Attic Clowns: Volume Four (3 page)

At last, I complete my descent by smashing onto a mound of human skeletons. Of course, this fall causes my body no physical pain whatsoever. However, the instinctual expectation of pain causes my muscles to tense up. I must be vigilant in maintaining a sense of detachment from this reality, lest I suffer undue stress in body and mind.

I make my way down the hill of bones as the skeletons chatter incessantly, as if suffering from extreme cold. Once standing on the blackened earth, I look about at my surroundings. The most notable spectacles include a pyramid of severed feet, a feathered fiend using a length of intestines as jump rope, and a carousel packed with amphibious-looking monsters riding on the backs of screaming humans. As you would expect, the humans are skewered to the floor with swords and pikes. When I turn around, my eyes immediately fixate on a stretch of racetrack. At one end sits a banquet table heaped with raw meat and moldy fruits. At the other end of the track, a pair of corpses drags their emaciated bodies across the crimson-colored ground. Standing at the sidelines, a row of hairy archfiends cheers them on.

It is true that I am merely viewing the underworld through the warped mirror of my apprentice’s mind. However, even this unreality is real enough to cause my heart to quicken and my forehead to sweat.

Strangely enough, what exists around me is not nearly as disturbing as what does not. I see no sky, no trees, no horizon, no sun. Aside from a few bonfires in the distance, there is no source of light that I can detect. And yet this world is as bright and clear as a sunny, cloudless day on Earth.

Presently, a gargantuan Overdemon materializes in front of me. This beast resembles a human being more closely than any other demon I have glimpsed thus far. Because of this, I find his appearance to be especially unnerving. His face is concave, and there are perhaps one hundred fingers sprouting out of each hand. He wears white robes very similar to my own.

“Overdemon Grogotelk like eating angels very much,” the Overdemon says, in a high-pitched singsong voice. He reaches for me with fingers that wriggle like worms.

In spite of my absolute safety, I feel the urge to escape this particular situation. As soon as I turn around to run, I find the Overdemon’s uninviting face an inch from my own. The shock of this causes my vision to blur and my face to heat up. For a moment, I consider departing from my ward’s mind so that I might gather my wits. However, this becomes unnecessary because my little imp appears between me and the Overdemon, astride a mustard-colored stallion.

“No worry, Zabareth,” the tiny demon says, raising a rusty blade the size of a butter knife. “Globcow save you.”

“Globcow not save anyone,” the Overdemon trills. “Globcow weak as baby chicken.”

My apprentice responds by bounding high into the air and slicing the head off the giant in one fell swoop. As soon as the head hits the scorched earth, a bouquet of hands sprouts from the Overdemon’s frowning face. These hands slowly drag the head toward the giant’s quivering body. Before the severed head can reach its destination, my imp opens his mouth wider than you would expect possible, and swallows the head whole.

In the next instant, the Overdemon’s headless body erupts in a geyser of blood and organs. I, of course, expect carnage to rain down on us, but instead, we are bombarded by sizable earthworms with the heads of human babies. Shortly, my apprentice and I are surrounded by demons and cows who busy themselves stomping the squealing worms into mush.

“Globcow very strong and handsome,” one of the feathered fiends coos.

“Globcow new master of Firelands,” a hairy archfiend growls.

“Globcow never scoop poop again,” gurgles one of the amphibious-looking monsters.

The demons continue to stomp on the worms and shower my little imp with praise. The cows take turns licking his face.

In time, my apprentice approaches me and says, “Zabareth, why you not dance worm dance of triumph? Worms feel so soft and squishy between toes.”

“Be that as it may, I never indulge in such frivolities when I am on the job.”

“You want Globcow to save worms for later?”

“I appreciate the consideration, but that will not be necessary.”

The imp returns to his adoring fans of cows and demons, and I decide that I have seen enough for now.

After exiting the demon’s ear hole, I return to my desk and take down a few preliminary notes on my expedition. It is slightly distressing that nowhere in my ward’s thoughts did I detect even a small pang of guilt for his sins. However, I must not be too hard on the devilkin. When I entered his mind, what I investigated was merely a daydream, and such fantasies are almost always devoid of shame. Even angels have been known to gratify themselves with unabashed imaginings from time to time. None of the Maker’s Laws prohibit such acts.

