House Of Mystery

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm here to save souls."

Faust was standing at the entrance of St. Johns Cathedral, peering inside through the temporary security's broad shoulders. Inside was a big church packed with a big crowd of people already enjoying the service.

With the Crisis still in the hearts of the world, many realized death could come at any time. Many also believed that sin brought the disaster in the first place. So the famous fundamentalist Bishop Jonathan Adventis decided to come to New York City and keep all the faithful and righteous pure. Anyone who came could get purified and redeemed during this night of witches and demons.

Of course, many people came. Faust could see a great mass of people brought together, looking towards salvation. Well most of them. The children looked a bit unhappy. Who could blame them? Faust couldn't.

Now the only obstacles in his way were a six foot Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, who were blocking the only entrance for latecomers. But Faust had a job to do. Here, at a union of Holy Spirit and faith, was lurking a black heart. His only problem was figuring out whose it was.

"What do you want? You don't look like a reverend." The first said.

"Doesn't mean my job isn't to save a soul or two when I get the chance."

The second guard grimaced and came face to face with Faust's shades, staring into Faust's eyes as much as possible. "Look a-hole, you waste any more of our time and you'll have to save your own."

Faust's hands came up in protest, his body leaning backwards. "Guys, guys, I just want to share my faith."

"Is that why you're dress like a Matrix reject?" Faust looked down on himself. Black cargo pants filled with things, a black shirt, black shades, black boots and a long, black trench coat. Was it wrong for a guy not to enjoy prancing around in red and blue spandex?

"Plus," the first added, "The Bishop said to look out for trouble and you're it." He too, leaned down face to face. “I don't like you. I don't know why, but you smell like trouble."

Faust knew it was time to stop being friendly. The easy way never worked for him, never will, because of the edgy feeling he left in most of those around him. No one could stand him because he lacked something that they did: a soul. He was used to it by now; it was his birthright thanks to his dad. But time was being wasted and he didn't want those people to end up in his position.

"Sorry fellas, but this hasn't been fun." He reached a finger up slowly to the middle of their foreheads, their eyes following his fingertips. "Now sleep."

Instantly a spark of violet energy leapt out of him, dropping them to the floor while their life-force crept into him through his fingers. Their energy and abilities were his now, at least for a little while. Soul tapping, he called it.

The whole congregation turned to stare at him, most of them indifferent, others put off. "Must be a product of my birthright," he thought.

He walked to the front, looking and looking for any sign of where to strike. All his oracle acquaintance told him was that there was an evil, but not how that evil would be present. It left him with questions.

As he approached the Bishop, he slipped his shades back on over his eyes and surveyed the old man. He had on a long, black robe with white and orange designs embroidered onto them. His face was a kind, gentle face, with creases one only could get from a lifetime of laughter. The kind of face that Mr. Roger's grandfather must have had.

"Why do you hesitate my son?" Faust hadn't noticed that he was only the one standing, and that he was being watched by a full congregation of hundreds of people. It'd be harmless to get a little communion, right?

The Bishop leaned forward, offering a wafer, which Faust took into his mouth, and wine, which he drank. The Bishop smiled and nodded, a sparkle in his old, kindly eyes. "May God save your soul," he said.

Faust looked straight into the older man's eyes, taking his shades down a bit. "I don't have one."

"What are you called, minor demon?"

"How do you know I am not a demon lord?" The demon hissed.

"You have no wings, no real human features, and sorry to say it, you don't rhyme. That knocks out all the upper demon classes."

The demon nodded in interest. "I am Bazu. And who are you?"

"Jesus."

Bazu growled. "Human, who are you?"

"Santa Claus."

Bazu charged up onto Faust, knocking him over and leaving a paw mark on Faust's shirt. Taking a long sniff, he appeared satisfied. "You smell of the Faust line. But you are not old enough to be Felix? And the Felix I know loves to boast!"

Faust squirmed beneath Bazu. "I know. He's my dad."

The demon smiled a crooked, sinister grin. "Well younger Faust, the wafer and wine were corrupted with what my brethren like to call a demonic drug named DMN."

"What do you want with an army of demons? You're not power enough to control, no minor demon can."

"Not after tonight."

The congregation began to step through the flames that were spreading through the church, unharmed and their faces totally blank. At the front was a little girl who began to shake, and suddenly a visible string of white, cloudy energy was ripped out of her, flying right into Bazu. She fell onto the floor, shaking violently, her bones shifting and sliding and her skin stretching and ripping. In a few moments she had the shape of a demon. Soon the same was happening to the rest of the congregation, and their souls continued to come to Bazu, basking him with power.

