The man lived in the gap, it was said, in Winchester Way.
But you had to walk down the road at exactly 11:03 pm on the second Monday of the month and then turn left in between numbers 45 and 47. Tyler had told him that at lunch, although Tyler was noticeably weird.
Liam Kensington sat on the jungle gym with him at lunch as they watched the other kids playing. In truth, Liam would have liked to play with the other kids, but since his face was still blotchy and sore from the chicken pox he got a little too late for his parents liking, most of the other kids steered clear.
“Yeah, you have to do it, then,” said Tyler. “Just then, right? Then. No other time. Won’t work.”
He emptied an orange bottle of pills into his mouth.
“Are you sure you’re supposed to take 40 of those at once?”
“Oh, it stops my heart from exploding,” said Tyler, calmly. “Hey, did you know that the Devil exists and that all the collective governments keep him in an underground storage facility?”
Liam shook his head, watching the other twelve-year-olds shooting basketball and laughing as the midday sun lit the basketball court with a halo of light. Was he stuck with the weird kid forever now? Would he become branded with such a title?
Tommy, his best friend who had been avoiding him all day, scored a basket and everyone cheered.
“Yes, they have him trapped in an infinitely complex series of corridors made of servers. Same as the ones that have all your Internet history on them.”
“Even the Fortnite tutorial I watched last night?” Liam asked, grinning.
Tyler’s face darkened. “You think I’m joking, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Tyler turned back to all the kids, laughing and playing in the sun.
“There’s something under everything. And those on the top of the iceberg only ever drill a few inches throughout their entire life. If you go too far down, even a few metres too far, you’ll see some real shit.”
“Real shit,” Liam mumbled in lazy agreement. The other kids had finished their game of basketball and were making their way out of the court. Tyler was still sat on the bleachers as Liam stood up to go.
“Wait, I thought you said Satan lived at in the gap at Winchester Way?”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “No, I said Satan lives in the gap between the houses and the Devil is kept underground.”
“What’s the difference?”
As Liam closed his eyes and turned on the spot at exactly 11:03 pm on the second Monday of the month, between houses 45 and 47, he remembered Tyler’s words.
“Satan’s worse.”
Liam opened his eyes.
It was a cold and grey September and the thunderheads had gathered above, obscuring the moon, but between Houses 45 and 47, the sky was a royal blue, a long line of teal sectioned between miserable clouds.
He looked ahead, and saw that between Houses 45 and 47…there was a giant alleyway.
Filled with people talking amongst themselves.
Most wore rags, but there was the occasional person wearing a fine silk vestment or a long and flowing robe.
Liam took a tentative step towards the alley, his first sense of being elsewhere fed through his nose.
Before the gap, there was the smell of the neighbour’s hedges, of varnished wood. After the gap, it changed into a cloying industrial aroma. The air felt different as well, warmer. The noises were louder and more pushed together. He kept walking until he was fully immersed.
He turned back only to be faced with a brick wall.
There was no turning back.
The people bustled past, seemingly oblivious to him as he made his way past a barbers proclaiming that they “waxed the finest moustaches in all of Albion” in bright yellow lettering.
Liam wondered what part of America that Albion was in, only familiar with the Midwest.
A man walked by in a monocle and Liam twigged.
Maybe he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Or for that reason, maybe not even in America anymore.
“My good sir, please do watch where you’re going!” said a man in top hat and tails as Liam almost walked right into him.
“Sorry!” Liam spluttered. “Can you tell me the way to the, uh, the saloon?”
“Sot’s?” the gentleman replied. “But of course, it’s just down the end of the road, past the postmaster’s quarters and the stables then straight ahead. Should be next to the tanners and the smithy.”
Liam didn’t know what any of those places were, but nodded sagely and watched as the man dashed off into the warming haze of the city as a horse-drawn cart bustled past.
Liam got moving.
He found the place fairly easily, as it loomed over the other buildings like a diseased ulcer, covered in flashing electric lights.
“SOT’S LOT” crackled above the two saloon doors. A man tapped him on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t go in there if I were you, laddie. The place is covered in magic crystals that glow at night! Isn’t that the queerest?”
“They’re just electric bulbs,” Liam replied.
“I don’t know what they’re called,” said the man, curtly. “But I ain’t trustin’ no building that never stops glowing.”
Liam smiled. “I’m fairly prepared.”
“Nobody’s prepared for him, sonny. That in there’s not from round here. Not from this world.”
“I know.” Liam replied. “I’ve read all about him. And had a little help from a schoolfriend.”
He marched through the saloon doors and looked Sottum square in the eyes.
“Hello, Satan,” said Liam.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“I’m sure you have.”
“Take a seat.”
Sottum picked up a jug of wine from the centre of the table and offered Liam a glass. Liam raised a hand politely.
Sottum rolled his eyes. “Really,” he said, “you’d think that little of me?”
