori, we did, and they sent it back to us," said the bureaucrat.

An angry look appeared on the face.

"I'm coming down there with my aligned partner. This better not be some joke", he muttered.

The queue was building up behind Charlie, a man who in life had been a hot dog salesman, had his cart appear in front of him. He was selling sausages.

The two overlords appeared at the desk. Both looked angry. "Is this the Nihil," both asked at the same time.

"Yes, overlords," said the bureaucrats in unison.

They both looked at Charlie. He could feel them in his mind, fingering his thoughts,

"We need to send this higher,"

Both reached for phones. A flash of light heralded a new figure; it brought the smell of roses and a feeling of peace. Then, a loud flash of light and a thunderous roar brought the sounds of a casino and the excitement of winning.

The two entities appeared. One was flipping a coin, and the other pouring through books.

After some time, the hotdog salesman reached the top of the queue. Realising his peril, he dashed back to where he was supposed to be. The two overlords looked at each other and nodded. The salesman's number changed from numbers to a written language. It was some oriental language. He looked up and couldn't read what was there. "Am I going up or down".

The two entities approached Charlie, "We've decided your fate. You'll be reborn again fifty years ago and relive your life. That ought to make things clearer."

"Don't I have a choice," asked Charlie.

"No," both the entities shouted.

© Boris Doyle 2023

A final thought

"SEX BEAST RELEASED ON COMPASSIONATE GROUNDS"

"RELEASED CHILD SEX MONSTER ONLY HAS WEEKS TO LIVE"

"ROT IN HELL, EVIL MAN ARRIVING SOON"

"VICTIM'S FAMILY PROTEST LENIENCY FOR EVIL KILLER OF LITTLE AMY"

Screamed the headlines of the tabloids. Jack Doyle did his best to hide in the back of the unmarked police car. His police protectors didn't speak to him other than to tell him how to remain safe. Stay indoors, keep the curtains closed, don't call anyone from the past. They couldn't hide the hatred in their eyes for him.Then they left him without a farewell.

Before they left the jail, the screws had allowed two prisoners access to Jack's cell. He fought them off. Jack had learned how to fight in prison. No rules was the rule, the two prisoners and Jack were all bloodied and bruised.

With his fingers still hurting he called his ex-wife. "Sarah, it's me Jack please don't hang up". He pleaded with her to listen. After she hung up he called again. He begged to see her.

"Please you've got to believe me, Sarah, I didn't do anything to that girl", said Jack. "It's not in me to do something like that. Please you've got to believe me."

The phone hung up again.

He called again, "please Sarah, for the love of God listen", there was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. He knew she was listening. All I remember was going out for a pint with Charlie. The next thing I knew was him breaking a door down and screaming about a girl."

"You were found naked on the floor of the cottage. Her blood all over you, she'd been raped numerous times and her throat sliced. You're a sick bastard. The sooner you're dead the better," said his ex-wife Sarah.

The phone didn't click, Jack prayed for two seconds, he didn't have much time. "Please Sarah, I don't know what happened, one moment I was in a pub, the next I had cops crawling all over me. I didn't do this evil crime".

"Tell me what you remember," she said.

He had a chance, a possibility.

"Me and Charlie went to the Rooster. We had a laugh and a joke. He seemed particularly happy, I was telling him my plans for a sale the next week. His eyes lit up in joy about it. You remember the big one. Buy a plot of land for €150,000 then sell it the next week for millions. We'd have been set for life."

"I bought him a pint and his round was next, then nothing," he said.

Silence for a moment then she said, "Charlie was a great comfort to me after you were convicted. I married Charlie after I divorced you, we have one child as well as the six I got from you".

She went silent for a second. Jack began to speak, she silenced him. After 10 years of marriage he knew she was thinking about something.

"I'm sending the kids to stay at my mother's for a couple of days, come over and we'll talk. Remember when we're finished talking. I never want any communication with you ever again", she said.

"I understand, can I call in two hours?" he asked.

"Make it three hours," she said and hung up.

Jack cried for a few minutes, then wiped his tears away. He started opening files. They excluded pictures of the girl from the documents given to him because of the fear that he would masturbate over them.. He felt ill at the idea.

He tried to recall the night in question. Something was missing. He had a drink with Charlie. Good old Charlie, he could always depend on his best friend Charlie.

They'd been friends since they were four years old. They swung on swings together, made forts. Talked to each other through tin cans and string. Sword fights, cowboys and Indians, cycling their bikes together. Jack was jealous of the succession of girls on Charlie's arm. He never kept any of them for more than a month. An endless succession of broken hearts.

Then he met Sarah, and his world exploded. He rarely had time for Charlie. He tried some double dates, but Charlie always cancelled. Then he popped the question. Three months later, they married and Charlie was his best man. Soon after, Charlie disappeared.

Nine months later, baby number one. He called the boy Charlie to honour his friend, less than a year later, baby number two. Four more children. They worked hard to build a future. Jack got involved in financing and that was how he began to gamble with property sales.

This was when Charlie resurfaced. He'd changed. He didn't smile as much. Seemed colder. But to Jacks' eyes, same old Charlie.

His mind returned to the night in question. After the drinks, nothing but darkness.

He looked at the files again. There were pictures of the door after Charlie smashed it in. Eye witness statements from Charlie. Searching for his friend after he went out into the night. He spoke about how Jack had hurt him earlier with a punch. Jack didn't remember that. How he'd tried to grapple with Jack to keep him safe. After some hours Charlie called Sarah. She said she was beside herself with worry and continued searching for some more hours. Then at approximately two in the afternoon. Charlie saw signs that someone broke into the old cottage. The door loosly held in place He went in, saw Jack on the floor naked and bloodied.

