Black Light

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Black Light By Murray Clayton

The pale moonlight shined through the only window in the tower, creating a dim silhouette of the figure standing before it. The figure was a woman dressed completely in white clothes, which seemed to bring out the beauty of her equally pale face. Lady Elisabeth had waited behind the glass for over a year, for her husband to return from the war. Often at nights, her pining cries drove the serving maids insane, just as their mistress grew more and more insane with each passing day.

Her husband was the Lord Trevor, of Vanisia, a kingdom that lived under the Christian rule, and defended proudly the words of God in any war, and in this case, one in the far east, where Lord Trevor had triumphed once before. But this time, Elisabeth was not so sure of his victory. Talk among the servants and maids in the kingdom had not been very pleasant, or optimistic, which had enraged the Lady, and left her to do nothing but think about what could possibly happen.

Elisabeth stared out the casement, and onto the ocean, which the castle overlooked. She hoped that any minute, she would see that battleship that would return victorious, with her lover aboard. For the first time in over a month, she moved away from the window, and into the center of the room. There she sat around a circular table, and lit a small candle. The center filled partially with light, and she began to pray. Pray for her love to return to her, pray for all her worries and fears to be calmed by his presence. Only God could ease her mind.

Her prayer was interrupted by an object soaring through the open window and into the room, planting itself in the polished table. Startled, Lady Elisabeth shot back, knocking over and extinguishing the candle, leaving herself in darkness. She hurriedly collected herself, and relit the candle, to see what exactly had frightened her so.

It was an arrow, with a roll of parchment wrapped around it. Excited, expecting this to be the notice of Trevor's return, Elisabeth leaped for the note. It was written in Latin, making her reach deep into her memory of her teachings. As she progressed to translate her welcomed news, her face fell.

“To the Lady of Vanisia. Lord Trevor has been killed in battle. His body was found slaughtered and disemboweled by his enemies. The war is over.”

Lady Elisabeth dropped her head. Tears streaming down her fair skin, she ripped up the letter. Picking up a quill, and her own parchment, she hastily scrawled a letter, and ran out of the room. A maid approached her as she ran to the ascending stairs, and begged her to speak of what was happening.

Ignoring her completely, Elisabeth continued up the stairs and out onto the roof of the castle. The maid shouted for her to stop, and she turned back to her, and out of her thin red lips, replied, “His life is mine. If he lives no more, nor shall I.”

The lady then threw herself of the edge of the castle, falling to her death, to the rocks below.

A few days later, a heavily armoured knight strode into the palace walls. His sword was greatly soaked in blood, and his breastplate was scratched and dented. Upon his entrance, a peasant woman rushed to his side. She spoke merrily to him.

“Welcome Back, Lord Trevor.”

When Lord Trevor had heard the news of his beloved, he rushed to the monastery. There, the priests, who had bore the news for some time, greeted him morbidly.

“Where is she?” Trevor asked the monk in charge.

“She is inside, just as we found her.”

He rushed inside, to find Elisabeth lying lifelessly on the stone floor. The dry blood from her body had made the dress stick to her, but she was still wet from the water she drowned in. The once striking beauty in her face was completely lost.

“Why is she still here? Why was she not given a formal burial?”

“My Lord,” replied a monk who was sitting beside the corpse, “we could not. Lady Elisabeth committed suicide, a grave mistake on her part. God does not allow individuals who take their own life into heaven. To bury her would be a great felony against God himself! We, as his messengers would never break his law.”

“So you left her here, to rot? Elisabeth was an angel alive. Let her be one in death!”

“My lord, we cannot-”

Trevor's face went purple with rage. He spun around to the gathering of priests behind him. “You would rather betray your leader, and ignore the needs of his wife, instead of breaking a fictional law?”

“Are you questioning our Lord?”

“I am your Lord!” he barked, removing his sword from its sheath. The priests backed away, and started to pray for protection. “Do not bother calling upon your god! He will not protect you from me!” Trevor turned to the wooden crucifix that hung from the wall. He raised his sword, and swung down with an impressive blow, shattering splinters and shards in every direction. He swung sideways, knocking candles off the tables and shelves, and a small flame lit the straw floor. The flames spread, and in a matter of seconds, the church became an inferno. Pushing his way past fleeing monks, Trevor knelt beside his wife. “You will have peace. If need be I destroy anything and anyone in my path, so be it, I will find your peace.”

