The Immortal H.H. Holmes

“Emily Blum was the last. Took it right out of me, understood? Murder wasn’t fun anymore. I guess, you could say, I loved her in a way. She wasn’t beautiful or interesting. She wasn’t dull, mind you. Emily was a lost, lonely creature. All she ever wanted was a little attention. How could I not love such a creature? Anyway, I locked her in a room and filled it with poison. I found her reaction quite odd. She didn’t scream much. Two-hundred murders and every last one of them screamed or begged or pleaded for their lives. Not her. That beautiful girl was waiting for her fate.”

“Holmes. You confess to the murder of Emily Blum and hundreds more, correct?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“Well, this can’t be. Emily Blum is alive. She’s right here, waiting to watch you hang.”

“She is?”

Constable Wrigley points to a lone woman in the crowd wearing a pink evening dress.

“Oh. Right. Hello there.” Holmes bows as far as the noose will allow. “You know, this reminds me of the time I killed Jimmy Pitrite.”

Before he can continue, Constable Wrigley wags a finger at the hangman. Holmes falls through a trick door. He kicks and twists, until his neck snaps. He stops kicking and everything goes black.

Then, everything goes grey. H.H. Holmes twists his fingers through the ropes around his wrists. He undoes the noose and falls to the ground. The crowd remains frozen in the grey. Holmes walks to Emily Blum's still frame and caresses her cheek.

“I could’ve sworn I killed you. It must’ve been a beautiful dream.”

He walks down the street, until he hears the ringing bells of eternity. Bhumi sits at the corner with a jar full of coins. He's a beggar wearing ragged garments that make it difficult to witness his true form.

“Not a man for this sort of weather, are you?” Holmes laughs.

“Not a man at all.” Bhumi reminds. “This was an interesting death. Care to make it more so?”

“Of course! Why let a good thing die? Let it ride, as they say!”

“Holmes, I enjoy watching you work. No one has done more for murder than you.”

“Thank you, kind demon.” Holmes offers a polite bow. “Might I add, I never could’ve done any of this without you. And, what’s more, I wouldn’t have it any other way!”

“Of course, old friend. Now, how will you choose to return?”

“Constable Wrigley, I should think.” Holmes directs his gaze to the man on the stage. “It’ll be fun if I get to kill him. Yes, that’ll do.”

“What about her?” Bhumi points to Emily Blum. “It appears you two have some unfinished business.”

Holmes stares at Emily Blum, questioning, remembering and then not. How did she get away? How could she possibly escape?

“You’re slipping.” Bhumi mocks. “Could it be that the immortal H.H. Holmes has finally lost control of that sinister urge?”

“The beast inside.”

“Her energy is so pure. We could use her in hell. You should consider her murder to be a priority.”

“You don’t need to do any considering.” Holmes says. “I’ll do all the considering on this side of existence, understood?”

“Rightfully so.” Bhumi says. “I’d never interfere with an artist at work.”

A polite nod between them and the world returns. Space exceeds the limitations of the grey. Bhumi slips between worlds. For a moment, Holmes catches a glimpse of his true form. A clown face. An empty eye socket leading to an endless pit of suffering.

“Good day, Henry Holmes!” Constable Wrigley bows from the stage.

“And to you, kind sir!” Holmes bows.

Wrigley and the executioner untie the noose from the podium and then leave the stage. Holmes takes a moment to admire the design. A simple fall. Only a few feet. A rope around your neck constricts and your neck snaps. A few bones break. You choke on your last breaths. Then, you die. Simple.

Emily walks down the road. Holmes can’t help but admire how the mist of the early morning cancels out the light of day. A halo of wondrous yellow light escapes the mist to frame her in its glory. A glorious morning and a revelation all in one day.

“I swear I killed you.”

The Bayside Hotel overlooks Jefferson Market. A long stretch of road with various merchants becomes McGentry square. There were always a lot of people around the square. He admired the constant shuffling of people from the third floor of the hotel.

A man walks into the room with a kettle of warm tea and two porcelain cups. He sets them on a table and takes a seat.

“Did you know there’s an ant in the Southern Americas that spits acid at its offenders? Just spits it out like rain. You should see it, Ludger. An army of hundreds of little ants spitting acid. I had such a laugh, imagining all that acid raining down on them. What wit, these gods possess, to make such creatures in such a world. It’s almost as if we're blessed with sacred tools that make us virulent strains of murderers and madmen."