Then went to the bed and found the seven year old girl Amy Newton completely under the covers. Beloved daughter of Annie Smith. There was a picture of Amy's mother, she looked sad and lonely.

The pathologist report was grisly. Jack felt the urge to vomit at the injuries that little girl suffered before she passed away.

There were comments from the judge. He had not come across a more evil crime and hoped the Lord would give him the justice he deserved.

Jack reread the eyewitness testimony again, to be sure.

The phone rang a gruff voice said, "I'm your taxi driver, are you ready"

"Coming now"

He put on a disguise, a false moustache and a pair of bottle top glasses, he darkened his skin and left the room.

Three hours later he was at his old home. Sarah looked like she always did, beautiful. He resisted the urge to reach out to her. Her eyes looked over his shoulder, he knew who it was. Charlie, his best friend, good old Charlie.

"Why is he here," he asked .

Jack forced a smile, "good to see you old friend,

Charlie replied, "don't call me friend, you're nothing to me."

Sarah looked at Jack, and said, "say what you've got to say then get out and never enter my presence again".

Jack looked at Charlie, "I've had six years to think about that night. I remember nothing about what happened other than drinking with you. Then you banging on the smashed door,"

Charlie's expression changed, Jack couldn't read it. He left the room and came back with a bottle of wine and some glasses. He opened it and poured the wine out. He handed one to Sarah and the looked at Jack before he handed one to him.

"I don't want to drink with a child rapist, killer", stated Sarah. "I don't want him here," she shouted.

Charlie petted her arm, "Just take a sip of the wine, if not for him then do it for me"

Obediently, she lifted the glass and downed the contents in one gulp, "now get out you evil child predator"

Then she went silent. Charlie waved his hands in front of her eyes, nothing. Lights on but nobody's home. He produced a gun and pointed it at Jack.

"No one knows you're here do they?"

It wasn't a question. He waved Jack towards the basement door. Jack didn't move. Charlie pointed the gun at Sarah's head. Jack stood and moved towards the door.

"Don't think that because this is a small calibre pistol it won't do damage. The bullets are soft lead, cross headed, scooped out. One hit from this will leave a small hole where it enters and a gaping hole the size of a hat on the other side of your body"

As they moved forward Jack opened the vent, "it's going to get stuffy down there".

They moved towards the cellar door. Charlie brushed off some tincans hanging on string.

Charlie said, "sit on the ground with your hands under your arse. We're going to have a little question time, how did you figure it out?"

Jack "When you came through the cottage door, you screamed about the girl. You hadn't seen her so how could you have known whether she was a boy or a girl."

"Oh very clever. Too bad you're not going to tell anyone about it. When Sarah comes to I'll be bloodied and you'll be dead. I may have to shoot myself in the thigh to convince them you attacked me"

He shook the gun, "this gun, of course, will be on your person".

"Here's what I'll do for you. I know you have been protesting your innocence for the last six years. You write a letter of confession admitting your guilt for what you did to that little girl."

At this point he licked his lips.

Jack said, "why would I wrote that?"

"Because old friend if you don't I'll shoot my wife through the head. Then myself through the thigh and then shoot you dead".

"It won't be an easy death I'll shoot you several times on areas where it will take time to die. If they ask questions. Who'll tell them different", said Charlie.

"Why did you do that to the little girl and destroy my life, we were friends for Gods sake," asked Jack.

"Because we were friends I'll tell you. It doesn't matter if you know or not. When I went away I joined a Satanic cult and my entry was a human sacrifice, the girl, and the life of my best friend. Getting to dick his wife was the cherry on top. Of course, that deal made me millions. I had to share it with the other members of my temple. The Judge in court and the investigating police officer."

Jack smiled, instant suspicion was on Charlie's face, "why are you smiling?"

"You just admitted to murder, child rape and helped expose corruption", said Jack.

"No one's listening, you fool. You've been a fool ever since I first realised how much more is to be gained through the one true entity. I have power and money influence. Satanism is the way forward," he said. Throwing down a notebook with a pencil attached, "start to write or I'll put a bullet through the woman's neck".

"They've been listening to your confession", said Jack.

Charlie began to laugh, "there's no one listening. That vent you opened is stuffed with fibreglass insulation. Now write"

Jack smiled again, "remember when we were kids and how we played? We used to communicate with tincans and string"

Charlie's eyes widened and his eyes shot to the tincans hanging close to where he was standing.

"No there's no one up there"

"The string you'll note goes in the direction of the open window over there window", said Jack, "by the way, the police are here. I am not dying."

Charlie pointed his gun towards Jack and fired a shot. Jack moved at the same moment, this saved his life. The second crack of a pistol through the window and Charlie was on the ground. The door smashed open and armed police stormed the basement.

The bullet had gone through Jacks' shoulder. Now the blood flowed out through the wound.

"Get the EMP down here", shouted a police man kneeling beside Jack.

He knelt on the wound to stop the blood.

Another police officer tended to Charlie, they had him handcuffed and face up.

His face was a mask of pure hatred.

Jack's face turned grey as his life blood flowed out onto the basement floor. His eyes sought Charlie. The paramedics desperately seeking to stem the flow of blood.

Jack smiled.

"The police didn't really believe your testimony. They couldn't do anything about me in prison. They've been monitoring your circle for months. They couldn't find anything concrete to use. So they thought of me. This has been planned for months. I was here this morning and sorted out the tin cans. I thought it was poetic. You and your chums are going to be in prison for a very long time."

Jack still smiled as his life blood ceased to flow.

~Boris Doyle

 

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