Edmon Furcelli

So this was Hell! It wasn’t at all what Edmon had expected. Not at all. The line was moving slowly so Edmon had time to let his eyes wander. He wondered why anyone would want to go to that other place. Look at those huge, deluxe houses! All with swimming pools and tennis courts. And the girls! He’d never seen so many young, sexy girls in one place. Yeah, this could be really nice.

“Move along now and stay in the queue.”

“Yeah, yeah…it isn’t like I’m going anywhere now is it?” replied Edmon with a laugh to the guard who was trying his best to keep the line moving in the right direction.

“Oh, you’re going somewhere alright mister…and you can bet it ain’t gonna be a nice one if I get any more of your lip.”

“Oh, please. What are you going do? Kill me?” said Edmon as he burst out laughing again.

“No, I won ‘t kill you. But you will want to kill yourself…and I promise you’ll try to do it…over and over and over again. Won’t do any good though.”

“Who? Me? Try to kill myself? Not likely. I mean look at this place; it’s better than any place I ever saw when I was alive. No, my good man, I have no intention of trying to kill myself again. I tried it once…that was enough. You know Heathcliff, I believe you need to lighten up a bit…get rid of those fire ants in your pants…and maybe change some of those red duds you’re wearing for something more mellow. Blues or purples, for example.”

The guard, who had been standing stiffly, almost at attention while Edmon continued his rant, finally grabbed him by the arm with more force than Edmon thought possible in a man that size and started to drag him out of the line and toward a small building to the left of the main road along which the crowd of newcomers had been lined up. The building stood out because, unlike all the colorful buildings around it, this one was painted pure black from top to bottom.

“Hey, no need to get rough. I was just joking with you…having a little fun. Hell should be fun, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. What did you say your name was?” asked the guard.

“Can’t say that I did say,” replied Edmon, “but I’m not averse to given that bit of information out. I’d kind of like people to know who I am. The name is Edmon…Edmon Furceli. And what might yours be?”

“Well, Edmon…it’s not Heathcliff. But I don’t intend to tell you what it is. I will, however, share one bit of information with you: believe it or not, I do have fire ants in my pants. Everyone down here does…sooner or later. So will you. But I also have a very low tolerance for pieces of cow dung like you, so I hope you enjoy your stay.”

The guard said this as he was opening the door to the small black building. He dragged Edmon inside where a musty, dank smell filled a small room lit only by the light coming in through the door.

“Got another one for you Lon! Make sure you introduce him to all the crew.”

With that he flung Edmon onto the hard cold floor. Edmon glanced up from where he had landed and, in the dim light of the room, saw a long scaly arm reach down, grab his right foot and lift him up until he was dangling head downward from about six feet off the floor.

“No need worry much ‘bout that, Boss Man. He meet ‘em all. Big Lon make sure that!”

“Good.”

The door to the black building shut as the guard went back to the line of newcomers. It left Edmon, however, in the dark with some kind of giant scaly thing holding him upside down. Lon, the guard had said…Big Lon.

“Lon, my friend. Is there any possibility you could set me down,” said Edmon. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t appreciate your concern and consideration for my well-being—picking me up off the floor and all was a nice gesture—but I really think I should be running along to rejoin the queue outside. I was hoping to get set up in one of those nice places with a swimming pool and lots of girls…you know the ones I speak of, don’t you?”

Lon didn’t respond, he just began to shake Edmon vigorously up and down as if he were a yo-yo.

“Oh, Lon…I do wish you would stop this up and down business. It’s giving me a bit of a headache,” said Edmon. “Could we please take a short break? I’m really not a bad sort of chap, you know.”

“No Lon to you…Mister Big Lon. Say right or no stop.”

“Right then, Mister Big Lon, sir. I do apologize for the faux pas. But keep in mind that I have only been here for a short while and have not had time to get all the rules memorized. So please, Mister Big Lon could you put me down…and perhaps a little light wouldn’t be too much to ask for?”

