The Warehouse - (c) 2007 - Richard Leon Jones

Patricia Harrison, that was her name, she could still remember it; despite having fallen from a fifth storey window and smashing against the hard concrete floor below.

An unfamiliar voice spoke out from the haziness she could see all around her, “You’re remarkable Miss Harrison, by all accounts you should be dead, yet you are very much alive. A lot of bruising, a few minor breaks but none the less you are in very good shape for someone in your position.” The voice paused for a second and then introduced himself. “I’m Doctor Carson. You were brought in last night, a passer by heard your screams as you fell and witnessed the last of your trip down. He was amazed to find you alive… The paramedics more so; ten minutes later. The head trauma may have resulted in some memory loss, but it’s not serious enough to be permanent. Try to re-familiarise yourself with your life and it should all come back to you.”

Memories of the event flooded back, Patricia felt herself leaning against the window, next came the sensation she was being pushed through it. The window cracked for a fraction of a second and then gave way. She passed over the ledge and began to fall. If the nearby fire-escape hadn’t broken her fall she’d have surely been dead. Looking at her hands Patricia saw herself clinging on to the rails for dear life. Then, as she looked up, a face appeared at the window, it was pallid, hollow looking, with blackness round the eyes and mouth; much like most people would describe a ghost. It stared down at her for what seemed like minutes, but in reality would have been a second or so. Slowly it turned, looking in to the warehouse, paused, then pointed down to where Patricia was holding on. With all her remaining strength Patricia attempted to haul herself up on to the fire escape and safety. Placing her left foot in between the rails she manoeuvred her body until she could lift herself over the rails. As she did so, she felt a blow to her face and her grip relaxed. The remaining fall to the floor was quick and painful. On impact she heard a large cracking sound and blood began to seep out from her wounds.

No sound left her lips; she didn’t have the strength to make any. Dirt and blood covered her face, her eyes rolled back and forth as she tried to endure the pain. As Patricia slipped in to shock, she felt herself physically shaking, but not due to cold. Footsteps approached and a man’s voice could be heard asking for an ambulance. Warmth came in the form of a heavy coat or blankets thrown on to her. Then as more voices began to shout at her, the world went black.

The machine at the side of her beeped returning Patricia to the present and once more she winced in pain. Her face was now cleaned of the blood and dirt which had hidden her beauty. White bandages covered the cuts and beside her bed was an intravenous drip.

Throughout the rest of the day doctors and nurses checked on Patricia’s progress as she began her recovery. Days passed as Patricia’s bones slowly began to knit together and her pain lessened.
Finally the day arrived when Patricia was well enough to leave. She gathered her things and made her way down to the car park where a taxi was waiting.

Closing the door of the taxi she looked on at the hospital as the car pulled away. The route home seemed to take an age, and as the car began to make its way through the streets. A red light halted the taxi’s progress for some minutes, giving Patricia time to apply her lipstick. She opened her compact and turned the mirror to face her. As she did, the mirror caught sight of the warehouse from which she had fallen in the background. This caused a shiver to run down her spine.
Home was a rather impressive building in the better part of town. The big black door looked on ominously. Patricia took a breath and slipped the key in to the lock. Breathing out, she turned the key and the lock clicked, as she pushed the door swung open. Within the walls, the furnishings reflected the grandeur of the house’s outside. Old painting of her ancestors hung on the walls, a large chandelier lit the hallway and the stairs led elegantly to a mezzanine which in turn led to the floors above.

It was a very modern, almost futuristic home. Patricia made her way through to the kitchen and proceeded to make herself a cup of tea. She reached in to the fridge and removed the milk, she opened and smelled it. It was sour, and promptly thrown in to the bin with an accompanying “eugh”. Mumbling as she did Patricia made her tea sans milk. Alongside the door was a wipe-board with a pen. Removing the pen top with her teeth she scribbled on to the board… “Milk”.

The walk through to the lounge was easy and the chairs ahead deep and comfortable. Patricia put the cup down on the side table and flopped in to the chair. A sigh escaped her as she relaxed and her eyes closed as she took another sip of her tea.
Time passed and the day drew to a close. Slowly she made her way upstairs to her bedroom. Alongside the king size bed was a large photograph album. Patricia sat on the bed and opened the album. It was full not as most people would expect full of pictures of holidays and relatives, but of properties. Page after page after page of buildings both old and new; and toward the end of the album there were photographs of the warehouse.

Patricia felt that this was an odd thing to own and examined each of the photographs in turn. When the warehouse ones were scrutinised she could have sworn that she caught sight of a ghostly figure in a window of the warehouse, but on a second look there was nothing to be seen.

Opening the draw of the bedside cabinet to place the album away revealed a scrapbook lying within. The book was easily removed and subsequently opened. Articles covered each page, all with a common theme, haunted buildings, ghostly apparitions and each article’s accompanying photograph mirrored those in the album previously viewed.
At the back of the scrapbook was a business card for a small occult shop in one of the less desirable parts of town. The name “Mr Carper” was scribbled on the back of the card and an appointment time for the day before the warehouse incident.
Under the card was another circled comment, but this was in Patricia’s handwriting…. “The dead can’t harm the living.”
Closing the books Patricia lay back and drifted off to sleep.

Morning arrived and the alarm screeched in to life. There was a flailing of arms and legs as the covers were thrown from the bed, Patricia stood in her Pyjamas, slipped her feet in to her slippers made her way to the bathroom. The door closed and then a scream was heard echoing across the house.

“Where’s the toilet paper? Who in their right mind doesn’t keep it in plain view?”

After the crisis had passed Patricia emerged from the bathroom and proceeded to pick out her clothes for the day.
She took the card from the scrapbook and called the number, asking to speak to Mr Carper when the phone was answered. An appointment was made and Patricia entered it in to her diary.

