Claw

First Appeared in Enheduanna: A Pagan Literary Journal, Volume 7, pp. 124-130. Pagan Society Press, 2024 

The crimson claw closed the clasp on the box—the knocking receded.
            “Take it quickly, before it gets out.”
            “Aye sir,” the gargoyle rose, flapping its wings into the frosty night.
 For years, the demon network fought break-ins from the mortal realms—recent losses had been hard. Would the assault on Flaming Hills ever end? Claw sighed. He looked around at the broken tibias on the lawn, but wasn’t sure where the new material would be sourced from.
            Jawslice Manor sat in the Flaming Hills, place of eternal hell fires. The primary residence of the head demon, it was granted to him through the Demonstead Act of 10,269 BC for evil behavior of the lowest rank. The building’s exterior showed careful polishing, and eons of blood paint gave the bone stones a dark burgundy color.
            “Claw!” He turned to the voice reaching across the moor. A foul looking witch came running up.
            “Rattling rat bones, Sister Knot-N-Ride! What an unpleasant surprise for you to show up on my moor. What evil does bring you my way this evening?”
            “I just had one of those mortals pop into my hut,” she paused, catching her breath. “Can you believe the nerve!
             “My hideous dear, It’ll be all right when—”
           “What do you mean, ALRIGHT?” She gestured around the moor. “Everything is falling apart. We don’t have regular supplies. I’m so low on magic powder that I can’t even form a proper barrier; these mortals think they’re vacationing!”
         Claw extended a claw and took her hand. “I know, I receive your reports.” He caressed her palm. “Snells just flew off, taking a parcel with him, which I’m unpraying is the solution.”
             Knot-N-Ride relaxed into her skin. “Oh, do tell me. I’m all warts!”
Claw brought her in close. “We should be hearing the end of all this by the next trine of the moon!”
          “Oh!” she clutched her chest. “Claw, you always know how to make an old wench wet!” A trickle streamed down one leg.
             A small ping sounded from her pocket. Knot-N-Ride whipped out a key-chained mini crystal ball. “You see this.” She waved it in front of him. “Shocking! Mortals in my hut, again!” Steam came out of her ears.
            “Shall I come with to dispatch them?” He asked. Knot-N-Ride was already on her Witchy-Talkie, talking to her coven. He shrugged. Time to stroll across the land—one hoof in front of the other.
         The moor layered its darkness. Delicious scents of fear and blood mixing to create the perfect evening. A divine sound exploded out of the darkened world, enveloping Claw. His skin retracted, and he let out a howl. “Divine filth—NO!”
            The pipe organ sounded from the abandoned church nearby. Playing the organ is forbidden except during black mass. They do this to taunt me!
Dread Trolls pulled up on demon steeds. “Sir, the alarms went off in the village, an incursion is in progress!”
          “Trog, secure the perimeter.” Trog nodded and shouted orders at the other dread trolls. They assumed a defensive barrier at the cathedral perimeter. Claw entered the nave as the organ blasted heavenly notes.
       Snell lay at the foot of the altar. The box, chained to the Cross of Peter atop, boomed, jumped, and cracked.
        “Snell!” Claw approached. His mangled corpse broken at the base. “Who did this?” 
        His voice cracked and black blood bubbled out. “Huu..mans.” He coughed and gave up the ghost.
         The Red Luminous Harpies flew in through the windows. “Take Snell’s body to the burial grounds. He’ll be a given an unholy rite once we solve this.”
            He made his way to the back side of the altar, opening the lid to operate the keys and levels for the portal network.
            “666. This is Claw, come in K69Z.” No response.
            Claw repeated. “666. This is Claw, come in K69Z.” Still nothing.
            “Is anyone on the line. Repeat, 666. Come in.”
            Static noise and whirs sounded. Dead air space across the portal realm.
            “Very interesting,” he said to himself.
            He shifted, powering down the portal station. The box let out a boom and clang. What the devil is going on in there?
            He reached for the box as the first spill of light broke through. Slicing the rolling darkness, Claw threw up a dark shield. The light pierced the evening with purity and goodness, incinerating the harpies still present.
