Many people develop an irrational fear of their boss. It’s understandable, all too often power tends to go to people’s heads and sometimes a job is all someone has. It’s completely natural to dread a person that can ruin your life with a couple words. This is especially true if you work in hell.
Nicalphalot, the 703rd assistant fiduciary officer of the Choir of Draykone, was well versed in this particular kind of fear. He stepped into the tiny iron-work box that served as an elevator. A blue demon with a red bell-hop cap was hunched over the controls. His lumpy back was covered with tumor-like growths that sprouted long needles and dripped a thin black ichor that coated the floor of the elevator car. One of his short arms was manacled to a ring which was bolted to the wall.
“Hey Nic,” he said as the doors slammed shut behind him. “Where ya headed?”
Nicalphalot gave a nervous smile. “Morning, Sikllc. I have an employee evaluation with Mr. Skinner.”
Sikllc’s glowing red eyes grew wide and the flow of black slime just about doubled. “Don’t envy you,” then he wrapped two stubby talons around a lever and swung it to the side. “Going down.”
As the elevator rocketed downward, Nicalphalot tried to think up excuses he might be able to use for his recent poor performance. He hadn’t corrupted a soul sufficiently in centuries. The last mortal he tempted toward darkness was suffering from the bubonic plague. It wasn’t his fault, he thought as the iron bars began to glow red as they descended down further to Skinner’s office. In the modern world mortals had too many avenues to resist the forces of their Dark Father. The telephone allowed lonely souls to reach out and get the moral support of their peers and mentors. Strange depravities that used to be a consistent source of shame each had an internet community dedicated to fostering growth and acceptance. The world had become too apathetic to either side to be tempted either way. It was just too hard for a demon to do his duty in today’s world.
The oily layer of slime began to boil at Nicalphalot’s feet and the elevator grinded to a halt and chimed. “Here we are.”
Nicalphalot jumped out as soon as the doors opened and dug his feet into the crimson shag carpeting. He looked down and hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for the black stains he’d created.
“Don’t worry about that, I get a few extra lashings for the stains at the end of the week.”
Nicalphalot looked down at him and put his hands to his temples. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Sikllc. I’ll tell them it was my fault, I promise.”
“No big deal. Can’t really be avoided. I’d bet you have enough problems to worry about. Good luck, Nic-o,” Sikllc said as the doors slammed shut again leaving Nicalphalot alone in the hallway.
Nicalphalot took a deep breath, straightened his bow tie, and lifted a foot. He tried to will himself to take a step toward the door at the end of the hall, but it wasn’t happening. “Pha-lot,” his boss roared from the other side of the door, “get in here.” Imagining what violence would be inflicted on him if he kept his boss waiting got Nicalphalot moving pretty quickly.
He opened the door like a child taking the lid off of a cookie jar. Mr. Skinner sat across the room in a throne-like chair made of leather. Nicalphalot tried not to imagine what kind of skin he’d tanned. Mr. Skinner wasn’t his boss’s original name; it was more of his title. He sat with his elbows on his ebony desk, tapping together the steel blades that grew out of his finger tips. He might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell through the bloody mask of skin he’d stapled across his face.
“Your fear stunk up the whole wing of the office,” Skinner said when Nicalphalot finally opened the door. “Have a seat.”
Nicalphalot looked at the offered chair. It was a 1940’s era electric chair. He especially noticed the claw marks on the arms. He looked back at Mr. Skinner and realized that standing wouldn’t be an option.
When he sat down Mr. Skinner put his hands down and let them soak in two flat bowls filled with clear blue liquid, like the solution barbers put their combs in. “I think we both know why you’re here,” Mr. Skinner said.
“Right,” he drew the word out in the same way a cat would draw out its time with a mouse. “And how do you expect your evaluation will go?”
Nicalphalot forced a smile and tried to say something encouraging and positive. What came out sounded more like a squeak.
Mr. Skinner lifted his hands out of the trays and let them drip. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Nicalphalot searched for something to say. “Telephones, they’re, well, they don’t.”
Mr. Skinner eyed him and stood up.
“That is, the internet, it makes it harder with the internet.”
Mr. Skinner folded his razor-tipped hands behind his back and strolled around the desk and glared down at Nicalphalot. “The internet, Phalot? Most demons in your order have been using the internet as the damning tool we created it to be.”
“We made the internet?”
“We didn’t make it, but we did write the 16 volume manual on how to turn it into a weapon of corruption.” He leaned down, almost touching Nicalphalot’s nose with the wrinkled, flayed mask. His hot breath smelled like a serial killer’s basement. “You did read the manual, didn’t you?”
“Of, of, course, sir.”
The blatancy of the lie seemed to soothe Mr. Skinner’s mood a bit. He stood up straight and sat on the edge of his tar colored desk. “What am I going to do with you, Phalot? There’s no place to demote you to, you’ve already sunk to the lowest order. There’s not much more motivational torture I can inflict. You just got out of a half century in the glass pit for underperformance.” Nicalphalot shuddered. He still woke up with glass shards on his pillow sometimes.