Next a call was made to the local taxi firm, who to Patricia’s surprise asked if she wanted the trip placed on her account. “I have an account?” was the rather confused reply.

Checking through the articles once more Patricia could hear herself talking out loud “I wonder if I’m some kind of ghost hunter?”

Half an hour passed and the taxi arrived. Collecting some things, she made her way out to the car. Passing the address details to the driver, she lay back in the seat, fastened her safety belt and closed her eyes to relax during the short drive.

Streets passed by as the driver continued along the route that would ensure Patricia made it to her intended destination. She felt the turns and the bumps in the road the air rushed in as the car made its way through the traffic and then crossed the bridge which separated the new city from the old. After about ten more minutes the car slowed, the indicator could be clearly heard and the driver pulled along side the kerb.

Taking a deep breath, Patricia opened her eyes and looked toward the somewhat dilapidated shop which lay before her. Reaching over Patricia took hold of the handle, pulled slightly and the door of the taxi opened. Turning slowly, she gathered her belongings and removed herself from the taxi.

Matching the name on the card to the one above the door was simple; after all there couldn’t be many other establishments in this part of town called “Ancient Secrets and Realms Within”. “Still,” Patricia thought to herself, “things can’t get much worse.”
Walking over to door, she once again drew a breath; then extending her hand pushed it open. A small bell rang as the door swung inward. Patricia entered and moved toward to the glass counter. Looking directly ahead she saw a strangely decorated altar, above the idol which sat atop hung a sign which read “Bound to Ultupa”. Patricia stared at the sign as it swung slowly back and forth, then out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a man standing half in the shadows.

“Hello” She began, “I guess you are the shop keeper, appearing, well as if by magic…” Patricia leaned further over the counter and reached out to touch the idol. A spark of electricity shot out and danced across the tip of her finger; which she then withdrew quickly. “You get a lot of problems with static?” As the words were being spoken Patricia turned to where the man had stood, but he was no longer there.

A loud thump brought her back to reality as a large leather bound book was thrown at the counter in front of her. Patricia looked up and her eyes met the dishevelled employee who had thrown the item in to her path.

“You should look at this…” The man began; his voice was more of a mumbled attempt at communication than the well defined and enunciated version that should have been provided. “…it deals with the local legends and demons from this city… you asked about it last time you were here.” Finishing his words, he shuffled away.

Patricia took the book and ran her fingers around the covers edge, slowly she felt for the latch which was holding the volume closed. Pressing the two parts together she heard a definite “click” as the lock fell open in her hand. Pushing her index finger under the cover, she parted the book and was rewarded with a horrific sketch depicting a demon with blood dripping from its mouth and claws that extended over six inches from its hand. At the base of the illustration was the name of this beast from hell’s darkest depths “Ultupa”. Alongside the illustration was a description of the beast, a fearsome creature was just the tip of this proverbial iceberg. The creature was an alleged governor of a ward within one of the darker plains of hell, with an appetite for destruction that would bring horror to even the most hardened of individuals. Patricia gulped as she read through the description.

The man returned, this time in his hand was a bundle of printed out sheets, they were loosely bound with a bulldog clip and he pushed them in front of Patricia. “You know about demons?” he asked.

“I have a bit of amnesia; I’m not entirely sure what I do know yet.” came the reply.

“Despite what people think or at least what Hollywood tells you, the dead can’t harm the living. Have to be special conditions in place for it to be allowed, and only the living can instigate them, invocations and the like. If that weren’t the case the world would be dead by now.”

“So, why are the demons so prominent here?”

“Demons don’t just appear, they have to be summoned, bound to an area or an item usually. If that isn’t done there is nothing to hold them in this plane. They’d be pulled straight back to hell, express route.”

“What would hold a demon here then?” Patricia wasn’t sure why the subject was moving toward demons, but she was following the flow of the conversation in the hope that it would help her regain some of her former memories.

“Could be anything, but usually they tend to be small, portable even. Summoners like small items because the demon can be called to the regardless of where they are. Thing is, the item protects the owner from the demon, kind of like a pact where one can do no harm to the other.”

“Is it possible, that maybe I was attacked by a demon?” The flashback was intense but short lived. A ghostly face approaching as she backed her way toward the window, then came the fall.

“No, you’re alive, and from what I heard about you, sounds like you have a ghostly issue.”

“I thought you said the dead can’t harm the living?”

“I said, not without special circumstances.”

“Define….. Special circumstances.”

“Warehouse, right?”

“Yeah, the old broken down one on St Luke’s”

“There may be runes there, they kind of turn them in to a free for all zones, where anything can attack anything else…. Well unless you have items of protection.”

“What would count as an item of protection?”

“Depends on what you want protecting from.”

“Demons?”

“Well, Demons aren’t fond of iron, kind of weakens them. Salt is another good thing works on ghosts.”

“Why does salt work on ghosts?”

“Lady, if I had all the answers I would be rich and living it up on a beach somewhere, you know, with painted ladies.”

“I’m sure I have some salt at home, I can take that when I next go.”

“Here, take this.” The man placed a small iron bar into a bag and passed it over to Patricia.

“Thanks.” Patricia paused for a second then continued. “How much do I owe you?”

“The bar’s on me, kind of have a surplus of the things, wrote an extra zero down on the order by mistake.”

“Oh, my papers…” In a sweeping motion Patricia scooped up the papers under her arm and turned to face the doorway.
As she walked out the door a man’s voice spoke from the back room. “Is that her?”

“Yes.” Replied the shopkeeper.

“Does she know what she is up against?”

“No. She is unaware of your presence or your power.”

“Will she be returning to the warehouse?”

“I would put money on it Sir.”

“Just be glad you’re not putting your soul on it.”

“My soul was bound to a contract many years ago, and that woman’s actions hold the key to its release.”

