Silent Vigil

"Do you know what this is?" Spencer asked as he gestured to the gilded doors.

"I never noticed it before now," Ethan lied, "looks like another elevator?"

"Correct. This is the executive elevator that leads up to the top seven floors. It's locked, of course, and I alone have the key. Not even Mister West can get up there without my permission. Now, I know that when we had our conversation about you wanting to survey those floors yesterday, my refusal may have come off a little...strong."

Ethan began to speak, but Spencer cut him off with a wave of his liver-spotted hand.

"If you're willing to stay and keep helping us organize this place, I'll take you up there right now. How about it? I'll give you a personal tour of all seven floors, and then you can decide what you want to do about them. If it's your opinion that they should be renovated and opened, then that's what we'll do."

"As much as I appreciate the offer," Ethan began, "that's not something that factored into my decision to leave. I'm sorry, Mister Spencer, I really am. But I can't do this, I can't deal with the nightmares and the apparitions."

Spencer fished in his pocket for a moment, withdrawing the golden elevator key and handing it to Ethan.

"Hold this for a moment, please," he said. His hand returned to his pocket, and when it withdrew, Ethan's breath caught in his throat. Clutched in Spencer's bony fingers was a snub-nosed revolver, which he was now pointing at Ethan's chest.

"Mister Spencer, what are-"

"Quiet now," Spencer replied, his hand completely steady. "You're going to turn around and insert that key into the lock, and then we're going up to the top floors. If you won't go willingly, then I'll have to give you some...extra motivation. Don't shout for help, now. Mister West hasn't arrived yet, we're alone, and you're riding that elevator dead or alive."

"What the hell are you doing?" Ethan hissed, his eyes locked on the barrel of the gun.

"Don't play dumb with me, Mister Lewis. I know that you took the key from my desk, I know that you rifled through my filing cabinets and discovered my little...collection. Now, I don't know what you saw up there or what you were able to figure out, but I can't run the risk of letting you spread what you've learned."

"What? How did you know?" Ethan asked in disbelief.

"An old trick, but an effective one," the old man explained. "One needs only to pluck a hair from his head, and tape it across a drawer or a door with two pieces of scotch tape. It's quite invisible to someone who isn't already expecting it. If the hair is broken when you return, then it means that someone has been snooping. You were quite adamant about accessing the top floors, it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

"Listen, Mister Spencer," Ethan continued as he slowly raised his hands. "Whatever's going on here, I don't want any part in it. I really was going to quit and never look back. So just...put that gun away, and then I'll be out of those doors, and you'll never hear from me again."

"As I said, I can't run the risk of you spreading what you've learned. It's a shame, I wasn't lying when I told you that I found your work exemplary. Fairfax was the same," he added, a shiver crawling down Ethan's spine. "He was a good facility manager, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Eventually, he threatened to go over my head and to talk to the owners about the upper levels. I couldn't risk anyone finding out about my little project, and so..."

"You set your monster on him," Ethan finished.

"So you encountered my familiar?" Spencer said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "I'm impressed that you lived to tell of it. The mere sight of it was enough to send Fairfax to a padded room for the rest of his days. A more favorable outcome, really. Explaining his sudden disappearance would have been difficult."

He gestured to the elevator with the barrel of his gun, Ethan turning reluctantly and inserting the key in the lock. The doors parted, and he stepped inside, Spencer maintaining a good distance as he kept the weapon trained on him.

"Why?" Ethan asked as the car began to rise, his heart sinking as though it had remained behind in the lobby. "What the hell is going on in this accursed place?"

"Accursed is right," Spencer replied. "It would have seemed unbelievable to you only a few days ago, but now, I think you will agree that there are worlds besides our own. This material realm is not all that exists, it is but one facet of reality. The occult, the supernatural, these are all words that a laymen uses to describe that which he cannot possibly fathom."

The old concierge seemed so eager, almost gloating, as though this was the first time that he had been able to reveal these truths to another soul.

"That's what the ghosts are, then?" Ethan asked.