Bazu breathed over the neck of Faust, his voice as coarse and rough as rocks over gravel. "Now Faust, let's take a peak at that soul."

"Sorry pal...no can do." Faust began to slide a hand into his pocket, finding the contents of a canister dripped through his pocked. He took what he could and wet his hand with it.

"There's nothing to be sorry about young Faust, you will be happy as one of my slaves." Bazu laughed.

Faust slid his hand up to Bazu's chest. "I'm not on the menu tonight."

Pushing up, his hand began to burn and break into Bazu's chest like a wrecking ball through concrete. "Holy water!" Bazu screamed, jumping aside as blood poured out his chest.

"To think a demon could possess a holy Bishop and enter a church unscathed, but a little holy water gives him heartburn. Too bad for you, I left my Mylanta at home."

"The Bishop wasn't as holy as he seemed." Bazu choked out, running towards Faust and leaping into a pounce. Faust's eyes turned blood red as he rolled and blasted a burning burst of violet energy into Bazu. Bazu skidded against the floor, his body twitching and blood still falling from his chest. Faust, raising a hand in the air, chanted a spell. Simultaneously, the lights blasted off, and the stained glassed shattered above them to reveal the moon light into the church. The only things that were left untouched were the candle lights.

Quickly, the souls of the congregation tore their way out of Bazu and returned to the crowd. They began to move around confused and dazed, but alive.

Faust walked over to Bazu, his eyes flickering with an arcane burn. Bazu spoke hastily. "Please Faust, I beg of you. Let me live! I can give you riches beyond your wildest dreams!"

Faust stepped closer again, shaking his head. "If I were my father, I'd enjoy the fact that you're squirming underneath me asking for mercy. I'd probably take the money too. But I'm not my dad. I don't take bribes."

He had decided to take a break, and go for a walk through the neighborhood. Little children had disappeared mysteriously in these surroundings over the last week, so he went to search for things, clues, anything. After all, he was an investigator, wasn't he? Besides, that would help him to relax, after a whole day reading kid stuff.
After he had finished doing this, two hours had passed and it was already getting dark. Children were trick or treating in the streets, all over the Halloween themed decorated houses. He suddenly hoped he had bought enough candy for his daughter to give out.
Walking through the park, he saw some strangely dressed people. Two big guys, dressed in hideous demon costumes, one green and one gray. The gray one seemed to be the leader, holding a rod with a crystal on the end of it. Terrence quickly concluded that they were both freshmen trying to scare little children, so he decided to hide behind a tree, and wait for them to do something. It was a nice place on a nice day, and he wouldn't allow them to ruin it. The park was quiet, so after a few moments, he could hear them talking.

“Have they been spying on me? How do they know my name?” Terrence thought. He was scared, for him and for his daughter, but if he decided to run, the girl would be lost. “You hide behind your costumes, trying to be brave? I pity you. Leave her alone, and you can start your life from scratch.” Doctor Thirteen said, firmly. He knew that it would never work, but he had to make time to think of a plan.

“Well, you had your chance. Mr. Green, get rid of our unpleasant company.” He grabbed the little girl, and as Mr. Green prepared to attack. Terrence noticed his yellow, large teeth, and forked tongue. Good mask.

The green one ran towards Terrence, but the doctor swiftly evaded him. Mr. Green collided with a tree, bringing it down. The tree was old, already ready to fall, just needing a bit of pressure, Terrence thought.

“The police are coming.” he menaced them again. He hoped he could get away from this without the use of force. And then he laughed in his head at the thought

“Well, if you think that a flash of light will stop me, you're one of the worst cases I've met.” Said Terrence Thirteen through gritted teeth, cleaning dust from his coat. He had multiple wounds, possibly broken an arm because of him flying through the air, but he didn't surrender.

“Well, it appears our pursuer won't go away that easily, isn't that correct Mr. Gray?”

“Indeed. I wonder how he could have survived our demonic blast.”

“You guys are sick. There are no such things as demons. Your psychosis has gone a little bit too far.”

“Far and away is where you're heading.” said Mr. Gray, raising his rod again. But fractions of a second before he could shoot, Dr. Thirteen leapt into him and everything went bright. When the light disappeared, the psychos wearing costumes were nowhere to be seen. Terrence looked at the rod, confused. He spent some time looking around and at it. The explanation eluded him, thing that had never happened before. Which left him even more confused.

