The Number of the Beast

The Smiling Man



      The man was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. He was dressed for climbing, in khaki shorts and shirt, with military-issue combat boots. His gear was minimal: he wanted to be unhindered. His most prominent piece of equipment was the long machete with which he hacked his way vigorously through the dense jungle undergrowth. His eyes were animalistic and vibrant, darting one minute to a snake in a nearby tree to a small spider on his arm, which he wiped promptly off with a gloved hand.          He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and the bright, coppery facial hair was fast developing into a bristly beard which matched his slightly shaggy auburn hair. He had the urgency of a man searching for something.          

      He had been climbing this path for days and traversing this jungle for weeks. He was alone, with no methods of outside communication, leaving him on his own if something happened. There was no help coming if he messed this up.

But he was close- he could almost feel it in the sultry, vibratory Brazilian heat crowding in between the trees and vines and entwining fog-like around his body. Excitement… a quivering poise… an anticipation. He felt it. He continued to climb and struggle through the waning hours of the day until nighttime forced him to find a relatively clear space and set up camp.



                                              *          *          *

         He woke abruptly in the middle of the night. In spite of his fire, the insects of the jungle were swarming around him, and he realized that the fire was reduced to nothing but embers at the moment. He rose with smooth feline strength and piled on more wood, poking and prodding the fire until it roared to life once again. Within moments, the irritating whine of the insects faded to a minute detail of the nighttime rainforest orchestra.

        As he went back to lay down again, he… felt something. It wasn’t quite physical, and he couldn’t be quite sure that it really happened, but somehow it couldn’t be ignored: a sudden pressing tenseness, a feeling that crawled up and down his spine and kept him looking around with his hand on his machete. He felt watched. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

         Regardless, he was up an hour more with an unsettled anxiety about him, and was much the worse for it in the morning, when he started up again.



                                              *          *          *

        It was another week before he reached his goal. When he did, the sight of the craggy cave rising over an emerald sea of trees and vines produced no great elation or exhilaration in him, merely a patient satisfaction. His job wasn’t yet done.

         He continued to climb the whole morning. It was noon when, finally, he reached his goal: the cave.

         It was deep, fading into total blackness from a mere four feet penetrated by the bright sunlight, and stalactites jabbed down from the entrance and continued in until the reflected hints of light were too few to reveal any more. The cave was very deep.

         Of course, he had expected such a thing- what he sought would not be hidden in a little hollow in a cliff. But other than that deduction, there was nothing else he knew about this cave. It was not on any map, and the only information to be had was from the few villagers further south of this place who knew of the cave’s location.

         As was typical, it was a place shrouded in mystery and tales of great evil, and had been explored not even by the strongest men, brave or foolhardy. Naturally, he could not hope for a guide, although it was doubtful that anyone lived close enough to be a native of these parts who could find their way through this jungle. This, too, was a reminder of the absolute solitude he had walked into: he could not hope for help from anyone even if he could escape whatever resident danger might lurk in the cave. No one knew the way.

         He camped again that night, this time in front of the cave, until morning to enter it.

         He slept badly that night, again plagued by the feeling of being watched… crowded in upon, and constantly woke to fleeting illusions of unnatural shadows. Once he thought he saw a face next to him just on the edge of his sight, in the darkness of the cave, and turned wildly to look. Nothing was there, and lifting a piece of the burning firewood and poking it into the blackness did nothing. He fell asleep again, but not without his machete tucked against his sweating chest.

         At last dawn came, and with it, the challenge of the cave… and what might lurk within.

         He ate breakfast quickly, then began packing his things together. Now, he pulled out the pre-prepared torches he’d made for this trip- five torches, held together of a piece of rope to tie around his waist for traveling. He sighed, then lit one in the fire he’d built up for breakfast.