The fact that the demon’s daydream was never hazy shows me that the imp has a powerful imagination, and such an imagination is most likely the result of an active fantasy life. Obviously, this thought gives me more than little hope for the imp’s future. If the devilkin yearns to improve upon his life, if he desires to become more than he is at present, then salvation might be within his reach. And let us not forget that within the reality of the daydream, my ward took the time to save me from the Overdemon. With this in mind, it is clear that the imp feels at least some level of reverence for me. This, of course, will make my job that much less impossible.

After I finish my notes, I turn my chair around and discover that the imp is playing with a severed human foot as if it is a doll.

“Where did you get that?” I say.

The demon points, and when I turn around I discover that my window is wide open. My legs buckle. My heart pounds against my chest, as if attempting to escape.

I attempt to will the window closed, but I am too distressed to concentrate. Ultimately, I am forced to take a few shaky steps forward and close the window by hand. My legs tremble, even after I sit on my chair. I have not felt so shaken up since the First Celestial War.

“I would ask that you never open this window again,” I say. “The reality outside these walls must not leak into my Attic. The consequence could be dire, if not fatal.”

“But Globcow not open window,” the imp says. “Feet open window.”

“What do you mean?”

In the next instant, my window bursts open and a flock of winged feet soar into my reality from the Maker’s Womb. Each foot has a pair of chubby arms growing out of its sides. The demon hops up and down, chortling, as the feet stomp on my vases and writing tools and tea cups.

To put it lightly, I am distressed by the chaos around me. However, before I deal with these ruffians, I must close and secure my window. Or, better yet, I could replace the window with a wall. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus the whole of my will on the task at hand. The window is a wall. The window is a wall. The window is a wall.

When I open my eyes, the window is a window.

It is at this moment that I realize the truth. The reason why I am not in control of my reality is because this is not, in fact, my reality. 

I am still in the imp’s mind. Of course I am.

It would be easy enough to blame my ward for manipulating my perceptions and attempting to trap me in his psyche. But over the years, I have learned that when it comes to occurrences such as these, the culprit is almost always the subconscious. In all likelihood, the imp did not plan any of this. His mind simply found my presence to be stabilizing or comforting, and the subconscious reacted by trying to convince me that I had left the imp’s mind when I had not.

Instead of feeling any resentment toward the demon, I should feel flattered that his subconscious would go to such extremes to keep me close.

“I am leaving now, little one,” I say.

“Want to see Globcow’s collection first?” the demon says, motioning to the feet lined up in front of him. “Globcow name each one after famous human murderers. That one Jack Ripper. That one Alligator Man. That one—”

“Charming, but I really must be going. We need to begin your first lesson. In the meantime, it would be a great help if you could stare at the wall and think only of the wall. Can you do this for me?”

“Globcow think of wall.”

“Thank you.”

As the devilkin gazes at the wall, the faux Attic fades into white. Now I should have no problem leaving this place. Nevertheless, I employ the full force of my willpower to detach myself from the demon’s psyche.

After exiting the demon’s ear hole, I return to my desk and for a moment I wonder what happened to my preliminary notes concerning my expedition into the imp’s mind. But, of course, the first time I took down those notes, I was still inside my ward’s mind. Now I will have to rewrite every word in my own reality. I sigh.

But before I start on that task, I must verify that I am, in fact, in my own reality. I accomplish this by using my thoughts to expand and shrink the dimensions of my Attic. After I am satisfied that I am in full control of my Attic, I spend the next few minutes rewriting my preliminary notes.

Once that task is completed, I turn around to face my little imp. My heart beats in my chest, as if expecting to see the imp playing with a severed foot, as I did before. Thankfully, he is not.