Mr. Skinner leaned over and seized Nicalphalot’s chin with a tenderness that a hunter has for a buck. “I think I’m going to have to make you into suit.”
Nicalphalot’s eyes widened and, with heroic will, was able to keep his bladder from expelling its contents into his pants. “I think the tortures might have been helping.”
Mr. Skinner tightened his grip. The predatory eyes looked out of lidless holes and twinkled with a malevolence that failed to comfort Nicalphalot on every level imaginable. Yet, just as he bit his lip and prepared to find out what it felt like to have his skin pulled off, Mr. Skinner released him and stood up.
He walked back around to his chair and sat down. “Alright then. You have one final chance. A mission sent to me from the very bottom of the chain.”
He pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk.
“Cynthia Powers. Bring her to our side. Her address is on that paper as well as a photo. She’s only 8 years old. Think you can handle that?”
Nicalphalot sat gasping in the chair. He didn’t quite believe he had avoided an unspeakable fate. “Of course, sir.”
Nicalphalot read the address and looked at the picture. It was a Polaroid of a little girl hanging upside down from monkey bars. Mr. Skinner began to tap his fingers together again. “You have until sundown on Tuesday.”
“But that’s not even 24 hours. I’ll hardly have time to get to earth by then.”
Mr. Skinner didn’t make any movement to indicate he cared or even heard. Nicalphalot stood up on shaky legs and walked to the door.
“Oh, and Phalot,” Mr. Skinner said.
“Yes sir?”
“I promise that if you mess this up again, I’ll personally see to it that you beg me to end your useless life.”
The parting words echoed in Nicalphalot’s ears all the way down the hall, up the elevator, and to his barbwire cubicle. Corrupting the souls of the innocent wasn’t as easy as many believe. It required hours upon hours of dedicated tempting. You always had to stay two steps ahead of the mortal and four steps ahead of the agents of the Adversary.
As scared as Nicalphalot was of, well, most things, he was especially terrified of social situations—like approaching innocent mortals and convincing them to worship the Devil. What’s more innocent than a child?
He filled out the forms for the Department of Ascension and, soon enough, found himself on earth looking at a playground. He stared at the children screaming and running and swinging around like there was no tomorrow, which, for Nicalphalot, could be very accurate.
To no one’s surprise, there had been a delay at the DoA and it took several hours to get his visa to the Mortal World. The strange blue sky was already darkening as Nicalphalot stepped onto the woodchip carpet. He squinted at the photo of Cynthia and held it up to various children on the playground. He turned it upside down and studied it until he almost fell over due to the giggling weight that struck the back of his leg.
It didn’t hurt, not compared to the glass pit, but he said “ow” anyway as he turned around to find a little girl with grass in her hair smiling up at him. He turned the photo upside down and put it into his coat pocket. “Cynthia?”
Her head tilted and her brows twisted with consternation. “Who are you? And what‘s wrong with your eyes?” She pointed up at his bright orange eyes.
“Oh, these?” Instead of answering, he looked over his shoulder to a group of older women talking on a bench just outside the playground perimeter. Then he looked back at her and helped her up.
“How would you like to come with me? We could have some much fun.”
He brushed the debris out of her hair and reached for her hand. Then she looked back at the women. They were all laughing at some adult joke.
“I don’t know, my mom wouldn’t want me to leave. And I was dancing with Eva and Lilly.”
She pointed at two other girls. One was spinning in place with her arms out while the other was somersaulting across the grass.
Nicalphalot wondered what humans considered dancing and looked back at Cynthia. “They’ll be fine. I have something special, just for you, to tell you.”
She shrugged and put her hand in his. They walked into the forest together, but Cynthia wasn’t tricked. She’d seen things like this on TV. This weird guy, in his weird stained suit, was lucky that Lilly had said she couldn’t dance and then Eva said that she’d never be asked out because no one would want to dance with her. When their moms find out that they let her walk away with a stranger into the woods they’d be in so much trouble. Only, that is, if she stay within screaming distance.
“Ok,” she said, “this is far enough. What did you want to tell me?”
Nicalphalot frowned and looked at the sky again. The moon was already out, a white toenail clipping hanging in the dimming sky. He would have to get right to the point.
“Do you believe in God, Cynthia?”
That was a question she’d never heard before. Her parents took her to church every Sunday and some of her story books talked about things from the Bible, but all of those were boring. Sometimes in December she’d pray to Santa Claus to point out her good deeds.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Wow, Nicalphalot thought, not even kids believe these days. He started to preach the benefits of the Dark Father when they were interrupted by a groaning from behind them.
“Who is there?” a weak voice asked them.
Nicalphalot put his finger over his mouth so that Cynthia would be quiet and then crept over to inspect. When his back was turned, Cynthia decided she’d obey the sign for silence but not the implied command to stay put that came along with it and followed unnoticed behind him.