Ludger makes an audible sound with his lips, which otherwise do not move.

“Imagine, one day, these dumb bastards spit into the wind and erase their entire colony. They spit and spit and cover each other in acid. If the gods didn’t want us all to commit suicide, why would they make killing yourself so simple?”

Ludger, again, makes a noise with his lips and then sips some of his tea.

“How did you die this time, Holmes?” Ludger asks.

“It was a hanging, I’m afraid. Terrible break, as they say.”

“S’pose you’ll be killing the ones responsible.”

“Ah, yes. Vendetta D’muerte, as the Sicilians say. You can wipe out an entire generation for cursing your name. No greater threat to a man than the danger of a false reputation.”

“You can’t have a reputation.” Ludger adds.

“No, of course not. That would defeat the purpose.”

“And, what purpose is that?”

“Murder. There is no greater purpose. No reason to any of this. Just killing. Plain and simple.”

“Simple.”

“Ludger, old friend. Won’t you comfort me with the story of Mount Pelee?”

“Volcano blew up. No one survived, ‘cept me.”

“Ah yes. Good fun had by all.”

Holmes walks down the hall. He stops when he hears scratching from the other side of the wall. He admires a painting of a clown holding the hands of two children, each holding one red and one blue balloon. Hundreds of people fill McGentry square. The scratching continues. Holmes thought to finally burn this place to the ground. Rage. Bile. Pollution of the worst kind.

“Go to sleep, Ms. Danvers.” Holmes knocks on the wall. “It’s no good, this incessant noise. Get some rest. Accept your fate. Your reward awaits in the afterlife.”

“You won’t hide her forever, Master Holmes.”

He turns to see Bertrim Wisk crawling up the wall. It seems he became a snake of sorts in the afterlife.

“Hide who?” Holmes reveals a skeleton key. “The love of your life?”

“She never loved you, Holmes.”

“That’s not what this is. Here, we atone for our sins. I am your antichrist. Give me what I want and your beloved goes free. And, well, you’re gonna want her free. You see, her sins required a bit of creativity. An ice bath is the only way to purify the sins of a lustful heart. Thereby, it was my duty as antichrist to tie her and drop her in a tub of ice water and bury her alive. Every day, more and more dirt, until she was gone. I estimate her time of death at roughly twenty-three hours from right… now.”

“Holmes. How many times must I tell you there is no fifth floor?”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked you to go to the attic. What’s up there that you’re so afraid of?”

“You know what’s up there and you want to feed me to it.”

“The fifth floor, my good man. Find it and she goes free.”

Holmes walked the grand staircase and saw Lady Whipperley waving her wrinkly old hand in the air. “Master Holmes! Sir, the walls are melting in room 36H. I’m not sure how to handle it.”

“Ah yes, the ‘vapor’ room. Leave whoever it is in there for thirty to forty-five minutes. They won’t be complaining much longer.”

“Right, sir. Other than that.”

“Were you sleep walking again, Lady Whipperley?”

“Yes sir.”

“What did you see?”

"Red eyes. Red lines going up my forearms. He used me like a puppet.”

“Who did?”

“The thing in the attic.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He made me open room 32 and let out Ol’ Jasper.”

“Why in god’s name would he want that cod free?”

“Jasper was his favorite actor as a boy. Says he wants Jasper to be his new toy. Trouble is, now we can’t find him.”

“Well then, I’d rather Ol’ Jasper enjoy his freedom before he ends up in that hell. If I’m the antichrist he’s at least my step-brother.”

“Sir, where are you going?”

“I must prepare. I must kill Constable Wrigley. The full moon is out tonight. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a glimpse of the morning star.”

“Imagine the power.” Lady Whipperley said. “Perhaps we’ll be able to restore this place to its former glory.”

“Former glory?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean-"

“To question the glory of the Bayside Hotel?”

“I would never, sir.”

“I know, Lady Whipperley. Because, you’re a woman who understands consequence.”

Holmes opens the door to room twenty-three. He pushes in a hidden door in the closet that leads through a narrow corridor to the basement. The scent of rotting flesh reminds him of sulfur. A fresh hell. Poisonous ash raining down from heaven. The kiss of death. The Rapture. A mangled corpse hung from the ceiling. Several more on the walls. Piles of bones. Dissected organs in jars of liquid. Preserved for eternity. Sulfur. Fire and brimstone everywhere. A touch of poison, a deep inhale through the nostrils, to exercise one’s demons.