I fold my hands over my lap. “I am eager for us to begin your first lesson. However, I think it would be prudent to first resolve the lighting crisis. Your sensitivity to my lamps demands that I dim them, and yet I find it difficult to work with proper efficiency in this murky light. Assuming that your daydream was, for the most part, an accurate portrayal of the underworld, it would seem light does indeed exist in your home world. If your eyes are accustomed to the lights of hell, and sensitive to all other varieties, we have two viable options. I can either attempt to duplicate this chthonic light in my own Attic, or I can give you a pair of glasses that will block out most of the celestial light emanating from my lamps. Do you have any objections to wearing such eyewear?”

“No, no.”

“Good.”

In less than thirty minutes, I design and manifest a fashionable yet comfortable pair of sunglasses.

“Globcow look handsome?” the demon says.

“It is important not to entertain thoughts that only serve to foster our vanity. However, I do not believe there is any harm in saying that your current look conveys a certain air of mystery and charm.”

The demon grins wider than ever before. “Thank you very much.”

“You are most welcome. Now, let us begin your first lesson.”

Presently, my ward hops off his chair and curls up before me like a fetus. His body trembles.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“Globcow ready for you to teach lesson,” he says. “Teach stick poke lesson please. Globcow hate knife stab lesson very much.”

“I am not going to harm your body, little one. Now or ever. As I told you before, the battle for your salvation will be fought in your mind. Your body is perfectly safe.”

“You not lie?”

“I will never lie to you. Now please return to your chair.”

The demon obeys.

I interlace my fingers, and the first lesson begins. “Tell me, little one. Aside from redemption, what do you want most in the Universe?”

“Globcow like feet very much”

“For the time being, let us try our hardest to banish the thought of feet and anything related to feet from our minds. Is there anything else that you desire?”

The imp rubs his chin. “Globcow like horses.”

“Good. We can do that.”

Presently, I manifest for my ward a mustard-colored pony the size of a cat. At once, the imp hops onto the horse and rides her around my office.

After a few minutes of this gaiety, I say, “Enough. Return to your chair.”

The imp sits. “Thank you for horse very much.”

“You are most welcome. Now I would like for you to kill your horse.”

The devilkin stares at me with an open mouth and wide eyes. At this moment, his face brings to mind all the brokenhearted children I have looked after in my lifetime. My heart aches for the little imp, but for his sake, I must remain strong.

“Will you kill your horse for me, little one?” I say.

“No, no!” the demon says. “Globcow like horsey very much.”

“And that is why I am asking you to kill her.”

Tears spill down the imp’s reddening cheeks. “Globcow not understand.”

“It is not necessary for you to understand. All that is required is for you to obey me.”

“Globcow never hurt horsey! Never!”

I kneel in front of the demon and place a comforting finger on his shoulder. “I understand your feelings, little one. However, as an angel-in-training, your feelings are no longer of any consequence. An angel must always prioritize the will of the Maker and the betterment of the Universe over his or her own desires. If the Maker wills you to kill your horse, then that is what must be done.”

“But the Maker not will me. You will me.”

“That is true. However, as your master, the Maker’s will flows to you through me, the same way the Maker’s will flows to me through the Archangels. Do you understand?”

“Globcow not understand.”

“Even so, you must obey me. You are obligated by the Law of the Maker to acquiesce your will to my adjuration.”

“Globcow not want to kill horsey. Make piggy please. Globcow kill piggy. Please.”

“The Maker does not wish for you to kill a pig.”

“Globcow not kill horsey!”

“If you will not slaughter her, then I will have to perform the sacrifice for you.”

“No, no!”

The devilkin leaps off the chair and stands between me and the horse. Of course, the beast is my own manifestation, and with a single thought, she collapses to the floor.

My little imp weeps over the horse’s lifeless body. My attempts to attract his attention prove fruitless, and ultimately I decide to leave him be for the time being, so that he might contemplate his first lesson.

You might suppose that my imp’s grief springs from a purely selfish source. However, it is in my opinion that nothing could be further from the truth. Look at the tender way the demon caresses the horse’s mane and kisses her nose. Even if my ward pities himself for his loss, he pities the horse more. To be perfectly honest, I am more than a little shocked at the intensity of his empathy. I would not think a demon capable of such feelings.