They came across an old bearded man who sat in the dirt with his back against a pine tree. His clothes were threadbare and patched up in various places. There was half of a bottle of vodka in his hand and an empty aspirin container by his feet.
The man looked up at them with grey eyes. “It’s too late for me. It’s too late.”
Nicalphalot rubbed his temples, just under his tiny horns. He knew exactly what the penalty was for suicide. He turned to Cynthia knowing
that he’d regret it. “Stay with him, I’ll go get help.” Then he ran off to the mothers.
The two strangers looked at each other. “I guess you’ve come here to save me then? You and your angel?”
Cynthia looked back to where Nicalphalot ran to. “Angel? No, he’s just some child molester. Were you really going to kill yourself?”
The man looked at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Yeah. This time I was.”
“Why would you do that?”
“See that cart there?” he pointed at a shopping cart packed with blankets and a garbage bag filled with various things.
When Cynthia nodded the man continued, “That’s all I’ve got left.”
“Why don’t you get a job or something?”
“I had a job. But then my wife got sick. I had to quit my job to take care of her. Then I sold everything to pay for doctors, but they couldn’t do anything. She eventually died, but I still owed a lot of money to the doctors. Now I can’t get any job because I’m too far in debt.”
Cynthia could understand most of what he said, but there was one glaring part that escaped her.
“But that’s unfair.”
The old man looked down. “Yeah, I know.” Then he slumped against the tree and closed his eyes. The bottle fell over and clear liquid poured out of it and pooled in the dirt.
Before Cynthia could protest further, the trio of mothers ran up. All of them were already squawking into cells phones about ambulances and emergencies. Amidst all of the chaos, Nicalphalot realized that the sun had set. He looked at Cynthia, in the arms of her mother as the EMTs rushed in and slid the man onto an orange stretcher. She looked over at him and they held each other’s stare for a few seconds. Then Nicalphalot shrugged and waved at her before putting his hands in his pockets and walking further into the forest.
She waved back and her mother traced her gaze to the man walking into the shadowy forest.
“What a strange man,” her mother said.
“Lucky thing he was here,” another mother said.
“He should get new contacts,” said the third.
Nicalphalot continued walking and pondered his ultimate fate until he came across someone standing in front of him.
“Why are there so many people in the woods tonight?” he asked.
“Nicalphalot. Come on. It’s me. I might look a bit different, but I thought you’d recognize me.”
Nicalphalot’s eyes grew wide and he dropped to his knees. The person before him looked like a young CEO or an up-and-coming New York lawyer, but the voice was unmistakable.
“Dark Father. I am at your service.”
He smiled and basked in the worship for a few seconds before helping Nicalphalot off the ground. “I know you are, buddy. And, hey, call me Pop. I’m not really on business here.”
Nicalphalot couldn’t tell whether to die of happiness or terror. “Not on business?”
Pop brushed the dirt off of Nicalphalot’s suit just like Nicalphalot had brush the dirt off of Cynthia not too long ago. “Not necessarily. I’ve mostly come to thank you.”
Nicalphalot was convinced he was hallucinating. He only stared our with a blank expression.
Pop smiled and rolled his eyes. “It’s a long story, but that little girl had the potential to end it all. Given the right push she would have brought this world to its knees.”
Nicalphalot continued to stare. He didn’t even understand a bit of what he had just heard.
Pop slapped his cheek lightly. “The Anti-Christ, Nic. I know you’ve heard of it.”
“She was going to be the Anti-Christ?”
Pop smiled and started walking a tight circle around Nicalphalot. “You are paying attention.”
“But I didn’t corrupt her. Why did you want to thank me?”
“I kind of like things the way they are. The other side keeps trying to set about these big changes and I’d rather keep going with what we have.”
“Is that why you sent me to corrupt her?”
Pop smiled and pointed at his nose. “You got it, bud. But enough about me, I want to talk about your reward.”
“Reward?”
“Sure. I’m going to give you what that guy in the park was so hasty to give up. Maybe when you’re done you’ll see why I like this place so much. Then again, maybe you‘ll see why so many people are trying to leave.” With that he stopped his circle and tapped the demon on the forehead.
Nicalphalot opened eyes he didn’t know he’d closed. The EMT above him put a stethoscope to his chest. “It’s a miracle, Mr. Nicholas. We’d thought we’d lost you.”
Nicalphalot took a deep breath from the oxygen mask and looked at the world for the first time.
Several years later, when Cynthia was being interviewed for all of her accomplishments in the community, she was asked what made her decide to join the church and become a service worker. She paused and smiled to herself. “When I was still a little girl, I followed an angel into the woods.”
i loved CS Lewis' the Screwtape letters, and this reminded me of them. i also enjoyed the little reversal at the end: i'm not a big fan of the "good guys" always winning. the ending felt a little rushed, but i enjoyed the story very much. spot on, as the brits say
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Teroza Veg'Ra, Druidic Archmage :4mana::symg::symu::symug:
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}
A very good story Dodavehu. Mr Skinner brought up Freddy Krueger to mind straight away lol. The horrific descriptions that appeal to the darkness within me reminds me of Mr B Gone. Also, your devil figure reminded me of god from Murder Mysteries while Catherine's encounter with Nic reminded me of Tiffany's with Desire from The Sandman.