“Master Holmes. Please. Let me go.”

“Master? Last week it was ‘bastard’. The week before, it was ‘devil man’. Tell me, sweet girl, what will you call me in a month?”

“My family will search for me! They have money! I can give you whatever you want!”

“And you will, Ms. Bedford. Only when I’ve freed that inner demon and watch it drag you to hell. Did you know the human soul hides somewhere inside your mind? The mind, you see, is an actual point in the brain. Its movements depend on which side of the brain is more apt to disguise itself. Where you hide your darkest fears is where I’ll find your soul.”

Holmes takes up a nail and a mallet. He approaches Ms. Bedford and pats her shaved head.

“I have seven minutes to find it. The hardest part is trapping it. I’ll need to somehow create a leaf out of your sternum. A leaf. Can you imagine? The gods and their rules. Who am I to question their wisdom?”

Industrial epoxy made Ms. Bedford’s flesh stick to the metal table. Holmes lowered himself to meet her eye-line.

“Sometimes, it’s murder. Other times, it’s sacred.”

He walked to his workspace and unrolled a map of Jefferson Town Hall. He ran his fingers over the map and studied every inch. He pulled out a gun from under the table. Another gun in the drawer. A rusty hunting knife, as well as a ceremonial tanto to purify sinners.

“A man. A creature. Sometimes we have to die. On this day. On this breath. Death chose to silence you. That’s all I need to know. This is how your story ends.”

X

Holmes opens a cabinet built into the brick wall. “Igkis, old boy! Do me a favor and go scare Constable Wrigley! It will be very much appreciated!”

A mummified man arises from the metal slab. Holmes puts a heart in its lap and the mummy stuffs it down his throat. He eats it in one bite and turns to see Holmes’ smiling face.

“Good boy, Igkis. You’re a hungry boy, aren’t you?” He pats Igkis on the head and then leaves a few more innards on the mummy’s lap.

The mummy takes the mess and stuffs it into his mouth. He eats and makes his way out of the basement.

Holmes searches through his workspace and comes up wanting.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, boss?” A woman asks. Several nails help to pin her body to the wall.

“I’m second guessing myself, Bedilia. I’m not feeling all that excited about murdering Constable Wrigley.”

“Oh, well, if you’re looking for that doggy whistle thing… I kinda ate it.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“I WAS FUCKING HUNGRY BITCH! DO I NEED A REASON?” The missing chunk of her skull radiates a green light. She turns the other cheek and then smiles at Holmes.

“Right. Well, when you pass it, could you do me a favor and… give a whistle?”

“Of course, boss. You got it!”

Holmes turns to see Ms. Bedford standing in front of him. She ripped herself away from the metal slab. Torn patches of bloody flesh stick to the parts of her body where the glue held out.

“Ms. Bedford, my dear. What have you done to yourself?”

“Ol’ Jasper would have a word.” She said.

“Ah, is that you, Ol’ Jasper? It’s been ages.”

“Time to die, Holmes.”

“Oh, not again. I’m afraid I have business.”

Jasper tackles him to the ground. Ms. Bedford’s jaws unhinge to reveal several rows of sharp teeth. She lunges for Holmes and bites down hard on his shoulder. Holmes screams and slaps her across the face. Jasper bites down on his throat and a fountain of blood sprays the air.

“Whistle’s out!” Bedilia shouts from the wall.

Holmes fades out of life and wakes up at the entrance of the hotel. Bhumi sits on the other side. He wears a bellboy uniform with a matching red hat. Blood everywhere. Bodies hanging from the second floor balcony. The building is a living, breathing, moving entity. Pulsing flesh replaces the wood that made up the halls. An open eye on the ceiling above the fourth floor reveals the light of the outside world. A giant spider appears and vanishes within the design.

“You’re slipping, old boy.” Bhumi laughs. “Haven’t seen you die so fast in a long time. Maybe you should consider retirement.”

“You know as well as I do that men like us never retire. We die doing what we love.”

“That’s what makes this so much fun.”

“Bhumi, my dear friend, I’m afraid the world has become much more complicated. Things change, you see. I can’t expect to live a ‘squeaky clean’ lifestyle with all the blood on my hands. Not the way I live, understood? It takes a certain grit and an appreciation for said grit for things to fall into place.”