“Be glad that you were allowed to hold a physical form. You could have been held like the rest in the warehouse, formless.”

“I know Sir, and am eternally grateful for you gift to me.”

“Right then.” A man about 6’ with dark hair and about two days worth of stubble walked in to the main room, he place the cup of herbal tea he was drinking on to a coaster which in turn sat on the main counter and began to walk away. “See the problem I have, a demon’s work is never done.”

The man then exited the shop and as the door closed behind him the shopkeeper was heard to mutter. “Sooner that demon is back in hell the better.”

As the taxi pulled away the man looked on, watching as the car sped off in to the distance. He lifted an apple to his mouth and took a bite, his teeth cutting in to the fruit’s flesh as his eyes followed the car’s movements.

In the back of the taxi sat Patricia, reading through the papers held together with the bulldog clip; they were mostly comprised of newspaper clippings that dated back up to 130 years.

The car seemed to take an age to make the journey home, and with each page that Patricia turned more and more questions made their way in to her mind. As her eyes closed so she could contemplate the articles within the palm of her hand, images of the ghostly figure pushing her from the fire escape returned and she relived the fall. A sudden sharp jaunt as the car stopped brought her back to reality and stopped the falling memory just short of the impact with the ground below. Breathing in as she reached out for the door handle, Patricia opened her eyes, looking at the destination before her. To her surprise it was not where she had expected to be, instead the car had arrived outside of a rather lavish and to the casual observer expensive establishment.

The two large wooden doors which faced the world had been painted black and were windowless, aside each door stood a bronze statue of a Minotaur holding a two handed axe with the flat of the blade standing level with their chin. As Patricia approached the doors, each statue exhaled steam from their nostrils after which the doors eerily swung open. Ahead was a corridor decorated in red and bronze, the walls were light red on the upper half with a deep maroon covering the lower half, separating the two was a thick strip of bronze. The floor was pink marble and the ceiling polished bronze. Bronze mirrors were equally spaced along the corridor, but in such a way as that they were never directly opposite of one another, the pattern was somewhat staggered and each mirror was bordered by a thin wooden frame. The fixings had been well hidden and the whole of the corridor appeared to be a flush fit.

Marking the end of the corridor was an ornately decorated archway, it was made up of intertwined bodies, alternating male then female, from the roof of the arch hung a sign, pink marble with bronze inlay, the writing read “Hellfire”; Patricia seemed to recall that the club had been named after the infamous “Hellfire Club” which had existed around the 1750s, Sir Francis Dashwood's legacy was at least in some form represented albeit via inference.

Above the bar was written once again in bronze lettering on a marble plaque, Fait ce que vouldras, its English translation was written above the mirror on the opposing side of the room, “Do what thou wilt”.

Patricia made her way over to the bar, within a few seconds the bartender had placed a drink in front of her, and handed her a bag of salted nuts.

“Erm, what are these?” Patricia asked inquisitively.

“They are what you normally have boss.”

“Boss?” Pausing for a second to draw a sharp breath, Patricia then continued, “I'm the boss?”

“Yes, of this and about twelve other venues from what I remember.” The barman replied, adding a small smile to round the sentence off.

“Wow, my memory is not what it should be. Must have hit my head harder than I realised.”

“Will you be staying for tonight's show?” The barman inquired.

“Do I normally?”

“Not normally, but you have been known to on occasion.”

“Then I guess I'm staying.” With a swift motion Patricia picked up the salted nuts and the drink and made her way to one of the many secluded alcoves, there she sequestrated herself in the luscious chairs and began to sip at her drink, whilst nibbling on the occasional salted nut.

While she lay back, the staff prepared the club for the evening ahead, the lights were dimmed and raised, lasers shone and smoke descended from above and dry ice rose from below. Small sections of music bellowed and faded, the resident DJ tested the microphones and the cleaners made sure everything was spotless.

It was the footsteps making their way toward her that returned Patricia to the real world once more. She turned to see the bartender bringing her a new drink before collecting her empty glass and returning to his duties.

The club would be quiet for a few hours yet, so Patricia collected her things and went to freshen up in the bathroom. She ran the taps and splashed cold water against her face; it was refreshing and helped to clear her mind. Slowly, she breathed in and closed her eyes for a second.

Suddenly, she felt her face in the water, her eyes opened, and she sensed someone behind, holding her head under the water. She tried to scream but it was muffled and only served to starve her of oxygen. Placing her hands against the bowl, she pushed back with all her might, her head lifted from the water and in the mirror Patricia saw ghostly reflections of her assailants, they made their way towards her, their hands clawing at her back and arms. With each grab made the pain intensified, soon Patricia was on the floor and crawling for the door, the mass of spectral forms reaching out for her. Then in an instant, the door swung open and they dissipated.

In walked one of the cleaners, she helped Patricia to her feet and then led her out and to the back office where the first aid kit was kept.

When Patricia opened the kit and tried to examine her wounds they were gone, even the bruising which had been there only minutes earlier left no trace.

Placing her right hand over centre of her chest, Patricia felt for her heartbeat. It raced away as did her breathing. Slowly she took control of her breathing and her heart rate began to return to normal.

When the bartender entered the room, he brought with him some herbal tea and a few sandwiches, he then left as quickly as he had arrived.

The centre piece of the desk was a silver letter opener with odd runes carved in to the blade. Patricia reached for it and after checking it was sharp, she made a quick nick in her forearm, not enough to be of any real worry, just enough to draw a drop of blood. Following an uneven path, the blood tricked down her arm and fell on to the desk. Although only for a few brief seconds the room lit up with an unearthly light, and runes appeared in mid air all around her. Then for a further few seconds the surrounding walls crumbled away and she found herself looking out at a ruined landscape, scorched and in many places still burning. Along the roads walked decaying human corpses as great beasts flew overhead, occasionally attacking the travellers and ripping out chunks of flesh, which then slowly regenerated.