"Death is not the end," Spencer continued, "but I say that not to console you. The very idea should terrify you. When we die, our immortal souls are cast adrift into a chaotic void, and not even those who have crossed over to the other side can say where we will eventually end up. I have always viewed death as abhorrent," he said bitterly, "as a perversion of life. We have convinced ourselves as a species that it is natural, a necessary part of our lifecycle, and what choice do we have but to accept it? Yet all that death truly signifies is the failure of the organic machines that we call home for the duration of our paltry lives on this Earth. I am an old man, Mister Lewis," he added with a despondent sigh. "My time is running short. Younger men might one day conquer death through technology, and medical advances, but I cannot afford to wait that long."

"I don't understand," Ethan muttered, "how does having a building full of ghosts help you cheat death?"

"I would not expect you to understand, dear boy. Few are privy to the secret knowledge that I was able to uncover during my search for the metaphorical fountain of youth. It seemed so fanciful at first, but the more I learned, the more evidence seemed to corroborate the myths. These parallel realities are inhabited by beings of great power and intelligence, creatures with abilities that we could scarcely imagine, all meticulously documented in ancient texts going back thousands of years. What was once common knowledge was hidden over the ages, scrubbed from history because of the great danger that treating with these entities posed to the powers that be. Call them Demons, Djinni, extra-dimensional entities or EDEs, they're as real as you or I. Real being a relative term, of course."

"So, that thing you have living up there, that's a Demon?"

"Not exactly," Spencer explained. "Like all forms of life, Demons share a common trait. The need for energy, the desire to feed, to sustain themselves. There are many ways in which they obtain that energy, from worship, from sacrifice. The very act of reproducing a Demon's sigil can fill it with nourishing energy in the same way that you might fill your belly with a hot meal. It took months of preparation," he said, clenching his fist for dramatic effect. "Hours of learning spells and incantations by rote until my throat burned, but I was able to create the ideal environment to summon one of these Demons. I chose Bifrons, the forty-sixth of the seventy-two spirits listed in the ancient grimoires, an entity said to have power over life and death."

"So that explains the mess I saw in the spire," Ethan muttered. It wasn't Onsbifr, the circular seals had spelled out Bifrons.

"Indeed," Spencer replied as the elevator car rumbled beneath their feet. "The conditions must be perfect, the ritual precisely replicated, the lengthy rules of their customs followed to the letter. The Lesser Key of Solomon was all that I needed to learn what tools and steps were required, an arcane text penned in the seventeenth century, based on lore far older. When my ritual succeeded, and he appeared before me, I was ecstatic. But I soon discovered that my offering was...insufficient compensation for what I was asking," he added, seeming deflated. His eyes turned to the floor of the car for a moment as he was lost in thought, but then his manic energy returned. "I needed souls, dozens of them, maybe more. But how could I obtain them, save by becoming a serial killer, a job for which I was not at all cut out?"

"The Abbott and Schutzman," Ethan sighed.

"I scoured the city archives in search of the most haunted buildings, for the most unnatural deaths, and this one was at the top of the list. Its misfortune became my fortune, a haunted place, packed with souls who couldn't move on due to their trauma. It can take a great deal of time for such a lost soul to pass into the next life, for them to overcome their grief, but Bifrons has power over the dead. I summoned him once more, and this time, I asked him to grant me a familiar. He provided me with a lesser Demon from the many legions of infernal spirits that serve under him, and I promptly sealed it away in one of the building's Gargoyles," he chuckled. "It was a perfect vessel. It is bound to me now, compelled to do as I command, regardless of its own wishes. I use it to protect my secrets, to keep the souls trapped here, and to add new ones to my collection when the opportunity arises."

"And you think that this Bifrons will grant you immortality?" Ethan asked skeptically, "that it can somehow stop you from dying?"

"If not Bifrons, then one of the others," Spencer replied with a shrug. "I have seventy-two to choose from, after all. One of them will give me what I want, I'm certain of it, I just need an offer too generous to refuse. As for the familiar, it's mine now, Bifrons couldn't get it back if he wanted to. Not with the magick that I used to seal it away."

The elevator came to a stop, the doors parting to reveal the carpeted corridor that Ethan had fled the night before. He could still see the damage that had been done by the rampaging gargoyle. Spencer pressed the barrel of the gun into the small of his back, urging him onward, and he stepped reluctantly into the hallway.

