One-Percenter Vendetta

ways. Haven't you ever read C. S. Lewis? The Screwtape Letters?"

  That did seem rather familiar. "Alright, I see what you're getting at."

  The devil-doll nodded her head and turned to face her again. "Finally! Now we can get down to business. Oh, by the way, the name's Differel Diabolique, but you can call me DeeDee. I prefer informality among friends."

  Differel frowned. Her attitude was getting on her nerves. "Just a moment. If what you say is true, then there should be a 'shoulder angel', correct?"

  "Exactly. She personifies your conscience and appeals to your altruistic motivations."

  "Shouldn't she be here as well?"

  Her face split into silly grin. "Are you kidding? You don't need her, you're a bigger stiff than she is."

  Differel felt her anger flare as she sat upright. "Now just a bloody minute--!"

  DeeDee's own face turned fiery red as she became upset. "I meant it as a compliment! Jesus, but you have a temper. I told you, being assigned to you is considered onerous duty. Why do you suppose that is, huh? It's because you're such a straight-arrow no tempter has a chance of getting you to commit any kind of sin, no matter how insignificant. So why would you need a shoulder angel? You do her job better than she would. In fact, I hear being assigned to you is considered a rather cushy posting Upstairs. She's probably off somewhere working on her tan, the stuck-up little bitch! Me, I'll probably spend my time doing my nails. Big whoop."

  Differel forced herself to relax. If she was having a dream, she should be able to control it, but she would have to be calm, and if she wasn't, getting mad still wouldn't help her situation.

  "Hey." DeeDee broke into her thoughts. "Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?"

  Before Differel had a chance to respond, the devil-doll disappeared in a flash of fire and a puff a smoke. A larger column of smoke and flame sprang up in front of the desk, startling her, accompanied again by the organ note, now loud enough to shake the desk. DeeDee reappeared, full-sized, but otherwise no different. She stretched in a languid, almost provocative, manner, as if working the kinks out of the compacted muscles.

  "Man, does that feel good! Being shoulder-size gets to be pretty confining after awhile."

  Somehow, Differel found her larger size more disturbing, in more ways than one. "Are you sure this isn't a dream?"

  DeeDee walked around the desk to her side. Differel reached under the top to grip her pistol, but didn't pull it when she leaned backwards against the edge. "If you don't believe me, call someone. If this is a dream, they'll see me, otherwise they won't."

  She raised an eyebrow as she removed her hand. "I can call anyone?"

  "Anybody you like."

  She smirked. "Hmph. As you wish." And she sent out a familiar mental summons.

  Vlad Drakulya emerged from the corner closest to the door. "You rang, My Master?" he said in his deep bass voice.

  Find the story here: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/399503].

  From "Youthful Indiscretion"

  As soon as the block fully reassembled itself, the tolling stopped. Apprehension crept over Henry; he knew something was about to happen, he just didn't know what. Then the room began to grow dark. He looked around at the lights. They didn't appear to grow dim; in fact, they seemed as bright as ever. Rather, the areas over which they cast their luminance shrank as the borders became more distinct and sharp. Beyond them, the room fell into shadow like it would at twilight when the sun had set but the sky was still bright.

  In that moment They appeared in his room. It wasn't like how Vlad emerged from shadow, or the affect of Dr. Mabuse's transporter machine. Quite literally one moment the room was empty, and next five beings stood in its center. The thing he noted first was the stench. Though not overpowering, it was enough to turn his stomach, and yet overlaid was the scent of vanilla, which partially mitigated but could not completely cover their foul, rotten odor. At almost the same time he spotted the blue phosphorescent glow that surrounded them like a mist.

  Their most horrific feature, however, was that each was deformed or mutilated in some hideous fashion. One was morbidly obese, with its face so swollen with fat that the wrinkles distorted and obscured its features. Another had a flap of skin covering its eyes while its disfigured mouth had the lips pulled back well away from its mouth and the teeth clattered together endlessly like it was chattering. The third was the size of child about his same age, but its flesh had been seared as if in a barbecue while its eyes stared out from their sockets without blinking. Number four looked like a teenage girl, and while bald was otherwise unmarked, except for a gaping wound in her throat held open by small hooks. They all wore clothing that looked like a combination of religious vestments and butchery garments, except they were made from black leather and vinyl. The robes exposed areas of skin on their chests and stomachs, and it was pierced and sliced and coated with fine powder, like talcum, or...ash? The garments themselves were sewn or hooked into the skin, as if that was needed to hold them in place, in the manner of buttons or zippers.

