Devil Trial

In memory of -

Grandpa Adolphus Davis aka Huggins Jeffrey.

chapter 1

Darkness, absolute darkness. Wasn't staying that condition. For penetrated by a gradually rising voice as waking takes effect, allowing some consciousness into the black void. The darkness vanishes when someone's eyes open, vision merely a slit, because the eyelids are partially open. They wanted to close eyes again, the idea disrupted by that voice. And something else, greater awareness flows inward and perceived another sound – a tune at low level. A dark song.

That stimulation slanted to have the brain elect to oblige the eyes in seconds open fully and steadily adjusted and showed...nothing recognized. Obscure it was to their vision and directly in front due to the wall's closeness and color. The front portion of the skull forward of the neck within a horizontal, flat surfaced indent, running along the entire wall side they happen to be, several inches high and a few deep. Surely to accommodate the front of the face, thereby precludes forcing the head back or sideways.

The anatomy belongs to a person that exuded a fleeting groan. Enough space letting the head be level and permits a range of movement looking sideways and partial up and down, not to be taken for full range of movement, the indent gives the front a paltry few inches room from their face, shoulder down the body's front flush to the wall surface, actually pressed to it, none too tight, evidently to allow manageable breathing. What's more they are held in place by what they didn't think to find out. Outstretched arms and widened legs are immovable. Anyone's arms in that position are not designed to stay that way before beginning to hurt.

They were certain it was an individual on either side of them a few feet away. Turning the head allows barely more view and of surroundings. The dark song plays on, intermixed was that voice again this time louder because next to them and behind. 'I need you to speak to me friend.' A man's, but the listener's head can't turn sufficiently to see.

'Tell me what's happening,' the person said shakily.

'Comin' up short myself. For better or worse I need to have your name.'

'This has to be a joke.' Adding more desperately, 'Tell me what's happening!'

'I'm Beyander and I got like zero clue. I gotta have your name.' From his point of observance, the back, he could tell the distressed a snazzy clad fellow sporting short, silver hair. The response predictable enough. 'If I did you anything against you lemme go and we'll cut a deal!' The emotion panicky.

The speaker did not change his message. 'Try this angle. Come across a cat called Beyander?'

'Um...no.'

'There. Tells you what yuh need to know.' A stranger wouldn't avenge themselves.

'But...'

The voice cut him off, 'A sign on the stinkin' wall is pretty insistent on what has to be done. You'll believe me I promise but only if you do what I told yuh.'

'Erslie.'

The silver haired person heard footsteps walking away a few seconds before they ceased. He hadn't caught a glimpse of his tormentor in his mind, throughout the unabridged conversation. judging by sound, a body was shaken. 'Like what gives man?! Said I'd get down.'

'From the mess you in you should've figured by now the pot stew cooks a certain way.' It's impossible to release him in short order. He now calls out to the body, 'You can't stay knocked out. Wake up please.' Shaking more elicits no response. 'Damn it to hell!'