Olivia stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’d barely slept, and it showed. She tried to wash her face, but the water sputtered and stunk as though something had crawled into the pipes and died. She added calling a plumber to the list of things she couldn’t afford to do. When a plumber was eventually called, he was unable to explain how a goat leg had managed to wedge itself into the cold-water pipe.
She opened the small bathroom window to let the room air out before leaving to catch the number 32 bus to her part time job at Impossible Scones. In addition to three stores in the city, Impossible Scones had a pirate scone cart, with limited and unique flavours, that appeared at difficult to reach areas around the city and relied on social media to spread word of its current location.
Despite the early hour, she enjoyed the work and today she hoped the steady pace would help her forget about Derek and the cup of goblin teeth she had collected from her bedroom floor.
It didn’t.
By mid-morning she felt overwhelmed and retreated into the small staff bathroom for a quiet break with a fig and walnut scone. It was hard to be unhappy while eating a scone, even if you’d spent the morning re-counting broken goblin teeth.
She had just sat down on the toilet when she saw the multi-eyed creature creeping spiderlike over the top of the stall’s door. Olivia hated spiders. She’d had childhood nightmares of becoming one and would wake in a sweat. She also wasn’t fond of goblins, but then she’d never expected to meet one in person. Putting the two together was a terrible mix. Olivia couldn’t believe her misfortune. It was getting harder and harder to pretend any of this wasn’t real.
“Found you!” it said, its broken tooth smile grinning gleefully down at her.
Slasher had never been as good a tracker as Skulker, his former partner and one true love, preferring the murderous bit after they found their prey. But Skulker had been needlessly abandoned and thought dead, so accommodations were needed. Even without its partner, tracking Olivia had been easier than expected. The slushy streets and stink of vehicles did little to hide Olivia’s trail. Now, with Olivia trapped in the bathroom stall, Slasher could begin its interrogation.
“Please, go away,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”
“Oh, no!” it said eagerly. “Now’s not the time to be alone. Now’s the time for answers!”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Questions first!”
“Then you’ll kill me?”
“Don’t ruin the surprise,” said Slasher. It may have winked. It was difficult to tell with so many eyes each doing their own thing.
“I’ll scream.”
“I hope so! No sport if you don’t!”
It stretched down bringing its face next to hers. Its nostrils flared as it inhaled her scent. She smelled of wheat and sugar, of people, and of something more. Something familiar. It frowned. It extended its long arm towards her hair. She recoiled before it could touch her. It croaked guttural words of no language Olivia knew, then watched for any recognition. There was none. The young woman remained a puzzle.
“What are you?” it hissed.
“I don’t understand.”
“You smell like them. You look like them. But you can’t be one of them!”
“Who?”
“Them!” it sneered. It dropped down to the floor. Its mood turned dark. “The ones who infest this place! They are everywhere now. Across all the lands, beneath and above the land. Eating, breeding, dying. A plague.”
“Rats?”
“No!”
“Squirrels?”
“Two legs! Two legs!”
It took a moment for Olivia to realize what it meant.
“People?”
“Yes. People!” cried Slasher.
“But I am a person!”
“Impossible! You are more. You are a riddle.”
“With student debt and a tax bill?”
Slasher didn’t know what those meant. It annoyed him to appear poorly informed.
“You try to deceive me with words,” it hissed.
“You want to know what I am? What are you?”
“I am Slasher,” it said haughtily.
“Which is…?”
“Me. Last of Mother’s children. The Dispatcher. Oh! You try to distract me. Cunning! But I am wise. I see that you are no person. You are something else.”
The goblin’s insinuation bothered Olivia more than she expected. She’d spent her entire life trying to fit in and didn’t need some spider-eyed demon from the pits of Hell reminding her that she was usually the one left standing alone.
“How are your teeth?” she said unexpectedly. It was out of character, but the goblin had annoyed her.
Slasher hooted with dark laughter.
