Mephisto

This story is a rendition of a dream I had some time ago. For some reason I keep returning my thoughts to it. The tale is frightening, and the dream was more than horrific. I do not make any claims toward the character of Mephisto, who he is, his origin, or even what the actual word means. I cannot explain why the word Mephisto comes to mind when I think of the character, but it was very clear to me that Mephisto was the word that was supposed to be used to identify the character.

I would greatly appreciate any feed back on interpretations, or theories, because I am at a loss.

Walking through the market place, everything seemed normal. The neon lights flashed useless advertisements. It looked more like a casino than a market place. The neon lights and constant ringing of attention getters reminded Owen of slot machines. People crowded passed each other, all of them with cold, blank looks on their faces; mindless zombies rushing to get to the next item that would make them poor. The market place was always dark; the only light was from all the neon lights of the selling stands. The floor was a dark red, which looked black in the dark light. The floor was a soft carpet, but somehow it still managed to hurt the feet. Over head, the ceiling was too dark to see. The building could have been ten feet or ten thousand feet high; but from somewhere overhead there was a cold blowing wind of an air conditioner that gave Owen shivers. The incessant ringing, and loud chatter made Owen’s ears pound. He made his way through the sea of people, shrugging his shoulders passed one person after another. His group of allies followed behind him, marching on to an unknown mission.

They were all about his age, and all in his likeness, except for David. David was his own unique person. Where Owen and the rest had brown hair and green eyes, David had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was cool and calm, Owen was unsettled and uptight about what was coming. Though Owen led the way, David was stronger than the group. He walked with a stride, the flowing sea of people seeming to move from his way as he stepped.

Further they made their way through the crowd of people, bells and whistles and sirens wailing. A vendor practically threw himself onto Owen as he passed by, and Owen had to throw vendor off of him, the man yelling in his face about revolutionary products. The reached the middle of the marketplace, the room forming into more of a circle. In the center was a large kiosk stand with lights and noisemakers to attract attention. Past the kiosk, four wide steps led up to two elevators. The doors were large and silver, with no buttons or indicators of how to board them. Owen knew where the elevators went, and what they led to. The elevators was the goal of their group, it was their destination.

Owen led his group toward the steps that led to the dual elevators, making his way to the steps. As he placed his foot on the first step, one of the elevator doors made an intrusive “ding”. Shortly after, the double doors opened slowly and silently. Inside was a small group of people. Owen stopped dead on the stair, unable to move or speak. He could only stare at the sight before him, both unable to take his eyes off the sight, and unable to keep looking at the same time.

In the elevator was the man he feared most. Around him were a group of his followers, and closest minions. The following group was dressed in vibrant, loud colors: yellows, oranges, purples, bright greens. All of them looked more like circus performing clowns. They all had distant, blank looking faces, but the blank look was only an appearance. Owen knew they were attentive, he could see their blank white eyes following movement, even though their eyes stayed completely still in their sockets. The men were completely bald, and the two women had wiry black hair. Their bright happy colors only added to evilness of their aura. Owen could almost sense echoes of screaming people around them. He could hear passed women and children wailing and crying around them. Their hands were always poised, posed, fingers pointing and reaching, like a mannequin’s. They surrounded the man Owen feared most, the one who made his heart both sink, and feel like it was being squeezed at the same time- Mephisto.

There he stood, amongst his followers in the elevator. He was dressed in a blood red cloak that covered him from his neck to his feet. Unlike his compatriots, who were stagnant, he was more graceful and elegant. His cloak was of a silky fabric, and the red contrasted his pale face. The paleness of his face almost seemed to be cosmetic, as if makeup were painted on his face like a clown. However, if he were a clown, Mephisto would be of an evil circus performance. His face was completely white, except for his lips. He had no facial hair and no hair on his head. His lips were as black as a moonless night, and were completely smooth, not even the wrinkles of his skin could be seen. His facial features seemed boyish, almost youthful, but his eyes seemed much older. The eyes of Mephisto were dark like his lips; his irises were not completely black, a small difference could be seen between his black cavernous pupils, and his sleek irises. His eyes conveyed age and wisdom that had been formed over the history of the universe, seeing all and knowing more. They were evil, they were maniacal, but at the same time composed, calm, euphoric. He gave a feeling of mendacity, but one could not help but trust him. Owen swallowed hard, feeling sick to his stomach, as he looked him over. He could not stand to see him, but also could not help but to stare at him.

