Tired of Death by Neil Hartley (ereader that reads to you txt) 📕

to investigate, as my hands are currently tied behind my back for some reason.”
“There are some torches here, quite a few of them,” Percy's voice came from ahead, near the imp. “Oh, and some tinder boxes.”
“Why would there be torches here? Ours still don't work,” Redthorne's voice came from one side.
“Try and light one Percy,” said Dreth, a suspicion growing.
There were noises as Percy fumbled with the tinder box. A moment later a torch flared up. “Hey! I can see again!” he said.
They looked around, to find themselves in a standard looking dungeon corridor made from dark gray stone blocks. It stretched away into the distance in front of them.
Dreth frowned as he doused his old light. “Why do these torches work and ours don't?” he asked.
“Obviously some sort of special enchantment,” replied the wizard.
“Hmmm, and why are they here? Why not at the entrance?” Dreth took one and examined it as Percy lit several others and handed them round. The torch seemed normal.
“Definitely some sort of magical emanation,” said Redthorne.
“Give one to the imp,” Dreth told Percy. “Imp, get going. You’re still on scout duty.”
“And how am I supposed to hold it with my hands tied genius?”
“Good point. Cuthbert, untie his tail, he can use that.”
They waited as the zombie released the imp's extremity, and Percy handed him a light. The imp coiled his tail around the torch.
“Right then, off you go,” said Dreth, gesturing ahead.
Ichabod gave him a nasty look, but staggered off down the tunnel without saying anything more.
Dreth looked on as the imp disappeared into the dark, until only his torch could be seen bobbing along like a Will-o-wisp.
“Right, after him then.”
They started walking towards the light.


~ * ~


Ichabod muttered to himself under his breath as he stumbled down the corridor. “Stupid denizens, just wait until I get back, I’m going to file such a complaint.” He stopped. The tunnel split into two. There was straight on, and now a new corridor off to the right. He looked down each one. Both disappeared into the gloom. Shrugging, he turned right and moved along the new way, which was remarkably similar to the old one except it wound about more.
He turned another corner and carried on into a widening space until a hiss next to his ear brought him up short.
“What have we here then? An imp!” The voice was hard as diamonds.
He gulped. “I will have you know I am a representative of the Dungeon management,” he said. “If you...”
“Them!!” said the voice. There were more hisses. They sounded like snakes. Ichabod had always liked snakes, though he was willing to reverse his position. “They are the ones who imprisoned me here! Well, nice of them to send me a snack!”
Ichabod dropped the torch and turned to run, but several sharp stabbing pains in his back caused him to stumble.
“My pets like you it seems,” the voice said, as the imp felt chunks of his flesh being torn from his body. He twisted to confront his attacker. No sooner than he did so he realized his mistake. He tried to raise his hands, but they were still bound behind his back. There was a feeling of heaviness as his eyeballs crusted over.
He managed one brief scream before it all went black...

~ * ~

“He’s stopped,” said Cuthbert.
“There is a junction ahead, goes off to the right,” said Percy. “Our imp went that way. Shall we follow?”
“Give it a moment,” said Dreth.
“Hey! Did you hear that? Sounded like a scream!”
“Pull him back!” ordered Dreth.
Cuthbert tugged on the rope and grunted. “Must be stuck, oh wait, here it comes.” He pulled for a short while. “Seems to be resisting,” he said. “Either that or he has gained...”
The zombie stopped speaking as the object on the end of the rope slid into view. It was a perfectly formed stone statue of Ichabod.
“Douse the lights! Quickly!” shouted Dreth.
They did so, just as something turned the corner. Dreth thought he saw a snake emerge into the corridor just as the torches were extinguished. He pushed Redthorne behind him, not because he cared for the wizard, but he had gone to a lot of trouble to get the man alive, and he didn't want to lose him at the first hurdle.
There was a hissing sound from ahead and Percy shouted. “Hey! Something bit me! Get off!”
There were sounds of a brief altercation, and another voice, a female one, screamed briefly.
“Hold!” shouted Dreth. “Who goes there?”
“Who dares trespass on my domain?” came the new voice.
“I’m Dreth. Guardian of the Undead Way, and who may you be?” He had his suspicions.
“Oh, a guardian. Well, that’s alright then. Why don't you light the torches and we can all have a nice little chat.”
“I don't think so,” replied Dreth. “Percy! Don't even think about it!”
“Undead eh? No wonder my pet's poison didn't have any effect.”
“You’re a Medusa aren't you?” said Cuthbert, putting the clues together. “I heard there was one of your kind in the dungeon.”
There was a low laugh. “Well worked out my undead friend. Still, it won't do you any good. You cannot escape The Dark without my help, you’re prisoners here, just as I am, and all I need to do is get a light. Someone will peek in the end, they always do.”
“I may have something to say about that,” Dreth fingered his sword. “Your type can be killed too.”
The laugh again. “But then you would be trapped here for ever! I tell you what, if you give me a couple of your party, I’ll tell you how to get out. How is that for a deal? One guardian to another.”
Dreth stared into the dark. Lose two of his party already? He’d only just started. One of the zombies he could lose, maybe the kid, but the others? It was too early, there was bound to be harder challenges ahead. He felt his blade again. Medusa were killable, but how many were there here? And was she lying about the way out?
He snarled as a snake slithered over his foot.


