Credator

The crowd was on its feet, a deafening cacophony of applause and cheers brought a rush of exhilaration to the entire cast.  They returned, flushed with pride, for curtain-call after curtain-call.  This was the epitome of achievement for Al DeGeer.  For ten years he'd ascended the charts, his magic voice mesmerizing millions.  Now he was on top -- the greatest singer of all time ... well, of this time anyway.

Because of the many curtain-calls, he wouldn't have much time to change clothes before the grand celebration -- flowing bubbly, the accolades of the press, the adoring throngs of humanity surrounding him.  He burst through the door to his dressing room and stopped short.  The room seemed to be very dimly lit, although the lights were on.  There was a man sitting in the corner -- a familiar face, yet one he'd not seen for ten years.  The large figure seemed to absorb the light out of the room, sucking it into a vast abyss of darkness.

A smile forced the thick lips upward, while the dark eyes remained mirthless.  "That was a great show, Alphonse.  You have achieved your dream, I'd say.  Wouldn't you?"

Al was flustered.  Suddenly he knew why the man was here.  "Hell no!  There's greater works to come.  What are you doing here?"  His revulsion was evident in his tone of voice.

The smile disappeared and the man stood, his cape flaring around his immense form with the motion.  "We made a bargain, Alphonse.  I've kept my part, now it's time to collect my due."

"No!"  Al spat the word, then instantly regretted his haste.  "I mean ...."

Genuine mirth had appeared on the man's face, then it was replaced by a menacing look.  "We had a deal, Alphonse.  The contract is signed in blood -- your blood.  It was for ten years.  You've had your ten years, Al."

"But, this is just the beginning ... you can't be serious ...."  Al's features pled along with his voice, then a look of sudden realization dawned upon it.  "You can't make me!  I'll ask for help -- I'm a righteous man ...."

"Ha!"  The short bark of laughter rebounded off the walls with fervor.  "You?  A righteous man?"  The man shook with laughter then, and Al began to smile with its infectious mirth.  Then he was shaken back to reality when the laughter ceased, and the menace returned to the dark eyes.  "You can't be serious, Alphonse.  It is dangerous to break a contract -- especially one that has made you what you are."

Al sensed a haunting inhibition.  Did he really have a chance to back out of this deal he'd so foolishly agreed to, ten years ago?  Something had the big man edgy.  "That's it!"  He stated with a false conviction that did nothing to stay his trembling legs.  "I'm calling the deal off."  He forced himself to stand his ground, although inwardly he was cowering in a primal corner of his mind.

The huge dark figure recoiled and a look of shock sprang into his face, then was instantly replaced by rage.  The light in the room was drawn into him with a yawning sigh, as his dark eyes flashed hot against the insult.  "You dare ...."  Voiceless with rage, his silence was even more frightening than a threat.  Then his features twitched as a thought occurred to him.  The thick lips spread once again into a smile.  "Very well, then, Alphonse.  I shall have to turn you in for collection."  With a toss of his cape, a crimson flash filled the room.  He was gone.

Al was left choking and coughing amid sulfurous fumes.  He yanked open his door and stumbled into the hallway coughing, his gelatinous legs finally giving away and he sank to the floor, retching in fear and relief.

His thoughts were racing as he sat there sobbing fresh air into his lungs.  Had he really won?  Had he faced down the devil?  Now the fool thought he could turn the account over for collection?  Al had bested many a collection agency before.  No sweat!  He began to grin ... then to chuckle ... soon he was roaring with uncontrollable laughter.  He had bested the devil!  This was going to be one hell of a celebration.  He looked at his watch.  "Yikes!  I'd better get a move on," he chuckled, "I've got some partying to do."

                                                             ~*~

Al stepped into the street and held up his hand.  "Taxi!"  he shouted.  From somewhere behind him there was a sound: an unidentifiable scraping, rattling hiss.  He glanced back toward the alley.  There was nothing there.  He shrugged his shoulders and climbed into the taxi.  "Twenty-third and Hemp," he commanded.  The taxi sped off into the night.  The hissing rattle came again, faintly, then all was still.

The taxi swerved to a squealing halt at the curb, and Al handed the driver the fare.  Without a word, he strode up the steps and was ushered into the club -- and down the road to hell.

