The Nightsmith

 Eyelid Bill paid the ultimate price.

Shadowland.

A terrible evil at the edge of damnation reflected in the blood of his victims' eyes.

Shadowland,

The lair of the Nightsmith.

Nothing can save him.

Unless he gives away his hidden thoughts.

To the monster.

He would be enslaved.

For now, crawl to survive and avoid the thoraxed heathens scurrying between the outcrops searching for food.

Fuck!

How was he to know he'd mugged a warlock. Killed him. Taken his vision and landed here. Blood on his hands. Ensorcelled blood.

You look lost human!

A two-headed toad stepped out of a fetid pool of indescribable pallor.

It's not good to be lost here among the shadows black.

Not good at all.

I'm not lost. I'm looking for a way out.

Murderer. Wizard taker. Big Eyes. There's no way out for you. He will want you as his own.

Who?

Him.

Who's him?

The Shadow Maggot, the Lord of Secrets, the Nightsmith.

Is he the Devil?

Worse.

How?

You'll see.

Where is he?

He's waiting in the lightless borders listening to you.

Why doesn't he show himself.

You don't want that unless you've got something special to offer. A secret perhaps. The secret.

What's the secret?

That would be telling. Besides, nobody knows, but if you do I would spill the beans matey and pronto.

But ...

So long, Sucker!

The two-headed frog hopped away with its single leg and was promptly devoured by a pulsating mass that leapt from a crater. 

The huge green mass fell to the crimson ground and ate. It then looked at Bill and began to shuffle towards him.

Oh my God!

The man ran.

Stop!

Bill hesitated and turned. 

Stop ape! Or be eaten!

Bill faced the morass.

You stand before the remains of those you've slain. We are your legacy, your pitiful catch.

What do you want?

Want? What we want you cannot give. You are the scum who took our lives, who slashed our hemlocked veins and sent us here, where sorcerers' aborted souls like ours come to rot. You are the magic taker, the deadcast.

How many wizards have I killed?

Twelve it was. Witches, warlocks, sorcerers all. You lived among us in the Village of Spells, deep within the City's wastes. You gave no quarter. Your cold steel our final midnight. But your thirteenth found you here like us. Your thirteenth kill was your doom.

A flapping could be heard, as an unfathomable dark descended, turning shadows into night.

He's here.

Who.

Him.

What should I say?

Best say nothing. He knows what he wants.

What?

The secret?

Which secret?

The only one he's interested in.

But ...

See ya, Killer!

Blackness draped itself across the loathsome wasteland, an impenetrable ink of evil reducing everything to deep shadows.

Hello boy!

Who? Where?

I am here, beside you.

I can't see anything.

Let me help you.

Out of nowhere the mass that had spoken earlier to Bill was held aloft and set alight. The screams of the damned was unbearable to hear and a terrible glow from the burning souls illuminated the place. 

Bill was suddenly stood inside a weak naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling of the house he grew up in as a fearful child. The house where his psycho father beat his mother to death in front of him and said:

And for my next trick, Silly!

He cut Bill's eyelids off.

That's for staring you little prick!

From that day on, his father gone and his eyes wide open, Bill saw every agonising detail of everything all the time, yearned to blink with aching phantom skin and slept fitfully with a pillow over his face.

His mind became a shambles and his heart charred. Murder was a distraction. Like a Great White Shark, his victims were mesmerized by his deformity.

A moth landed on the glass bulb and skittered round it, tapping it's antenna on the hot surface like a diviner.

The moth spoke. 

Like it in there?

No.

Why?

'cos I'm trapped. 

Yes, like me.

You're not trapped.

I am for sure, trapped by the light.

Then just fly away.

I can't Bill. I've been beaten to death remember.

Mum?

Yes?

Mum, Mum!

No, Silly! You little prick!

Bill staggered back in the bulb. The Moth's face was his father's.

I've brought you something that belongs to you Bill.

The father moth spat out two fresh bloody eyelids. 

Nooooooo!

Bill fell onto the filament and the whole world went dark. 

He felt himself gagging as hot putrid breath swept over him.

The moon slid into view, only this moon was drowning in scarabs as they multiplied on its surface until it teemed.

Each one is a secret.

The voice came from somewhere above Bill's head, a sad weary voice.

How so?

Because they're mine to keep.

A giant naked beaked head pressed into the man's face. It was the featherless crown of a giant black vulture standing over Bill, it's massive wings fully outstretched. It was enormous.

But let me introduce myself properly. How rude! I am Mr. Nightsmith, hideous keeper of the clandestine and the ruler of shadow land and you Bill, my boy, have a most delectable secret.

The vulture preened it's scraggy collar.

I haven't.

You do.

What?

How to live in the daylight with your eyes open wide. 

So? It's no secret!

It is to me. I dream of days, of sunshine, of walking with cattle and taking souls that hide things whenever I want. It would be terribley grand. The big time.

I can't see souls!

No, but I could. Through you. Through your big white pupils as big as puddings.

You're going to take my eyes? 

No, Silly. We'll do it together. You can sit on my back as I fly through the sunlight picking them off one by one. It'll be a turkey shoot, a bloodbath and best of all, no more damn shadows! Of yes, the big time cometh!

I won't do it.

But you're a murderous son of a bitch.

Yes, but I won't help you.

What, you work alone?

Yes.

You've seen the light so to speak?

Yes.

So you won't move a muscle to help?

No.

Pity. For once I was excited. I guess I'll just have to put my sunglasses away then.

I guess.

Shame. Never mind. You don't bat an eyelid, I'll just have to give him a call.

Who?

Why, your Dad of course. To finish the job! I'll just get him a scalpel to pop them out.

Hello Son! I'm back Silly!