“Big Lon no need light. But you like light? Good. Lon know place for you. Lot’s of light. Put you down now…way down.”

For just a moment before Big Lon let go of Edmon, he wondered what the big brute could mean by ‘way down.’ Edmon was working up a thoughtful question to pose to Big Lon on the subject when he felt an odd sensation…the darkness had begun to rush by him…and he could not feel Lon’s iron grip on his leg.

“Big Lon? Still there old chap? Hello!”

But Big Lon did not answer. And the sensation of falling continued. Several minutes passed as he continued to fall into the darkness before Edmon noticed something different. There seemed to be a flicker of light up ahead…yes, there was definitely a light…and it was getting brighter quickly. There was something else as well…it was getting warm and, in addition, there was this smell. Oh dear, it wasn’t just warm, it was getting downright hot, and that smell…peeheuw! It was growing stronger by the second. The light up ahead was also starting to come into focus and Edmon could see that he was rushing towards the source of that light at an incredible speed. It was an inferno.

Well of course this was Hell…so it should be an inferno. But surely, this free-fall elevator will stop before I land in that mass of flames.

But Edmon did not stop. He slammed at full speed into the flames, and into something else he had not noticed—the floor of the inferno was covered with sharp pointy iron bars, a number of which skewered Edmon. One went right through his open mouth and out through the back of his head. The pain was excruciating. But of course, Edmon did not die due to that little problem of already being dead. He was surprised that he could still feel the pain, but there was no question about it…pain was everywhere. His skin would burn completely off and then reform and burn again. The spikes in his head, arms, legs and body were exactly as he imagined they would have felt if he had been alive. And the smell… that may have been the worst of all…was as if all the dead, rotting animals in the world had been dumped in this place.

The pain, heat, and smell almost immobilized Edmon, but eventually when he saw that they were not going away, he started to carefully lift himself up off of first one spike and then another. He tried to be careful not to step on or touch any additional spikes, but unfortunately he ended up with a few more poking through his feet and hands before he finally was able to stand up between them. Slowly, Edmon made his way across the flaming spikes to what appeared to be a door on the far side of the furnace. He grasped the handle and turned it, hoping they had not locked him in. It was difficult, but Edmon resisted the urge to scream as the red hot handle burned into the flesh on his palm.

The door did open. A poorly lit corridor stretched out in front of him, but Edmon did not move. There was someone else in the corridor as well. Someone who Edmon had never wanted to see again. Someone who made his blood run cold even in this overheated place. He tried the door behind him thinking that he would prefer the flames and the spikes, but the door was now locked. There was no escape.

“Get your butt in gear, Furceli. And follow me.”

It was Mrs. Magnolia Hoppswitter, his sixth grade teacher. This time Edmon couldn’t stop the scream from coming. All those horrible memories flooded back. The endless story problems, the two hours each day of French immersion, the wickedly long and tricky lists of spelling words, the countries and capitals that no one else even knew existed. And all the time, Mrs. Hoppswitter marching up and down each row of desks, a fiendish smile on her face, rapping students on the back of the head with a long ruler if they dared to even look up from their work. Edmon had already been to Hell once…and it had been that year in sixth grade.

His screams echoed off of the walls, getting louder and louder as they bounced along the corridor. Mrs. Hoppswitter turned back towards him, her lips pursed tightly together. She walked stiffly back toward Edmon, pulled out her ruler, and began hitting him on the top of his head.

“Stop! Please stop…I’ll do anything…anything, but please, not Mrs. Hoppswitter.” He said this to himself more than to anyone in particular, but as he said it, the darkness, the heat, and Mrs. Hoppswitter with her ruler all faded away.