Trevor walked slowly out of the flames just in time to see the foundations fall, and be engulfed in a blaze.

Three years, and thousands of ruined churches later, a young renegade walked into town. Your typical hero, of course; young, smart and a little on the good-looking side. Anyways, this hero called himself Sir Michelangelo De Medici Venus De Milo. Apparently he was Italian. He called himself Myke for short (no reason why he spelt it with a `y'. He just liked it that way).

So this guy, Myke, headed to the town center, in hopes of receiving a quest, and achieving a status above “amateur do-gooder”. Little did he know how much he was actually about to experience.

Sitting in a chair around the table inside, he was shortly followed by the villages chief, Wotsuppe.

“Hey, what's up, Wotsuppe?”

“Okay, it's getting old now,” the chief replied, bitterly, “You know why you're here. Last winter, the old lord of the kingdom in that place so far away died. Since he turned his back on god, he has been walking the underworld, tormenting us on the level. He has killed our cattle, burnt our houses, and is plaguing the people of our village with nightmares.”

“Hmm…does sound like a problem. How can I help?”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

Wow! A real quest! Myke had never gotten one of those before. And all he had to do was destroy an evil that had plagued the earth for a few years.

“I wonder where to start,” wondered Myke, as he left the village, “Oh, maybe that suspicious looking witch can help me with a potion of sorts…and maybe she has something for talking to oneself.”

Myke approached the witch, who looked suspicious indeed. A classic black cloak, green, warty face, and a broom clutched between her thighs, he had never seen an uglier sight. Or maybe he had. But right now, he needed directions.

“Hello, dear,” greeted the witch. Her manners were more appealing than her appearance.

“Um, hello,” replied Myke, a little surprised. He hadn't been expecting any curtest whatsoever. “I wonder if you could help me. My name is Sir Michelangelo De Medici Venus De Milo, and I'm on my way to battle the evil Lord Trevor. He's a bad, bad man, with a very scary past, and-”

“Good heavens, boy, don't talk to me like that. I'm not a deaf three year old, and even if I was, I could comprehend more than that.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I-”

“Don't worry, it happens all the time. Now, let me guess. You want be to guide you in some sort of spiritual direction, towards the path of good, thus defeating the baddies and saving the day.”

“Um, I guess…”

“If I had a shilling for every time I heard that one…well, folks like yourself come this way more often than you'd think, and I tell them all the same thing.”

“Castle's over there, hun.”

Myke turned his head to the left, where the witch was pointing, and there it was. About three yards in front of him, the biggest mother-of-castle he ever saw. It had to be Trevor's. So after thanking the witch, he trotted off to the fortress.

It seemed deserted; from the moment he crossed the bridge to entering the throne room. The atmosphere was cold, desolate, and just plain icky, so he hurried the process of searching for any sign of life. Myke approached the battle room, and his mood changed to ecstasy when he saw the spread of weapons and amour laid before him.

“Jackpot!” he exclaimed, quickly equipping himself with whatever he could find. He fit into a chain mail (which he found oddly light for its build), a helm with strange blue plumage, and a few rings. Then he decided that, just in case, he might find some weapons a little useful. He picked up a steel blade, and nearly collapsed under its weight.

“I'll get used to it,” he murmured to himself, “Dang! I forgot to ask the witch about talking to myself.”

“Aw, I thought I had made a friend,” whispered a hidden voice.

“What? Who said that?” Myke yelped, and spun around, inspecting the room. It was quite empty.

Myke turned to the voice. All he could see was a crown, laid on a small stand. Wait a minute…there was something under the crown…something furry! No, it was just hair…and a forehead! And eyes…a nose, a mouth…a whole head was growing under the crown! In fact, so were a body, and a couple of arms and legs.

“Who-who are you?” Myke shakily asked the figure.

“I am Lord Trevor, and you are trespassing in my castle.”