"Well it's about time!"  Alyce broke away from a group of revelers.  "Where in the hell have you been?  I've been making excuses for you for almost an hour, and the cast was getting edgy.  These people want you, not the supporting cast."  She gestured toward the flocking reporters and elite socialites that were now ambling in his direction.

"Well of course they do. " Al chuckled through his most engaging smile, "and they shall have me."  He winked, and stepped toward them.

Alyce shrugged off the egotistical innuendo and slinked off to get another drink.  Was it just her imagination, or did it seem like the lights were dimming?

"Oh!  I'm very sorry," Alyce turned to see who she had bumped into, her hand outstretched in apology.  There was no one there.  She stood for a moment, surprised at the emptiness before her, then shrugged, and turned once again toward the bar.  There seemed to be a slight scraping hiss behind her, and she turned again, scanning the room.  It certainly did seem dark here.  Across the room, Al was in his glory, basking in the adoration of the press.  It seemed like the only good light was focused on him.  "I wonder if the son of a b*tch fixed the lights," she thought.  It would be just like him.

There was another slight scraping sound over near the wall.  She leaned forward and strained her eyes.  She couldn't see a thing.  Oh well, maybe she just needed that drink.  She turned back to the bar.  "Sh*t!  Now where has Max gone?" she thought.  "He was told to stay behind the bar at all times."

"Max?"

There was a scraping sound behind the bar.  Alyce swung around the end and looked down.  A figure stood out of the darkness, suddenly looming into focus in the dim light.

Recovering from the shock of his sudden appearance, Alyce swore.  "What the hell are you doing hiding down there?" she snapped.  "You startled me."

"I was filling the ice bucket," Max growled.  "Hey!  Watch the bar for me, I've gotta p*ss."  He rushed off before she could respond.  Off in the distance, she heard a low, scraping hiss.

Looking toward the wall, Alyce still couldn't see anything.  She noticed that Al had hesitated and glanced toward the wall -- the same spot she'd been looking at.  His face seemed a little ashen.  Maybe when Max got back, she'd take him a drink.  He probably needed it by now.

Al heard the noise, and glanced toward the wall.  He was sure it was the same noise he'd heard at the theater.  There was nothing there.  Why was it that he kept feeling this slowly mounting terror in his soul, even when all his senses told him there was nothing to worry about.  Hell, he was surrounded by people.  What better protection from creatures of darkness than a crowd of people?  Darkness, by its very essence, is covert.  It shies away from the light.

"When can you come to England?"  The British reporter was eager to book Al into performing before the Queen.  That would no doubt be a feather in his cap as well.

As Al responded, he kept glancing around the darkening room.  Once in awhile he caught a slight sound, and his spirit jumped.  He began to sweat.  The crowd was beginning to notice his nervousness.

"Mr. DeGeer, are you all right?"  One of the reporters looked concerned.  "You look a little pale.  Perhaps we should find some seats."

Al smiled his gratitude.  "Thanks, that's a good idea, I think."

Alyce showed up with a nice stiff drink, bless her heart.  "Thanks, Alyce, I need this," he murmured.

There was a slow hiss from just beyond the crowd.  Al's eyes bulged in fright as they flitted upward.  "What is that?" he was about to say, but he didn't have time to speak.  The faces of the crowd opposite him bulged and stretched apart, a yawning darkness appearing between them.

With a blood-curdling shriek, a taloned hand shot from the void and reached right into Al’s head.  White-hot pain thrust his back into a quivering arc, then he jerked convulsively as the creature yanked upon his soul, and he fought to keep his body.  With one final roar, the creature jerked him free, and held his soul up, dangling by the throat.

Al could look down upon the frenzied journalists that rushed this way and that, trying to be of help in a battle they didn’t understand.  They had not seen the spiritual fight, only the one of flesh.  Even now, as they pumped steadily upon his chest in a futile attempt to revive him, Al knew he was lost.  There was no way this creature would ever turn him loose.

Turning to leave, the creature withdrew a small white card from his cloak, and dropped it toward the throbbing crowd of frightened people.  It fluttered down as if from the ceiling, windmilling and spinning until it landed on Al’s vest, face up.

It read:
CREDATOR:
The Ultimate Collection Agency
Call us for your pickups -- no soul too petty.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 00