The Servant - 1. The Servant

The Servant

"Hello Alfred. How are you?"

"I'm fine Charles. But I guess you still don't believe what I've been telling you," Alfred replied.

"Well, simply put, you're story is too farfetched..."

"I know. Everyone says that," Alfred sighed. "But you know what they say: truth can be stranger than fiction."

He gave a shy smile. I smiled back.

"So they say," I allowed.

He was quiet after that, so I decided to break the silence.

"Do you still get visits..."

I stopped short when I saw the terror in his eyes. But then he answered in a quiet voice.

"I still do... sometimes. Not always, thank God." He suddenly laughed. "If there's a God at all to thank for."

It's going to be tough, but I have to continue.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Alfred looked thoughtful. His cool blue eyes unfocussed as he scratched his wavy, black hair, which looked like it wasn't combed properly. He's twenty-four years old, but can pass as a seventeen year-old because of his youthful look.

"To do that, I will have to tell the whole tale. Yes, it wouldn't do any good if we start from the end now, would it?" he asked rhetorically.

I sighed. "I suppose not."

This is going to take some time.

o o o o o

Alfred's Tale

It was the start of summer class. I was never one for summer classes, but I can't do anything about it. I failed quite a number of subjects the preceding semester.

None of it was my fault, of course.

It was all Richard's fault. If he wasn't so good-looking, with his curly, brown hair and sad, brown eyes, I wouldn't be distracted all the time. It didn't help that he's in most of my classes. He just transferred that year from some private school.

Everyone sees me as the weird one, because I chose not to stick to the stupid, stuck-up sense of style and living that most of the other students do. I mean, black is classic. Not to mention it doesn't get dirty easily. Because of this, I'm often the target of some dumb joke or a well-aimed kick or punch. I fight back, and that often minimizes physical assault, although it increases my visit to the Discipline Officer's office.

As if it's my fault I'm being bullied.

Newcomer Richard has a similar problem, although he gets off easier from the D.O. because he's the new kid.

It's usually the bully who's in trouble.

If I was the weird one, he's the silent one. Like me, he has no friends, although the females usually giggle behind his back. I realize then I wasn't the only who found him cute.

Damned b*tch*s. If Richard is anything like a normal, hormone-driven teenager, he's going to bed with one of them sometime soon. And honestly, what chance do I have with him?

An idea came to me then: if his shy, silent demeanor changes anytime during the school year, that means he's gone to bed with someone. If not, then it's unlikely. Or maybe the b*tch just didn't do too good a job. Pun intended.

He didn't change. And that's what racked my mind the whole year round. Just because he doesn't screw the girls around him doesn't necessarily mean he's into guys, right?

I tried to find out, but I couldn't. I'm anti-social, so I don't go around greeting people, or making them feel welcome; although I'm notorious for making people feel unwelcome.

So I went through the whole semester tortured. Because of this boy.

Now come summer classes. It seems his grades are also lagging behind because, guess what, we ended up in the same classes again.

There were fewer of us during the summer, the rest of the student body are enjoying their time at the beach, screwing one another I would imagine.

It was bad luck that soccer jock Jim also failed a number of classes.

I was in one the toilets of the comfort room when I overheard the mature discussion between Jim and his pal. Trust me, you don't want to know what I'm doing there.

"F*ck dude, that was a major blunder!" I heard someone shout right after I heard the door open.

"Chill Jim. Just get it over with," another had said.

"Chill! You tell me how, Chris!" Jim screamed. "If I fail this time 'round, I'll be out of the team!"

"I know that. Sheesh! Will you stop screaming? My ears are ringing here," Chris complained.

That makes the two of us, I thought.

Just then, I heard the door open again, and the two grew silent. I heard the faucet open, some washing of hands, then door opening and closing again.

"Sissy boy Ricky," I heard Jim whisper menacingly. "He's the answer."

"What?" Chris wondered.

"Yeah, you're right Chris. I need to chill right? To relax and all. I think I just found an answer."

Door opened.

"Hey, hey, wait up Jim. What are you talk... "

Door closed.