"I'll have to tell the staff that you fled in the night," the old man said as he marched Ethan toward the spiral staircase. "You did me the favor of packing your belongings already, so it shouldn't be too hard a sell. Come on, up you go."

Spencer walked him up onto the observation deck, then circled around until they were face to face, a good few feet apart to ensure that Ethan couldn't try for the gun. The door to the balcony was still open, but the storm from the night before had mostly cleared, the sky painted blood red by the rising sun. The exterior was still damp, the wind carrying the scent of rain into the room.

"Feeding time!" Spencer called out. There was a sound like cracking stone, Ethan's eyes drawn to movement through the grimy windows. One of the hunched gargoyles began to move, jerkily at first, dust and small particles of rock raining from its grey skin as its great wings unfurled from its back. It was like watching an old Ray Harryhausen stop-motion creature come to life, unnatural and twitchy, his instincts informing him that those were not the fluid movements of a living thing. It slowly rose from its crouched position, its rocky hide becoming more flexible, as though it was being softened after years of petrification. Its muscles rippled, its tail waving in the air, its joints seeming to loosen as it stretched its limbs.

It turned, its features still somewhat obscured by the dirty glass, Ethan catching glimpses of glowing eyes and sharp teeth as it stepped down from its perch. He felt the floor shake with its every step, the thing slowly walking along the wall-length windows, his heart quickening as it neared the open door. When it ducked into the opening, he got his first look at it fully lit, his breath catching in his throat as it laid its ruby-red eyes on him.

The best way to describe its face was somewhere between a reptile and a feline, part lion and part dragon, the fevered imagining of a Medieval sculptor. Its snout was slightly elongated, ending in a cat-like nose, pointed ears standing out to either side of its head. Its sharp horns were swept back, detailed with ridges like those of a goat. Beneath its brow were those crimson eyes with their reptilian pupils, shining like jewels, as though the statue had been encrusted with a pair of precious rubies. Its thick lips peeled back to expose rows of stone teeth, its face contorted into a snarl as it peered at him like a hungry animal from behind the bars of a zoo.

The veins and sinew in its neck were visible, its shoulders broad, its muscular arms ending in hands that were somewhere between the talons of a falcon and the paws of a bear. It was a kind of chimera made from the mismatched parts of the most fearsome animals that its creator could imagine, real or mythical. Its body was basically humanoid, albeit heavily muscled, its legs digitigrade like those of a dog standing on its hindlimbs. Its powerful thighs were dimpled with muscle, the feet much like the hands, its sharp claws raking at the carpet as it walked.

Its skin was all one tone, save for the patches of green lichen that clung to it, like living granite. Its rough hide flexed and yielded as it moved, muscle and tendon shifting beneath it, defying logic. The beast came to a stop beside its master, towering over his frail frame, waiting for further instructions.

"I will grant you one last mercy, on account of your exemplary service," Spencer said in a mocking tone. He was loving every second of this, the old bastard. He could finally speak freely, reveal his secrets, lord his power over another person openly. "What death would you like to spend the next few decades reliving before I feed your soul to a Demon? Strangulation? Decapitation? I could have my familiar crush your head like a grape."

Ethan was beyond fear at this point, a kind of calm acceptance had come over him. It wasn't that he was prepared to die, but this was an outcome that had always been a possibility. Screaming and pleading wouldn't change anything.

"After everything I've seen, I'm not afraid anymore," he replied defiantly. That seemed to irritate Spencer, like a stage actor whose audience wasn't applauding. His gloating smile turned into a frown.

"Choke the life out of him," he snapped, lowering the revolver. "Make it slow..."

The gargoyle stepped forward, shaking the floor as it marched towards Ethan, a clawed hand outstretched. Just like in his nightmare, those stone-cold, rigid fingers closed around his throat. It squeezed down on him, Ethan gagging as it lifted him off the carpet, his feet kicking helplessly in the air. It glared down at him with those red eyes, its snout wrinkled with fury, like an angry tiger. He reached up at beat at its forearm with his fists, but it was like punching a brick wall.

Break the leaden seal...