            A man in a blue robe and pointed hat emerged. Muttering some ancient words, flaming letters flew from his hands at Claw. Ducking, he rolled through the nave and to a side door, exiting out the cloister.
            He ran for the dead troll defensive line. “Trog, the mortals are here!”
            “Get behind us Master!” Trog motioned to the nearby trolls. “Bring the canons and artillery!”
            Catching his breath, Claw pulled out his portable radar. A few dozen blimps flashed across the screen. Incursions across the realm! A sudden knocking came from afar, the direction of Jawslice Manor.
            Artillery sounded off. “Rot in Heaven,” Trog shouted. Spears of fire shot our from the cathedral, skewering a few nearby trolls. The canons and mortars continued pummeled the cathedral. Claw looked back to see the walls of the old cathedral collapse on itself. The knocking echoed again; he made haste towards the manor.
            A blue light flickered under the pile of stones, as the man ascended out of the rubble, protected by a sphere of light.
            Trog gasped. “Aim for the wizard!” The rounds bounced off the bubble, falling back and exploding on the troll line. They scattered, leaving Trog with the main canon.
            “Get back here you cowards!” The trolls galloped away. The shimmering blue sphere floated by, headed toward Jawslice Manor. Trog aimed and fired. “Go back to your realm!”
             The blue wizard descended. A flash exited the bubble; a loud crack followed. Trog turned to ash, carried away on a passing bog breeze.
                                                                                       ---
Claw ran through the gateway to the Manor, peering back to see the wizard floating across the moor on a cloud. He ran up the stairs to the second level, opening a closet to see a covered object contained within.
            *Boom*. *Boom*. *Boom*. The wizard banged his staff on the bone walkway. Claw ran back down the stairs, stopping in a passing mirror. All good, as devilishly handsome as ever, he thought.
He swung the manor door open. “What do you want, Fressin,” he said, batting his eyes.
            Fressin sighed.  “Just give me the boy and I’ll go—I won’t level this place.”
          Claw peered into the green eyes of the mortal, unholy desire welling within. “Are you sure you don’t have time for some tea? Or Tea bagging? I know you always liked that—”
            Fressin held up his hand. “Not this time, demon.”
            “DEMON!” yelled Claw. “You speak like we’re not…old friends.”
            “I’m just here on business.”
           “Ah. Well, damn it. You know how to ruin all the fun.” He cast his face downward.             Fressin stared at him. “Ok, maybe just a kiss, but I really have to collect David.”
            Claw brightened. “Yay! Snake tongue, double fork, or—”
            “After I sent him home, we can do whatever you choose.”
            The wheels turned in Claws mind. “Sure, I agree to this.”
         The knocking continued from upstairs. “All right, let’s go.” He gestured to Fressin, “after you.”
        “No, please Claw. After you.” Claw side-eyed but enter the manor first. They made their way to up the stairs to the closest door.
             Claw looked back as he undid the lock. “No peaking.” Fressin rolled his eyes and turned away.
            Inside hung an object under black cloth, covered in red symbols. The body of a boy was standing in the corner, expressionless. Fressian eyeballed these. “Remove the cloth.”
          Claw waved his hand. The Solomic symbols twisted and turned, falling off the cloth and dissolving into the floor. He side-eyed Fressian, dramatically ripping the cloth down with billows of dust, to reveal a mirror in which contained the ghostly image of a small child.
            Tristen emerged into the frame of the mirror. Peering down at the pair, a smiled crossed his face. “Grandpa! I guess it’s time to go home?”
            “Yes, my boy,” said Fressian. “What did I saw about playing under your bed?”
            “That if I did, the boogie man would get me and take me to his castle.”
            “And where are we?”
            David peered at the ground, pretending to squash a bug with his shoe. Claw slinked toward the door.
            “And where are we, David?
            “The Castle.” David whispered.
            “Correct. Now do you believe grandpa?”
            David looked up. “Yes, sir.”
            The slam reverberated. Fressian whirled around, but it was too late, the lock clinked into place. Fressian was trapped with David.