Patricia could feel the unbearable heat burning away at her skin, blisters started to appear and then it was gone. In an instant the room had returned to normal, but on the desk she found a piece of parchment, a contract, between a demon and a human and it was marked with blood, her blood.

Taking the parchment in her hand, she read what was written. “In exchange for your immortal soul and eternal obedience, I grant you success in your chosen venture. The venture being Hellfire, when the term is over I will collect my payment. This contract is binding and I shall adhere to my side of the bargain, in accepting the agreement you have no choice but to fulfil your side when the term is complete. So agrees the hell-spawn Ultupa.”

Following the outline agreement was the detail of the deal which went at great length to explain how the contract was structured. After Patricia had read the agreement, she rolled it up and placed it in a drawer, which she then locked.
Opening the door to leave the office, Patricia felt drained her complexion was now a pasty white as realised what had now come to pass. Her soul would be the property of a demon, that's why the spirits had attacked her. They did not mean her harm, they had been trying to warn her. The door shut behind her and Patricia made her way to the bar, she did not notice the sign that hung on the office door. If she had she would unlikely have thought anything of it. “Patricia Harrison & James Cayley – Owners”. With her soul now bound to the contract she had enough things to consider, her earthly partner in the venture not being one of them.

The bartender waved Patricia over to the bar. Taking a seat, she beckoned for a drink. “Mr Cayley asked me to remind you that you need to sign the contract he left for you in the office.”

As the bartender finished his words the colour drained from Patricia's face and she passed out.

Hours had gone by before she awoke once more in the back office. A fresh cup of herbal tea and some chicken sandwiches lay on the table. Gathering herself, Patricia made her way to the window and opened the blinds. Swarming on the other side of the glass which looked in on the hallway were the spectral entities once more, clawing away at the glass through which they could not seem to pass. With each attempt a rune lit up on the glass and the entity in question retreated almost shrieking in pain. However as soon as one had retreated another took its place. It was almost as if they could sense Patricia within the room. Testing this, she moved toward a corner of the window. She had correctly assumed the entities migrated toward her.
Looking on she watched as a number of the club's personnel made their way through the hallway oblivious to the surrounding entities. Her fears returned as she realised that she may well be looking at her own fate. Reaching in to her pocket, she removed the key and unlocked the drawer. Pulling with all her might the drawer slid open, but it was now empty. The contract was gone.

Almost with an audible thump, Patricia's heart slumped. Thoughts raced through her head, “What have I done? Am I doomed to spend an eternity in Hell because of this club?”

The sound of the door swinging open restored Patricia to her senses. In walked her partner in the venture James Cayley, or as Patricia's thoughts portrayed him, the Demon with whom she had made her unholy alliance.

A quick glance at her watched indicated that it was almost time for the club to open. Sounds echoed through the corridors as the clientele made its way in to the main room. Close to a thousand voices mingled in to one, overwhelming mire of words; the constant chatter added further to Patricia's confusion and increased the stress she was straining under. Taking her place in a corner booth out of sight she sequestrated herself and waited for the bartender to bring the complimentary drinks over.
The glass sat on the table, its coloured contents swirling round due to the vibrations of the people walking passed. If the saying were not so over used Patricia would have sworn that the man who next appeared in front of her had done so “as if by magic”.

“You look like you need company.” The man began.

Patricia raised her eyes to meet the man who was offering his time to her. He smiled nicely and placed his drink on the table. Although Patricia was unaware, this was the same man who had followed her from the Occult store earlier in the day.

“Sorry,” he began, “manners, I'm Grant.”

“Hello Grant,” Patricia replied in what can only be described as a not overly enthusiastic manner. “I'm Patricia.”

“I'm told that you are one of the club's owners, operators? Well whatever you are calling yourselves.”

“That I am sir. I don't provide free drinks, if that was your intention.”

“Not a problem, I've already paid for mine.”

“I'm also not fabulous company this evening.”

“Nor am I, but as the saying goes... Misery loves company... So here I am.”

A smile crept across Patricia's face and it was soon followed by a stifled giggle; Grant had obviously broken the ice and for that he deserved some of her time.

The rest of the night went quite well, there was even some dancing. Then it was closing time, the club goers made their respective ways home until only Grant, Patricia and the staff remained.

With a wry smile, Patricia prepared to ask whether Grant would care to accompany her home but before she could get the words out, he made his excuses and left. The bartender brought Patricia another glass and they both laughed as she made the comment, “Well looks like the only ride I'll be having tonight is the taxi one home.”

The door to Patricia's home stood before her and despite her evening's work consuming alcohol she managed to negotiate her way inside and up to the bedroom; where she promptly tripped over the carpet, fell on to the bed and passed out.
Dreams and nightmares are one in the same, both are conveyed through the same medium but one is of what is wished for, the other that which is feared.

The sky above her burned with flame, the ground around her was in parts molten and where it was not so, hot gasses rose through vents which lay like pox marks across the landscape. All around her screams could be heard as the lost souls cried out in their agony. A cool wind blew across her, and she felt herself for a moment lifted on high, beneath her the lost souls wandered aimlessly seeking out a way to dull their eternal torment. The breeze then subsided and Patricia found herself standing on a plinth, around her ghostly apparitions drifted back and forth, each taking a second to look at her before moving away. Without warning the spirits swarmed and attacked her en-mass. Throwing her around like a rag doll, helpless and buffeted from one side to the other until she eventually came to rest on the hot ground, the steam seeping through her fingers. Again the spirits swarmed, but as they dived at her, Patricia awoke.

Beneath her the bedclothes were drenched with her sweat; she knew however, it could only be a dream, albeit a bad one. Standing up, she made her way to the bathroom, fumbled round for the light switch and raised her face to look in to the mirror. The visage which she could see before her was not what she expected, across her face were minor lacerations, slowly she lifted her hand and saw beneath her fingernails, red grit.