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): Devils and moonlight, and we even got dancing. Hooray for all three. 5/5
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): Generally good. 4/5
Characterization (0-10): I liked Nicalphalot. Mr. Skinner was the typical evil boss that everyone dreads, though with the added dimension that his office is in Hell. Cynthia, however, seemed strangely precocious for an eight year-old. Her conversation with the old man in the woods was a lot more grown-up that I would expect from a kid her age. And if she suspected that Nicalphalot was “just some child molestor,” (a pretty grown-up comment on a couple levels, btw) then she shouldn’t have gone off with him. Her motivation there seemed sketchy to me. We learn that the world has plans for her, but she should be an ordinary girl of eight at this point. 7/10
Plot and Structure (0-10): The plot was solid. As the story unfolded, the reader isn’t prepared for the twist at the end, since even Nicalphalot seems resigned to his fate. (I would suggest changing the title, though, since that could give something away.) My big complaint with the structure was the POV shift toward the end. We’re clearly in Nicalphalot’s POV when Cynthia crashes into him, but when they go off into the woods, it’s Cynthia’s POV, since she’s internalizing. Right after that, we’re back to Nicalphalot as the POV character again, then to Cynthia when Nicalphalot runs off to get help. Within the same scene, you should avoid changing your POV character. It’s jarring and potentially confusing for the reader. 7/10
Style (0-10): It’s a pet peeve, but I dislike the second-person address in writing. Ex: “It’s completely natural to dread a person that can ruin your life with a couple words.” I don’t even like the use of you/your in first-person stories, but it’s easier to put up with there. I also thought you had a few needless words, usually descriptive, sprinkled throughout: a “throne-like chair” can just be called a throne, for example. Other than those quibbles, the style was fine. 8/10
Creativity (0-10): I really liked the fact that Hell was such a bureaucracy that Nicalphalot had to go thru another department to get sent up to the surface. The twist at the end was also a nice touch. 9/10
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): You've got a devil, you've got ... err ... the other things! Yeah. 5.
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): Grammar and spelling are both generally good, though there are some places where it's lacking just a bit: “It’s understandable, all too often power tends to go to people’s heads and sometimes a job is all someone has.” It doesn't impede the story, however. 4.
Characterization (0-10): Generally the characters seem real, though the switch from 'Mr. Skinner' to the Dark Father was a bit jarring and unpredictable. Also, they're mostly stereotypes – but it works here. 7.
Plot and Structure (0-10): The story reads smoothly all the way through until the very end, where the ending seems kind of piggybacked onto the story proper. 9.
Style (0-10): Put plainly, the style works. It's uncertain. The style is that of a person who knows where he is but doesn't know what he is: he's displaced, timid, scared, and throughout the story, while he's scared, grabbing at things. He remembers prior tortures a lot: he's thoughtful. He's self-pitying, and in the end he's a sympathetic character through that pity. I also, however, didn't like the few extra words you put into your sentences, and thought they were irritating, breaking the story a bit, making the reader stop. 9.
Creativity (0-10): While the characters themselves are archetypes and the situation they're in isn't exactly new, the way everything combines creates something new, and I'm not sure what else there is to get from this category. 10.
Total: 44/50
I liked it. You've got some good stuff going on here, the riffs on offices leading into the lone sniveling guy who screws everything up, and I liked [despite how sappy it is] that the main character gets redeemed in some way at the end. It's not perfect [What is?], but it's not so horribly off. I want more.
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my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
S&G: The spelling and grammar was solid overall, but your usage of punctuations in odd places irked me at times. 4/5
Characterization: Nic was a great protagonist, and I think that the cliches really worked and helped the story here. I couldn't help but laugh alongside the humorous undertone this story provides. And that in due, is owed by the characterization of Nic. 7/10
Plot/Structure: Your performance here was very solid. The plot is kept simple and generic, but to great effect. The story was also very clean, and that little twist at the end really shook things up. Great job. 9/10
Style: I admit, I was hooked. From the first sentence, actually. The story here reads very fluid, which could very well be due to the dialogues provided in the story. Let me just say that dialogues are a strong point in the style that you portray, and you utilized it to maximum efficiency. 9/10
Creativity: The story here really painted raunchy, and stereotypical 'Heaven/Hell' movies in my head as I read this. Think something along the lines of 'Dogma'. Of course, that's an unfair comparison as your story is a bit more light-hearted (in some parts) and introspective (in others) then that. 7/10
Overall: 41/50
A beautiful, and solid writ. Your performance overall neatly fit the bill and your humorous undertone was utilized to bring out the strong points in your style of writing. Reading this brought a smile to my face.