         As he stood at the entrance of the cave, he found himself beset with doubts. He lifted the lit torch into the darkness, but it was like sticking it in a black hole- the shadows may as well have been sucking out its light. He tried moving in closer, regardless. He looked down. His feet were just a step away from crossing the threshold of light and dark, into the cave. He took a breath, and stepped over.

         The cave was immediately lit up with orange, flickering light, stretching at a radius of about five feet in all directions. Glancing back, he silently bid farewell, perhaps for the last time, to the sun which was languidly creeping above the horizon. Then he continued into the cave.

                                              *          *          *

         His surroundings varied little: rock to the left, right, rock up and down, blackness in both directions, before and behind him. His torch burned steadily as, hour after hour, he continued his journey deeper and deeper into the cave.

         Finally, after what felt like years, he stopped. There was no way he could be sure what time it was, with no watch or sight of the sun, but that didn’t matter now. It was always nighttime here.

         Dinner was small and unimpressive: he had to ration everything carefully, because there could be no more supplementing his meals with what game he could kill. It would have to last for who knew how long. The worst part of this, perhaps, was that he could have no fire. He couldn’t carry firewood, and the few torches he possessed needed to be saved and would be lit with the supply of matches he’d carried and saved throughout this journey for this part of it. It was with a heavy heart that he smothered the torch in the dirt at his feet and lay down in complete darkness, one hand tightly clasped on the machete and the other on the torch. His matches were in his pocket.

         As before, he woke, then continued walking without breakfast, moving deeper and deeper, following the one-way path that could only yield him one direction to go. He continued in this manner for days, then a week. Little change occurred in this time.

         Not to say he was bored. The further in he went the more little things happened. One time he might wake up to find the torch he’d carefully held against his chest to be several feet away, and he had to grope around in the dark for it. Another time he felt something touching his face, stroking his skin softly. He struggled to open his eyes, but it was like being in a coma. When his eyes did snap open, the torch was lit and his machete stuck in the dirt, far deeper than he could’ve jammed it into the hard-packed earth. No matches were missing.

         Then things began to show up: a loaf of bread, a piece of meat, a bowl of wine. At first he left them fearfully, but as his food ran steadily out and his goal proved to be further than he’d planned for, he began to take them, at first choosing only certain things he felt were safer, finally just taking anything that showed up. He trekked on.

The walls changed, taking on a reddish clay hue, and he felt a downward slope in the ground. Food continued to appear, and this was good, because he had run out.

         He did not know what kept him going- perhaps the fear that there would be no more food if he went the other way. Maybe he was just beyond the point of no return. But underneath, there was a burning desire to find his goal that slowly grew to an obsession even as he continued deeper, until he could not sleep for impatience. He ate the high energy food that now appeared, traveling non-stop into the cave and a dark agony of longing and despair. If there was any room for another thought in his head, he might’ve been struck by the sentiment that no matter how deep he went, it could only get darker. The light was where he’d come from. And still he continued, fervent and frantic.



                                              *          *          *

         So it was that he realized, in a rare moment of illumination, that his desire had become more than wanting the rumored relic, the bronze god idol; he wanted to go down into the earth and… what? What was he looking for if the relic was no longer the main goal? Perhaps he would know when he reached it. And he needed the relic.

         For this was what he did- traveled into places others were uncomfortable with or ill-trained to enter, and retrieved things based on information given him by his client and what he could collect from the natives. The man who wanted this idol was a rich man- he would pay well, he said, if the idol could only be retrieved. It would be difficult, and there would be no help. The cave was unmapped and he would be alone. But he would, upon successful return, receive five hundred thousand. If unsuccessful, he would only receive fifty thousand, for the effort. Still a lot. It crossed his mind earlier on that he could just return now and take the fifty thousand, but it was a huge loss compared to the half a million…

         By now, he estimated, he must be at least a few hundred miles underground. He had been down here for at least a month now. He wasn’t certain; he had quit counting. He didn’t think he had a time limit, but he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he couldn’t risk failure by returning before he found it. He camped in a few hours for the small amount of time it took him to eat and briefly rest, perhaps doze.



