Garden of Hellish Delights Ch. 10

"Yes, there you go. A time and a venue. I was going to meet the guys in a bar called Verdant Garden."

"...rather unfortunate irony there," mused the lilim's apparition.

What John didn't expect however, was when his past self put the phone away and caught sight of an abandoned tome on a neighbouring table.

Peering up, the memory of John glanced round to check no one else was looking his way, and hopped tables before opening the text.

"That's my spell book. What's it doing on a different table?" his current self said.

"Why is it even in the pub? I wouldn't take it with me."

His companion was silent.

The memory of John struggled to open the thick cover of the book, and gently lowered the front cover when he finally did so.

A look of bewilderment was sketched across his face as his eyes ran across its writing. The more the past version of John stared however, the paler his face became, until it began to look positively queasy.

"This never happened!" cried future-John, in protest at the bizarre scene.

"What's wrong with me?"

"That spellbook had a unique hex on it," the lilim explained as his past self stood and bolted for the toilets, leaving the book open and his pint half-finished.

"But why would I hex myself? And why look so shocked if I did?"

The lilim was silent, so John took his cue to follow his former self, however alien it seemed, into the toilets.

Inside, John saw 'himself' run into an empty cubicle and void his stomach contents into a crusty, yellow toilet bowl.

The former self's body then began convulsing and shaking, as if caught in a seizure, as his mouth began to froth and foam.

"What-what's happening to me?" his future self asked the lilim in horror.

"The hex in that book turned the drink in your stomach into poison and began overwriting your mind with the memories of its owner... that man..."

John watched aghast as the door to a neighbouring cubicle opened and a lank, greasy man in an ill-fitting t-shirt and jeans stepped out.

"Well, what have we here?" he sneered at former-John's shaking body.

"It seems you got my invitation."

The man leaned down and looted a wallet from the prone body before him.

"Let's see, your name is... 'Peter Collins'. Nice to meet you Peter.

"I'm John Wolfbane, and tonight I'm going to be taking your life."

Future John – or was it now future Peter? - could feel his jaw hit the floor.

"You see, there's only so many charm spells you can cast on those lovely ladies before people start to notice. And get angry.

"And how was I to know sweet little Ellen at the corner shop was actually from powerful wizarding stock?

"They didn't like me cavorting with a spaced-out little bimbo floating in a bliss ball spell, I tell you that, my boy.

"I also don't need to tell you that a family of some of the most powerful warlocks in the country wanting me dead is the last thing I need.

"...well, soon I won't need to tell you anyway."

There was no answer from the body beneath him, which had ceased moving.

"Best get on with this before you pop your clogs, I suppose," he said conversationally.

"Now, I know you've not got long, but let's just change these last few hours to something more... agreeable, shall we?

"I know... you weren't going to kill someone to steal their memory, but instead you were just going out for a pleasant drink. How does that sound?"

Still no answer from the body beneath him, which was growing paler. John Wolfbane leaned down, held his palm an inch from Peter Collins' forehead and a pale blue light shone briefly before slipping inside Collins' open, lifeless eyes.

"Now, I'll just complete this little party trick by taking your looks, your memories and your cash... and be on my way," Wolfbane said with a happy smile.

"...this was the bit I was dreading."

The warlock moved his head to Peter's, and pressed his lips to the other man's. As he came away, reams of thick white smoke, that glimmered even in the harsh lights of the men's room, trailed out of the dying man's mouth and into Wolfbane's.

Wolfbane stood up, raised himself to full height, and began to cough and splutter.

The Peter Collins that was able to watch the scene was aghast as he witnessed Wolfbane's skin appear to melt and become fluid, rippling before filling out with muscle and sinew and change features to match the man on the floor.

Seconds later, a man with the body and face of Peter Collins looked down at an identical, and very dead, doppelgänger.

"Before my mind goes for good," he said, in Peter's voice, "Let's get an illusion over you, make you me and bury John Wolfbane for good...

"Don't worry about your... er, my, criminal record though... This whole thing will look like a heart attack."

With a touch of his hand, the body on the ground rippled and shifted, in seconds matching that of Wolfbane.

Wolfbane then began to convulse himself, gripping his head before shaking and screaming, as he too had his memories changed.

After a minute or so, he settled down, looked round in panic and gave yet another scream when he saw the body before him.

The door burst open and Alf rushed in.

"What's going on in here, Pete?" he asked when he saw the body.

"I... I don't know... I... I was feeling really sick... came in here and... and... saw this guy...

"He... he... looks too still to be pissed. Is he...?"

"I... I don't know, son," murmured Alf. "I'll call an ambulance. You... stay with him."

Wolfbane walked out the door, and as he did so, all three men in the memory faded away into thin air, leaving only an empty toilet.

The real Peter Collins stood, shellshocked, from the events that had transpired before him.

"Who... who the hell am I...?" he croaked.

"You are Peter Collins, a wedding photographer from Manchester," the lilim said.

"A warlock by the name of John Wolfbane placed a hex on you and swapped memories with you, as well as stealing your appearance.