“You think you are a threat to me?” it cried, running its tongue across its broken grin, fondly remembering the encounter with the lamp. She’d managed a good few hits, but only because it had let her. “I don’t think so. No, you are no threat. Different, yes. Very different.”
“What do you even mean by that? How can I be different? Different than what?”
“You can see me.”
“Of course I can see you! But I wish I couldn’t.”
“Only you.”
This gave Olivia pause.
“Only me? Others can’t?”
“No. Just you, the different one. The cunning one.”
“You can’t be right,” she said. There was a word for people who could see monsters others couldn’t. She was afraid to use it. “You can’t just be my imagination.”
This threw Slasher into a rage. It had spent untold lifetimes alone in the world, desperate to once more walk amongst the living, equal and alive. How dare she question its existence! It pulled out its cleaver. It was an ancient blade, blackened by the stains of time and blood. To be fair, mostly blood. Slasher’s gangly arm raised the cleaver high, threatening to strike. “Tell me what you are!” it demanded.
“I’m just a woman. You’re wrong!”
“Lies! Lies! Lies!” it cried. Skulker had usually been the one to curb Slasher’s more impetuous impulses, but he was currently buried beneath desert sands, alone, forsaken, and unable to help. Nothing could stop Slasher from having a look inside.
It began to swing.
In retrospect, that was a mistake.
There was a moment of calm and a deep intake of breath. Slasher felt it and hesitated. Expectation hung in the air. And for just a moment, it worried. But when nothing more happened, its grin returned and grew wider. The cleaver continued to swing.
Olivia did not understand what happened next.
Neither did Slasher.
Physics was more confused than either of them.
There was a dull thump of imploding air, a shockwave, and Slasher was airborne. It launched horizontally, arms and legs trailing well behind as it exploded through the stall door and kept going. Its eyes were wide with shock. Shards of door travelled with it, until it slammed into the mirror on the opposite wall with a horrible grunt as air was slammed from its lungs. It slid down the shattered mirror slowly, settling half in the sink, dazed and confused, leaving behind a black smear of blood from where its scull had nearly shattered against the mirror.
Olivia watched numbly as bits of door and glass settled around it.
Outside the bathroom, sounds of the scone making halted.
Slasher’s eyes opened one by one. It shook it head, struggled to its feet, and gazed at Olivia in awe. Bits of mirror and wood fell from its shoulders. Tar-like blood oozed down its neck.
“What are you?” it hissed.
“Just a woman,” she said.
“Lies,” it whispered before retreating painfully across counter and out the small bathroom window above. It gave her a last glance before sliding out into the day.
Olivia was still sitting on the toilet when her manager Gordon peered slowly around the now destroyed doorframe. Shards of door lay scattered all over the floor. A few had hit with such force that they stuck clear through the bathroom wall, poking through into the adjoining kitchen.
“Olivia? Are you okay? What…what happened here?”
“The door broke,” said Olivia. “I think…I think it was defective.”
“Oh.”
“You can see it, right? The door?”
“Of course I can. Or what’s left of it,” said Gordon.
“Good,” said Olivia, relieved.
Without waiting for Gordon to respond, Olivia brushed herself off and walked slowly past him. Bits of door and mirror crunched underfoot. “I’m going home.”
Returning home, Olivia was greeted by another rectangular yellow box of Japanese ramen that had been delivered to her porch earlier in the day.
“Jesus,” said Shannon at the site of Olivia entering carrying the box. Shannon had just walked out of the kitchen with a bag of crushed Sapporo Ichiban ramen she was eating for a snack. “How do you expect to control your life if you can’t even cancel a simple ramen subscription box?”
Olivia had to compose herself before speaking.
“I’ve had a bad day,” she said, still distressed by the appearance of the creature at her work. She’d been deep in a well of thought on her way home and missed her stop. It had been a long walk back, particularly in the cold. She’d called Gordon and asked about the bathroom stall. Yes, it was still shattered, he’d said. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Knowing she was going insane, or knowing she wasn’t. Gordon had asked again, cautiously, what had happened. Olivia apologised and hung up.