“You can't be Trevor! He's dead!”

“Which would explain my being a ghost, yes.”

“Yes, I am the spirit of Lord Trevor, and you, my friend, are trespassing.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I am Sir Myke, here to put an end to you and your reign of terror.”

“You know, you heroes and adventurers are worse than door to door salesmen. I get so sick of you.”

And with those words, a sword materialized in the hands of the ghost of Lord Trevor. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you.”

“I won't go without a fight!” yelled Myke.

“Whatever. You're only wasting your time. I have eternity.”

Myke put up a good battle. Swinging swords had been his favourite pastime, and he practiced day and night. Still, Lord Trevor was a ghost. A tough challenge.

In fact, too tough, because the first sign of weakness showed by Myke, and Trevor ran him through. Yep, nothing sucks more than being the hero of a story, and losing. But that suited Trevor fine. The antagonist was out of the picture.

The whole world swirled beneath him, as he rose to the clouds. Myke was dead.

“I lost!” he thought. “How could I lose? I'm supposed to be the damn hero, and I die even before the first plot twist? Great.”

Rising higher and higher, Myke began to feel airsick.

“Ugh. Doesn't this flight come with barf bags? Oh wait- this is the eighteenth century…”

He was met above the clouds by a chubby bearded man in a white robe. He was carrying a quill and parchment.

“Welcome to heaven. Population: somewhere around the fifteen hundreds. Enjoy your stay in paradise.”

“Wait, I think there's been a mistake. I'm supposed to be destroying evil down there, not dying.”

“No, no, you're on the list. Due this morning, actually, you're about three hours too late.” Said the man, looking over his parchment.

How can I be late for death? Myke wondered to himself. “Okay, well, I'll just be going now.”

“You can't leave eternal bliss! You're in rapture for all time. And besides, why would you want to?”

“Because I'm the freaking hero of this story!”

“Well, not anymore. Make yourself comfortable. My name is St. Peter, and I'll be your guide for this evening.”

Myke walked around for a while before sitting on a cloud, which floated nearby. He tried to think of any way that he could get out.

“Which people do not go to heaven? Sinners, disbelievers, fans of Melrose Place (just a little joke)…so, in order to get kicked out, I would have to do what they do. But I don't want to be evil! What can I do?”

Just then, an angelic cherub fluttered by.

“Excuse me,” Myke asked, “what would happen in I gave you a sharp kick in the prosterior?”

“I should think that need never arise, child, but you would be absolved of your misdeeds”

“Rats. Well, what would get me expelled?”

“Why, nothing, for in heaven, all is forgiven.”

“But I really need to get out, and back to the real world!”

“Well, follow me, and present your case before the Arch Angels.”

“So you want to be expelled from heaven? A strange case indeed!”

“Yes, but see, I really need to stop this guy! Come on, from angel to angel!”

“I am an Arch Angel. I am Michael.”

“Hey, that's so cool! I'm Michelangelo! When you abbreviate our name, do you spell it M-I-K-E? I use a y, myself. You know, I don't know why but I prefer it that way. I use the name Myke often, cause my real name is pretty long. Michelangelo De Medici Venus de Milo, it is. I never figured out what the point was of it being so long, but I always said-”

“Stop!” exclaimed Michael, “I will let you go, on one condition.”

“Anything! You name it!”

When Myke woke up again, he found himself face down in a pile of straw. He had landed in a merchants cart.

“Hmm…I had just gotten used to my wings, too. I wonder where I am?”

Picking up his head out of the straw, he looked around, and immediately jumped back. The plains were filled with ghastly looking figures! Ghosts, ghouls and zombies floated back and forth, moaning and cursing. But there was the odd live person, such as the cart driver. He had either not noticed the creatures around him, or did not really care.

Myke jumped off the back of the cart, and hurried to the front, sitting himself next to the diver.

“Hey, buddy, how about dropping me off in the nearest village?”

“Hellooooo? Earth to driver?”

Suddenly, the horses jolted, bucking him off the seat. He landed in front of the their path, and yelped.

“Stop! You're going to-”

But the horses didn't run over him…they ran through him!