Jim's tone brought chills up my spine. I know exactly what he meant. The bastard. The creep. I'll make him see hell, I swore, before he can start his wicked plan against Richard.

o o o o o

"Did you read his mind?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. I can merely sense it. I know it sounds vague, but that's what I felt. And I was more certain then than usual."

"Why were you protective of him? From what you said, you don't even speak to him."

Alfred was thoughtful again.

"I think it was because I was already in love. I just didn't recognize it," he answered finally.

I drew a grateful sigh. At least he addressed his feelings instead of avoiding them. That helps.

"You mentioned you'd make Jim see hell..." I continued, encouraging.

Alfred scowled. We're getting into the heart of the matter, so I hope he'll keep on talking.

"I told you before that I know some things about the Dark Arts," he answered.

I felt goosebumps all over my arms, although I don't know why, since I am not a believer in this hocus pocus.

And somehow, the room grew colder. Just my imagination, probably.

Alfred was looking through the window, as if he's thinking of something from the distant past, which is probably correct but I could never tell with him.

"It's something I only dabbled with. And I put it aside after a few years. But I knew that it's already in my heart. Devouring me from within," he laughed mirthlessly. "If that's even an accurate way of putting it.

"You see, things are not always what they seem. When it comes to the Dark Arts, it is even less so."

He became silent, so I asked, "And you know of a way to send Jim to hell?"

Alfred laughed hard for about a minute. When he finally settled down, he said "Send him to hell? Without me making sure he's suffering? He'll get there, eventually, but I wanted to make sure he suffers here on Earth first. Yes, I wanted to show him hell on Earth."

I nodded, not agreeing, but understanding. "All this for a boy you secretly loved."

Alfred nodded solemnly. "All this for a boy who probably doesn't even recognize my existence."

"Well, people say love doesn't make any sense," I offered.

Alfred looked thoughtful. "Yes... that's probably it."

After a few minutes of silence, I went on. "So, what exactly did you do?"

o o o o o

Alfred

"Oww! What the... What's your problem weasel?"

It was later that same day. And that was Jim. And I just grabbed a handful of his dirty blond hair. At school.

In plain sight of everyone.

"Nothing, Jungle Jim. I'm just being the ass that I am," I told him, then walked away.

I made sure the hair's secured in my pocket, before I broke into a full run. Although there's a few seconds delay, I knew it wouldn't take them too long to realize I just insulted their star player.

Jim himself is quite fit. He stands a good five-foot eleven. Too tall for a soccer player, if you ask me. Then again, what do I know about sports right? He's probably good-looking, but I don't like his personality so he might as well be a monkey. He and his team runs several laps around the soccer field daily.

But we're not in the soccer field. We're in the busy corridors of the school. "Weasel" might seem derogatory, but it's actually a compliment. I can move quickly around in a mall on a sale or, in this case, a packed corridor in school, around gossiping girls, horsing teens and even busy teachers. It can give me a much needed advantage... for now.

The act of pissing Jim off in public by pulling off his hair served two purposes. First, the obvious one, is that I'm going to use his hair to curse him. Not the voodoo doll variety. The second purpose was to get his attention away from Richard.

Needless to say, my mission was successful. Now I only need one day to survive.

I wove my way through to the library, where I know Jim and his gang are banned from ever entering. Once inside, I was safe.

I took out the hair from my pocket and put it inside a small plastic box. I hid it securely in my pocket, then went to get out from the main gate. Jim's crew would still be looking for me within the school grounds, at least those without classes, so I'm sure they left some near the gate.

That one is easy enough to handle.

I waited until the scheduled time-off of the D.O. and walked virtually in front of him on his way out. When we reached the gate I saw two bulky boys, looking around like lost kittens.

When they saw me, they started to approach, but I just gave them a sardonic grin. They paused when they saw I have more balls than they do, figuratively speaking of course. When they saw the D.O. they grew red with frustration. As much as they want to pulverize me right there and then, none of them wants to miss their chance in playing for the team.

I just walked past the two and kept walking outside, making sure I'm still within sight and earshot of the D.O. When I reached the jeepney stop, I jumped in on one where I imagine the D.O. would as well. And so he did.

I survived the day.