~ * ~


Smoke curled atmospherically around the edges of the door, swirling mysteriously along the gray floor before dissipating. The stone portal opened slowly with a dull grating noise, as if reluctant to spill forth its contents. There was a short pause, and then a heavy footstep. Another and then another, until a large figure finally emerged. It looked at the remains of Fallacy for a moment, her exposed lungs steaming in the chill of the room.
With a low rumble the gaze turned to the hooded figure standing behind the slumped body. The robed shape stood with knife in one hand, the blood dripping down the serrated edges of the blade into a dark pool on the floor.
“Messy,” it said.
“I have summoned you!” cried the hooded man, holding his hands up in dramatic fashion.
“I know.”
“You are mine! To use as I see fit, until I dismiss you! By the power of...”
“I know all of this. You do it every time.”
The robed figure lowered his hands uncertainly. “I rather enjoy it, truth be told.”
“Who do you want me to kill?”
“By what means do you know you will be required to remove life?” asked the summoner, who was finding it hard not to speak dramatically.
“I have never been summoned for anything else. It’s always the same task.”
“Yes, well.” The man grimaced in annoyance inside his hood. “I do indeed have a task for you. Heed my words now, and follow my bidding...”
The newly summoned being leaned forward to hear its masters' commands...


~ * ~


“I don't think we’re really ready for statue-hood yet,” said Dreth.
“So you reject my generous offer! You will regret...” the Medusa started.
“Hold on, hold on here!” Percy's voice interrupted her monologue. “Such a bad temper Ms. Medusa. What could be the problem I wonder? Bad breath? Unfortunate wind? No, I know! Down here alone, with no companions and unable to use a mirror? You must be feeling a mess! I bet you would kill... er, cheer loudly for a good makeover. Isn't that right?” The zombie paused a moment, to a surprised silence. “Come now. No need to be shy. We’re all friends here, dungeon denizens together and all that. You can share. How long was it since you had a good facial?”
“Well...” the Medusa began. “I don't know...”
Dreth heard Percy step forward. “Look, I used to be in the beauty business when I was alive. Good at it too I was.”
“Really?” asked the Medusa.
“Really?” whispered Dreth to Cuthbert.
Cuthbert nodded, which Dreth failed to see of course.
“Best Salon this side of the Dragon's Teeth,” said Percy's voice proudly. “Now, I can't see you, not and remain able to shake my booty of course, but perhaps if I could just touch?”
“I don't know,” the snake headed woman said uncertainly.
“Look, what's your name?” Percy was on a roll now. Dreth was quite impressed.
“Agnes. Agnes Lookstun.”
“What a lovely name. My mother was called Agnes,” said the zombie, working the charm for all it was worth. “Now, Agnes, let’s just have a feel...Ow!”
“Sorry! My hair is very protective. Go on, try again. They won't bite this time.”
Dreth heard Percy muttering to himself as he felt the Medusa's features. “Huh! Dry as a bone! Flaky skin, needs moisturizer for sure, oh, for want of a good set of tweezers! Now the hands. Oh my lord, when was the last time you had a manicure? “
“Well, you know...”
“Don't you worry. I’ll have you feeling like a million gold pieces in no time. Do you have somewhere to work? It's going to be tricky with no light, but you’re in the hands of an expert...”


~ * ~


Dreth sat back, resting on a statue in lieu of a chair, some sort of Paladin by the feel of it, whilst Agnes lay back with dungeon moss draped over her face. It was still pitch black. Percy was in a nearby room mixing various muds and alga together, mumbling about 'split ends' under his breath. Cuthbert and Sprat scuttled about finding the ingredients he specified, whilst Redthorne rested against a wall, a blanket of snakes wrapped around his body for warmth.
“Why do you go around turning people to stone anyway? What's the point?”
“It’s how my species feed. We extract the life energies