“You’re an artist of the dark arts. Your passion is what brought you here. It’s what keeps you coming back. Tell me, what is it you're passionate about?”

“Her.”

“You remember killing her.”

“Fondly.”

“Tell me.”

“Emily Blum. I lured her into my bedroom about three weeks ago. We made love on the night of the reckoning. The masquerade brought everyone to McGentry square. I killed her in my bed with a hatchet. There was so much blood. I thought it would be fun to sleep in it. She was still alive, kinda. Twitchy, mind you. I didn’t like that. I had to bludgeon her with a hammer to get her to stop. Still didn’t feel quite right, so I had Mrs. Whipperley clean the sheets.”

“I thought it was poison?”

“Poison, you say?”

“When Constable Wrigley hung you earlier. You told him it was poison.”

“Oh. Right. I suppose it was.”

“Can I explain to you what I saw?” Bhumi offered.

“Yes, please. I’m all ears.”

“The light of that girl attracts the dark in you. You’re her shadow. She is your source of light. If either of you gets too close one destroys the other. Who will it be? Having Bhumi on your side might not be enough to help you if her intuition is strong enough.”

“Intuition, you say? What about purity?”

“Good and evil. It’s more about awareness. She’s not aware of her powers. A wonderful gift is within her possession, all from a heart she’ll never understand.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, dear friend. Then, again, I never do. You’ve always been a kindly guide on my journey of self-absolution. I admit it. I want her, yes.”

“Then, know this. Having her might mean the end of your journey.”

“Thank you, old friend.” They shook hands, well met, as always.

The Bayside Hotel reappeared in all its splendor. The permanent residents walked with a protective cloud that rendered them oblivious. He admired the sight of parents guiding their children through corridors. There were bodies behind those doors. Not for them to know. Move along, friendly traveler. Enlightenment. Wisdom. These are not for you.

X

McGentry square was busy at night. Night brought out the performers. A man contorted his body to fit into a barrel and then had a giant man roll him down the street. It continued to the end of the block, where it somehow turned upright. The man popped out and waved his hands.

Applause.

A family choir gathered before a sign, “Repent, the end is nigh!” in bold red letters. Men walked around the family choir to get to the brothel that stood behind them.

The noise of the square dulled once he turned onto Briar Street. A few torches marked the roadside. The sound of footsteps echoed against the cobblestone. The streets were full of angry spirits. Night assured him of his righteous ways. He felt right about killing, about dying again and again. Nothing beyond the need to kill ever made sense.

“You’re a man of ambition.” A voice spoke from the darkness. “What is your ambition?”

“That’s none of your business, good man. Step into the light.”

A sickly man with a body covered in pockmarks stepped into the light. He kept his distance and covered himself with a red and blue blanket. Holmes’ vision slipped to black and white, but it returned immediately.

“What do you want?”

“A place to rest. A bed. Someone to love. Someone to love me.”

“I have a hotel. You’ll find plenty of rest. I’m afraid love is hard to come by these days. Could you settle for a warm bed and proper hospitality?”

“Would you be so gracious, sir?”

“I would.” Holmes waved a finger at the hotel. The Bayside Hotel watched over McGentry square. “Talk to Lady Whipperley. Tell her Master Holmes sent you. Tell her to take you to Room 33.”

“Blessings to you, sir. I’ve not slept proper in years. Thank you! A thousand wishes for you and yours!”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Holmes gave a polite bow and walked down the street.

He walked down Briar Street to Higby Ave and then stopped at ‘Ansellum’s Tavern’. He recognized the symbol on the door, a red key with its handle in the shape of a skull. He couldn’t remember where he’d seen it. He walked into the tavern and a chorus of familiar voices greeted his arrival.

“Master Holmes!” The large man behind the bar yelled. “I didn't think I’d see you so soon!”

A crowd of regulars joined in, praising his name.

“What brings you back?”

“Back? Yes. I missed all your smiling faces!” Holmes managed a fake smile, as he recounted their faces and found nothing.

“If you’re looking for Miss Blum, she’s retired for the evening. Gone to her room upstairs. I’m sure you remember which it is?”

“Of course! How could I forget?”

Holmes went to the back of the bar to a narrow stairwell. One set of stairs went down to the basement. He had a vague premonition about a body stuffed into brown woolen cloth and buried beneath the dirt. He had no recollection of going upstairs. The first door at the top of the stairs didn’t feel familiar, so he kept walking. The second wasn’t right. The third had a faint sense of familiarity. He knocked on the door and Emily Blum appeared.