Home is far from school, and I made it a point to make sure no one from school knows about it by making detours, looking back to see if someone is following me, circling around places where I know anyone unfamiliar with the place will easily lose their way. Paranoid? Almost. Thanks to my anti-social dad, our house is remotely situated, hidden from people who are not actively looking for it. It helps when we're trying to avoid stupid, door-to-door salesmen and religious nuts, but it can be troublesome when we're ordering food.

I unpacked what little I have in my bag when I reached home, and took out the plastic box from my pocket.

Very nice timing. It was a Friday, so I don't need to go to school the next day, avoiding being pummeled by Jim and his pals, but more importantly is that I can do my curse on the first hour of Saturday.

Although I will have to wait until dad's fast asleep, which he isn't until around close to midnight.

Meanwhile, I got all the things that I needed, like candles, incenses, water, salt, some paper, matches.

"I see you're into something again," dad greeted me when he arrived that evening.

"How did you know?"

"People tend to notice symbols drawn on their lawn," he answered as he went to his room to change.

Good thing about dad is that he doesn't ask too much questions or bother me with the things that I do. I think he thought of the ritual stuff as childish or primitive, but he didn't comment. Typical of dad.

Then, I had an idea.

"Dad, do you still have that book you took from me a few years ago?"

He was changing his pants then. "Which one?"

"The black one. With black pages."

"Hmmm, let me check."

Oh great. That would normally mean he has no idea what I'm talking about, or he completely lost the book.

As expected, dad forgot where he put the book. He took it from me because he's one hell of a bookworm and was running out of books to read. And after reading, he leaves the book anywhere he happened to finish reading it.

It can be in the bathroom, on his bed, the living room, the garage, on a bus, a coffee shop, a restaurant.

Anywhere at all. So I know it's hopeless.

I found that particular book when I was "ghost-hunting" in some old, ruined prison, a few years back. It has a horrible history of prisoners being tortured, used for experiments, such things. I was looking for ghosts, but after scaring myself silly, I stumbled upon a hidden block, which covered some writing materials and a book,

with completely black pages, written in gold ink.

It didn't give complete details, but it provided some nasty vengeance spells, and even demonic curses. I would think it was written by a prisoner, especially because the words were almost unintelligible, to get back at his oppressors. But the book itself and ink used seem too out-of-place, almost too nice, in contrast to its surrounding. So maybe it was actually written by a guard, or something. I'll never know.

I haven't tried anything in the book yet because of the dire warnings in the first few pages, like gaining the attention of the Hellish Pit Lords.

I was a coward then. But right then, I am not concerned of some hellspawn, and as long as it can take care of that creep who wants to hurt Richard, hell can have my soul.

That was very presumptuous of me. But anyone can make that mistake. It was just unfortunate that it happened to be me.

One interesting ritual is that of creating a Nightmare Servant. It was so interesting I managed to remember the name of the Servant and its sigil. The Servant will harass the target with nightmares until either the summoner recalls it... or the victim dies for lack of sleep and a lingering sense of fear when awake.

That's his hell on Earth.

It was the beginning of mine.

For your sake and mine, I won't tell you the name of the Servant.

What happened next I could never remember. All I know is that after starting the usual opening ritual right at midnight, and calling out the Servant by name, I woke up finding myself completely naked on the ground. My clothes are nowhere to be found. It was still dark, and I remember checking the clock inside the house showing 3:15 AM. I had no memory at all of the three hours prior.

I hurried back inside, got myself a set of clothes, and promptly went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and went to our lawn to get my ritual materials, only to find they all disappeared. My dad's already out, but I doubt it was him who took my materials; he never touches my things, except the books. Furthermore, there are strange marks and signs on the lawn, things that I didn't write, and symbols that I am completely unfamiliar with. I copied them on a piece of paper.

I went back inside to find my room completely messed up, a horrible stench caught in the air... and a naked man with long, wavy, black hair, lying down on my bed.

"Who are you?" I demanded of him, to which he replied a grin.

"Petty human... you called me here..." his voice was so cold it turned the air cold.

He stood up with inhuman grace on the bed, his body in full view. "Don't insult me by saying you did not intend to... the result will be less... favorable... for you..."

