The Halls of Pandemonium are open.
This shadowy realm may fall upon us soon. Before it does, a cosmic trio navigating the white space between panels and the sentences we write will run into Pandemonium a little sooner than the rest of us.
You don’t need the backstory, but you can read more adventures of the Beer Devil, Death, and poor Blake here.
“Will you relax, mate?” Death frowned. “It’s not like I’m occupying a strait or anything, I just…”
“Mon cousin, tais-toi…”
The Beer Devil pushed open the door of a tiny bar in Bushwick.
“Birdy’s,” Blake mouthed as she followed through the door underneath the neon sign.
Death couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he glanced up, past the clouds, catching Felix writing this story. “Fond memories, mate?”
“Viens,” the Beer Devil grunted, ushering Blake and Death inside toward the benches across from the bar.
Blake leaned forward. “So… are they joining the tournament or not?”
“Couldn’t give a shite, lass.” Death was half-standing. “Let me get us a few pints.”
The Beer Devil’s amber eyes moved across the taps, then the room. “Alors. Let’s focus on our otherworldly woes. It’s…”
Shattering glass broke the conversation and made them turn around. Blake knew immediately when she saw the red football kits. Death had probably played instigator with a few nasty words for those patrons; rival fans of his blue-shirted team from Manchester.
Fists flew, spit splattered, but it was the slush of dark, Speckled Hen beer that made the Beer Devil’s muscular hand rise. The bar lights flickered, the jukebox screeched, and Blake sighed. She saw one guy’s face before the punch. He didn’t look angry, just trapped with his friends. It was almost happening in slow motion while the record flipped to You Sexy Thing.
“I believe in miracles too,” Blake mouthed as the Beer Devil threw a larger bald gentleman through the bar window. Death lifted both hands in cheers and ran over for a celebratory high-five. The Beer Devil looked down at his cousin and grunted, but he paused before opening his mouth, and looked around the room.
The bar had gone silent. The tones of Hot Chocolate faded until only panting, groaning, and an uncomfortable feeling remained.
A lightning strike lit the room. The bellowing thunder that followed faded into a deep, reverberating laugh.
The Beer Devil and Death exchanged a look. The latter swallowed. “Is that…?”
Without answering, the Beer Devil picked up his cousin by the collar and grabbed Blake by her belt. He kicked open the toilet door and jumped into blackness.
Blake looked up and her words elongated as they fell through between dimensions, realms, and time.
“Pandemonium,” was all the Beer Devil could muster.
Author’s note:
Rivalry, disrespect, humanity… three different views to a barfight. If you’ve made it to the end, you might know that Blake was once saved by Death. Well intended, but a thorn in the eye of cosmic bureaucracy. They sent Death’s cousin, the Beer Devil, to intercept them, and they even met Santa.
Give this mini-series a shot if you like surreal humor, Mancunian Death, and a French-speaking Beer Devil. Start here.
Image credit: “Lightning over the Isle of Dogs in London” by Mattbuck. Found on Wikimedia Commons, no alterations made.
License: CC BY-SA 4.0
Link to license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/