Edmon opened his eyes. He was in his room with the early morning sunlight filtering through his bedroom window. It had been a very warm night and his sheets were drenched with sweat. What a nightmare! Edmon rolled out of bed and glanced at his alarm clock. 7:05 am. Lingering flashes of the nightmare crossed his mind. Why would he be dreaming about that old witch Hoppswitter? Must have been the twenty sliders along with the big slice of pecan pie he had eaten right before bed last night. Yeah, that was it. People always said you shouldn’t eat too much right before bed.

The clock now read 7:12 and Edmon knew he needed to get going or he would be late for work. He stood and moved toward the bathroom. As he passed his nightstand, a long thin object caught his eye and he froze. There next to his alarm clock was Mrs. Hoppswitter’s ruler.

Richard’s Forest – A Tale of Urth

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Mr. Diggley Poppin, an older gentleman with prickly looking gray hair, a stubbly beard, and a bright blue vest beneath a violet waistcoat was resting quite comfortably at a table in the Blue Pig, his favorite alehouse with a pint of Tibi’s Best. Not only was the Blue Pig a favorite of Mr. Poppin, but Mr. Poppin was also a favorite of Hedrick Tufft, owner of the Blue Pig. The reason was not because Poppin drank a lot of ale, which of course he did, but because when Poppin was in the house, others were sure to follow and business would be brisk. Mr. Poppin, you see, loved to tell stories…the old tales…tales of great deeds and war and honor and beauty…and no one else in town could tell them nearly as well as he did.

So, it was on this night, as it was on most, that Poppin’s quiet solitude was short lived. The table was soon rather crowded as he was joined by Herny Jinks, and then Bob and Roy Mawten, followed by Gub Trinkle, Norry Lumlock, Bertie Veztle, and several others. Herny waited for what he thought was a polite amount of time before bringing up the topic that everyone came for.

“Naw, that’s been mighty unusual,” said Herny, responding to Roy’s comment about the amount of rain they’d had the past month. “Reminds me of the story ya telled us about travelin’ to that great castle down south,” continued Herny to Poppin.

“Yes, the southern hills can get wet at times,” said Diggley, sensing that Herny was working his way up to a more direct question.

“Could be tha’ p’rhaps ya got time t’ leave us another tale? I’m thinkin’ p’rhaps the one ‘bout them giants, when’s they got their comeuppance from the Lady...or p’rhaps the one about those critters what lives in Yolli, ya know, them ugly grawks…at least I think that there’s what ya called ‘em. Why I’d even settle fer another time a hearin’ ‘bout those salt dogs…maggocs ya said folks in the northeast called ‘em.”

Poppin cleared his throat before taking another draught from his glass. “Yes, well I suppose I could tell one short story. Let’s see now…I don’t believe I’ve told you the story of Richard and the Lady Queen in quite some time.”

There were nods all around the room and several present piped in that they didn’t remember that story at all and couldn’t he please tell a story with giants in it.

“Ah, yes, giants…no this story does not have giants. But since there seem to be quite a number of you who have no recollection of ever having heard it, this must be the one for tonight. So, let me see…it all happened down south, not too far from the Great Castle of Emendi where the Lady Queen lived. Richard…quite a sad story really…young Richard was a soldier in the Queen’s personal guard. He came from a poor family, but without him…aah, life would be quite different for all of us.” With that, Poppin began the tale in earnest.

“Richard ran away from home just shortly after his sixteenth birthday. His father was mean…meaner than a full grown maggoc…and continually drunk, which was usually a good thing because, when he was drunk, he didn’t beat Richard as often as he would when he was sober. Richard had no mother…she died when he was just a boy. All he remembered of her was the softness of her lips and her warm cheek when she would kiss him goodnight. Since her death, life had been hard, almost unbearable at times it seemed, but Richard was strong. And he had a gift—the ability to dream. Even when everything around him was painful, when his father was in a fit of rage, or when he couldn’t find a morsel of bread to eat—even then, he could dream. Richard kept his sanity and his will to live by dreaming.