“Hey! I'm a ghost! Whoa, no wonder he couldn't see me…or all of those other…things, but I could. Cool! I see dead people! ”

Myke walked along the path, just to keep away from the other ghosts, but he later came to ignore them.

“I need to find some way to beat Trevor. But if only I knew where I was.”

And then, as if by will, a map, posted to a wooden stake, appeared before him. It marked an X clearly on a path, labeled, `You Are Here'.

“Well, that's a big help…let's see…. Hey, these are the Plains of Maharba, just west of the village of the kingdom in that place so far away, where Trevor killed me! If I carry on walking along this path, I can arrive back at the castle. Huh. I really need to get this talking to myself thing checked.”

Night fell on the plains, and Myke decided it might be a good idea to find a place to rest. But do ghosts really need to rest? Anyway, he walked until he found a large cave in mountains to the left of the path (yes, they had always been there), and entered.

There, he saw something he thought he'd never see again.

The witch who guided him to Trevor's Castle.

“You're- you're the witch!” Myke stuttered.

“Oh, don't look so surprised, hun. If you can come back to life, you can meet the same person twice,” the old hag replied.

“Well, yes, I suppose, that's true…Hey! How did you know I was killed?”

“Oops, did I say that out loud?”

Just then, a few skeletons came creeping out behind her.

“Oy, are you done rabbiting about with your new friend? Some of us are trying to get some sleep!” snarled the first one.

“Yes, shut it, you foul old woman!” added the second.

“What they said,” finished the third, and they all crept back into the depths of the cave.

“I didn't know the dead needed sleep!” awed Myke.

“Yeah, you wouldn't think so, would you? But this bloody lot insist on it, whether be alive or not.”

“So I see. Listen, I need more help.”

“What? Directions weren't good enough?”

“Will you shut up!” yelled a far away voice.

“I wasn't strong enough to beat Trevor,” continued Myke.

“You're not the first, hun.”

“Stop calling me hun. Anyway, don't you have some sort of strong potion thing that you could whip up?”

“Yes, but it needs to be self made. I could show you how to make it, use it, and then you would be practically indestructible!”

So the witch dragged out an old cauldron from behind a rock.

“Why didn't I see that there before?” wondered Myke.

“This is a very dangerous potion,” cackled the witch, “in fact, I was hoping to see you get a little hammered, myself…but watch me and do exactly what I do.”

The witch got another cauldron, and quickly started throwing in ingredients. Tails of this, eyes of that, the usual…then she poured it into a glass bottle, which she shook three times.

“Was that three or four times? I shook it five, I think.”

“You fool!” shrieked the witch, “Give that to me!”

She snatched the bottle, and hurled it into the cave. It followed by a large explosion, which lit up every dark crevasse, and blinded Myke.

“Hey!” shouted voices from afar, “What are you trying to do? Get us all killed… again? Be more careful, or we'll feed you to the vultures!”

“Oh. Sorry,” said Myke.

“Idiot,” replied the witch, “Here. Take mine.”

“But I thought you said only--”

“Oh I never mean anything I say. Besides, I don't want you blowing up my cave again.”

“Thanks,” said Myke. He then left in a hurry.

Exiting the cave, he looked at the potion. It was swirls of purple and blues that never seemed to mix.

“Magic Potion. Huh. I could have entered an Asterix book to get that.”

Just then, another loud explosion came from the cave.

“Aw, geez!” moaned another faint voice.

Following the second explosion, he looked back at the cave, and noticed something. Something small, round and white, that is, rolling out of it.

It was a skull! A skull from one of the three skeletons (obviously).

“Why, hello,” he said, looking down at the face by his feet.

“Arrgh, back you treacherous dog!” it barked back.

“I see you have a little problem.”

“I do not have any problems! I am the fearsome, all terrifying, demonic…Barry!”

“Uh…how about I call you Bob?”

“NO! You shall call me Barry! For that is the name of a fearsome, demonic skeleton warrior!”

“A fearsome, demonic warrior with no body.”

“Well, yes, but that's a small fixer upper. Who are you?”

“I'm Myke, a hero-in-training.”