                                              *          *          *

        He continued his journey for days- or it seemed like days. It didn’t matter, though- time had lost its meaning. Life- had lost its meaning. All that mattered was this adventure, this goal, this subterranean maze. The longer he searched, the more he was consumed; the less his past mattered to him. The darker became his future. His memory faded into a dim dream; sometimes, he felt like he was moving underwater, sluggish, languid, his thoughts gone. When he caught himself in these moments, a little chill shuddered through his body; he feared he was losing himself, he always seemed to have to reach further for his thoughts. He was slipping away.



                                              *          *          *

         There was a faint glow ahead.

It had a strange, reddish hue, as of candle or firelight. It looked to be several yards ahead of him. He stopped when he saw it, surprised. He hadn’t noticed it ten minutes ago, and he’d been traversing this relatively straight tunnel for some time now. He hesitated uncertainly. He hadn’t heard anything about anyone living here.

         Abruptly he caught himself- somehow, unconsciously, he’d been moving  forward, towards the reddish glow. God, this cave was messing with his head. He rubbed his eyes wearily. How long had it been since he’d slept- really slept? He had no idea, and the more he tried to think back, the more blankness he came up with. In fact, he couldn’t seem to remember anything before now- it was just a long stretch of nothing. All that remained was here and now, here in this cave, in front of this glow, with no memory or identity or history.

         No one. He was no one. Had this happened in the past- did people usually suffer dementia from extended periods of seclusion?

         So, he had nothing, no memory. Well, there was no reason not to continue. The moment this thought entered his mind, his feet were moving towards it… yet another reminder of the thin veil that remained of his ability to control himself. He lifted the torch higher. It was his last one- he’d lit it only that morning. Or whenever he’d awoken.

         When he was a few steps away from turning the corner that would lead him to the light, a vague thought of stopping for further deliberation crossed his mind, but was not acted upon. It was too late.

         He turned the corner, and in that moment, all his tenseness, all his obsessive need and anxiety to reach some unknown destination vanished. His hesitation vanished. He relaxed- there was nothing to worry about. Whatever happened, whatever he’d found, this was what he’d been thirsting for so long. He examined the scene before him.

         It looked like someone actually lived here- and not in a manner that he somehow thought would be adopted by a cave-dwelling nomad. The very first thing that caught his eye was an enormous, floor-to-ceiling fireplace, open from top to bottom, with a roaring fire in it. The whole room possessed a warmth entirely unlike the frigid, damp coldness of the cave. There was a large double bed against one wall, covered with red blankets- in fact, the room was filled with red, lending it an even warmer feeling. In front of the fireplace, there was a table, and on each end of the little table was a wooden chair.

         It looked just like a regular little abode, albeit a small one, except for the fact that it was underground. And the walls were quite obviously made of dirt. He moved into the room a little more for a closer look at things. The bed’s blankets were very soft and thick. The fire was wonderful. As he took a few steps nearer to it, however, a door he had not noticed before opened to his left and admitted a man.

He jumped, startled, but immediately relaxed. The man did not look threatening. Except for the fact that he was a bit tall. And his black eyes- they seemed to be black- glittered somewhat unnervingly in the firelight. But when the man smiled, the intimidation vanished, and in a daze, he took the hand proffered him in greeting.

         “Hi…” he said, still entranced. There really was something fascinating about the man’s eyes,  the intense dark luster of them.  The man nodded greeting. “Here, sit down,” he offered with an engaging smile. “What’s your name?” added the man.

         He frowned. He couldn’t remember- he couldn’t even remember his name! Still, he had to say something. “Tom,” he said at last. It didn’t sound right, but it would do. Meanwhile, the other man smiled and nodded. He really was quite an optimistic person, considering he lived in a cave. “Call me Lucius,” the man said.

Lucius. He could remember that. Hopefully.