“Henry! It’s been so long!” Emily Blum wrapped her arms around him. “I thought you’d never return! You’re the busiest man in town, are you not?”

“That I am, my dear.” His grip around her tightened. “That I am.”

“I so adore the gift you sent me. I’ve kept from opening it and prefer admiring it all I can.” She went to her dresser and opened a small jewelry box. A hanging man fell from the open hatch and spun with the music playing inside the box. An oval mirror framed Emily’s face under a dim candlelight on the dresser.

Holmes stood and admired the hanging man, as he twisted around, making no sense of the reality they shared.

‘I swear I killed you’.

“Have you come to ask about the thing in the attic?”

“Why, yes, of course. Because you know about the thing… in the attic. What do you know?”

“It looks like you. It hates the attic. And, it likes its privacy.”

“You say it looked like me?” Holmes asked.

“Very much so. Except its eyes faded the closer it came to me. Fading and fading, until it was all black. Then, its eyes became hundreds of bubbles. They burst and spiders crawled down its face. They popped out of its mouth and through its crooked smile.”

“Spiders, you say.”

“Oh, Master Henry! I was so scared!”

Her hand touched his. A flame, if you will, before everything burned. Fire. Ansellum’s Tavern reduced to rubble. A dead girl. Crimson pooled into the once-white sheets of a mattress. Blood splattered over the walls. Washing hands. Scattered thoughts. Scattered bodies chopped to bits. A sword over the fireplace of the tavern. A mantel with the words,

“Alea iacta est”.

He awoke outside the tavern. His vision was grey. The world was a grey place. The torches revealed the white within the black. Holmes heard a boisterous crowd within the tavern. He assumed they no longer required his presence.

X

Constable Wrigley locked up the office for the night outside the main courtroom. He walked into the holding room to see a man in torn clothes staring at the wall.

“A werewolf, is it?” The constable asked.

“The devil made me do it.”

“Now, why in the world would he want you to fuck a goat?”

“Not fuck. Rape. He wanted me to rape a sheep.”

“Then, why did you try to rape a goat?”

“I got goat and sheep mixed up. It dark. They sound the same, I guess. Mean creature beat the hell out of Mongo.”

“Mongo, this is the third time this week. How can I ever teach you that what you’re doing is wrong?”

“I knew right and wrong, sir. The devil told me to do it. Honest. He said he needed me here for the Rapture.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s the devil, sir. Here for the Rapture.”

Constable Wrigley opened the door to the Grand Hall and found nothing. He closed the door and turned to see Mongo waiting in his cell. It knocked again. He opened it right away. It creaked on its way to closing and the Constable caught a shadow moving through his vision. He opened the door and the figure was gone.

“He’s only foolin’ with ya.” Mongo said. “Like a kitty catchin’ a mouse.”

It knocked on the door. Over and over. Constable Wrigley locked the door and sat at his desk. The knocking continued.

“Hell, ya gotta answer it!” Mongo cried.

Constable Wrigley loaded a few bullets into a gun he kept under his desk. He cocked the trigger and kicked open the door. Igkis tackled him to the ground. He clawed the Constable’s face before he was able to push him off. He crawled away, as Igkis barked like a dog. Constable Wrigley moved for his baton and Igkis knocked it away.

Igkis stopped and grabbed his ears. He screamed and moaned and ran out of the room. He slammed his fists, before disappearing.

“Guess ya shouldn’t’ve answered it.”

X

Death attracts maggots. Murder attracts flies. What do you become when all hope is lost? A power. A force. An empty pit of despair. Behind the door of Room 33.

Holmes considered the penalties. The riddles and rules of the Bayside Hotel were as stringent as those in the underworld. You ask one favor of the Creep and he asks one of you.

The price considered, Holmes had everything to lose. There were forces beyond his control that dictated the fortune of others. He felt powerful most of the time. Other times, he felt like an explorer finding adventure around every corner.

Room 33. He knocked. The door opened. No light inside the room. The Creep stepped into the light.

“How can I help you, neighbor?”

“Ah, Mister Crowley! Can I spare a moment of your time?”

Mr. Crowley let him in. They sat and had tea.

“I’d like to ask a favor.” Holmes declared.

“What is it?”

“Is it true that you can see in any room at any time?”