Slowly, Mephisto and his compatriots made their way from the elevator. The group around Mephisto moved like a pack of spiders, clambering and groping along. Mephisto strode without moving his legs. The bank-faced individuals around Mephisto took in everything, while their completely white, blank eyes did not move. Owen felt their power, even though it was completely overwhelmed by Mephisto’s presence. Slowly the cloud of evil moved toward Owen on the step. All noise completely stopped. It was as if Owen were suspended in a vacuum. All the bells and whistles, the shouting vendors, the clanging of money and machines completely stopped. No noise could be heard from anywhere. Owen could not tell if it was his own perception, or if the entire sea of the market place had stopped to observe. He wondered if the people behind him, even his own crew, had stopped to watch Mephisto exit the elevator, but he was too stricken to turn and look. He could only keep his attention toward Mephisto, and his evil eyes. The silence made Owen’s ears ring, and his mouth stayed slightly agape while he looked up at the very form that bottled every single one of his fears and personal terrorists.

Mephisto walked forward, the group of individuals around seeming to drift along with him, though none of them moves their feet. Owen began to back away, wanting to hide, to cower in a corner until all of them had passed by. As soon as Owen’s feet were off the steps, Mephisto’s eyes lowered onto Owen’s. Owen could no longer move, he felt a scream and a cry beginning to build from him at once. The echoes of crying and children screaming began to come back, the filled Owen’s every thought. Soon he could not even remember his name, as he could hear was the screaming in his head, until his mouth opened, and his own terrified cry came.

Just afterward, there was silence again. Owen was no longer in the market place. Slowly he looked about himself, and saw he was in a small, dimly lit room. His group of followers was gone, but he did see his closest friend David there. In the room was a small table, two chairs in front of the table, a lamp lighting the table and chairs, and Mephisto himself sitting behind the table. He was no longer in his red robe. His attire had changed to a completely black robe of a silky fabric. All that was visible was the glossy shine of the fabric, and his painted white face.
-
-

Next Owen found himself standing behind David, who was seated at the table in front of Mephisto. They seemed to be in some sort of childish staring contest, but Owen could tell an entire conversation was going on in their eyes, without a word being said. David slowly stood from the chair, backing away from the table. He looked at Owen and shook his head, giving a look of sympathy and concern.

“I can’t.” He said. With that, he moved to one of the back corners of the room. Owen watched him, and then turned back to look at Mephisto. What David had left at the table was a huge amount of money. Owen could not even guess how large of a sum it was. It was more than he had ever counted, let alone owned. The cash covered the entire surface of the table.

Slowly, Owen took a step forward, approaching the table. He looked at Mephisto, who seemed to be staring ahead, not focusing on anything. Owen reached his hand out, his fingers trembled, and he feared Mephisto would grab his wrist. Slowly he grabbed a part of the mountain of money, and kept his eyes on Mephisto’s. Finally, Mephisto looked up at Owen, and Owen froze. He held the money in his hand, and looked at him, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if he could take it. Mephisto shrugged his shoulders, looking away slightly, and Owen could clearly see what his answer was. He could take the money. It was up to him, but if he did, Owen knew what it would mean. He knew what Mephisto would get in return. Owen could tell it was not his soul, it was not a favor of some kind. It was something much worse. It would be a sacrifice that would possibly pain him the rest of his life.

Owen set the money in his hand down again, and raised his hand slightly, poising it to Mephisto in order to seal the deal. Owen thought he had won. He thought by accepting he would show his over-powering courage. He believed he would show how much he did not care for intimidation, he could be the system. Mephisto brought his hand out of his midnight robe, holding it out for Owen to take. For the first time he saw that Mephisto’s whole body was as pale white as his white face.

“Owen, no. Don’t!” David called from behind him. Owen looked back to his friend, and gently slipped his hand into Mephisto’s, and let it rest there. Mephisto settled for a moment, but then gripped Owen’s hand tightly. It felt as if Owen had stuck his hand into a vice, it was a slow crushing feeling that took over his whole hand. He began to tremble. Only then did he begin to realize that he had not won at all, and there was no way he could go back. All his fears were mirrored in Mephisto’s eyes. Owen began to realize that Mephisto had had his number ever since he saw Owen on the steps. Mephisto had one the game even before he looked at Owen for the first time. He could feel Owen’s weakness, sense that he was gullible. Owen felt his hand slowly being crushed under the intimidating power of Mephisto. He could feel his bones slowly starting to crack and splinter. Tears welled in his eyes and he let his lower jaw drop, letting out an agonizing scream of pain. His scream echoed into others’s ears, but it was only an echo. It was another voice added into the group of screaming pain that echoed around Mephisto and his followers.

--

The dream did happen a little differently. However, every major aspect is what I saw. The marketplace, the stairs, the deal at the table, my friend warning me, and me grabbing Mephisto’s hand; everything was very real. I know that the deal was not for my soul. It was clear somehow. But I also know it was for SOMETHING. What it is, and who this character is, I don’t know. His robe colors in the story are exactly the same as in my dream. Red and black are what he wore. His face was completely white. He had no facial hair, no hair on his head, and his lips were black. If you can help, or if you just like my story, or even if you hated it, let me know: I would love to hear about it.