To say I was shocked is an understatement. "You... you're the Servant?"

"Not yours, I'm sure..." he replied. "I will do one thing for you, but I will take something in return..."

"You can have my soul," I told him. He laughed.

"Foolish mortal... your soul is of no value to me... What am I to do with it?"

I just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Then... what is it you want?"

He grinned. "Your body."

The Servant, although it's probably accurate to call it a demon, demanded to take control of my body freely for his own ends.

After our agreement, he disappeared into thin air. There was no signing in blood, as far as I know. My room was still a mess, but thankfully the stench was gone.

I cleared my room and went through the day as usual, going online, going to the store to buy some snacks, play some computer games. Normal.

By the end of the day, I started to think I imagined things.

That evening however, just before I went to sleep, the Servant appeared again, and with it the stench. He only said one word.

"Sleep..."

I woke up again around 3:15 AM, feeling tired and exhausted, and my eyes sore. Not only did I feel like I walked the whole day, it also felt like I didn't sleep at all. Thankfully, I was able to get some and slept through half of the following day. I still didn't feel good after I woke up around one in the afternoon, so I just stayed at home and played some computer games.

He didn't appear that evening, and I didn't wake up at 3:15 AM the next day. I felt refreshed when I woke up to prepare for school. Normally, Monday leaves me weak and tired. But right then I felt so energized.

I went to school earlier than I usually do.

When I arrived at school, I saw a lot of cops. I suddenly had a bad feeling, but decided to enter school.

A few minutes after I entered the gate, the D.O. called my attention.

"Young man, can we have a word with you?"

'We.' That sure means something. I followed the fat, balding man to his office, and I noticed that there are a couple of cops inside.

One of the cops asked me my complete name. I provided it. They talked a bit with the D.O. then addressed me again.

"Do you know James, the school's star soccer player?"

James?

"You mean Jim? Yeah, I know him."

The three tried to look at each inconspicuously, but I easily noticed it.

"And how do you feel about Jim?"

"He's an ass."

I saw D.O. breathe a sigh of relief. Were people always this easy to read?

"Son, you may change your mind after hearing this," one of the cops said to me. "Jim was murdered."

"... how did he die?" I asked, more curious than regretful.

"It was very brutal, and -"

"I think it's inappropriate to discuss such details to the student," the D.O. cut in.

I was just impatient. "Did he suffer?"

The cop who was about to give the details of the murder looked at the D.O. first before talking. "Yes, he suffered terribly."

"Not terrible enough," I spat. "He should live and suffer some more."

The D.O. scolded me, while the cops shook their head.

After a few more questions, I was asked to haul my butt to my classes. And so I did.

Murdered.

I didn't expect the results that fast, but I was also hoping to see Jim rot away little by little each day. Too bad he didn't but at least Richard is safe from him forever.

During classes, I just stare at him, without any worries except his studies.

He didn't change, so I thought it's a good time to approach him. After the last bell rung, I approached him in the hallway, and got my first nasty surprise for the day.

He looked at me in horror and ran away.

I was so shocked I just stood in place for several minutes after he ran away from me. Even with my worst enemies, I never got that kind of response, and never before I get a word out.

When I finally found myself, I walked directly to the cafeteria to get something to eat and drink. I usually pig out when I'm depressed or angry.

I had to pass by the Discipline Office to get to cafeteria, and happened to see the same cops and the D.O. inside... with Richard.

"I didn't do anything!" I heard Richard shout at them.

Pretending to be reading my notes, I leaned over the wall beside the door and listened to the exchange.

"From what he have gathered, you were the last person to see the victim."

"Officer, you are not to speak to my students like they are already convicted of a crime. He's innocent until proven guilty," the D.O. argued heatedly.

"Of course sir. We're just pointing out facts."

Impossible... Richard being suspected of murder? This is not happening. If I think about it, I'm the actual culprit who caused the demise of Jim, however indirectly.

The Servant and I have a lot to discuss.

o o o o o

"Insolent little maggot... to dare speak my name... "

It was later that night. I summoned the Servant in a fit inside my room, the result being he trashed my room again at his appearance.

"Your violence caused someone I care about to be suspected of the crime! That's not part of the plan!" I shouted at him.