She climbed in to the shower and began to rinse her body down, from her hair red dust fell, mixed with the water and was washed away. Patricia examined herself but could find nowhere that she had been burned, but the lacerations covered her body, her back, sides, arms and legs were not without the wounds.

From the cabinet, which lay behind the mirror above the basin, she took out a box of plasters, which were then applied to the wounds they would cover, for those that could not be hidden so, a bandage was applied.
Patricia then returned to her bed, she removed the bedclothes and threw them in the corner of the room where they lay in a pile. Reaching in to the wardrobe, she removed a sleeping bag and fresh pillows which she then used. Sleep followed quickly.
Time moved on, daylight arrived and Patricia awoke. Taking the phone, Patricia made an appointment to see her doctor to get her wounds examined. She then made her way downstairs, reached in to the refrigerator and as she did noticed the note that read “milk”.

With a heavy sigh, Patricia sat at the table and poured orange juice on to her breakfast cereal. It was not the most tasteful combination she could think of but it was edible.
From outside a car horn could be heard to honk. The taxi had arrived. Patricia composed herself and after collecting her coat and keys made her way to the awaiting vehicle. After receiving the address of Patricia's doctor, the taxi left the house and made its way to the pre-designated destination.

The doctor's surgery was more like a set from a made for TV special than a place of practising medicine. Posters lined the wall, photographs of the doctor and some famous clients / friends littered the shelves. The receptionist on seeing Patricia enter waved her through without a single word.

Sliding doors are not normally found in the offices of most medical practitioners but they did not seem out of place here. Near silently they slid open as Patricia walked up. On the other side stood the doctor who greeted Patricia and then after listening to her ailment examined her.

First the plasters were removed and then the bandages, but as each fell they revealed nothing below them, almost as if the injury had never existed. There was no evidence of any injury, not even redness from where the plaster had been removed.
“Well I just have to say Patricia, you are in perfect health, there’s not a mark on you.” The doctor began.

Patricia just looked back at him in disbelief; there was nothing to indicate that she was ever attacked. Quietly she dressed herself and made her way from the doctor's office. Outside the taxi was still waiting. Reaching in to her purse she removed the address of the occult shop and beckoned that the driver went there.

Slowly to begin with the taxi moved off; accelerating off toward its final destination. Homes and shops alike moved by in a semi-blur as the vehicle moved along the streets, taking the turns with an almost effortless motion. As time progressed the streets began to deteriorate until they once more resembled the one on which the Occult store lay.

Taking a breath, Patricia raised her eye level and glanced toward the shop front. The dried grass that covered the table which stood proudly before the large window blew back and forth in the breeze. With a click the car door was unlocked and after a slight push it swung wide allowing Patricia to climb out in a dignified manner.

Rising to her full height she steadied herself against the car. In a swooping motion her hand pushed against the car door closing it soundly.

Each step toward the main door of the Occult store was accompanied by the familiar clicking sound of Patricia's high heels as they impacted the pavement. On reaching the door, she stretched out her hand, placing it firmly against the door, then after taking a breath Patricia pushed forward.

The door swung open. Standing at the desk was the same man who had greeted her on the previous visit. Patricia removed the notes from her bag and placed them on the counter.

“Can I help you?” Asked the man.

“Can you explain why someone would be attacked by spirits, but there be no signs of it afterwards?”

“The spirits can't attack someone who is alive; well not without special circumstances being in play, runes, binding items, spells or even artefacts and relics.”

“If these things are in place, how could you tell?”

“The signs aren't directly visible, they tend to be indirect. It's more like you sense these things as being in place. Lingering odours can be a bit of a give-away. Persistent shadows, clocks running slower too. They are more the things you see out of the corner of your eye, the dangerous things are hidden even in plain sight.”

“How do you know these things?” Patricia asked, her face displaying visible concern as she did so.

“I made a deal, one that didn't work out for me.”

“You made a deal? What for?”

“Long life and great power.”

“Did you receive none of these?”

“I received both, just not as I'd envisioned them.”

“Whose fault is that, the demon who made the deal or the man who failed to be specific?”

“Demons like to keep their word, to the letter; they have no right to take souls that do not belong to them. All contracts are binding and final but it's not always as plain as you see.”

“Would you care to explain what long life or great power mean to you?”

“Long life to me implied that I would live to be in to the thousands of years. The great power would be ruler of a land.”

“Did you receive either?”

“I received both. My problem is that I'm bound to this place, if I were to ever leave this building my soul would be gone and my body left to wither.”

“But surely you must realise that you can't remain here forever?”

“If a demon provides a contract, it must be demonstrated that in the carrying out of the obligations that the items listed could not occur without their intervention.”

“I don't understand.”

“Let me explain. If you wished to be wealthy and you were then left a fortune by a relative then you will have to be sure that the fortune would not have reached you prior to the demonic intervention. Should it prove to be the case that no intervention was carried out then the contract is unfulfilled and therefore void.”

“Is your contract void?” Patricia asked quizzically.

“No. My contract is valid, the thing that keeps me alive is the binding item kept within this building. While I remain within the limited range of protection it provides I am beyond harm.”

“So, you are still, how should we say? Caged?”

“Yes, but better this, than the alternative.”

“Is the alternative waiting for you?” Patricia looked at the man’s furrowed brow as she asked the question, possibly in the vain hope that it would give-away the answers that his lips would not.

“I’m sure you know the answer to that as well as I do.” The reply had not been the one that she had hoped for, but it did answer her question.

“These rarely end well for the non-demonic element, do they?”

“They never end for the non-demonic element. That’s what these demons do; they feed off your soul. Immortal or not, the energy they get from the soul will diminish over time. If you examine the most powerful of the demons, they have great collections of souls. It’s better to sip a little from many that to drink one dry.”