         He cleared his throat. “Why do you live in a cave?” he asked. Lucius smiled, shrugged. “I just like it,” he said. Tom frowned- not a very satisfactory answer, in his opinion. “That’s it?” he asked finally. Lucius nodded. “I like the solitude,” he explained. “I can do what I want, anything at all. No one bothers me. No one knows I live here- no one knows I exist, or what it is I do. I like it that way.” Tom indicated the fire. “How is it you get supplies- food, firewood?”

         “I return to the surface regularly.”

         Tom mulled this over. “You knew I was here,” he finally said. Lucius nodded.

        “Obviously,” he said.

        “And you left the food?”

         Lucius grinned. “So glad you noticed,” he said, looking pleased. But Tom wasn’t so happy.

        “So… you were spying on me?”

         At this, Lucius’s face fell somewhat. “I watched you,” he eventually answered. “It’s only spying if I don’t belong here. But this is my dwelling. I oversee it as is necessary. Spying, no. Watching- yes.” Tom didn’t like the tense atmosphere that had fallen. He attempted to lighten it.

        “Thanks for helping me,” he said. Lucius brightened. “Of course,” he said. He leaned over to prod at the tall fire for a moment. He glanced up at Tom. “Are you hungry?” he asked. Tom bit his lip. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was hungry. And very tired. “A little,” he admitted. Lucius nodded. “Good. I’ll go get food now, then.” He rose and was at the door he’d come from before Tom could protest, but at the last minute, he turned around. “Don’t go through my things, please,” he said. It was impossible to read his expressionless voice, and his face was hidden in shadows. Tom was startled. “Of course not,” he said, still not sure how to react. But then, Lucius was gone.



                                              *          *          *

        Tom didn’t know when Lucius returned, because somehow or other, he drifted off at the wooden table, his head resting on his folded arms. When he awoke, he was alarmed, until he remembered where he was. Suddenly he realized that someone was standing next to him, very close, and he turned sharply to see who. Lucius quickly stood up straight, looking a bit embarrassed. Tom stared hard at him for a moment. Something… familiar, about the situation… like déjà vu. But he didn’t remember what. He didn’t remember anything.

        “What were you doing?” asked Tom. Lucius looked surprised by the question, but quickly recovered himself.

         “Just getting a closer look at you,” he said. He then added, “You look different in here than you did by the light of your torch.” Tom felt rather disconcerted at this reference to Lucius’ observations, and made a point to change the subject.

         “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

         “Oh,” said Lucius with a short laugh, “Not that long. An hour, maybe.” He pointed at the table. “I brought food,” he added, and Tom noticed for the first time the plate in front of where he’d been resting. There was a movement just in the corner of his eye, and he looked over to see Lucius move back around the table to his seat. He pushed the plate politely towards Tom. Tom looked down.

         It appeared to be a piece of meat of some kind. But it had a shriveled look to it, and a dry, brown hue. Besides that, he couldn’t recognize it- it looked like it had been torn up. “What is this?” he asked Lucius, still scrutinizing it closely.

         “Nothing special,” said Lucius. Tom looked up at him. “Chicken,” Lucius added, still smiling. Tom just stared, then looked down at the meat again. He picked up his fork and cut off a piece with minimal effort- it was very soft. “You must be a good cook,” Tom commented, watching as the sauce that had been dripped around and over the meat oozed into the crevice thus created.

         “Not very,” said Lucius modestly. “I just like meat. I watched my mother cook when I was younger.” He motioned for Tom to take a bite. “Please, try it,” he said. Tom still hesitated. Lucius lifted an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

         Tom shook his head hastily. “No,” he said. “Just… haven’t had chicken in a while.” Smiling in the same friendly manner that Lucius had, he quickly took the bite. It was delicious- or at least, he thought it was. He couldn’t tell, because he was starving and devoured the meat relatively quickly.

