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Many fear death, but death is often the gateway to a new life.
It had been a quiet night. Peacefully shoveling dirt as he prepared to bury the body. Guided only by the moonlight. When this was over, he planned to go home to his Mama’s cooking and live life a little happier and safer than before. Now that the monster at his feet was slain.
A split second gunshot was all he heard as his peaceful plans were blown away. Suddenly the sky turned bright red. Air rushed past. He realized he was falling. The fall broke with a breathtaking pain and metallic crash; a crash so loud that it set every nerve in his body on fire. More sensory overstimulation attacked him in the nose. Powerful stenches of rotting bodies and dead animals. The pain of it all settled in. Whole body aching, head throbbing, feeling like nothing more than a toddler’s toy after a long day of play. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt merely to be awake. Given that he was awake at all and this wasn’t some nightmarish fever dream.
After suffering for a few moments, he began twitching to life. Everything was dark except for one sliver of light over his body and the black bugs underneath him. He came to realize they were trash bags. How ironic that he was the one being disposed of. The thought made him smile, but then he realized that he was already smiling. His cheeks were hurting already…had he been smiling the entire time? When he felt over his face, he was shocked to feel pointed claws on his hands. Then he felt down his body. Not a stitch of clothing to be found, only fur, which the sliver of light revealed to be a blend of black and red.
Just how much had changed? He moved his legs, finding that they bent in unusual places. And when he wiggled his toes, there were no toes to be found. Only two giant nails clicking together on his newfound hooves. A panicked scream welled up in his throat, but he couldn’t afford to scream. Instead it forced its way out in panting breaths. What was going on? Too much change. Too many sensations and questions. Sights, smells, feelings, textures, thoughts. He wanted it all to stop. Hoped that it was a dream. But it felt too real.
The sound of footsteps and muffled, distant conversations somehow reached his ears. How could he hear so much? What monsters lurked on the outside? He never thought a dumpster would be his place of refuge. But he got the feeling it couldn’t be as safe as he hoped when the footsteps got louder. He barely had time to respond before the sliver of light slid into a whole window beating down in his face. In the window was the silhouette of a woman. Most of her was shadowed, but he could see pale skin and snowy white hair tucked back in a bouffant.
“Ma’am, where am I?” He tried to sound civil, but his voice cracked with nerves.
The woman chuckled. “You’re in my trash, darling!” Her voice was full of energy and charm as she settled down a black bag. Almost making it like a stairway out of the dirty pit. “It’s not often I find fresh meat out here! Please! Come on out!”
He clumsily climbed toward the window, not at all used to his new body and the weird ways it moved. Barely had he come halfway out did he see her for what she was. A demon. Smile full of shining white teeth. Empty eye sockets. Claws and hands drenched with fresh blood. An instinct inside told him that he was next. Sending him scrambling backward, cushioned only by bags of rot. But she wasn’t phased. An ominous statue staring at his displays. Despite her appearances, her peaceful voice reached out to him with genuine care.
“Are you hungry?”
As if her words commanded him, his stomach let out a betraying growl. How could he possibly be hungry at a time like this? Surrounded by so much danger and squalor? Despite his internal panic, she continued to be sympathetic. At least putting on a convincing act of it.
“Take your time to adjust, sweetie. Manifesting in Hell ain’t easy work! I’ll set somethin’ out for you and you get it when you’re ready. Alrighty?”
She patted the dumpster and walked off. Her footsteps receding to blend in with the others. Something about her felt familiar. Comforting. Drew him toward her. It had to be some kind of demonic allure. Something to pull him in just so he could be devoured and become like the other rotting flesh being tossed into these bags.
A wary gaze peeked out of the dumpster. He was in an alley, one side seeming to go on into some abysmal darkness while the other side opened up into a town square. Upon climbing out and balancing himself on his wobbling hooves, he found his nose no longer bombarded by stench. Now his ears and eyes were the ones to take the hits. The town held an oddly familiar spirit about it. Alive with people tending daily business, rambunctious children, lively outdoor conversation, rolling shop carts with hollering salesmen, shoes clicking on pavement. Every little sound made way inside his head to the point that it sounded like one big symphony of static noise. Like a radio when a storm is blowing.