“Well, I'm an evil fiend, and I will now devour your entire soul…. uhh…could you pick me up so I could bite you?”

“Worth a shot…”

“You know, you'd look great with a melting candle on your forehead.”

“I've got the feeling you're not taking me very seriously.”

“No, seriously, I am.”

“Really? Then let me hear you scream in terror!”

“Why must you evil villains laugh so much?”

“I'm not laughing in anything in particular…somewhere inside the cave, a rat is nibbling on my foot. It really tickles.”

“Oh. Well, you're about as fearsome as a footstool.”

“Is it a really evil footstool?”

The skull began so sob. “Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not fearsome…I don't even have arms! Boo hoo hoo!”

“Hey, it's not so bad… Look at it this way…uh…you don't have to worry about what clothes to wear!”

“That's true…” he blubbered.

“And at least you've lost some weight!”

“That's also true,” he sniffed.

“I'll tell you what. Some people are a little intimidated by disembodied skulls. Why don't you come with me? I'm off to fight the dark Lord Trevor.”

“Lord Trevor? Why he's the one who made me one of the undead! Of course I'll come! When I get my hands on him…. when I get my hands, period…”

“Okay, Barry. Let's go get your bones.”

Once they had recollected his remnants, and put him together, they decided to go on their way…unfortunately, they didn't know where their “way” was.

“I know a place you can get a map…the ghost town. It's a few miles from here.”

“A few miles? Isn't there a quicker way?”

What do you get when you take an adjustable skeleton, a few stones, and in line steering? Your own bone car! So Myke and Barry rode down the dust path, into the night, in search of the haunted town they would call home. Well….not really, but they were going to find a map, maybe stay in a little tavern for the night, catch a quick flick…the usual.

“Finally! We've arrived! Boy, that was longer than I expected.”

“Well if you had stopped kicking me in the back, I could have gotten here a lot faster!”

“Anyway, we're here now, so let's go find us a map!”

Myke, an amateur hero, and Barry, a slightly intimidating skeleton, had just arrived in a ghost town, in search of directions to the location of Lord Trevor. The town was deserted…or at least, it would have been, to the ordinary eye. But since Myke and Barry were dead (sort of), it was crawling with ghosts, goblins, and sprites.

They walked into the local tavern (`The Bloody Mary') and sat down at a table in the far corner. A silver troll, with a greenish tint, walked up to them.

“Name your poison,” he grunted.

“What do you want?” asked Myke.

“Oh…I don't know. Some of these meals look pretty frightening. I would try to eat them, but I don't have the guts!” replied Barry.

Finding this extremely funny, the skeleton laughed. So hard, he fell of his seat, and crashed to the dirty floor, shattering into pieces again. Myke jumped up, and collected the bouncing bones, which had scattered into several directions. Barry's head was still giggling when he had found it, and didn't stop until Myke threatened to make him into a doorstop.

“Well, just as well neither of us wants anything. I don't have any money anyway.”

“Then how are we going to buy a map?”

“Good point. Maybe we should get a job or something.”

“Doing what? You're not exactly the world's best handyman,” snickered Barry, swapping his feet, which Myke had accidentally placed backwards.

“Well, I could sell used bones,” he shot back, bitterly.

“That's not funny.”

But it was a good idea. They went through the town, looking for any jobs they could find. They tried cashier, store mannequin, potion tester, but no one wanted them, until finally, one fine hour, they were hired.

Not quite what they expected, but every rural community needs a village idiot!

“This is so humiliating,” complained Barry.

“Well, at least the pay is good. I got three gold, fifteen bronze and six silver coins in three hours! I'm sure this is enough to get a map and some food!”

Just then, an old, crippled woman hobbled towards them.

“Oh, you poor dears!” she exclaimed, “Please, get yourselves some decent clothes! And do something about that smell!” She then tossed them a bag, which spilled gold coins over the pavement, and hurried off. But they were too amazed to be insulted.

“Look at that! A whole bag filled with gold!”

“Looks like someone's got money to throw away,” Barry snorted, “Where do they get it from?”

“Beats me. Come on, let's get some stuff, and go.”