"Both of you have your real memories buried deep within your psyches. This is how I could take you here... to show you the truth...

"As you lay dying, Wolfbane was determined to leave nothing to chance and altered the 'John Wolfbane' memory he'd given you to remove any reference to his scheme, all on the odd chance you'd survive the poison.

"Instead of keeping his memory of the plot, you were made to think he... or rather you... had simply gone for a night out and cast a teleportation spell that went wrong."

"I... I..." Peter struggled to get the words out.

The lilim waited patiently.

"I never really cast a teleportation spell then... nor did he...

"How did I get to the garden if I didn't..."

The lilim was silent.

"I'm really dead aren't I? I went to the gard... to Hell. Because I was dead..."

"Actually, you're still dying," she said.

"You can think of the garden as your own purgatory if that helps.

"Because of the specific nature of the magic spell used here and the supernatural nature of your death, your soul slipped through a barrier it wasn't meant to pass, landing in our domain...

"But my sisters and I have been so pleased for this most fortunate... mistake..."

"Well, I'm glad someone is happy about my death," he spat bitterly.

"What now? How long will I be here before my body gives up the ghost and I move on... for better or worse?"

"Only a matter of seconds... on earth, at least," came the reply.

"Here, where your soul frolics with us, that will stretch on for what your mind would comprehend as... eternity."

"I'll be stuck forever?" Peter asked incredulously.

"No, just what your mind would comprehend as eternity," said the lilim, seemingly splitting hairs somewhat.

"You will move on, as all mortals do. But when that will be, I cannot say."

"Will it be to something better?" Peter asked, fighting to stop a tear of sheer, icy dread sliding down his cheek.

"That is not for me to say, child," said the lilim.

"But there is no reason why your stay here can't be sheer bliss..."

Pink mist began to roll in through the windows, out of the toilets, through the ventilation shafts and any exposed gap in the building.

Plumes of the smoke grew thicker and thicker, blotting out all vision in a pink storm, before fading, to reveal a very different room.

Peter was faced with an elegantly decorated bedchamber. Although it seemingly had no windows or doors, the room was covered in satin drapes that ran along every wall.

The floor was coated in a thick red carpet and ahead of him lay... the bed.

It was a king-size four-poster affair, with luxuriantly soft-looking bedsheets and plump cushions.

Yet more appealing was the array of beautiful women sitting astride it.

Statuesque, toned bodies, unabashedly naked, were complemented with ample, perfectly formed assets and radiant faces.

Two women, blonde and brunette, left the bed to stride towards Peter smoothly swaying their hips.

Each stood either side of them, resting a hand on each shoulder and an arm down each pectoral muscle, before proceeding to plant kisses either side of his neck.

Peter looked over his shoulder, to see the still present smoke that symbolised the lilim.

"I can make this place whatever you'd like it to be," she told him.

"As long as I have your soul in my grasp like this, I can make you experience whatever I choose..."

Peter gasped. A petite redhead he hadn't noticed was kneeling before him and was beginning to give him head. The other two giggled at his surprise.

"If you like, it could be anything you choose instead..." she continued.

"All you need do is hand your soul to us. Let me be its keeper..."

"I... I don't know..." he said.

He'd seen flashes of a trip to Hell – real, painful Hell – during his time with Matron, but that didn't mean it would come to pass. Did it?

"I don't know what your future holds," reasoned the lilim.

"But the way I see it, you can take a gamble on better or worse. Or... you can promise yourself to me and experience whatever your heart desires...

"...or even return to the garden, if that is your wish."

Peter pondered this as best he could amongst the delightful attentions of the three girls before him.

"What happens if I give you my soul?"

"I'll hold on to it for you, keep it nice and safe..."

It was hardly the most transparent and reassuring forecast, but Peter had already made up his mind. He could risk Hell in the pursuit of nirvana, or he could take the luxuries offered to him here and now. The ones involving beautiful women and creatures spawned purely for sexual fulfilment taking him to ecstasy again and again...

"I'll do it," he nodded.

"Do I need to do anything?"

He could have sworn he detected a smile in the plume of smoke.

"You've already done it."

He gasped as his shaft spewed over into the hungry mouth of the redhead at his waist.

"When you've had enough time in your playpen, you know where to find me.

"Who knows, perhaps when you return to the garden, we can become more intimately acquainted..."

With that, the apparition of the lilim disappeared and Peter was on his own with the girls.

He smiled to himself.

There were worse ways to spend eternity...

THE END

*** Epilogue ***

In a quiet patch of the garden, a small, raised circle of rock lay distinct from the rest of the garden. White fluid dribbled out from a crack running along its top and slid down to a waiting flower at the bottom.

The blue pods that hung from it closed up in response and begin to fill with the milky fluid. Soon, they would blossom, giving rise to the multicoloured creatures colloquially known as 'lust bugs', who would help prepare the next lost soul for their journey through the garden.

Miles below ground, far from the detection of any passer-by above, the source of the mysterious white fluid breathed a contented sigh...