He opened his mouth and Liam noticed the rows of teeth, filed to points. His eyes flew through the colour gamut, from purple through to orange, blue, green, red, and back to purple.
Sottum leaned in. “In fact, what do you know about me, Liam Kensington?”
Liam cleared his throat. He pulled a binder from his backpack filled with newspaper clippings, scientific articles, and esoteric history essays from long-discredited authors.
Sottum raised his eyebrows.
“If you think this is something, you should see me room,” Liam smirked. “It’s all just string and nails and paper.”
He flipped to the front page, a picture of a lush forest filled with impossibly tall oaks and grand baronies. The edges were frayed, but showed slight gilt. Liam had ripped the picture from a book of Arthurian tales.
“I know of the Dark Lord tales from feudal England; a man who looks perfectly normal usurps a bandit leader and decimates a town.”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” growled Sottum. He did not look happy.
Liam flipped the page to showcase a grinning young boy. “A homeless man who hung himself was found to have the same DNA profile as a lost young boy named Peter Stubbins from Tetbury, despite a 30-year age difference. Ranted beforehand that he’d made a pact with the Devil.”
“Could’ve just been crazy,” muttered Sottum, his grimace extending.
Liam flipped the page, showing blocks of varying colours.
Sottum looked at the pictures and leaned back in his chair, defeated.
“You’ve got me, Liam,” said Sottum. “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve bested me.”
“In fairness, I’ve been researching you since I knew how to walk. It was all I could do to stop myself going crazy. Ever since I connected the stories, the background, the unfathomable coincidences, I—“
“So what do you want?” asked Sottum.
Liam grinned and flipped to the back of his binder. He took out a piece of paper and pushed it across the table.
I, SOTTUM, (ALSO S.O.T.M./SATAN/SON OF THE MORNING/THE DARK LORD) DO HEREBY GIVE LIAM KENSINGTON OF 44 BARNABY WAY, NO OTHER LIAM KENSINGTON OF ANOTHER ADDRESS, A TEMPORAL DEVICE TO USE OF HIS OWN ACCORD WITH NO SETBACKS OR LIMITATIONS.
OTHER STIPULATIONS INCLUDE:
- IT WILL BE OF NORMAL SIX BY SIX INCH SIZE, NOT OF COMICAL OR ATOMIC SIZE.
- IT WILL WORK AN INFINITE NUMBER OF TIMES.
- IT WILL NOT BE MADE OF HARMFUL MATERIALS, RADIOACTIVE OR OTHERWISE ON FIRE OR SOAKED IN ACID OR FILLED WITH VENOMOUS BITING CREATURES. IF THE DEVICE DOES ANY DAMAGE TO LIAM KENSINGTON OF 44 BARNABY WAY, THEN THE CONTRACT IS NULL AND VOID.
- IT WILL NOT CHANGE IN ANY WAY AT ALL WHEN USED.
- IT CAN ONLY BE USED BY LIAM KENSINGTON.
- IT WILL MAKE SURE TO MOVE LIAM KENSINGTON TO A SPACE IN TEMPORAL TIME THAT IS SAFE AND ON FIRM GROUND, NEITHER UNDERWATER, OR IN THE GROUND, OR IN THE SKY, OR IN OUTER SPACE, OR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN.
- THERE WILL BE NO COST FOR ACTIVATION AND THIS WILL NOT CHANGE WITH ANY USAGE.
- IT WILL NOT BE MADE OF A MATERIAL THAT FALLS APART, LIKE JELLY OR ASH OR SAND.
- THE DEVICE WILL BE MADE OF A MATERIAL THAT IS LIFTABLE AND IT WILL NOT BE COMICALLY HEAVY OR RIDICULOUSLY LIGHT. ADDENDUM: THE DEVICE WILL NOT CONTAIN HELIUM.
- THE DEVICE WILL NOT BE SO BRIGHT THAT LIAM KENSINGTON OF 44 BARNABY WAY WILL BE UNABLE TO LOOK UPON IT.
- THE DEVICE WILL NOT BE INVISIBLE TO THE NAKED EYE OR CAMOUFLAGED IN ANY WAY.
- …
Sottum continued reading the list, his smile rising and falling as he came up with fiendish ways to thwart this grand and blasphemous attempt, only to be ruined by a rule or addendum to a rule.
Sottum laid down the list.
“You’ve been very…thorough.”
Liam nodded. “I spellchecked it eight times.”
Sottum sighed. “Fine, what colour?”
Liam blinked.
“What?”
“What colour do you want, you little idiot?”
The eyes of Satan glowed a fierce red.
“You’ve figured out how to dine with me without getting eaten. Great job. Well done. Fine, you win.”
“Uh, red?”
Sottum fished in the pocket of his jacket and threw a cube onto the table. It glowed ominously.
He took the paper and pulled a pen out of the air.
“So I’m taking your soul in exchange for this cube, right?” said Sottum.
Liam smiled. “Nope. Way I figure it is, you have some sort of supernatural deal where you’re forced by some sort of outside agency to give cubes out, trick the unsuspecting rube, and then you get the cubes back later.”