“Well don’t take it out on me,” Shannon said.
Olivia wasn’t in the mood to fight. She glanced into the living room where Shannon’s current boyfriend Jukka-Pekka, and his bandmates were blasting away on a vintage Xbox 360. Jukka was a part time Finnish musician and amateur thief Shannon had met last year as part of a community service program mandated by the court. They were deeply in love and called themselves Bonnie and Clyde. His band, Füngal Rot, was not terribly accomplished, but then neither were its members. Jukka, while not the lead guitarist, was certainly the guitarist who often played chords first, sometimes to the surprise of the rest of the band as he roared out mennä nopeammin! in Finnish. On a whim, Jukka had recently shaved one side of his thick head of hair, much to Shannon’s delight.
Olivia walked past Shannon and headed towards the pantry.
“Oh,” remembered Shannon. “Here.” She grabbed a wallet from the coffee table and threw it to Olivia.
“What’s this?”
“Rent.”
“Oh,” said Olivia, tired. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“You better not have. I had to go all the way downtown to get that. Businessmen are so easily distracted by a young woman.”
Olivia looked down at the wallet and opened it. Behind the wallet’s plastic window was the driver’s license of a fifty-eight-year-old white man named Brian Connor who was likely on the phone this very minute cancelling credit cards.
“This isn’t even yours,” she said.
“It is now,” Shannon said with a smile as she took up a spot on the couch.
“You are a good flatmate,” Jukka said as she settled down next to him. Jukka had a collection of vintage 90s Finnish Death Metal shirts but always ended up wearing a Mötley Crüe Too Fast for Love tour t-shirt.
“Of course, I am.”
Olivia hated needing the stolen money, but didn’t know what else she could do. But even with the money from the wallet she was still thousands in debt to Derek. In two days, he was going to come to collect, and Brian Connor’s money wasn’t going to change that. After a nap, she would look up Brian Connor and tell him she’d found his wallet on the street.
“Did you tell her the good news?” asked Jukka, loud enough for Olivia to hear over the on-screen explosions.
“What?” asked Olivia, pausing.
“Füngal Rot is going to play your party!”
“I thought we agreed no band,” said Olivia, frowning towards Shannon.
“We did, but I realised that was silly,” said Shannon. “A party needs a band.”
“It’s a Christmas party.”
“Then they’ll play Christmas songs.”
“Jingle Bells!” agreed Jukka.
Olivia sighed.
Duncan still felt badly that he hadn’t noticed Olivia passed out for three days. In his defence, she hadn’t made any noise, so the blame was partly on her. Still, after Shannon had told him Olivia’s reaction to the stollen wallet had been less than enthusiastic, he decided Olivia needed cheering. His dinner was on its way, however, so it would have to be quick. He found Olivia on the small second story balcony which led off the upstairs hallway through an open window. She was bundled in her winter jacket, curled up on the ratty swinging bench that had come with the house.
“It would be warmer inside,” he said.
“The snow is relaxing.”
“And cold.” Duncan was dressed in a Cell’s at Work white hoodie. It wasn’t warm enough. Greg, Olivia and he had cosplayed as violent Japanese blood cells the previous year. Everyone agreed it had been a brilliant cosplay. Last year had been better.
“How do I fix this?” she asked.
“Derek?”
“Derek. University. Shannon’s crime spree. My entire life.”
“Oh. That’s a lot.” Duncan worried that this was going to take far longer than he had time for before his food arrived. He had a lot coming up in his life and dealing with Olivia hadn’t been something in his plan. Sometimes being a good boyfriend to Greg was hard. Greg would owe him for this. “It’s very cold. Are you sure you don’t want to go back inside to talk?”
“My life’s never gone well, but it’s getting worse by the day. Now Shannon has given me stollen money and made me an accessory to theft. I could go to jail.”