“Why would you ask such a question?”

“Curiosity.”

“I keep an eye on all God’s children.”

“There is no God.”

“But, he does have children.”

“How could he --- okay. I need someone to tell me what’s in the attic.”

“This building is a puzzle box that only time can open. When the time comes, you’ll know. Until then, follow the paths you can in this place. Follow every path. Leave no stone unturned. You may think you built the worst of this hotel. You’ve yet to even find the door.”

“What did you do with the vagrant I sent you?”

“His name was Mathias. He was a practicing shaman for the Sheridan Clan. Years of inbreeding mutated them into brooding dullards. The Harbinger Company poisoned their reservoir under the guise of ‘corporate greed’. Corporate greed and corporate lies undermined the true source of this country's hatred. Their land was worth a fortune. Now, it’s a cultural landmark of the western world. A tombstone where our nation mounted our flag. You wanna know bad luck? It turns out, this entire country was built on an ancient Indian burial ground!”

“You’re kidding!”

A hearty laugh was had by all.

“Anyway, he’s dissolving in my bathtub. Sulfuric acid. I think that’s what Lady Whipperley brought me.”

“Interesting. You went with acid?”

“I thought I’d bathe in it myself. Fuck it, eh? Let’s see what happens!”

“I’ve been nodding off. Waking up in odd places. Killing in my dreams. Blacking out in my days. Vanishing. Running out of time. I lose an hour. A day. A month and three days. Where do I go? Who’s taking possession of me?”

“All will be known in due time. Do you know about the Rapture bug?”

“No, but have you heard of these ants that spit acid?”

“Rapture is a bug. Millions of little Rapture bugs give birth to millions more. We breathe them in by the light of sin and give birth to a million more. Millions and millions of Rapture bugs. All fill the air for miles. The light of the Dinh and the cleft of his chin spread the sin and the grin of their smiles.”

“Absolutely.” Holmes stood and bowed. “I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

“Do you know what I would’ve asked for if you hadn’t sent Mathias?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I would’ve asked you to kill her.”

The world went grey.

He awoke on his knees before a pedestal. Light entered from a hole in the wall above a wooden cross. His hands rested in a bowl of red liquid.

“Who’s grumbling in the barnyard?”

Holmes looked through the hole to see a cave that stretched on for miles into darkness.

“Monkey shits! Where’s the barn?” Mongo used his fat fingers to scratch his ass and take a long whiff.

“Mongo! Dear boy! Get me out of the barnyard!”

“Devil man! You came back for me!”

“Oh yes! The Rapture! It’s here!”

Mongo opened the door. Holmes walked along the sides of the cave. He defied the laws of physics and walked on the walls without any force pulling him in either direction. He stopped when he realized this wasn’t a cave. It was an endless hole. A true pit of despair. And he no longer dared to dance on the edge of reality.

“No going back now. The barnyard is that way.”

The barnyard. On the other side of the garden. Holmes buried his most precious victims in the basement, where they grew into flowers. They sang a beautiful song throughout the day. The chorus gets louder with every new victim.

He heard them singing from the side of the barnyard. Everything was so grey. Holmes walked through the tall grass. The natives were restless. They moved like shadows all around him. His path led to an endless pit. The natives surrounded.

“Is this about the joke, earlier?”

Buckshot fired into the air. The natives fled right away. Mongo shuffled through the field screaming, “Pa! He’s here, Pa!” Every impact of his feet made the earth shake.

“Pa?” Holmes said.

An old man appeared before him on top of a pair of stilts. He spit tobacco at Holmes’ feet.

“Why are you here?” The old man asked.

“Not a planned visit. The Creep sent me.”

“Oh, not some more damage to your cerebral cortex?”

“Who can tell these days?”

“Sorry, boy. We both know you can’t stay for the Rapture.”

“Why not?”

“The world will forget you. This dust'll eat you alive. Are you ready for mortality?”

“I choose immortality every day.”

“Come home, son. The Rapture’s waiting.”

“Not yet.”

The barnyard faded. His victims climbed out of the garden. Raptures come and Raptures go. They tore him limb from limb and buried him in the garden.

“So, the Rapture?” Bhumi asked.

“Another Rapture, yes.” Holmes replied. “How will we teach them that this thing never ends?”

Submitted November 22, 2018 at 06:34PM by EdgarSphynx https://ift.tt/2zk3iXd