by Ken Dean

Christina was walking down a street she would rather not be on. This was a bad part of the city, the Short North, and her car had broken down. Plus she had forgotten her damned cell phone! Of all times to be stupid. She had no choice but to walk and find a pay phone or an establishment where she could call her boyfriend.

She was shaking; sweating with apprehension. The buildings were too tall and the alleys dark and ominous; like gaping, diseased mouths just waiting to swallow her.
Stop it, Christy, you’re just working yourself into frenzy, she thought to herself, Everything will be fine once you find a phone or a place to duck into.

She kept walking, still feeling frightened but wanting to get past this place as quickly as possible. Another dark alley was coming up on her right. She glanced into the deep darkness just as an arm shot out and grabbed her! A grip of steel jerked her into the alley. Christina actually felt her feet leave the ground.

She began to scream instinctively, but in vain as the noise seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness. Instantly the mugger had her pinned up against the alley wall, covering her mouth with his hand. The alley wall smelled musty and disgusting, but the mugger's hand was even worse; decrepit, like dead flesh. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Mugger man pulled an automatic pistol from his trench coat pocket and waved it in her face.
“Just a little something to scare folks with, but I don’t really need it, do I?

You can’t move!” the mugger commanded. Instantly, she was paralyzed.

He let the pistol hand drop; all he needed was his hand over her mouth. She couldn't even bring her arms up to try to fight him off. He twisted her head up and to the left using his one hand, exposing her pristine, white neck.

“Ah, beautiful, sensual thing. One of the best I've ever seen. My compliments to you dear, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ruin it. You see, you're the last one for the evening and I'll be satisfied, at least until tomorrow.”

Christina could still see his face even though her head was twisted sideways. He had the look of a dirty, ruffian bum, but his yellow eyes screamed of a beast from Hell. When he spoke, his fetid breath smelled of stagnant swamps, dead bodies, and everything unholy.

He brought his face even closer and opened his mouth impossibly wide, descending towards her neck. She caught a quick glimpse of fanged teeth and then they sank below her vision. Dear God — not that!

Just then she began to hear a tok…tok….tok sound coming down the street, as if someone was wearing hard shoes or boots. She wanted to scream for help, but all that came out of her mouth was a whimper. The beast heard it too, snapping his head away from her neck to face the street. She could feel tremors run though its body; he seemed terrified.

The source of the sound turned the corner of the alley entrance; a tall man with long, blond hair. He was wearing a white shirt, blue jeans, and engineer boots. Oddly, his body shone with a strange luminescence that lit up the entire alley.

The beast had become increasingly agitated and was visibly shaking. He let go his grasp of Christina and began to run away from the alley entrance, wailing like an ungodly banshee. Shots from the demon's automatic as he turned and fired didn't even register on the blond man.

The stranger leapt into the air and came down on the beast, pulling him up by the scruff of his neck and lifting him bodily off his feet.

“Demon spawn!" he yelled with a thunderous voice. Holding out his right hand, a bright light appeared in his palm. The light morphed into a large, silver sword that looked like a cross with a long shaft.

“Go back to Hell and join your bastard kin!”

With that, he shoved the mighty sword up the demon's ass until it protruded out the top of its head. The demon immediately turned charcoal-briquet red, then to ashes, which fluttered to the ground and disappeared.

Christina slumped down the alley wall, transfixed by what had happened.
The sword vanished as the tall man walked over to Christina. He was still glowing. She managed to get out, “Who are you?”

“Do not worry, young daughter. The trauma of this evening will pass quickly.”

He put his hand on her head. “Rest, Christina, rest.”

She instantly felt drowsy and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke the next morning feeling totally refreshed, but she couldn't remember how she had wound up in her own bed. Sounds and smells from the kitchen told her that Arnie was making breakfast for them both. Her memories from last night's encounter were all there, but she felt no trauma or fear whatsoever, just a deep peace.

“When did you get in last night, Hon? I didn’t hear you come to bed.”

Her thoughts went back to her shining, blond savior.

“Arnie, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

* * *

Tilde was driving angry drunk far too fast down a country road outside of Copenhagen.

She had just left a party of her friends, along with her suddenly ex-boyfriend. That bastard Jerrik broke up with her to be with that slut, Birgitte. Tilde had been fooled good, thought he had loved her. She had stayed at the party after those two asswipe lovebirds left so she could get totally drunk. Now here she was, driving stupid; letting the anger manifest itself through her foot on the accelerator and her hand on the gearshift.

Her anger was feeding off the speed and vice versa. It felt damned good.

But going one hundred-thirty kilometers per hour didn’t give her drunken reactions enough time to match the sharp turn just ahead. The Jeep and Tilde kept on going instead of turning. A ditch just off the road was all that was needed to send the Jeep tumbling end over end, throwing Tilde out to land on a rock outcropping. The Jeep came to rest several meters away where it burst into obligatory, flaming wreckage.