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by Dodavehu
(do not reproduce)
Many people develop an irrational fear of their boss. It’s understandable, all too often power tends to go to people’s heads and sometimes a job is all someone has. It’s completely natural to dread a person that can ruin your life with a couple words. This is especially true if you work in hell.
Nicalphalot, the 703rd assistant fiduciary officer of the Choir of Draykone, was well versed in this particular kind of fear. He stepped into the tiny iron-work box that served as an elevator. A blue demon with a red bell-hop cap was hunched over the controls. His lumpy back was covered with tumor-like growths that sprouted long needles and dripped a thin black ichor that coated the floor of the elevator car. One of his short arms was manacled to a ring which was bolted to the wall.
“Hey Nic,” he said as the doors slammed shut behind him. “Where ya headed?”
Nicalphalot gave a nervous smile. “Morning, Sikllc. I have an employee evaluation with Mr. Skinner.”
Sikllc’s glowing red eyes grew wide and the flow of black slime just about doubled. “Don’t envy you,” then he wrapped two stubby talons around a lever and swung it to the side. “Going down.”
As the elevator rocketed downward, Nicalphalot tried to think up excuses he might be able to use for his recent poor performance. He hadn’t corrupted a soul sufficiently in centuries. The last mortal he tempted toward darkness was suffering from the bubonic plague. It wasn’t his fault, he thought as the iron bars began to glow red as they descended down further to Skinner’s office. In the modern world mortals had too many avenues to resist the forces of their Dark Father. The telephone allowed lonely souls to reach out and get the moral support of their peers and mentors. Strange depravities that used to be a consistent source of shame each had an internet community dedicated to fostering growth and acceptance. The world had become too apathetic to either side to be tempted either way. It was just too hard for a demon to do his duty in today’s world.
The oily layer of slime began to boil at Nicalphalot’s feet and the elevator grinded to a halt and chimed. “Here we are.”
Nicalphalot jumped out as soon as the doors opened and dug his feet into the crimson shag carpeting. He looked down and hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for the black stains he’d created.
“Don’t worry about that, I get a few extra lashings for the stains at the end of the week.”
Nicalphalot looked down at him and put his hands to his temples. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Sikllc. I’ll tell them it was my fault, I promise.”
“No big deal. Can’t really be avoided. I’d bet you have enough problems to worry about. Good luck, Nic-o,” Sikllc said as the doors slammed shut again leaving Nicalphalot alone in the hallway.
Nicalphalot took a deep breath, straightened his bow tie, and lifted a foot. He tried to will himself to take a step toward the door at the end of the hall, but it wasn’t happening. “Pha-lot,” his boss roared from the other side of the door, “get in here.” Imagining what violence would be inflicted on him if he kept his boss waiting got Nicalphalot moving pretty quickly.
He opened the door like a child taking the lid off of a cookie jar. Mr. Skinner sat across the room in a throne-like chair made of leather. Nicalphalot tried not to imagine what kind of skin he’d tanned. Mr. Skinner wasn’t his boss’s original name; it was more of his title. He sat with his elbows on his ebony desk, tapping together the steel blades that grew out of his finger tips. He might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell through the bloody mask of skin he’d stapled across his face.
“Your fear stunk up the whole wing of the office,” Skinner said when Nicalphalot finally opened the door. “Have a seat.”
Nicalphalot looked at the offered chair. It was a 1940’s era electric chair. He especially noticed the claw marks on the arms. He looked back at Mr. Skinner and realized that standing wouldn’t be an option.
When he sat down Mr. Skinner put his hands down and let them soak in two flat bowls filled with clear blue liquid, like the solution barbers put their combs in. “I think we both know why you’re here,” Mr. Skinner said.
“Yes sir. Employee evaluations,” Nicalphalot said.
“Right,” he drew the word out in the same way a cat would draw out its time with a mouse. “And how do you expect your evaluation will go?”
Nicalphalot forced a smile and tried to say something encouraging and positive. What came out sounded more like a squeak.
Mr. Skinner lifted his hands out of the trays and let them drip. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Nicalphalot searched for something to say. “Telephones, they’re, well, they don’t.”
Mr. Skinner eyed him and stood up.
“That is, the internet, it makes it harder with the internet.”
Mr. Skinner folded his razor-tipped hands behind his back and strolled around the desk and glared down at Nicalphalot. “The internet, Phalot? Most demons in your order have been using the internet as the damning tool we created it to be.”
“We made the internet?”
“We didn’t make it, but we did write the 16 volume manual on how to turn it into a weapon of corruption.” He leaned down, almost touching Nicalphalot’s nose with the wrinkled, flayed mask. His hot breath smelled like a serial killer’s basement. “You did read the manual, didn’t you?”
“Of, of, course, sir.”
The blatancy of the lie seemed to soothe Mr. Skinner’s mood a bit. He stood up straight and sat on the edge of his tar colored desk. “What am I going to do with you, Phalot? There’s no place to demote you to, you’ve already sunk to the lowest order. There’s not much more motivational torture I can inflict. You just got out of a half century in the glass pit for underperformance.” Nicalphalot shuddered. He still woke up with glass shards on his pillow sometimes.