“But why would I do that?” said Sottum. He tapped the red cube with one long fingernail. The cube glowed dangerously.
“Because…you harness human suffering to use as an age buffer to prolong your life and then use the spare pain to power this house?”
Sottum frowned. The smell of smoke hung in the air.
Liam looked around at the sparse furnishings. A stocked bar, several tables and chairs covered in dust.
“I don’t see a generator here.”
Sottum scribbled furiously and flung the paper back at Liam, who was grinning like a loon.
He picked up the cube and turned to leave.
He turned.
“Oh, and don’t take it personally,” said Liam. “Ever heard ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia?’”
Sottum shook his head sadly.
“Well, everyone gets beat sometime. It isn’t anything to worry about. You just have to learn from it and—“
A time portal hung in the air above him, and Liam Kensington from Universe 298595-OIT0 fell out of it and landed spread-eagled on the floor of the saloon. Most of his face was robotic, his eyes flashing red diodes in a sea of machine-flesh.
He clutched a green cube in his hand.
Splayed out on the floor, servos started to whir inside him, and Liam saw the robotic version of himself leaning upwards without moving his legs, like a vampire out of a coffin.
“You are to be destroyed, True Liam of Universe 1. For holding that red cube, you alter events across all time, across all timelines. This cannot be allowed to continue.”
Another time portal rippled into life next to the door, and Liam Kensington from Universe 464646-PLTO charged into the saloon flanked by three marines, all holding assault rifles. Liam noticed that Liam looked slightly different. Whereas Liam Kensington of Universe 1 was a young white teenager, Liam 464646-PLTO was 34 years old, black, and covered in strange runic tattoos.
“Attention! Cyborg Liam of 298595-OIT0! We have chased you across timelines to hunt you down! What you did to the President will cause the destruction of our world!”
“But the blossoming of mine,” replied the cyborg, as an arm cannon extended.
Both Liam Kensington and Liam Kensington opened fire and Liam Kensington watched in horror as both Liam Kensington and Liam Kensington were torn apart in a hail of bullets and deadly laser missiles.
Liam Kensington 464646-PLTO dropped a light blue cube as he fell to the floor, completely obliterated by the laser beam.
A time portal opened below the cube and it dropped through the technological way gate with a sucking “vworp.”
A mass of writhing tentacles and human limbs clutching both a purple cube and the blue cube pulled itself up through the portal, and Liam Kensington of Universe 746490-YTOI, where everyone is also an octopus, crawled through.
“BLAARGHHHH,” cried Liam Kensington, wielding a pistol in one suckered hand. “BLARGHHHH!”
A sai entered through Liam’s head as Lisa Kensington of Universe 432342-LPOT, where Liam was born female, stabbed Liam Kensington of Universe 746490-YTOI through the head. The other ninjas and samurai flooded through the time portal as Lisa fiddled with the orange cube in her hand.
On the far side of the room, a pirate ship crashed through the wall through a giant time portal.
“You realise the problem, right?” said Sottum.
Liam Kensington of Universe 1 gawped as the millions of alternate universe versions of Liam Kensington fought each other, Liam Kensington of Universe 323223-PLK where everyone is also a pirate cackling heartily as he ran his cutlass through Lisa Kensington of Universe 432342-LPOT and his parrot squawked into the chaos of the tavern, dropping the pink cube it held in its beak.
True Liam of Universe 1 screamed as chaos continued to unfold; a time portal opening near the window flooded half of the saloon as the Fish-Liam of Universe 998992-YUP flopped through, struggled to breathe, and died.
A stray gunshot did it.
True Liam felt nothing as the bullet entered his head, but collapsed to the floor, only half-aware of the alternates melting away as reality realigned itself.
Sottum sat in the empty room.
After a while, he got up from his chair and began to collect the various coloured blocks littering the floor in a glowing rainbow of colours. There were hundreds of them.
Liam.
Sottum smiled. Liam the Messenger. The one who returned all the cubes. The one who, slightly paradoxically, was the reason he had them and could give them out to unwitting fools.
But as he picked up the last cube and tucked it away into his jacket, he felt sorry for the young boy who would never know that in trying to play the Devil, he had created the Devil’s own game.
Sottum heard a knock on the saloon door as a peasant, hat in hand, shuffled in.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes.”
“I hear you’re the person to talk to about, uh, magic cubes. The ones that can make you go back and fix things that you messed up on?”
Sottum smiled ear to ear, his teeth clinking together like fine china.
“Nobody but me, my dear man.”
He pulled up a seat for him.
“Nobody but me.”
Charlie Chitty is an author from Birmingham in the U.K. His work has been featured in Rabid Writes, Alien Buddha Press, Soft Cartel, Back Patio Press, Steel Jackdaw, and Expat Press. Charlie is the author of Everything Fun is Illegal or Immoral, available from Terror House Press.