He remembered the words from his dream, his eyes wandering down to the monster's thick neck as he blinked away stinging tears. There, hanging from a length of hairy string, the lead amulet that he had seen in his vision. As he gasped for air, starting to become dizzy, the creature drew him closer to put them face to face. It watched as he began to fade, darkness creeping at the corners of his vision, Spencer's laughter echoing in the empty room.

With his last ounce of strength, Ethan's hand shot down toward the pendant, feeling the cold metal in his palm as he took hold of it.

"Wait, stop!" Spencer shouted as he raised his revolver. But it was too late.

Ethan pulled, tearing the coin-shaped amulet loose, the string snapping. Immediately, the gargoyle's clawed fingers opened, Ethan falling to the carpet below with the pendant still clutched in his hand. The monster loosed a primal bellow, deep and guttural, its hands clutching at its face as it backed away.

"What have you done!?" Spencer shouted, retreating from his howling familiar. "That seal was the only thing keeping it under my control! It'll kill us both, you fool!"

The thing wheeled around to face its former master, Ethan watching from the floor as it began to advance, its fiery eyes fixed on a new quarry. Spencer raised his revolver and fired at it, a deafening crack ringing out, the bullet turning into a shower of bright sparks as it impacted the thing's stone hide. That confident expression was gone now, the concierge's face twisted in terror, his eyes wide. He emptied another five bullets into the hulking creature, the whiz of a ricochet making Ethan cover his head in alarm, but it was futile.

It swiped the weapon from his grasp with a vicious back-hand that no doubt shattered his bones, Spencer wailing in surprise and pain, the revolver bouncing away across the room.

"I am your master!" he snapped as he clutched at his crippled hand, his voice wavering as he continued to back away. "You are bound to me! Obey my orders!"

"No more..." the monster growled, its gravelly voice so deep that it was felt as much as it was heard. "Did you really believe that you could cheat my master, an Earl of Hell, commander of sixty legions? That you would suffer no consequences? Your hubris has doomed you to the fate that you fear most, mortal."

"No, please!" Spencer pleaded. "The souls...my collection...it's yours! All the energy you could ever need! Just let me live!"

"They are no longer yours to give," the gargoyle snarled. Ethan closed his eyes as it reached down towards the cowering concierge, hearing a gut-wrenching cracking sound, accompanied by Spencer's shrill screams of agony. He dared to open them only when the terrible chorus had come to an abrupt end, seeing the old man's ruined, twisted body lying on the carpet in a heap with the monster standing over it.

The creature turned to look back at him, Ethan scrambling away across the floor as it began to approach. He covered his head as it cast him into shadow, a muffled cry of fear escaping his lips as he waited for those powerful hands to reach down and tear him apart as they had Spencer.

It never came, and so he slowly opened his eyes, seeing that the thing had extended a hand to him. For the first time, he noticed its feminine figure, having been practically blinded by his fear. It had a pair of full breasts, its powerful core doing little to diminish the feminine curve of its wide hips. He reached up and took it, trembling before her as she pulled him to his feet. She glanced down at his fist, Ethan opening it to reveal the amulet that he had torn from her neck.

"You...freed me," she said, her voice softer now. "You are no exorcist, how did you know about the amulet?"

"T-they told me," he stammered, "in my dreams."

"The souls that were trapped here," the gargoyle mused, nodding her head in an oddly human gesture. "They reached out to you through the veil, drawn to you, no doubt. Such a brilliant light burns within you," she added in a tone that sounded oddly covetous, "your soul is awash with vital energy..."

"You aren't...going to hurt me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I too was imprisoned here against my will," the gargoyle replied. "My master, Bifrons, assigned me to be this man's familiar. I was to protect him, to serve as his guardian. But Spencer was not truthful with my master. He used that leaden seal to bind me to this vessel, forcing me to act far beyond the scope of what was agreed upon in his contract. He forced me to keep the souls here, to prevent them from moving on from this world. He farmed them like cattle for his own selfish ends..."

From behind the gargoyle, Ethan was horrified to see Spencer climb to his feet. His body was still lying on the carpet in a heap, but an exact copy of him was now standing over it, looking down in confusion. The gargoyle followed Ethan's gaze, watching as the old man staggered away from the corpse.