  But the fifth and foremost, whom he took to be the leader, was the most compelling. He was hairless, with dead-white skin, and his face and scalp was etched in a grid of lines. At each intersection a large pin or small nail had been driven into the bone below. Unlike the others, who looked vacant or mindless, he seemed intelligent and aware. He stared at him with a sardonic half-smile, as if he alone knew a secret others would give their lives to know. It sent chills down his back even as he felt ill. Yet despite how repulsive they appeared, there was something about them that he found fascinating, even provocative. Even as he feared he would vomit at any moment, he felt enchanted by their presence, even a little bewitched.

  But then the nail-headed one frowned, like he realized something was wrong. His companions moved towards the bed, he assumed with the intent to take him, but as they tried to go around their leader, he held up a hand.

  "No, he did not summon us."

  Summon!? He stared down at the block in horror. That's why it was in the vault! How could I be so stupid!

  Vlad appeared in an explosion of shadow, in front of the bed between him and the monsters. "Run, Little Master!"

  Whatever spell, psychological or psychic, that held him in that room broke, and his terror galvanized him. He ran for the door to the nurse's room, pulled it open, and made for the opposite side, which led into the nursery. From there he could access the secret stairwell and make his way down to his mother's office. She would protect him.

  As he reached the other door, he heard the one to his bedroom slam shut.

  Vlad moved to block the door to keep the Cenobites from following his Master's son, but he felt the one called Pinhead extend his power to push it closed.

  "Vlad Tepes Drakulya." Pinhead regarded him with what appeared to be an arrogant expression. "Have you finally decided to surrender yourself to us?"

  "No. My current existence still satisfies me."

  "Then why do you interfere with our actions?"

  "I defend the Van Helsing Bloodline. So long as I draw breath, no harm will come to those who possess it."

  Pinhead sported a bored expression. "So be it." Even as he spoke, iron hooks at the end of heavy chains flew out of the walls, ceiling, and floor. The chains wrapped around Vlad's body, ensnaring him, as the hooks dug into his flesh, ripping through to the bones. They lifted him off the floor and spread-eagled his limbs even as they pulled him apart.

  Through the haze of agony and blood he saw Pinhead scan the room in a slow manner, as if searching for something. "The one who summoned us is not here. Come, we must search for him." They turned as a group and headed for the hall door. As they passed through it, the chains dissolved into thin air and he dropped. Before he hit the ground, he transformed into shadow and flowed under the bed to reform. He had to do so quickly; he knew they would follow Henry for the time being, hoping he would lead them to their victim, and Henry would go to his mother.

  Diffe
rel and the Girls were in the north stairwell, halfway between the first and ground floors, when her cell phone beeped. She paused and answered it.

  "Differel here; report."

  "Holt speaking. The Cenobites are in the grand hall, second floor, just outside the matriarch suite."

  Too soon; she had hoped for more time. "Fall back. Do not engage; repeat, do not engage! Follow them for now, but keep your distance and do not interfere unless they threaten someone. Understood?"

  "Yes, Mum."

  "Keep me informed of their progress. What of my son?"

  "He is not in his bedroom."

  Her heart stuttered as her breath caught in throat. "Start a search for him immediately!"

  "Right away, Mum. Holt out."

  She passed the phone to Eile. "Take all reports from Holt."

  "Sure thing, Diff."

  "You want us to help with the search?" Sunny asked.

  "Not yet. Stay with me for now."

  They continued on. They got off at the ground floor, Differel used her pass card to open the security gate and the door to her office, and then she went to the room safe. She unlocked it and pulled it open with Eile's help. Sunny entered first and switched on the light; she and Eile followed and went to the weapons locker. She pressed a thumb against the reader and heard the metal doors unlock. Opening the cabinet, she removed and passed to Eile a British Army L128A1 semi-automatic shotgun with a bandolier of 12-gauge shells,