Duncan knew that Shannon was a difficult person, but if she had a problem, she dealt with it on her own. Sometimes it was easier to have Shannon as a roommate. He breathed in deeply. “Let’s start at the beginning. Do you have enough for Derek?”
“No. Not even close.”
“Not even with the money from Shannon?”
“No. And I’m going to return it. For all we know he needs that money to feed homeless kids.”
“He works at an investment bank. The kids are homeless because of him.”
“It’s still wrong. But even if I kept it, it’s not enough.”
“Oh,” Duncan and Greg had only paid Olivia half their rent this month, so he changed the topic quickly. “Did you vomit today?”
“Er, no.”
“Well, that’s good,” he said brightly.
She returned to the subject of money. “I have an appointment with the bank tomorrow. They’re always loaning rich people money, and they need it the least. I’m sure they won’t give me a loan.”
“I’ll vouch for you,” said Duncan as he checked his phone. The delivery from Hung Fat was one minute away. Hung Fat made amazing vegetarian Almond Guy Ding, but it would be ruined if left to get cold. Also, he didn’t trust Shannon and her friends not to eat it. Jukka had a bottomless appetite and a socialist attitude towards sharing. Duncan regretted not waiting for his food to arrive before consoling Olivia.
“If it were just that…” She took out her phone, paused for a moment, then showed him a picture of the ruined bathroom stall door.
“I don’t understand what I’m looking at,” he said.
“That’s the bathroom door at work.”
“A gas explosion?”
Olivia stared at him.
“Sorry. I thought…what happened? Where you there?”
“I was on the toilet.”
“When the door…exploded?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Oh wow. How did it…I mean…that door is gone!”
“I know,” she said. “I was tired…and I must have fallen asleep,” she lied. It was easier than trying to explain it was the result of a glorious multi-eyed creature with a cleaver attacking her. “Then that happened.”
“The door exploded?”
“Yeah.”
“Where you hurt?”
“No.”
“Olivia…I don’t know what to say. Did you somehow hit it?”
“With my foot?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. I realise that seems…something must have happened. Did you smell gas? Wait, I’m not joking. Maybe it was a gas explosion. I heard about a town once where the entire downtown exploded—”
“I didn’t smell gas.”
“Then why would a door explode?” he asked, trying very hard to appear understanding, but there had to be more to the story. In Duncan’s experience doors didn’t simply explode.
“I don’t know,” she said, half truthfully. One moment the goblin was trying to kill her, the next it was across the room and nearly dead. “Gordon texted me that maybe I should take some time off. Said something about their insurance. I can’t afford to be unemployed.”
“Oh.” Then, “Oh.” He put his arm around her, and she leaned into it. Being a good boyfriend really was an effort. “We need to get you help. Sleep in my room tonight. I’m pretty sure Greg won’t mind.” He looked down at his phone, then back at Olivia, and sighed. “Would you like some Almond Guy Ding?”
Slasher watched Olivia as she left her house Saturday morning. She already looked defeated. Beneath a winter jacket she was wearing a blouse and pants, rather than her usual hoodie and jeans.
It could barely contain its excitement, watching her. The young woman had power, power enough to send it flying. There weren’t many that could hurt it so easily, and those who could were destroyed with Mother at the End of all Things. And yet there she was. So many questions!
With its sack of putrefying goodies extra full, it loped after her, falling behind at times to hide corpses from its sack, but always catching up. It had just stuffed the head of a racoon into the airduct of The Rib Factory on Wilson street and was crawling across the rooftops towards the local Scientology office with a handful of dead rats—which seemed fitting—when Olivia emerged from The Imperial Bank across the street. Slasher froze and watched, the handful of rotted rats swinging slowly by their tails. She stood outside the bank, shoulders slumped, looking beaten. After an unusual long wait, she turned up Wilson towards the nearest bus stop. A gentle snow was falling.
Numerous black eyes blinked.
“Not enough rats,” hissed Slasher excitedly, digging its scrawny hand back into its sack before prying open an old wooden roof beam and disappearing inside.
