Big Brother's Back Pt. 2

Pay no mind to the rabble
Pay no mind to the rabble...

"Lay your head down child, I won't let the boogeyman come."

"Counting bodies like sheep to the rythm of the war-drums."

It is dark. You are laying on what feels like a bed. A voice is singing to you. you feel a hand rest upon your blanket covered chest.

"Head down go to sleep to the rythm of the war-drums."

Then you hear the oppressive beat of the drums. Boom boom boom, ba-boom boom boom boom. Over and over again. A smell like fear and death waftes to your nostrils, and you begin to struggle frantically against the hand. It holds you in place.

"Pay no mind to the rabble pay no mind to the rabble." It says, voice once as sweet as an angel's, now deep and cruel. The hand is revealed to you, huge and grotesque, tipped with black, filth-encrusted claws.

A face leers from the dark, dead and sickly green, with sickly yellow cat-like eyes and a beak-like nose over crooked, dirty pointy teeth.

" 'Cause the boogeyman's come."

. . . . .

Waylon gasped and shot up in his bed. He stared around the dark room for a moment, sucking in breaths as his mind replayed the last few seconds of his nightmare. That face, he knew that face...

He quickly got out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and made his way to the open kitchen of his apartment. He rummaged through his fridge for the half empty bottle of hard liqour, and poured himself a shot after he found it. It burned down his throat and brought him back to reality, calming his nerves. He leaned against the countertop and caught his breath.

The boogeyman. Why had he dreamed of the boogeyman? Sure the boogeyman was as real as any of the monsters he dealt with, but he was a wizened old geezer now, barely able to stand up or not shit on himself. He'd been retired long ago.

So why the boogeyman? Why now?

A plump little bird perched itself at the outside of his window and began pecking at it frantically. He looked at it curiously and annoyingly, until he realized who it was. It looked like one of the little fake birdies you see perched in front of a well, constantly rocking downward, then back. It was minus the top hat, and was a metallic silver. Its red eyes were as large as its head. It was Sezaj, a messenger demon that worked for multiple sides of the underworld. And the Underworld.

"Sezaj? What's he doing here?" Waylon muttered to himself. And what's got him so scared?

He was about to move to the window, when Sezaj exploded in a puff of feathers and blood. Something broke through the glass and went whizzing past his head like a bullet, thunking behind him. He dropped to the floor instinctively, staying there for a couple minutes, before glancing back at where whatever had come through impacted.

Across the room, next to one of his lamps, was Sezaj, pinned by a foot long spike the same metallic color as he.

Waylon grabbed the Glock out of the kitchen drawer and cautiously made his way to Sezaj. The bird demon was definetely dead; the spike was as big around as his body. He carefully removed the spike from Sezaj and the wall and examined it. It was heavy and solid, and was actually made of a darker metal than Sezaj. He had seen spikers before, and this was no exception. Fired from a demon's body, it could be used for multiple purposes, depending on its make. It was always biodegradable, in the sense that if it ever had contact with the sun it would disintergrate. He turned it over, searching for the telltale exit grooves that identified the shooter. As he found them and studied them, his face went white with horror, his eyes widened, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. He suddenly felt a presence behind him, and as he turned a large, hot hand grasped him by the throat and hoisted him up. He dropped the Glock and uselessly tried to pry the hand from his throat, choking and gasping for air as the orange orbs glared at him with barely restrained anger. Then the face pulled into the moonlight that shot through the window, and his assumption was confirmed.

"Salis," he croaked as the demon's hand crushed his windpipe.

The razor-toothed, skull-like face seemed to grin at him, and as Salis spoke he could see his deep purple tongue.

"Waylon Peterson." He spat out the words, despite having no lips. "Have you missed me?"

He dropped the struggling human, who immediately began sucking in breaths of precious air. Salis returned to the open kitchen and poured himself a shot, downing it no problem.

"So...how has the work been with the other gangs?"

"I...don't know...what you're-" Salis shot him in the leg, the same manner as Sezaj. Waylon didn't have time to hold back his scream of pain.

"Please Waylon. If I had wanted to play games like this, I would've kept that useless bird alive. Sheesh, you go away for a couple decades and suddenly everyone thinks you're nothing..." He began muttering to himself as he raided the freezer part of the fridge for something. "Aha!"

Salis pulled out a pack of raw porkchops, tore off the wrapping, and began devouring them, savouring every bite.

"Mmmm. I'd prefer it warm, but I have business to attend to." He said inbetween chews.

"W-w-what do y-you want from me?"

"Oh me? I," he paused to swallow the last porkchop whole, belching afterwards. "Want you to go tell the other gangs that I'm coming back. I
took care of Tenr'b. I left a little present for the Wulfstreet. They'll know it was me. Now I need the rest to know. So..." He wiped his toothy maw with the back of his hand and came in Waylon's direction. Filled with irrational fear, Waylon raised his hands in vain defence, only to have Salis step over him to Sezaj and the other fallen spike. He picked it up and let it slide back into his forearm with a sound like the sickening mix of wet flesh gliding together and metal scraping together. He flexed his hand and wrist, then spun around and bent over Waylon. Without warning he yanked the spike out of Waylon's leg, illiciting a yelp from the frightened young man.

"I need you to save this and show it as proof that I'm back." He shook it in his face as he did so, then dropped it into the shaking man's hand and patted him on the head. He made his way towards the front door. Salis turned into a human, a trait that all Skullth had. He was still the same muscular, imposing figure, with hazel eyes, caramel skin and a ponytail of bleach blond hair. He now wore a tight fitting green shirt and stonewashed jeans, with a pair of black boots. "And Waylon?"

"Y-y-yes?"

He had opened the door by then. With the lips he now had, he gave him an actual smile. "Don't dissapoint. You know how much I love a challenge. Not like Selim with his sneaking and skulking about, heh heh." He left, closing the door quietly, despite the shove Waylon would normally have needed to get the bulletproof door closed. "Dont dissapoint" meaning "Don't die on me yet, because if you do, where you're going you won't be able to escape me," he pulled himself up on his one good leg and limped for the first aid kit, grimacing with every jarring step. Along with bandaging himself, he decided to clothe himself as well, seeing as how he wouldn't get to sleep now. With a white shirt, blue jeans, black sneakers, a jacket to hide the shoulder rig for his 3-inch Colt Python, and spike wrapped in the ruin of his shorts, he pulled out his cell phone and called Raymond, head of the fleet of cabs owned by Elliven, a smaller time demon who had one foot dipped into the illegal pool, and sold his cab services to other demons and their employees.

"Ray?" he asked, trying not to sound shaken. Ray however, had a knack for spotting things out of place.

"Waylon? What's wrong?"

"If you want to know, you'll need to drive the cab yourself." There was a moment of silence as Waylon's tone and the weight of his words sunk in.

"I'll be right there."