         He gave a long sigh and sat back. His eyes were heavy, he felt absolutely exhausted and relaxed in a way he hadn’t been for weeks in this cave. He could barely remain conscious. He heard Lucius say something, but he didn’t quite pick out the words. “What?” he asked, squinting at Lucius’ blurry, shuddering figure. God, he was tired…

         “I have a spare bedroom where you can sleep, just a little ways down from here,” said Lucius patiently. This caught Tom’s attention, limited as his faculties currently were. “How far down are we?” he asked. Lucius beamed. “Look here,” he ordered. He was pointing at a number carved into the wall. Tom looked at where his finger was pointing and could barely make out the number “557 ft.” He nodded. “Thanks,” he said. Lucius said, “I have the number marked in every room, next to a fireplace- there’s one in each room,” he explained. “It gets cold down here, and air doesn’t circulate so well.”

         He motioned to the door. “Would you like to sleep now?” he asked, and Tom nodded again, the words barely registering. He allowed himself to be carefully led by Lucius across the room and through the door. He didn’t see much of anything in detail about the rooms he entered and went through, one after the other- he had an impression that they were going downhill, a steady slant in the floors of the rooms, and he noticed a blazing fireplace in each of them. He vaguely thought it a bit pointless, to have a fire in every room, but then, as Lucius had said, heat didn’t circulate. He eventually felt himself sinking down onto something soft. The moment he did, his eyes closed and he was asleep.



Identity



        Darkness. Up, down, left, right- it was everywhere. There was a clanking sound, like metal, chains. A whispering. Someone was talking.

         Dark- so, so dark. What was supposed to be happening here? Something should be happening. He felt it. He’d met a man. He’d eaten. He’d gone to sleep…

         Oh. Yeah. Wake up, then.

The whispering was louder. It was making a sound. Some sound, one that was being repeated over and over, a soft sound, one pronounced with urgency. The urgency of a name. What was his name? God, he didn’t know his name!

         He had to find his name. That was what should be happening. They knew his name. What were they saying? They were trying to help him, but he couldn’t, couldn’t do it-

         “What are you saying?” he tried to yell, but the blackness all around him poured towards him, into him, into his mouth, and it was painful, this devouring, like acid eating his organs. A feeling like no other… the feeling of nothing… the feeling of terror, terror of nonexistence, the terror of numbness and emptiness. It poured into his mouth-



                                              *          *          *           



        The room he was in was dim. The fire was unlit, and his automatic instinct was to rush forward and build it up again, as though he were still in the jungle and couldn’t let the fire go down. But he checked himself quickly- he wasn’t out there any more. He turned his head, slightly, and looked around himself, but he couldn’t see anything- it was completely black in here. He started to sit up.

         Clank.

         He looked down, but remembered he couldn’t see it, and with a growing feeling of dread, reached his hand down to see what it was.

         Chains. Wrapped around his left hand, and attaching to the wall. He was a prisoner.

         He tried several times to call Lucius, but to no avail. With a defeated moan, he sank back down onto the bed. He slept.



                                              *          *          *

         Rrrr… rrr…

         “’R’? Okay, ‘R’. What else?”

         Rrrr…..

        “I know, but what else!”

         Whispers.

         “Tell me my name!”



                                              *          *          *



        He woke up. There was something making a sound, right across from him- a sound rather like a rat. Then, right before his eyes, a fire lit and began to build up seemingly of its own accord, filling up the huge fireplace that adorned this room in which he’d been imprisoned. It seemed to flare and crackle especially violently as, impossibly, Lucius walked in through the blaze.

         But it wasn’t Lucius. It was all wrong- the eyes were harder, the jaw line stronger, his build much more muscular. His hair looked more ragged, and not as well-combed as it had been before. His clothes were dirtier, darker, rougher. Something was wrong here.

         “Lucius,” he gasped. Then he said, “What’s going on? Why am I chained up here!” He yanked his chain slightly. Lucius grimaced. That was the only way to describe it- nothing more or less than a very distorted, false version of his former smile.