Everyone agreed it was a very good party, everyone except Olivia. Füngal Rot roared to life in the living room. Its small stack of knock-off Marshall 1960AC cabinets shook violently as the band launched into a cover of Silent Night. There seemed to be more speakers than necessary for a band playing Christmas songs. Olivia wished she’d stood up to Shannon. Maybe in another life, if things had gone differently, she would have. There were many things about herself she didn’t like, and if circumstances were different, she would change. But it was too late now.
“They’ve been practising a Christmas medley,” Shannon told her, drunk and gleeful. “Jukka has a particularly great solo during Drummer Boy.”
“Doesn’t it just go bum-bumdity-bum-bum?”
“Not anymore!” she said. “Isn’t this great?”
Although Olivia usually didn’t like loud parties, she decided to approach it with an open mind, hoping the distraction would take her mind off loan sharks and multi-eyed goblins crawling into bathroom stalls with her. She’d forgotten to invite any of her own friends, though, so she knew very few people there. Olivia eventually retreated to the kitchen where she vowed to stay until well after everyone left.
“She’s going to bring down the mood,” said Shannon at one point to Duncan, drink in hand. In the background Füngal Rot launched into a version of My Favorite Things. It was rare for a Christmas song to rhyme candy cane with cocaine, but they’d done it.
“She’s having a bit of crisis,” he said.
“Aren’t we all? It’s bad enough she hasn’t kept up payments and will get us all kicked out, but now every time someone goes to grab a drink from the kitchen, they come back depressed.”
“I’ll speak with her.”
“And tell her to stop avoiding River. He’s been waiting to talk to her all night. He listens to depressing music and watches Danish films with no dialogue. They’d be perfect for each other.”
Sitting in the cab of his green Ford F-150, Derek waited until the last of the party guests had left. His business didn’t do well with an audience. Either Olivia had his money, which he doubted, or he’d need to remind her of the consequences. And that was best done in private. The problem was, now that he was here, sitting with a gentle snow falling, surrounded by the silence of snow-covered roads (other than the muffled thumping of an angry rendition of Silent Night when he’d first arrived) that nagging feeling he’d been having all week had grown stronger.
He stared out the window of his truck. He was feeling…nervous. Derek didn’t get nervous. To be nervous required the ability to fear, and Derek didn’t fear anything. It was his superpower. Clearly something was wrong. He wondered if he should leave now. Simply write off Olivia’s debt and call it a night.
“Idiot!” he scolded himself. “What’s wrong with you?”
Being introspective was a foolish business strategy for a violent loan shark. If word got out, he’d be finished. Derek punched the steering wheel with both hands. He refused to be weak. He had to deal with Olivia properly.
A deep breath.
He climbed out of the truck and trudged towards the house.
Distracted by his unexpected insecurity, Derek didn’t spot the multi-eyed creature perched on the ancient oak tree in front of Olivia’s house, watching him. This was unfortunate for Derek.
Hidden in the tree, Slasher hurt. Fortunately, damage had been mostly superficial when it slammed into the bathroom wall. Wounds had already crusted over, aches and pains would subside in time, and its ego would mend. Now more than ever it was certain Olivia was something different. Something special. Tonight, it would learn the truth. At least that had been the plan, until it saw Derek.
As Derek passed beneath, it sniffed the air, eyes squinting as it glared after the big man. Slasher didn’t recognize him at first, but there was something familiar about the way he shambled, plodding and heavy, like a troll stuffed into a man’s skin. And he left behind an odor, something Slasher hadn’t sensed in a very—
It was him. The Fist. The pustulating abscess of disloyalty. The festering secretion of bile. The Traitor!
The troll was somehow disguised and hiding in plain sight amongst the vermin who now soiled the land.
“Fuck me!” it hissed. Slasher could barely contain its rage.
So, the Fist was alive. That was a situation worth changing.
Olivia would have to wait. Slasher had unfinished business first. It only wished Skulker could be there with it to watch the Fist die.
A Sneak, a Slayer, and a God 