Mr. Skinner leaned over and seized Nicalphalot’s chin with a tenderness that a hunter has for a buck. “I think I’m going to have to make you into suit.”
Nicalphalot’s eyes widened and, with heroic will, was able to keep his bladder from expelling its contents into his pants. “I think the tortures might have been helping.”
Mr. Skinner tightened his grip. The predatory eyes looked out of lidless holes and twinkled with a malevolence that failed to comfort Nicalphalot on every level imaginable. Yet, just as he bit his lip and prepared to find out what it felt like to have his skin pulled off, Mr. Skinner released him and stood up.
He walked back around to his chair and sat down. “Alright then. You have one final chance. A mission sent to me from the very bottom of the chain.”
He pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk.
“Cynthia Powers. Bring her to our side. Her address is on that paper as well as a photo. She’s only 8 years old. Think you can handle that?”
Nicalphalot sat gasping in the chair. He didn’t quite believe he had avoided an unspeakable fate. “Of course, sir.”
Nicalphalot read the address and looked at the picture. It was a Polaroid of a little girl hanging upside down from monkey bars. Mr. Skinner began to tap his fingers together again. “You have until sundown on Tuesday.”
“But that’s not even 24 hours. I’ll hardly have time to get to earth by then.”
Mr. Skinner didn’t make any movement to indicate he cared or even heard. Nicalphalot stood up on shaky legs and walked to the door.
“Oh, and Phalot,” Mr. Skinner said.
“Yes sir?”
“I promise that if you mess this up again, I’ll personally see to it that you beg me to end your useless life.”
The parting words echoed in Nicalphalot’s ears all the way down the hall, up the elevator, and to his barbwire cubicle. Corrupting the souls of the innocent wasn’t as easy as many believe. It required hours upon hours of dedicated tempting. You always had to stay two steps ahead of the mortal and four steps ahead of the agents of the Adversary.
As scared as Nicalphalot was of, well, most things, he was especially terrified of social situations—like approaching innocent mortals and convincing them to worship the Devil. What’s more innocent than a child?
He filled out the forms for the Department of Ascension and, soon enough, found himself on earth looking at a playground. He stared at the children screaming and running and swinging around like there was no tomorrow, which, for Nicalphalot, could be very accurate.
To no one’s surprise, there had been a delay at the DoA and it took several hours to get his visa to the Mortal World. The strange blue sky was already darkening as Nicalphalot stepped onto the woodchip carpet. He squinted at the photo of Cynthia and held it up to various children on the playground. He turned it upside down and studied it until he almost fell over due to the giggling weight that struck the back of his leg.
It didn’t hurt, not compared to the glass pit, but he said “ow” anyway as he turned around to find a little girl with grass in her hair smiling up at him. He turned the photo upside down and put it into his coat pocket. “Cynthia?”
Her head tilted and her brows twisted with consternation. “Who are you? And what‘s wrong with your eyes?” She pointed up at his bright orange eyes.
“Oh, these?” Instead of answering, he looked over his shoulder to a group of older women talking on a bench just outside the playground perimeter. Then he looked back at her and helped her up.
“How would you like to come with me? We could have some much fun.”
He brushed the debris out of her hair and reached for her hand. Then she looked back at the women. They were all laughing at some adult joke.
“I don’t know, my mom wouldn’t want me to leave. And I was dancing with Eva and Lilly.”
She pointed at two other girls. One was spinning in place with her arms out while the other was somersaulting across the grass.
Nicalphalot wondered what humans considered dancing and looked back at Cynthia. “They’ll be fine. I have something special, just for you, to tell you.”
She shrugged and put her hand in his. They walked into the forest together, but Cynthia wasn’t tricked. She’d seen things like this on TV. This weird guy, in his weird stained suit, was lucky that Lilly had said she couldn’t dance and then Eva said that she’d never be asked out because no one would want to dance with her. When their moms find out that they let her walk away with a stranger into the woods they’d be in so much trouble. Only, that is, if she stay within screaming distance.
“Ok,” she said, “this is far enough. What did you want to tell me?”
Nicalphalot frowned and looked at the sky again. The moon was already out, a white toenail clipping hanging in the dimming sky. He would have to get right to the point.
“Do you believe in God, Cynthia?”
That was a question she’d never heard before. Her parents took her to church every Sunday and some of her story books talked about things from the Bible, but all of those were boring. Sometimes in December she’d pray to Santa Claus to point out her good deeds.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Wow, Nicalphalot thought, not even kids believe these days. He started to preach the benefits of the Dark Father when they were interrupted by a groaning from behind them.
“Who is there?” a weak voice asked them.
Nicalphalot put his finger over his mouth so that Cynthia would be quiet and then crept over to inspect. When his back was turned, Cynthia decided she’d obey the sign for silence but not the implied command to stay put that came along with it and followed unnoticed behind him.