“His favorite, his most private, most special dream was this: that one day he might meet and serve the great and beautiful Queen who ruled all of Emendisira. It was a dream that kept him warm on the cold nights when he slept under the trees to avoid another beating. It was also a dream without hope. A poor farm boy like Richard would most likely never even have a chance to meet the great Queen, let alone serve her.

“But life is full of surprises, and so it happened that one day, while Richard was at market buying a little bread and some potatoes to fix for his father’s dinner, the unexpected happened.

“The market was busy as usual in the town square of Mendila…Mendila, as you know, is a sizable town down south. I once had the good fortune of spending some time in Mendila myself,” said Poppin.

“An’ tha’was on yer trip to the Lady’s castle, weren’t it?” asked Herny.

“Yes, yes. That was the time. But we were talking about Richard. He was at the market, you remember. People buying and selling, haggling over prices, inspecting produce and wares for any imperfections that might lower the price. Richard had only a few pennies to spend, money he earned himself. His father hadn’t earned anything for years and he spent most of what Richard brought home on wine and ale. But the father still expected that food would appear each night on the table. If it did not, Richard knew he would have a few more bruises the next morning.”

Diggley Poppin rose out of his chair now and stood before the gathering crowd. His face was reddening from the heat of the fire and from the tankard of ale, which Hedrick Tufft continued to refill. Poppin was warming, as he always did, to the tale and to his audience.

“So it was that as Richard headed back up the road to his father’s home he met them…the Royal Guard. And not only the guard, but Her Majesty! Nothing could have been more unexpected to the poor boy. The Lady Queen was riding on a beautiful dark stallion, with a mane the same color as her long dark hair. Richard bowed low along the forest highway as the procession passed, terrified but still trying to sneak glances at the Lady because this would certainly be his only chance to ever see her.

“Then the unexpected happened. As the Queen came up along side him, she stopped. Richard could hear the stallion breathing and then it seemed as if an angel spoke.

Rise young man, she commanded in a gentle, but compelling voice. Tell me your name.

Richard had to look around to determine if the angel was speaking to him. It was then that he looked up into those perilous dark eyes…eyes into which many greater men had gazed…gazed and lost their lives. No one ever looked upon those eyes and remained the same person. Richard was no exception. He would never again see the world in the same way. But at that moment he could not imagine any reason the great lady would have anything to say to a poor peasant boy like him.

Richard is what I am called, My Lady, he replied, trying to sound as calm and mature as he could.

“As he spoke, Richard looked again into the Queen’s eyes. They were dark, as dark as midnight, and yet from them shone a light that penetrated into the deepest recesses of his soul. Tears welled up in his own eyes because he knew that he could keep nothing from her…if she asked he would have shared with her the deepest desires and darkest corners of his mind. But she did not ask…she did not need to ask.

Richard, come closer, said the Queen.

“She reached down and lifted his face so that he was transfixed by her penetrating gaze. It was only a brief moment, but it seemed an eternity before a smile traced its way across her lips and she spoke.

You have nothing to hide, Richard. That much I can see clearly. Your heart is pure and you have an inner strength greater than many men twice your age. I can also see that you are kind…that you are a young man of courage and honor. I do not see into the future, but if I could see into the future, I believe I would see that you have something great to do in this world.

“With that the Queen released him and turned to go, but hesitated.

Richard, if, when you come of age, you still desire and wish to serve me as you do now, then I will grant your wish. Come to Emendi, to the great castle, after your sixteenth birthday and you will be trained and fitted for the Royal Guard. I will always need men of honor like you.

“The Queen smiled again at Richard before motioning to the Royal Guard to move on. Richard knew then that he loved her more than anything else in this world.

“The two years seemed like an eternity, but finally the time came. Richard left home before dawn on the day of his sixteenth birthday and never looked back. Life at the castle was exciting and he frequently caught glimpses of the Lady Queen. He spent his first year in training…and he excelled, not because he was the strongest or the tallest or the bravest, but because he had the most heart, the most desire.