Patricia whether she wished to admit it or not understood the analogy. To her it was similar to the old saying in which it was unwise to put all your eggs in a single basket. Spread the load, spread the risk. A little from many would be preferable to all from a few; as she pondered on these points a moment of epiphany occurred.

“Are the spirits in the warehouse the souls bound to the demon?”

“It would make sense to keep them bound in a small area, easy to visit and feed discretely. I would however point out; these things could have grown very angry over time. If they’ve been given time to recover or reform if you will, they will have the power to do great harm.” The man behind the counter finished his speech and reached in to his pocket. He removed an old roman coin which he proceeded to polish with the edge of a rag that lay on the counter.

“Let me guess, that is your protection object?” Patricia pointed toward the coin as she spoke.

“Oh, no.” The man began his reply. “This is just something I keep to remind me of who I used to be.” He placed the coin on to the counter face up.

Rolling her fingers around the coin’s edge, Patricia took hold of it and raised the coin to her eye line. The man behind the counter was indeed the man on the coin, an Emperor from Rome’s glorious past.

“Like I said, my deal was for a long life and great power. What you see there is evidence of my great power. What lies before you is evidence of my long life.”

“All things come to pass. Your power has waned and your life will end. Inevitability will see to that.” For Patricia this was a rather profound statement to make. She reached down and replaced the coin on the counter top.

“Nobody makes a deal of this order that benefits the human contingent.”

“I think it’s time I left. I’m grateful for your time Mr Carper.” Patricia finished her words and made her way toward the door. Reaching out she took hold of the handle and pulled it to her. With a casual sweep the door opened up and allowed her to pass through.

Outside the taxi remained. The driver had opted to wait for Patricia’s return and as she climbed in to the vehicle, he asked to where she wished to go next.

From within the backroom of the store a voice emerged. “Does she know?” Seconds later the man from the nightclub reappeared. Grant stepped forward and took the man who stood behind the counter by his arm, gripping it tightly as he did so.

“If she knew, we’d have been exposed by now.” Once the man behind the counter had spoken Grant released his grip and walked away.

“Don’t forget our bargain Maximus.”

“How could I?”

“Just don’t. This one needs to be taken care of soon, before she can affect my other plans.” On finishing his words Grant exited the building.

The taxi pulled up in front of the local library. Taking the steps two at a time Patricia made her way up to the entrance. With a definite push against the door it swung open allowing entry in to the hallowed halls beyond.

Light poured in to the main hall and was thereafter sliced up neatly by the bookcases which divided the area up. Each section was labelled visibly allowing for swift location and movement to the desired spot when it was found.

Unlike most of the sections, the Occult section was not within the main area; instead it was located in a small annex whose dust displayed the level of use that it was receiving.

From within the shadows that lay deeper within the annex, a voice sprung forth. “You here to ask about those ghosts, or the contract?” After a moment or two a rather bookish gentleman stepped forth. He was no taller than 5’8” and dressed in a manner that would not make him popular at social events.

“Let’s start with the ghosts, apparitions, whatever you wish to call them.” Patricia interceded.

“You’ve been attacked, right?” The man half smiled as he posed the question.

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Dead can’t harm the living you know? Well not without the aid of special circumstances.”

“So I’ve been told, but that didn’t help me at all.”

“There will be a reason. You just have to find it.” While he spoke the man flipped back and forth through a rather dog-eared volume which itself had a well worn leather bound cover.

“So, are you telling me I’m dead?”

“You don’t look dead to me, if that helps. More than likely there are runes in play, happens a lot if something is protecting an area. Looking after its investment; if you prefer to use that term.”

“That would be something bad then?”

“Oh yes, something very bad. Here is a question for you miss. If the human race realised just how terrible place it was out there, beyond these safe shores. Do you really think we’d be wise to confront it?”

“Are you talking about outer-space?”

“No, I’m talking about in general. There are other places beyond most people’s understanding that are far closer than the void beyond this sphere.”

“Heaven and Hell by any chance?”

“Miss, I would hardly limit the list to just two places. From those other realms come some very bad things. All of them vying for power and making offers that would tempt those who seek that which they do not possess.”
“You would however warn against coming in to contact with these elements?” Patricia posed her question with a wry half smile displayed across her face.

“Lady, these things are like highly toxic waste. Nobody walks away unaffected.”

“So, can’t you just avoid them?”

“Most people who succumb don’t get to choose. They either find or are found by these things.”

“So, what protects us?”

“There are rules that both sides have to follow. Binders are the enforcers that keep the world in balance.”
“Binders?”

“To the un-informed they would appear to be normal people. Don’t allow yourself to be fooled; they have the power to return the creatures to their place of origin. More importantly they have the power to dissolve a contract they don’t believe to have been honoured. That does upset the demons because it strips away their sustenance.”

“Would a Binder take time to investigate a possible demon before confronting it?”

“They are not fools. Each Binder will take their time to be fully sure of what they are dealing with before they confront their target.”

Patricia looked forward with a thousand mile stare as she contemplated what she was hearing. Knowing she had spent time investigating places where this demon had been forging its contracts opened up the possibility that if she were not a victim of a contract that she must therefore be a Binder who has been investigating the foul creature.

“If you want to know how to make the runes viewable, throw some soot in to the room. The soot will be drawn to the runs and they will be visible for about a minute.” From under the counter the man brought forth a small bag of soot. “There should be just enough in here to be sure.” He then handed the bag over to Patricia who placed it in to her jacket pocket.

Collecting her things together, Patricia turned to the door and made her way out to the waiting taxi. As the door closed behind her Grant stepped out of the shadows and motioned to the man behind the counter.

“Where has she gone?” Grant enquired.

“Probably back to the warehouse. I guess you two will be meeting again very soon?”

