Some lives are lived to excess. Some lives are lived well. Some lives are zapped right out of the good for nothing so and so which brings me back to the most shocking resident of this castle. Buzzkill is the end of the line for most of our inmates. His strap-like tentacles are one size fits all. When his three sister switches – past, present and future – are flicked, and Buzzkill begins to shake the life from his prey it causes the lights to flicker deep down here in the lowest depths right up to the dizzying heights.
They say Buzzkill is humane. I ask you, would you find it humane to park your rear in his grasp? As his long arms tighten around you I defy anyone to think to themselves, ‘what a delightful way to go.’
As guards lead in Buzzkill’s next meal, inmate 2000 (incidentally the amount of voltz he’s about have fired through him) we can see from the expression on his face he’s not feeling like it’s all very humane. .
His name was Elder McEery on the outside. He was raised on Hathfield Bay island. He spent his time frolicking in the sands, playing in the sea and bashing the heads of tourists in on behalf of the Church of St Wigan. They were vengeful types and not the hippy, loving, religious sorts they would seem. St Wigan was all about the righteousness and he had Elder believe he was just in dispatching heathens. The High Court of Coldford strongly disagreed. Death was his sentence and a seat on Buzzkill’s lap was the method.
“Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?” Inmate 2000 was asked.
Elder sniffed. He would swear he could already feel the electricity firing through his body. The switches hadn’t been pulled yet. It was just the ice cold shards of nerves.
Looking upon Buzzkill’s layer is the viewing room separated by a thick glass partition which Christie and her grief counsellors gathered behind earlier in our tale. Some gather there to bear witness to the end of someone who did them wrong. Others might want to be the last thing the victim sees before that almighty bolt is thrown at them.
The viewing room is rather empty and somber for Elder. There is a woman dressed in modest clothes. She isn’t looking at him. She has her eyes closed. She is praying, clutching a purple ribbon in her hand. A filthy braid with more ribbons tangled in it flows down her back. There is another man there too. He’s a peculiar looking fellow who seems to have a mischievous grin about him even though he isn’t smiling. Mr Kutz has been tasked with assuring Elder is sent on his one-way trip to ask St Wigan himself it the dead tourists were necessary. They can all meet up in Hell and think, ‘well this is embarrassing.’
“For the heathens do not repent,” Wigan had said.
It is tough to repent when you have just watched your baby being crushed under rocks and know you’re going to be next.
“Do you have anything to say?” the inmate was asked again.
Elder could barely breathe. Buzzkill embraced him so tightly.
“Praise Wigan!” he gasped.
Praise him indeed.
The knowing grin of Kutz spread into an actual smile.
“Faithful to the end,” he said. “I suppose that is somewhat admirable.”
The first switch was pulled.
It began as a gentle tremor as Elder’s past caught up with him.
The second switch was pulled
Elder shook a little harder. He was locked in the present. He was locked in Buzzkill’s layer.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.
The future lit up as the third switch was pulled. The future for Elder was one of eternal torment which is ironic considering the all knowing Wigan had him believe that was what he was saving himself from. I’m sure he can take that up with the manager when the ferryman ushers him to his final destination.
Buzzkill gnashed and Elder shuddered violently in his jaws. The lights flickered. The Wigan girl had interrupted her prayer to observe.
“No need for alarm,” he said in a way that was pleasant but not all reassuring. “That’s to be expected.”
“Gentlemen, for your crimes you are now in servitude to The Boss.”
Available on Kindle April 15th 2022
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