“At the start of his second year he was appointed to the Royal Guard. To be appointed at such a young age, seventeen, was almost unheard of. Among the current guardsmen, only Captain Yorth had been that young at the start of his service. Yorth remembered his own youth and knew that both good and bad came with being young. The young ones had quicker reflexes and keener senses, but they were also impulsive and tended to overlook important things because of lack of experience. Yorth knew that Richard had the necessary desire, the necessary training, but he was still not sure Richard was ready for the Royal Guard. Nonetheless, the Queen insisted.

“Later that same year…they say it was a beautiful fall afternoon with the forest trees of the Emendi Hills covered in reds and golds…the Queen and her guard were traveling light and quick to the stronghold of Oliindivi to meet with the Olii Council, a group of weak-kneed men who needed constant nurturing from the Queen to keep them from doubting her power and her intentions. Her guards were not even in full armor, only a light coat of mail, because no enemy had attacked in this part of Eastern Urth for many years.

“The road through the forest was always dangerous, but the Queen loved it because of the beauty of the trees. The guard marched both in front of, beside, and behind the lady. Richard’s place was at the rear of the guard, a place reserved for the most expendible of the men, since it was usually the rear that was attached first.

“It happened just after they had passed a particularly dense clump of trees. Richard heard the snap of a twig. In front of him, Richard could see the Lady Queen riding next to Captain Yorth and laughing gently as they talked. Why, thought Richard, should he worry about one small noise among the trees? There was no reason to suspect that any of the enemy was left in this part of the kingdom. Regular brigands and highway robbers would not dare to attack the Royal Guard. And yet, when Richard turned toward the noise, there under the darkness of the trees, he could see the glint of a pair of eyes and the movement of a bow.

“Richard had only the briefest moment in which to make his decision. Without saying a word he slipped up alongside the Queen, reached up and took hold of one of the straps of her horse’s saddle. Then with a quick thrust of his strong young legs he leaped up into position behind the Lady. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, to tell her that he loved her, to tell her that this was the greatest honor of his life, but his leap had been timed perfectly. An arrow, its tip enhanced perhaps by some evil enchantment, pierced through his coat of mail and into his back, stopping only after it had punctured his heart. Richard slumped forward, his body still protecting the beautiful lady with the dark eyes as two more arrows found their mark in his back.

“Captain Yorth spun in time to see that young Richard, requested to be with the guard by the Queen on this journey (even over Yorth’s protests) was leaping up onto her horse. What impertinence! Yorth thought in that one short second before he saw the first arrow find its mark.

The enemy is upon us! Defend the Queen! he shouted as the men went from relaxed and laughing to positions guarding all sides of the Lady.

“Two more arrows flew from the trees before a hail of return fire felled the assassin. He was only one…but one assassin is often more dangerous than a whole army. And this one almost found his mark—almost, but not quite—one brave young man, a young man of virtue and honor, had remained vigilant.

“Captain Yorth lifted Richard’s body gently down from behind her majesty. She dismounted and sat for several minutes holding the young man close to her, her tears washing down onto his pale face. Richard Pureheart she named him. There he was buried with all the honors the Lady Queen could bestow. Later a monument was raised over his grave to honor him and the woods were renamed, ‘Richard’s Forest’, by which name it is still known to this day.

“It is said that if Richard had not been there that day, the world as we know it would be quite a different place. Without the Lady Queen to lead them, the peoples of the Eastern Urth would never have resisted and repelled the invading armies of the west, without her the Chosen One never would have come, no, he never would have even existed…and without her, your humble servant would never have left the Northeast Bolk.”

Poppin said the last part in almost a whisper.

With the story finished, an unusual quiet pervaded the normally noisy alehouse. It was Herny Jinks who finally broke the silence.

“I do think I’d like to see that forest sometime,” said Herny.