Harry was scared. He’d been dragged into this pub, a shady and rather unpleasant pub, and then been left. Abandoned by his mates. He was sat all alone at the end of the bar trying very very hard not to attract any attention whatsoever.

“That’s pretty good,” a smooth scouse accent said from his right, a blonde man in a brown trench coat had sat down next to him at the bar. The blonde man pulled a pack of silk cut from his pocket and slapped them on the bar next to his pint. It was lager of some kind, that Harry knew from the colour and the fact that northerners didn’t drink cider. The blonde man stuck out his hand for a shake and Harry accepted it, he had a charm that made it hard to ignore him, “Name’s John. Hell of a hole we’ve fallen into eh mate?”

“Harry. And yeah, this place’s a bloody dive,” Harry replied as the bartender walked past. He gave him a dirty look and Harry did his best sheepish look.

John laughed voraciously and clapped Harry so hard on the back a few drops of his pint spilled over the rim and onto the bar. When he stopped he turned and pointed to the pool tables, “Fancy a game Harry old son?”

“Nah mate, I’m shocking at pool,” he replied, “can’t pot for toffee.”

“Brilliant,” John replied, switching his charm back on, “I’ll have a chance then.”

Harry and John sat back in their barstools with fresh pints, Harry kept looking over his shoulder and jumping whenever anyone brushed past him. John was off on a rant about children. Apparently he wasn’t a big fan.

“So I’m in the queue at the Post Office and there’s this woman behind me with a screaming baby,” John finishes one cigarette and pulls another from his pack, lighting it with the first, “so I tell her in no uncertain terms to either shut it up or sod off.”

Harry looked at John quizzically.

“And she goes ’Even you were a baby once. Have a little patience’ and I almost lamped the bloody woman,” John took a deep pull of the pint of Stella he bought with his ill-gotten gains, “I hate it when people say that. I was a bloody sperm once, you don’t see me cuddling up to a wank stain do you?”

“No, yeah,” Harry replies, only half listening.

“What the hell’s got you so agitated mate? Are you like this all the time,” John asked pointing at him, invading his personal space with his finger, “you’re not one of them schizos are you?”

“Those blokes you cheated earlier-”

“I did not cheat them, I do not cheat.” John interrupted, “They just didn’t know what they were getting into. They should’ve known not to play pool with John bloody Constantine.”

John Constantine stood outside, leaning against the brick wall and lighting his cigarette. Chas would be here any minute to pick him up, and then John could pay him back that ton he owed him. It’d been a pretty good night all in all. He felt slightly guilty for screwing the sceptical guy, but then he’d opened his mind tonight.

“He’ll never call me a bloody urban legend again,” he said, to nobody in particular, “and all the other’s will have a much better story to tell their mates around a smoky cards table next time they get together.”

The two descended deep into the church's underground, through many locked doors which would keep those living in the mortal plane of existence out. As they seemed to be approaching a well lit area, Ryan halted.

“I don't know if I can do this.”

“What are you unsure of?”

“I'm unsure of what I'm going to do when I look into the eyes of my killer. I don't want an eye for an eye, but what if I can't stop myself from going over the edge? I don't know if I'm capable of hurting someone now that I'm...whatever it is that I am, but I don't know if I want to take the chance.”

The Stranger placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder.

“There are many variables in the afterlife, which means that there is no telling to what extent you are able to come in contact with the living. One thing that I have found in my many years of travel, though, is that a soul is never lost in the transition. If deep down, you know that you would not harm a living being, then I am certain that you will not.”
The ghost replied with a nod of his head, and the two continued their descent.

They began to hear chants as they reached the final few stairs, and both Ryan and the Phantom Stranger witnessed a group of five men in red hooded robes just as they had been described. The Stranger brushed past Ryan, extending his arm and pointed at the men.
“Cease your actions at once! Are you aware that the Lords of Chaos are only using you for their own gain?”

The group of men turned towards him and lowered their hoods.
“You?” Ryan spoke as he took a step back in shock. “You're the priests of this church. I recognize all of you. Father Brian, Father Broome, Father Infantino...why would you do this?”

“Ryan, these are not the men that you once knew, they are but pawns of the Lords of Chaos.”
In a corner of the room, a crack in the stone floor began to break apart, forming a deep hole. Flames shot out, and from the pit emerged a woman wearing a magenta dress with a large purple amulet positioned in the center of her chest.

“You are one to talk, Stranger. The last I had heard, you were still a puppet to the Lords of Order.”

“Tala,” the Phantom Stranger's eyes narrowed, “I should have known that you would be involved with Chaos again.”