They came across an old bearded man who sat in the dirt with his back against a pine tree. His clothes were threadbare and patched up in various places. There was half of a bottle of vodka in his hand and an empty aspirin container by his feet.
The man looked up at them with grey eyes. “It’s too late for me. It’s too late.”
Nicalphalot rubbed his temples, just under his tiny horns. He knew exactly what the penalty was for suicide. He turned to Cynthia knowing
that he’d regret it. “Stay with him, I’ll go get help.” Then he ran off to the mothers.
The two strangers looked at each other. “I guess you’ve come here to save me then? You and your angel?”
Cynthia looked back to where Nicalphalot ran to. “Angel? No, he’s just some child molester. Were you really going to kill yourself?”
The man looked at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Yeah. This time I was.”
“Why would you do that?”
“See that cart there?” he pointed at a shopping cart packed with blankets and a garbage bag filled with various things.
When Cynthia nodded the man continued, “That’s all I’ve got left.”
“Why don’t you get a job or something?”
“I had a job. But then my wife got sick. I had to quit my job to take care of her. Then I sold everything to pay for doctors, but they couldn’t do anything. She eventually died, but I still owed a lot of money to the doctors. Now I can’t get any job because I’m too far in debt.”
Cynthia could understand most of what he said, but there was one glaring part that escaped her.
“But that’s unfair.”
The old man looked down. “Yeah, I know.” Then he slumped against the tree and closed his eyes. The bottle fell over and clear liquid poured out of it and pooled in the dirt.
Before Cynthia could protest further, the trio of mothers ran up. All of them were already squawking into cells phones about ambulances and emergencies. Amidst all of the chaos, Nicalphalot realized that the sun had set. He looked at Cynthia, in the arms of her mother as the EMTs rushed in and slid the man onto an orange stretcher. She looked over at him and they held each other’s stare for a few seconds. Then Nicalphalot shrugged and waved at her before putting his hands in his pockets and walking further into the forest.
She waved back and her mother traced her gaze to the man walking into the shadowy forest.
“What a strange man,” her mother said.
“Lucky thing he was here,” another mother said.
“He should get new contacts,” said the third.
Nicalphalot continued walking and pondered his ultimate fate until he came across someone standing in front of him.
“Why are there so many people in the woods tonight?” he asked.
“Nicalphalot. Come on. It’s me. I might look a bit different, but I thought you’d recognize me.”
Nicalphalot’s eyes grew wide and he dropped to his knees. The person before him looked like a young CEO or an up-and-coming New York lawyer, but the voice was unmistakable.
“Dark Father. I am at your service.”
He smiled and basked in the worship for a few seconds before helping Nicalphalot off the ground. “I know you are, buddy. And, hey, call me Pop. I’m not really on business here.”
Nicalphalot couldn’t tell whether to die of happiness or terror. “Not on business?”
Pop brushed the dirt off of Nicalphalot’s suit just like Nicalphalot had brush the dirt off of Cynthia not too long ago. “Not necessarily. I’ve mostly come to thank you.”
Nicalphalot was convinced he was hallucinating. He only stared our with a blank expression.
Pop smiled and rolled his eyes. “It’s a long story, but that little girl had the potential to end it all. Given the right push she would have brought this world to its knees.”
Nicalphalot continued to stare. He didn’t even understand a bit of what he had just heard.
Pop slapped his cheek lightly. “The Anti-Christ, Nic. I know you’ve heard of it.”
“She was going to be the Anti-Christ?”
Pop smiled and started walking a tight circle around Nicalphalot. “You are paying attention.”
“But I didn’t corrupt her. Why did you want to thank me?”
“I kind of like things the way they are. The other side keeps trying to set about these big changes and I’d rather keep going with what we have.”
“Is that why you sent me to corrupt her?”
Pop smiled and pointed at his nose. “You got it, bud. But enough about me, I want to talk about your reward.”
“Reward?”
“Sure. I’m going to give you what that guy in the park was so hasty to give up. Maybe when you’re done you’ll see why I like this place so much. Then again, maybe you‘ll see why so many people are trying to leave.” With that he stopped his circle and tapped the demon on the forehead.
Nicalphalot opened eyes he didn’t know he’d closed. The EMT above him put a stethoscope to his chest. “It’s a miracle, Mr. Nicholas. We’d thought we’d lost you.”
Nicalphalot took a deep breath from the oxygen mask and looked at the world for the first time.
Several years later, when Cynthia was being interviewed for all of her accomplishments in the community, she was asked what made her decide to join the church and become a service worker. She paused and smiled to herself. “When I was still a little girl, I followed an angel into the woods.”
Winner of the 2nd Design Survivor Contest
Creator of the Vorthos Card Contest
Winner of 12th and the 18th Short Story Contests
Creator of the Vs. Tournament.
--Runner of the Superhero Vs. Tounrament
--Runner of the Villian Vs. Tournament.