“The contract will have to be checked and approved. You can take as a ‘Yes’ if you like, but I sense trouble ahead with this one.”

“Someone always has to pay the price I guess.”

“You guess right, now it’s time I made my way to this warehouse and the matter in hand was settled.”

“What if the contract is deemed invalid or unfulfilled?”

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves here; after all I pride myself on my degree of professionalism.”

The man from behind the counter wiped glass down, he then turned to look at Grant who in that time had gone.

Patricia had now travelled to the warehouse and found herself standing in front of the old wooden door which she had used to enter the building on her last visit. Ensuring that she had first taken a tight grip on the handle she pulled and the door opened, accompanied by the sound of rusty hinges.

Light attempted to stream in from the upper levels through the windows where it allowed and between the gaps in the floorboards when it could. Still the room was for the most part poorly lit. Reaching in to her pocket, Patricia removed a small amount of soot from the bag, possibly no more than a pinch. With a flourish of her wrist she through the soot in to the air, for what seemed like several seconds the soot just hung there, suspended in mid-air. Next it began to separate out into a stream which danced across the room, lighting the runes on the pillars, floor, doorway and ceilings as it did so.

From all around her; seeping through walls the spirits came and once all had gathered they began circling, but none approached. Several stopped and appeared to stare at Patricia, but all kept their distance.

“The contracts…” Patricia began, “show me where the contracts are.”

Suddenly and without warning the spirits attacked Patricia, she was thrown about as they rushed past her. Each wave knocked her off of her feet as she tried to recover and steady herself.

As Patricia tried to rise to her feet, she caught a glimpse of James Cayley, her business partner from the club walking through a doorway, at that point she knew that he must be the Demon and he must be stopped. With all her strength she rose to her feet and commanded that the spirits “Be gone, before the Demon chose to make its presence felt”. Just as suddenly as the spirits had begun their attack, it was no more and they disappeared off in to the building.

Quickly Patricia made her way to the doorway through which James Cayley had just preceded her in to. In the centre of the large room which despite its current state of repair could easily be recognised as one of the offices that had been in use many years before stood James Cayley.

Patricia walked over to James Cayley who held in front of him the missing contract from the drawer. Then a breeze entered the room and Cayley faded in to a ghostly form, the contract fell toward the ground and disappeared. From the shadows great tentacles of shade leapt forth, took hold of Cayley and dragged him away. Although he made no sound, the look of shear terror on his face implied that he was aware of his fate. Soon all that could be seen was his outstretched arm being pulled in to the dark corner, then, an instant later there was nothing.

Slowly Patricia made her way to the corner from which her former business partner had disappeared. There was no evidence that he had ever been present, the dark shapes proved to be no more than shadows. Scrabbling around in the corner did not reveal any of the runes found elsewhere.

From the next room a scraping sound could clearly be heard. Whatever was being moved was heavy and due to its size was unable to be carried. Footsteps could be hear accompanying the dragging sound, it slowly made its way closer, closer, closer… until the man from the club “Grant” could be seen dragging a large wooden chest behind him.

“Hey.” Patricia had shouted before she even realised.

Grant stopped and moved away from the chest. He leaned up against the doorway and a look of disappointment crossed his face.

“I knew you’d finally get here. Well one of us had to locate the chest first and looks like that would be me.”

“Don’t try to trick me, I know what you are.”

“Do you?”

“The chest, it’s full of contracts and I can’t let you take them.”

“Right on both counts.”

“Open it.”

Patricia appeared apprehensive as the chest was opened up. Within there lay bundles of contracts, some covered in dust others appeared to be more recent. Grant moved away from the chest and leaned against the far wall.

“What do you intend to do now then?” Grant asked.

“Do you know what a Binder is?” Patricia quizzed Grant as he watched her approach the chest.

“Only Angels, Demons and Binders know about them.”

“Then you will realise what’s going on here.”

“I guess I can work it out.”

Reaching in to the chest, Patricia took hold of a contract scroll and lifted it out. “If memory serves me, Demons draw power from the soul’s held under their thrall?”

“It would appear your memory serves you well enough.”

“Every contract that exists binds a soul to the Demon who owns the contract. Valid contracts are one thing, but I suspect that these are not valid and you were moving them to stop me from getting at them.”

“You wouldn’t be a million miles from the truth there.”

“So, take this contract for instance. The one between the Demon and James Cayley for the success of the nightclub; I have to admit it had me fooled for sometime, I figured that I was the victim here, the soul that was surrendered to the Demon for the success of the club. That view changed when I witnessed the disappearance of James, at that point it became obvious to me that he could not have been the Demon.”

“I guess given the evidence at hand that would have been an obvious conclusion to reach.”

“I’m going to destroy the contract. Free Cayley’s soul.”

“Are you sure that the bargain hasn’t been met?”

“I don’t care. I’m going to teach you a lesson Demon.”

“That would be a very bad idea.”

“Depends on your point of view.” With a swift motion, Patricia tore the contract in half. As the two sections fell to the floor they dissipated into dust which blew away on the soft breeze that entered through the doorway.

James Cayley fell from the shadows. He was not alive, his ghostly form rose to its feet. Within a few seconds he had regained his composure. Slowly he turned his head toward Patricia, his lips indicated that he was mouthing the words, “no, please, no.”

“You ever checked what happens to a soul in a broken valid contract?” Grant enquired.

“How do you mean?” Patricia replied with her own question.

“Breaking a valid contract requires someone to perform absolution; otherwise you’ve condemned the soul to wander in Limbo.”

The ghostly effigy of James Cayley walked over to the chest and sat down on the corner of it. Pulling out of her pocket a lighter, Patricia then took some paper and lit it. Next she threw the kindling in to the chest and the contracts began to smoulder, then burn.