"Whose plan, mortal? Not mine, I'm sure..." his cold voice freezing the room, his eyes glaring at me.

I kept putting on a brave face. "I... You didn't tell me this is how it's going to end up!"

"You didn't ask... aside from the fact that my actions are not limited by your approval..."

I have no response to that.

He went on: "Instead of pointing a finger at me, don't you want to know who it was who killed your nemesis?"

"Huh? Well... wasn't it you?"

With that, he floated closer.

"Short-lived mortal... your memory fleeting as the wind..." then he extended his left arm and touched my forehead.

At which point, I wasn't in my room anymore. I was in some sort of alley at night. The view is hazy, almost like a dream...

o o o o o

I was hiding in the shadow. A few meters ahead, I saw Richard... pushed back by Jim and two of his team mates.

"How about it, sissy boy?" Jim asked as Richard fell on the ground. "Every girl wanted me up her c*nt. I'm sure you've been dreaming of having me up your ass."

His two companions just laughed along with him.

No.

"No... ugh..." Richard managed to grunt.

Jim pulled him up by his shirt's collar. "What was that, Ricky? I'm pretty sure you said 'yes.'"

No.

"No."

That earned him a punch in the gut. He coughed badly after falling to the ground. The two thugs pinned Richard to the ground, and started ripping his clothes off with blades.

You worthless trash...

I felt blinding rage and hatred against Jim. I wanted to bury their faces in the wall.

And the next thing I know, that's exactly what happened. I'm facing the wall where they pushed Richard, the two thugs in my hands, their faces in the wall. I let their limp bodies go, and turned to face a wide-eyed Jim... and Richard cowering behind some cement blocks and trash cans.

I grinned at Jim. "Hey Jungle Jim. Missed me?"

"Y... y... you... freak!" He screamed at me, taking a careful step backward.

I walked towards him, still grinning. "What? You don't like me anymore? I thought you were looking for me yesterday."

He turned and ran through the empty alley. I ran after him. I was faster. Somehow, I was faster than this athlete who jogs around the field every day. When I got to a few feet behind him, I pounced on his back, slamming his body on hard cement. I pinned his body to the ground, and was kneeling on his lower back. He struggled to move, but all in vain.

And he's almost twice as heavy as I am.

"Struggling is pointless, Jungle Jim. I have you by the balls." I hissed at his ear. "Speaking of balls... how would you like my d*ck up your ass?"

"No!" Jim protested. "No... please... don't..."

"Why not?" I taunted. "You wanted to put yours so much into little Richard."

"Wha... what did I ever do to you..?" Jim is almost on the verge of tears.

And it's impossible to answer his question. Aside from getting pissed off because he wants to hurt Richard, he has never done anything bad to me. He wasn't one of those bullies who terrorize me because I lacked the stupidity level to follow fashion trends.

But an answer came out all of its own.

"Nothing, Jimmy. I just want to hurt you."

No...

Now it's all clear.

I stood up and pulled Jim up by his shirt effortlessly. But I didn't decide to do it. Neither did I choose to speak the words that I did.

"Stand up, miserable maggot."

Jim did, and he suddenly turned towards me, and locked his arms around my waist, his head on my stomach. I'm not sure if he's trying to tackle me or something, but we didn't fall. I didn't even move an inch.

Next, Jim said something that made my blood run cold.

"Don't make me hurt you..." he said, choking out the words. "Please... don't..."

I laughed. But I didn't want to. "As if you can, human."

With that, I raised my arm and dropped my elbow on his head. His grip immediately loosed.

No!

I had strength that I never had before. Jim was barely conscious after the blow, his eyes half-open. I pushed him on the ground on his back, and I watched helplessly as I stripped his shirt to pieces with my bare hands. I managed to appreciate his perfectly toned body despite the minimum light and the horror of realizing what's going to happen afterwards.

"You have a nice body Jimmy," I told the semi-conscious guy on the ground.

I sat on his chiseled abs, and leaned my upper body closer, until my face is just an inch above his. I can smell alcohol from his breath. I grabbed him by the side of his head and kissed him passionately on the lips while my fingers played with his hair.