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}
--
Winner of the 2nd Design Survivor Contest
Creator of the Vorthos Card Contest
Winner of 12th and the 18th Short Story Contests
Creator of the Vs. Tournament.
--Runner of the Superhero Vs. Tounrament
--Runner of the Villian Vs. Tournament.
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): Devils and moonlight, and we even got dancing. Hooray for all three. 5/5
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): Generally good. 4/5
Characterization (0-10): I liked Nicalphalot. Mr. Skinner was the typical evil boss that everyone dreads, though with the added dimension that his office is in Hell. Cynthia, however, seemed strangely precocious for an eight year-old. Her conversation with the old man in the woods was a lot more grown-up that I would expect from a kid her age. And if she suspected that Nicalphalot was “just some child molestor,” (a pretty grown-up comment on a couple levels, btw) then she shouldn’t have gone off with him. Her motivation there seemed sketchy to me. We learn that the world has plans for her, but she should be an ordinary girl of eight at this point. 7/10
Plot and Structure (0-10): The plot was solid. As the story unfolded, the reader isn’t prepared for the twist at the end, since even Nicalphalot seems resigned to his fate. (I would suggest changing the title, though, since that could give something away.) My big complaint with the structure was the POV shift toward the end. We’re clearly in Nicalphalot’s POV when Cynthia crashes into him, but when they go off into the woods, it’s Cynthia’s POV, since she’s internalizing. Right after that, we’re back to Nicalphalot as the POV character again, then to Cynthia when Nicalphalot runs off to get help. Within the same scene, you should avoid changing your POV character. It’s jarring and potentially confusing for the reader. 7/10
Style (0-10): It’s a pet peeve, but I dislike the second-person address in writing. Ex: “It’s completely natural to dread a person that can ruin your life with a couple words.” I don’t even like the use of you/your in first-person stories, but it’s easier to put up with there. I also thought you had a few needless words, usually descriptive, sprinkled throughout: a “throne-like chair” can just be called a throne, for example. Other than those quibbles, the style was fine. 8/10
Creativity (0-10): I really liked the fact that Hell was such a bureaucracy that Nicalphalot had to go thru another department to get sent up to the surface. The twist at the end was also a nice touch. 9/10
Total: 40/50
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I used to write for MTGS, including Cranial Insertion and cube articles. Good on you if you can find those after the upgrade.
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): You've got a devil, you've got ... err ... the other things! Yeah. 5.
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): Grammar and spelling are both generally good, though there are some places where it's lacking just a bit: “It’s understandable, all too often power tends to go to people’s heads and sometimes a job is all someone has.” It doesn't impede the story, however. 4.
Characterization (0-10): Generally the characters seem real, though the switch from 'Mr. Skinner' to the Dark Father was a bit jarring and unpredictable. Also, they're mostly stereotypes – but it works here. 7.
Plot and Structure (0-10): The story reads smoothly all the way through until the very end, where the ending seems kind of piggybacked onto the story proper. 9.
Style (0-10): Put plainly, the style works. It's uncertain. The style is that of a person who knows where he is but doesn't know what he is: he's displaced, timid, scared, and throughout the story, while he's scared, grabbing at things. He remembers prior tortures a lot: he's thoughtful. He's self-pitying, and in the end he's a sympathetic character through that pity. I also, however, didn't like the few extra words you put into your sentences, and thought they were irritating, breaking the story a bit, making the reader stop. 9.
Creativity (0-10): While the characters themselves are archetypes and the situation they're in isn't exactly new, the way everything combines creates something new, and I'm not sure what else there is to get from this category. 10.
Total: 44/50
I liked it. You've got some good stuff going on here, the riffs on offices leading into the lone sniveling guy who screws everything up, and I liked [despite how sappy it is] that the main character gets redeemed in some way at the end. It's not perfect [What is?], but it's not so horribly off. I want more.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
5/5
S&G: The spelling and grammar was solid overall, but your usage of punctuations in odd places irked me at times.
4/5
Characterization: Nic was a great protagonist, and I think that the cliches really worked and helped the story here. I couldn't help but laugh alongside the humorous undertone this story provides. And that in due, is owed by the characterization of Nic.
7/10
Plot/Structure: Your performance here was very solid. The plot is kept simple and generic, but to great effect. The story was also very clean, and that little twist at the end really shook things up. Great job.
9/10
Style: I admit, I was hooked. From the first sentence, actually. The story here reads very fluid, which could very well be due to the dialogues provided in the story. Let me just say that dialogues are a strong point in the style that you portray, and you utilized it to maximum efficiency.
9/10
Creativity: The story here really painted raunchy, and stereotypical 'Heaven/Hell' movies in my head as I read this. Think something along the lines of 'Dogma'. Of course, that's an unfair comparison as your story is a bit more light-hearted (in some parts) and introspective (in others) then that.
7/10
Overall: 41/50
A beautiful, and solid writ. Your performance overall neatly fit the bill and your humorous undertone was utilized to bring out the strong points in your style of writing. Reading this brought a smile to my face.