He grabbed for his ears in the usual place, only to find that they weren’t there. He felt around his head until he touched up two furry tufts on the top. Were these his ears now? Squishing them down seemed to help muffle the onslaught of noise. His eyes were still on the lookout, making observations of these strange people. Just like the woman he met, they all shared hollow eyes, a lack of a nose, a 1900’s style of fashion, and a bright sharp-toothed smile. An unsettling feeling creeped up inside him. Was he also one of them?
First he felt around his eyes. Relief washed over him when he realized they weren’t empty sockets. He also had his nose that his mom often called cute and pretended to steal. But then his fingers went down to his mouth, where the painful smile still pasted his face, and inside it were giant fangs that fit together like puzzle pieces. Then the pressing issue of nakedness. The fur made him more decent than any animal, but he still felt unexplainably bare. Especially compared to the demons around him who could afford posh suits, classy dress shirts, and sweeping dresses. They might find him deplorable and hunt him down just like the man who sent him here in the first place.
Looking up around the corner, he could see a sign that read Rosie’s Emporium. In front was a small sitting area with umbrella tables. The woman who met him, the one he assumed to be Rosie, sat at one. The nearest table had a plate of food waiting and a gown draped over the seat. The newly manifested sinner glanced at the gifts, around the town, and back. They all seemed too caught up in their chatter and activities to pay him much mind. Like a shy animal, he slowly tiptoed out. Often stepping down wrong on his hoof, awkwardly stumbling along like a baby deer.
Rosie stifled her laughter as he stepped. Endeared by his effort to walk and take a seat in his new body, like a child learning new things. She smiled as he lifted the gown to look it over. Poke and sniff at it, as if a trap hid inside. He finally pulled it on. The fabric draped nearly to the ground. It felt silky against his body, and he couldn’t help but feel it between his claws. The fidgeting helped calm his nerves. Suddenly this world of new sights, smells, and sounds felt manageable. He buried his face deep in the fabric. Rubbed it over his cheeks and purred softly. It distracted him from noticing that the woman appeared right beside him.
“Do you like it, little fawn?” Her voice startled him into the floor with a deer-like bleat. A sound he didn’t even know he could make. “Aww! Did I scare you? I’m sorry!” her hand reached out and he backed away. Shaking uncontrollably. She pulled back and waited for him to recover in his own time. Being understanding. Gentle. When he stood up, she took a bite off his plate. “See? It’s not poisoned. You need to eat before it gets cold.”
He hesitantly sat on the opposite side of the table and pulled the food closer. One bite. Another. A strange sort of rabid hunger overtook him. The meal disappeared. He didn’t realize how much time passed or what a mess he’d made until he saw the juice and visceral on his hands and dripping down from his face. Deep shame and embarrassment shown red on his face. “Oh my– I’m so sorry–”
“Don’t be! It’s normal for a newborn cannibal to be munchy on their first day! You’re a growing boy!” Her lightheartedness took all the awkwardness out of the situation. He didn’t bother moving away when she reached across the table with a napkin, wiping the mess off his face. Soon his hands were in hers as she cleaned between his fingers. A level of care he’d only found in one other person. A person who was closest to him, but stuck on the other side of life. Someone he was supposed to go home to, share dinner, and kiss goodnight. Someone whose heart would break when her little boy didn’t come home tonight.
“Your name is Rosie, correct?” His voice sounded much calmer now. Anyone with the same spirit as his mother couldn’t be that evil.
“You’re very observant, young man! What can I call you?” she chimed and held his hands softly. Like a caregiver holding the hands of someone else’s child. Welcoming them under her wing.
“Alastor.”
More than saying his name, it felt like signing a contract. Selling his soul to someone who would treasure it and see him as one of her own. He was like a child again, with a lot to learn and plenty of space to grow. And just like his mother raised a gentleman, Rosie could raise an Overlord.