Abode of the Damned: A Dark Supernatural Fantasy

ABODE OF THE DAMNED

By

Matt Cole

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED
BY:

Matt Cole
on Smashwords

Abode of The
Damned

Copyright
© 2011 by Matt Cole

www.TalesFromTheDark.wordpress.com

This eBook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment. It may be shared, but not duplicated and redistributed
for commercial use. If you would like to gift this book to another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish
to gift it. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.

This eBook is a work of fiction. Characters
and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any
similarities to actual persons and or events are wholly
coincidental.

* * * * *

Pain radiated throughout Cole’s body like the
lingering kiss of high voltage.

Awareness of flesh, of pain, he was alive or
so it seemed. And with this - Cole’s consciousness now emerging
from the shadowy depths of nothingness - his eyelids opened
reluctantly, as if weighted down. All he could see at first was a
stew of colors: black, reds, oranges, and every shade of brown.

Cole lifted his head from the hard, pale earth and
propped himself up on his elbows. Alive, it seemed incredible to
him, but he could not recall why right away. His memories were like
lost children wandering back to him in no great rush or in any
particular order. Then, as his vision slowly began to clear, the
memory surfaced. He had been executed, only moments ago on the
gallows of Arkwood Penitentiary.

Hanged - moments ago. Cole met this
perception with utter confusion and suspicion. These pains were
inflicted from no hangman’s noose. Clearly his neck was not broken.
No, there was still missing time and memories – if there were
memories of this lost time.

Still, the memory of his execution was as
real as any and could not so readily be discounted. Now, here he
was, consciousness and body intact within this physical realm.

Yes, but where – what was this realm?

Cole, now able to visually discern
some detail, observed the surrounding terrain to be completely
barren. The hard, flat earth beneath him - dry and split open,
baring many tiny fissures - stretched out to a dark and menacing
mountain range far off in the distance. Above these Black
mountains, a fiery red-orange horizon accentuated the range’s
jagged peaks and gave way to a darker bloody-brown vaporous
sky
.
The air was
dry and devoid of any breeze. There was no vegetation of any
kind.

Had he somehow escaped his execution? Perturbed, Cole
struggled to answer this question even as an internal voice assured
him he had not escaped it.

Cole studied his hands before him,
stretching out his fingers and supinating his forearms to inspect
his palms. His hands trembled mildly, yet they were
his
hands. And as Cole
looked upon them, he realized he still wore his prison
reds
.

Suddenly, a monstrous roar - as if some prehistoric
beast had ripped open the sky – thundered down from high above.
Cole quickly rolled onto his back and searched for the demonic
source – searched the dark, ominous clouds. There was something
there, moving in and out of the murky cloud cover. The creature
appeared to be large and black with a massive wingspan and a long
neck and tail.

Again the sky trembled from the beast’s roar and Cole
shuddered violently. Then, quickly came two more ferocious cries in
rapid succession, as two more black winged beasts appeared
overhead. The creatures moved directly above Cole, circling and
criss-crossing, in and out of the bloody brown vaporous gloom.

Cole lay absolutely still, unsure if to flee - to
chance drawing attention to himself, if in fact these creatures
were not there for him. Then, as one of the winged beasts let out
another ghastly roar, a rolling rumble emerged and grew stronger as
it traveled along the earth - horses at hard gallop!

Cole turned his head to the left, his ear to the
earth, still very aware of the great black creatures circling
above. He could not see the horses. So, slowly he rolled onto his
stomach and spied them on the horizon, approaching, the sinister
mountains at their back. They were black and bunched up so he could
not gage their number. Yet, as they drew nearer, Cole could see
that they were a team, perhaps six, with a coach in tow. Yes, it
was a carriage with two dark figures riding atop.

Risking all, Cole rose to his feet and waved
his arms over his head, signaling the carriage. “Over here! Over
here!” he called. The carriage responded hastening its pace for
Cole.

Cole quickly surveyed the sky once more. The
monstrous beasts kept their distance, albeit continued to circle
overhead.

“Over here!” Cole called again. Yet, as the
words left his mouth – as the carriage raced toward him – a sense
of foreboding poured into him like ice water. There was now
something disturbing about the dark figures atop the carriage.

Cole suddenly had an intense desire to flee,
but could not move. He watched as the coach advanced, the team of
black horses storming toward him. Every cell in his body cried,
flee while you can!
But to where? There was no sanctuary in
this open ground. He could not possibly evade these horses or the
beasts in the sky. Still, the desire quickly grew and Cole trembled
as the carriage drew closer. Still, he denied himself his futile
attempt at escape.

Very quickly the dark figures driving the
carriage could be seen all too well. They appeared naked, shiny
black as if horrible burned, with wiry, lean muscular bodies, so
defined that every tendon and striation of their musculature could
be seen. Their heads were oval and hairless with small pointed
ears, large luminous round eyes, and long narrow noses. Their
mouths hung open, small sharp teeth bared – their manic eyes on
fire – as they charged ahead.

In that instant the carriage was upon Cole and he
quickly broke to his right. He pumped his arms and legs as hard as
ever and was astounded by his own speed. Still, the demonic coach
quickly corrected its course and Cole felt the fiend’s carriage at
his back once more – felt the labored breath of the team of beasts
hauling the coach, the thunder of their hooves, and the rumble of
wooden wheels.

Again Cole cut sharply, this time to the left, and as
he did – looking over his shoulder – he saw the flaring nostrils
and white teeth of the demonic horses, horses with no eyes, their
orbits scarred over. One fiend held the reins, franticly driving
the team; the other hung off the coach leaning toward Cole, ready
to leap.