Grant stood by and shook his head. “That was a very, very bad thing to do.” He began. “You will suffer for that.”
As the contracts burned away, Patricia felt weaker and began to fall to the floor doubled over.

“Binders can only destroy invalid contracts. Even that will drain them.”

“Screw you.” The reply was not the most eloquent reply that Patricia could have used, but she was now in severe pain.

Grant dropped a contract on the floor in front of Patricia. “Read it.” He said forcefully.

“This contract is between Elle Parsons and Ultupa….” She began.

“See the funny thing is I can’t. You want to know why?”

“Don’t play with me Demon, You’ll be going back to hell soon enough.”

Lifting herself to her feet, Patricia made her way over to the chest. Lying at the bottom of the chest was a small clay tablet upon which runes were engraved. Patricia reached in and took hold of the tablet.

“Is this the holding item that keeps Ultupa on this plain?”

“Yes and I think you should put it back where you found it.”

“You think nothing Demon. You are going back to Hell.” With all her might, Patricia threw the tablet against the floor where it shattered in to a thousand pieces.

“In the history of monumentally stupid things to do, that has to be in the top hundred.”

“What do you mean?” Patricia asked Grant.

“With the item destroyed and the souls now no longer bound to the Demon things are going to get very bad, very quickly.”

“You’re right; those spirits must want to make you pay badly for what you’ve done to them.”

As Patricia spoke the spirits began to seep once more out of the walls and their other hiding places and gathered in a great circle around Grant and Patricia. Even James Cayley rose and joined their ranks. The air in the room began to chill and the warm breath could be seen as the two living beings within the room exhaled.

The room itself began to dim, and as it did so the spirits began to circle, first slowly, but soon gaining speed. Like a carousel they spun, rising and fallings as they did so.

“You remember the origin of the Binders?” Grant asked Patricia.

“An Angel and a Demon encountered a man. Both the Angel and the Demon sensed the power that the man’s soul possessed. The Demon wanted the power and tried to take the man’s soul but was unable. Intervening the Angel pointed out that the man’s soul was not like meat on a table that could be easily taken. The soul was bound to the man and only he could determine where his soul would lie. Thinking on the situation the Demon came to realise that he could enter a pact with the man in exchange for the man’s soul. As the Angel looked on, the Demon offered to make a deal with the man who would offer his soul for what the Demon would provide.

“What do you wish in exchange for your soul, man?” Asked the Demon.

“My soul is my own and is not for the likes of you.” The man replied.

“I will give you whatever you wish if you will on your death pass your soul to me.” The Demon attempted once more to strike a bargain.

“Demon,” Replied the man. “I want nothing from you.”

The Demon then rejoiced, telling the man that his soul would now belong to the Demon as that which the man had requested the Demon had in turn provided.

“You have asked from me nothing in return for your soul. I have in turn provided you with nothing. Your soul is now mine.”

Once again the Angel interceded. “This is wrong Demon, we must consult the Almighty.”

All three stood in the presence of the Almighty and the case was explained.

First the man stated that he had entered no bargain with the Demon, therefore his soul was still his own. He had asked nothing of the Demon as he did not wish to part with his soul.

Next the Demon spoke. “The man asked for nothing, and nothing was provided, I fulfilled my part of the bargain. He must now fulfil his.”

Finally the Angel spoke. “I understand the Demon’s thoughts but they are wrong, the man did not agree to the bargain the Demon just assumed that the bargain had been struck.”

The Almighty looked on and then passed judgement. “There is no bargain; the Demon did not provide anything that the man did not already possess. As there was no change in circumstances due to the intervention of the Demon, no claim on the soul can be made. With free will I cannot prevent the exchange of goods or services for a soul, I will however insist that a contract be drawn up between the two parties and that it be seen to be enforceable. Both must honour their side of the bargain.

Circumstances must be different because of the intervention of the Demon, if nothing has changed or it can be proven that the man would have attainted the same goal without Demonic assistance the contract will be invalid.”

Next the Almighty turned to the man and appointed him as the first of the Binders, a group of beings who would ensure that any bargain entered into would be valid, with the power to dissolve or enforce contracts dependant upon the outcome of their investigations. To ensure that they had nothing to fear from either Angels, Demons or their thrall they were provided with protection against them. Until the last living human passed beyond the veil those appointed as Binders would be allowed access to neither heaven nor hell to ensure impartiality in their duty.” Patricia finished recounting the tale and as she did the spirits began their attack.

First the spirits congregated together in a large mass which the rushed in like a wave forcing themselves through Patricia who began to scream in pain. Again they performed the same action as she writhed on the floor. Then they stopped. The walls around began to crumble, heat seared all those within. From the floor the shadows reached out and took hold of the spirits dragging them down to the underworld where they would remain for all time.

Grant stood above Patricia’s fallen body. She stared up at him and mouthed her disapproval. Then he spoke. “I can’t read the contract because it was valid; the only ones who could, would be the parties involved both victim and the Demon. As your name was not Elle you can work out the rest yourself.”

“Nooooooooo.” Patricia cried out as she watched the floor begin to contort beneath her.

“You destroyed the contracts which were here. Hell’s laws don’t provide so easily for the release of the souls in a valid contract. They will be there waiting for you when you arrive; even Cayley. You’ve saved me the job of finding and annulling the invalid ones for which I’m grateful. Oh, one last thing, you destroyed the item which provided you safe refuge on this plane. Without that, let’s just take it as read where you are going, via the express route.”

With all the spirits who were destined for Hell now gone only a few remained. Each of them in turn approached Grant who whispered in their ghostly ears before watching them fade away. Finally he made his way from the building as the runes began to crumble. Smoke poured out of the windows whilst the building burned. The fire engines did not make it in time to save the structure which buckled and then collapsed under its own weight. As he walked away his phone rang, answering it he spoke just a few words before losing himself within the crowd. “That clock has turned up where?”

• fin -