“I put you there,” said Lucius. Tom stopped. “What?” he asked, stunned. Lucius lifted his eyebrows, still with that horrible grin. “You’re there because I put you there. It’s that simple.”

         “What- no, no it’s not!” Tom spluttered. “Why would you put me here? And chain me up?” Lucius studied him for a moment.

         “Tom,” he said at last, “You’ve asked questions, and accepted the answers really quite easily. But I’m sure that even you-“ There was a certain note of contempt in the ‘you’- “must feel that it’s a little bit strange, what I’m doing here.”

Tom was puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly. Lucius motioned around him. “Have you gotten a good look at the room around you, first of all?”

         Tom frowned and looked around himself and drew in a sharp breath.

         The room’s stone walls were covered with chains. And at the end almost all of them were the remnants of their prisoners. He looked down. The bed he’d been lying in was only a mattress- and on it, scattered around, were bones from yet another victim, some of them simply crushed into a white dust. Tom gaped, recoiling from the gruesome sight that condemned Lucius as a madman.

         “What in the name of God is wrong with you?” he hissed. Lucius frowned.

         “Perhaps you should listen to the whole story before you judge me so quickly,” he said gently. Tom stared.

         “Are you kidding me?” He shook his head. “There is nothing to explain! You are a- a sadist with a serious complex!” He strained against the chains that held him. “Let me go,” he gritted.

Lucius came over and squatted next to the mattress, not commenting on the fact that Tom moved as far away as possible. He didn’t seem in the least bit fazed by the bone dust that his scuffed but otherwise nondescript leather shoes stood in.

        “They were people like you,” Lucius said calmly. “They came here for one reason or another, looking for something, seeking a place of solitude not unlike myself, or simply curious about the cave and its ghost stories.” Lucius pursed his lips. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t really just let them leave. You see, the moment anyone possessing a soul- which is essentially the whole population of Earth- enters my caves, they are under my control. I can do whatever I want. But the thing is, I can’t claim them for the afterlife. This is a sort of… gray zone. A place where all designations vanish and a soul is essentially unclaimed.” Tom interrupted him.

        “What do you mean, ‘soul’?” he asked impatiently. Lucius smiled- slowly, deliberately.

         “My dear friend, I am Lucifer. Or the Devil, or Satan, whatever. Lucifer is the easiest one to modify into an acceptable title, though.” He said this all so nonchalantly. Tom didn’t know what to say. This couldn’t be true. It simply didn’t work. But wait, he had nothing to work with, no memories- who was he to say? Who was he to lay claim to rationality?

         “Do you see now?” asked Lucius- or Lucifer, Tom though vaguely. Good God, the man was serious- he really believed this. Either he was really Lucifer- no, couldn’t be true… or he was simply very mental. Whichever it was, Tom was still in a bad situation.

         “Aging stops here,” said Lucifer. “When you enter here, time gradually slows. Until finally, at this depth-“ he motioned to the number by the fireplace, but Tom still couldn’t see it- “It stops. Until either you agree to give up your soul and afterlife to me, or the good Lord comes for you.” He shrugged. “That hasn’t happened yet, though.” He said ‘the good lord’ with some contempt. He grinned toothily. “So what is it going to be?” asked Lucifer. Tom looked up.

         “You are not the Devil,” Tom said sharply. Lucifer lifted an eyebrow. “What proof is it you want?” Tom opened his mouth, then closed it. This was absurd. “You can’t prove it,” insisted Tom. Lucifer pointed at the fire.

         “Did you not see me come through the fire?” he asked. His voice had an edge to it, like he was beginning to lose his patience. But he was right. The fire. What was going on with that? Lucifer lifted his hand. “Watch,” he said quietly. A little flare of fire bloomed out of nowhere onto the palm of his hand.