"... umm..." I heard him moan.

I laughed, rearranging my position over Jim's body. "Are you enjoying it Jimmy? For all the brave machismo you're showing everyone, you're still just a slut."

I'll spare you the details of that event. Nevertheless, after I violated every part of his body, I simply... snapped off his head. And laughed.

The rest are all over the news. Limbs and internal organs all over the place. The news talked about how brutal and inhuman it was. And they're right. It was inhuman. Although the host is human.

When I returned to my present awareness, the Servant has gone. No explanation, no nothing. And my room was still a mess.

The next day, I surrendered to the police. They can't do anything about it since I was able to give them details of the crime, and they fit nicely with their theories and assumptions. Richard is off the hook of course, and was waived-off as being too shocked by the experience to remember anything in great detail. I never got to ask why he didn't just point me out as the last person who went after Jim. Maybe he really was too shocked.

o o o o o

"Of course, they still find it hard to believe the story about the Servant, and I was sent to be tested for dangerous substances. They all came out negative.

"And since they consider me a psychological case, instead of getting a lifetime sentence, or death penalty, I was sent here."

I nodded. "Thank you for being open."

He smiled sheepishly. "And yet, you still don't believe what I'm telling you."

"Hmm..." I pondered for a moment. "There are possibilities. I mean, there's no way I can discount it. But the fact is that there's no way we can also take the Servant into account since it didn't leave a trace whatsoever."

Alfred looked on the floor. "He appears to me. Once in a while. Randomly. I don't know why. He never answers my questions. As far as I know, I've served his purpose."

I stood up. It's almost time to leave. Then I remembered something.

"By the way, do you know about Jimmy's journal?" I asked him.

Alfred looked up at me with sad, regretful eyes. "I don't. But I know what's written there. The Servant told me."

I nodded back. The police checked Jim's belongings to see if they can find any plausible clue as to why Alfred would go to such violent measures against him. They found he wrote about a person repeatedly, as if mildly obsessed, in the journal, but under a code name. It vaguely describes Alfred.

"Take care Alfred. I'll see you again next week."

o o o o o

"Doctor, how is he?"

I looked at the young nurse who asked me. Her name is Michelle, if I remember correctly. One of the few nurses who were assigned to look after Alfred.

"Well, he seems to be improving, but he still has the tendency to confuse facts with fiction," I told her. "And it seems his memory coincides neatly with what was reported."

She seems unhappy. Worried, even. "I'm new in this kind of assignment doctor, but I have to say that some facts are stranger than fiction."

I just smiled at her. "That kind of thinking might just turn you into a patient here."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she answered, shaking her head.

"During one of my rounds one night, he..." she paused, thinking. "He seemed... different. Like there's kind of an evil glint in his eyes. Not to mention his room stank of rotten eggs and was as cold as a fridge."

"Might be a sign of a split personality disorder," I told her. "We were looking at that angle."

"And that causes cold temperature and a bad smell?"

"He may have old food hidden in the room, and your impression of the temperature may just be your imagination playing tricks on you."

She shook her head. "I'm sure it wasn't. I checked our thermometer, didn't find any food inside, and we haven't served eggs for several weeks prior. In fact, we rarely do. The main cook has something against chickens in general."

She has the mind of a scientist. It's sad she chose to believe in the nonsense the boy had been spouting for all the time he's been with us.

"Michelle, you're young. You will eventually find out that there are completely logical explanations to the mysteries in this world."

She looked like she was about to argue, but decided to let it go.

"Maybe, maybe not," she said, almost to herself. I was too tired to argue, so I let it go as well. Besides, it's late, and I need to go home. They don't pay overtime for this.

That was the last day I saw Alfred.

The next day was a weekend, so I didn't visit the asylum. They only reported when I arrived Monday morning that the patient had gone missing, his assigned room was completely trashed. None of the phones within the compound worked, and the cameras malfunctioned during the weekend so no one knew how he escaped. Some technicians mentioned about some sort of power overload that also ruined the security locks, gates and whatnot.

Everyone discounted the fact that most patients in the area murmured only one word for several days, over and over again.

"Sleep."

o o o o o

End.