No!

* * * * *

Cole awoke in the back of the carriage, slumped in a
corner close to the cage’s heavy iron barred door. Iron bars
surrounded him on three sides. The roof and floor were wooden, the
floor sparsely covered with straw. The carriage was now
motionless.

A moment passed before Cole took note of the two
figures who sat silently in the dark against the far wall at the
other end of the cage. “Are you new? I mean, have you just
arrived?” spoke a young girl from out of the darkness.

“What is this place? Where am I?” Cole responded,
searching the shadows for a better view of his new companions, his
head still ringing from the blows he had taken.

“So you
are
new,” the girl spoke again as
she came forward into the light, crouching close to Cole. She
appeared to be ten or eleven years of age and wore a white dress
trimmed in pink. Waves of thick golden-cherry hair fell over her
shoulders and framed a pale angelic face, which - splashed with
amber freckles across her checks and small nose - provided a canvas
for two immaculate green eyes and full rubescent lips. “How do you
do? My name is Lucy Sutherland.”

Cole, wearily pulled himself into an upright seated
position. “I’m Cole Sunger. What is this place?” He asked
again.

“You’re,” Lucy hesitated, looked back into the
darkness at her companion. “You’re-“

“Your dead, man. You have passed through Limbo and
arrived in the Netherworld.” The voice was rough with age and hard
living. “You are now a subject of his lordship.”

Cole stared back into the shadows for what seemed
like forever, peered up at Lucy, who gave a hesitant nod. “Dead,”
Cole sneered, “how?” He gripped his jumpsuit at his chest and
addressed the invisible voice lurking in the dark end of the
carriage. ”I am flesh and blood. I draw breath.” Cole turned to
Lucy, quickly grabbed her wrist and said, “I ask you again, what is
this place?”

“Release her!” At that moment, Lucy wrestled her
wrist free from Cole as he loosened his grip.

Lucy’s companion came forward into the light. He was
a large man in his mid fifties, perhaps, with messy, long white
hair, wild wisps tucked behind his ears. A walrus style moustache
accented a strong, intelligent face. He wore a disheveled black
linen three piece suit; a gold pocket watch chain dangled from his
vest pocket. A soiled black western double string tie hung from in
his collar.

“I assure you Mr. Sunger
you
are
quite
dead. I have been here a very long time.” The man, distracted,
peered through the bars of the carriage at their hideous jailers
who were suddenly and savagely fucking in the dry dirt some
distance away. “True, the capsule you find yourself in now has the
feel and look of the body you know. But it is not your human flesh;
that you left on Earth, which no doubt has been reduced to ash or
lies in a box beneath the surface of some bone-yard.”

“Liar!” Cole grabbed the man by the lapel. “What is
this place? What game do you play?”

Again the older gentleman peered through the bars at
the demonic creatures, unalarmed by Cole’s aggression. Cole
followed his gaze. The fiends, alerted by the shouting, momentarily
broke from their snarling and violent thrusting and looked back at
their captives – two scorched corpses with frantic, shimmering eyes
and blood slick erections - but quickly fell back into their fierce
sodomy.

It was then that Cole observed the charred black
stumpy appendages that protruded off the medial borders of the
demons’ shoulder blades. “What in Hell are those things?”

“What in Hell, indeed.” The older man looked down at
the white-knuckled hand gripping his lapel and then up again into
Cole’s eyes as Cole released him. “My name is Clancy Adams, Mr.
Sunger. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, despite the
unforgiving circumstances.” Clancy offered his hand and Cole took
it.

“Our captors here are demons who have fallen out of
favor with our host. See how there have been burned and their wings
severed. It will take centuries for them to regenerate to their
former selves. For now, their service is reduced to roaming these
wastelands and collecting stray souls who have passed through.

“Souls?”

“We have a physical form in this
dominion for one reason and one reason only: so that we may suffer
physical pain. We may feel hunger, but never starve. We may suffer
any fashion of pain and violence – no matter how severe, but never
perish - only to revive to endure more agony
.”

“Do you not remember your death?” Lucy asked, her
tone subdued, her gaze between her feet as she now sat against one
barred wall with her arms around her knees. “We all do.”

Cole turned to Lucy, who looked up to meet
his eyes, anticipating an answer. “I was hanged.”

* * * * *

The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled up into
the Black Mountains and along the rocky and treacherous terrain,
which was comprised of lava rock, stone, sparse patches of russet
foliage, and the odd petrified husk of a tree. The road they
followed was narrow and at times the rock face of mountain was
right up against one side of the carriage while a steep crag lay
below the other. Overhead, the ever murky gory-brown sky fell into
a scarlet horizon, which bleed like an open wound.

The fiends atop the carriage were curiously silent
now with only the odd brief exchange in their bizarre, caustic
tongue. Lucy and Clancy ignored these outbursts as they openly
recounted their own stories: Lucy had poisoned her grandmother, who
she had demonized as a particularly wicked woman. She had then died
of fever little more than a year after the murder. Lucy
acknowledged that her grandmother did not appear to share her fate
and that she may not have been so very wicked after all.

Clancy could not identify any one act that had dammed
him, but rather contributed his circumstance to a lifetime of
unscrupulous dealings and associations. Clearly, however, he
professed little regret as it was all great fun and adventure. That
was up until his demise in a gambling den when he had cheated the
wrong group of gentlemen.