It had to be true. It was the only way-

         But Lucifer didn’t exist! The Devil was not real! He simply wasn’t! Then something caught his thoughts.

         “Why can I remember you, but nothing else?” Tom paused. “Why can’t I remember anything, not even my own name?”

         Lucifer grinned wickedly, and a malicious gleam entered his eye. “I made you forget.” He leaned forward, and his expression became truly vicious. “This world isn’t real,” he said softly. “Not in the sense you’re used to. This-“ he waved his hand around- “Is like the equivalent of a dream. What you know is what you see. Humans all see what they are told is there. You’re used to the idea that things exist, they’re solid, they can be proven. But what if you started over, with a different concept? What if… these conceptions hadn’t been rooted in your thoughts since the birth of man?” He leaned back.

         “What if,” he continued, ”I took all your memories, your knowledge, your very identity… and made of your thoughts what I wanted them to be?” He laughed gently. “I’m only doing the same thing God did when he rooted your perceptions in this Earth and not his Heaven.” He stood up. “Until something happens, though, you’ll be trapped here in this world I’ve created. You won’t even know your own name.”

         He turned and walked back towards the fireplace. “By the way,” he said, turning to look back at Tom, “The number by the fireplace is 666. Just a little whimsical touch, on my part…”

And with that, he walked forward, into the fire, and vanished.



                                              *          *          *

        Ages passed without flow. Life froze but refused to surrender its heartbeat. Years and years… with no change. He slept, years at a time, waking, sleeping, this twisted world blending with his own dreams until they, too, stopped. Lucifer stopped visiting Tom, harassing him, coaxing and goading and attempting to persuade him, until finally, he began to believe he’d been forgotten. A very long time later, Tom woke to find his chain had been lengthened, just a little bit. He could move around a bit- but this revealed itself as nothing more than a curse. The chain was around his neck, and many hours afterward found him straining against it like a savage dog until the flesh beneath broke and bled, until he was strangled for air and his eyes were rolling wildly. Then, he sank back down to sleep again for several more years.

         Once, he woke up to find a bronze figure next to his hand. Hardly daring to believe, he lifted it in his hand- but it was too light. He was puzzled, but then, a thought struck him, and he turned it over. On the bottom was a sticker with a barcode. He heard a deep, vicious laugh from the corner, and there sat Lucifer, looking more ragged than ever, his hair grown long so it covered one eye as he peered at Tom. Then, he vanished- simply disappeared. With a shriek, Tom hurled the figure at the place where Lucifer had been.



                                  *          *          *



        “Rrrr….”

         “Go… away…”

         “Rrrroooggg…”

         “What? What was that?”

         “Rrrr….”

        “Wait- no, continue, please!”

        Whispers.

         “Rrr…”

         “What are you saying! What’s my name-”

         “You fool… you don’t have a name.”

         Lucifer smirked at him, turned, and swept off into the blackness, was eaten and hidden by it, leaving Tom screaming in rage.



                                  *          *          *





Epilogue- Full Circle



         The man felt a flutter of joy in his chest as his feet just touched the cave’s shadow. He heard a shout suddenly. He turned to see a man coming towards him- tall, with black eyes that glittered intensely in the light of his torch. But then the man smiled, and he smiled back. “My name’s Lucius,” offered the stranger. “I live here- the solitude is nice.” He motioned towards the cave. “Would you like to see?” The man nodded with a grin. “Some strange stories about this cave,” he said. “I guess you’re behind that?” He grinned mischievously at Lucius.  Lucius laughed. “I suppose so,” he said.

         They traveled for an hour or so in the cave by the light of the torch. The man thought he heard something, echoing through the tunnels, like a shout. “What was that?” he asked Lucius curiously. “Oh,” said Lucius with a short laugh, “My roommate. You should be meeting him soon, actually. I think you’ll like him…”

         The man relaxed, and nodded cheerfully. The shout drifted off, into silence, echoing several times before it faded out completely. It was not repeated again.