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Noeyes

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Torment of the Damned, Part I
It’s a Living


“Oh no! The dreaded Merin is here! Everybody hide!” The Greater Demon mocked, its fanged jaws open wide with a sarcastic grin. “Flee before her! She is too terrible to stand against!” jeered another. Merin had grown used to it over the millennia. Every one of the Fallen Angels had a job in the Underarchy, mostly either convincing mortals that the Afterlife was better in Hell than “upstairs”, or keeping them in line once they arrived. Some had a better time of it, of course.
There were some “constables” who specialized in slashing with the Torture of a Million Cuts (which naturally healed supernaturally fast, and could thus be imposed again and again), those who were in charge of the various copper cauldrons filled with boiling blood into which wayward souls were cast for a time, and more. There were Fallen Angels assigned to Earth who had an even easier time; they specialized in tempting mortals to commit adultery, or to gluttony, or any one of a thousand simple tasks. No finesse required, there. But no such easy assignment for Merin. She was in charge of tormenting souls by tickling them. She couldn’t even remember how she got stuck with such an assignment. At the time of the Retreat, it wasn’t as if she had been in ill favor with the Archangel. In fact, she had been one of his consorts for a time. But the word came down that this was to be her assignment; punishing those who transgressed against the Will of Satan by tickling them to madness and then beyond. She had to admit, though, that the job
did have its moments. Every once in a while, she happened upon a client that truly dreaded her special form of punishment, and that went a long way to making the job bearable. Like the time she had found the film starlette her guest for a time. Blonde and stunning, she had been the object of desire of millions during her mortal life and even the mistress of an American President. Her suicide had left her afterliving form non the worse for wear. She had tried seducing one of the Fallen to secure better quarters. Her mistake! Oh, the look of complete horror on the dear mortal’s face as she was locked into the rack and stretched taut, just to the point of immobility. Even better the pleas for mercy as her high-heel shoes were removed, her big toes tied, and she realized what was going to happen to her. Merin could tell, this was one that was truly ticklish, and truly horrified by the idea. Oh, how she screamed as Merin’s sharp nails scratched against her helpless soles, and an ink-black feather found itself stroking her underarms! She screamed more from dread of the next stroke than the current one! But such times were few and far between.
And the staff! Some of her counterparts had thousands of underlings to assist them in their work. Aldoreth, who was lucky enough to be in charge of starvation, had over six thousand other Fallen Angels to assist him! And Merin only had five. A mere six total Fallen Angels to oversee an entire category of torment. It was really depressing, sometimes, not to mention the humiliation, as experienced now.
“Stand aside , Maerax, or I’ll toss you over that rail and we’ll maybe see you in a century,” Merin said to her chief tormentor. It was actually quite a sight for those assembled; the towering, scaled form of Maerax being threatened by this apparent mere slip of a girl. With her pale skin and dark hair, she might even be a mortal soul. Only the dark fire in her eyes and the small horns on her head marked her as one of the Angels, however. Maerax looked over the rail, into the abyss that loomed below. He looked again at Merin, and moved aside, still grinning. she was, after all, still a Countess, and Maerax a mere Baron within the complex Underarchy. She might command a small department, but it was hers, after all.
Merin walked through the massive gates into the infernal palace. She had no idea why she had been summoned from her work, but one did not lightly ignore a summons from a Duke of Hell, especially one as powerful as Astaroth. She walked through the gloomy halls, and found herself standing before the Ducal Throne.

“Welcome Merin,” the Duke said. “I need a favor that requires your special... talents.”
“My powers are yours to command, Lord Astaroth,” she replied. “I am honored to serve.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” he replied. “The situation is somewhat unusual. I need you to ply your special trade on a mortal of my acquaintance.”
A mortal? Why wouldn’t he just go through ordinary channels? It would have been nothing for the mighty Astaroth to have the offender deposited at her door.
“Yes, lord?” she asked, prompting for more information.
“This mortal is still alive,” was the staggering reply. She hadn’t been on Earth for at least five hundred years! And why did it need to be her?
“She is a witch of no small power, and has decided to use some of that power to thwart another of my servants. I need you to teach her a lesson. I have chosen you because I have learned that she is particularly susceptible to your... specialty here within the Underarchy. And all the better, it won’t leave her permanently damaged. Physically, at least. Can you do it?”
Here at last was a challenge! A change! An opportunity to prove her worth!
“I accept,” she said.

“You can go home, Val, I’ll lock up,” Laura said. She was assistant manager at one of the various “Witch Museums” in Salem, and the last of the tourists had left half an hour ago. Standing a mere 5’1”, with her long blonde hair, no one would have suspected the powers of nature that she commanded. Val left, but Laura was aware of someone else in the museum with her. Or something. She took her pentagram necklace out from beneath her tank top. Although few others could have done so, she saw the faint bluish traces of energy flickering along its surface. A moment’s concentration, and the bluish fire was brighter five-fold. Few could break such a ward! Shrugging off her feeling of being watched, she continued cleaning up around the museum. Some kid must have come through with the last batch of tourists and tossed a ball of paper into the exhibit. Shaking her head, she climbed past the ropes and kneeled on the exhibit-- an empty pillory-- to get the trash. Unseen and unheard, a demonic presence smiled. How easy to slip past such clumsy wards with subtlety. Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to shift your ankles to the right another inch or so? Of course it would. Right into the holes.
Laura retrieved the paper and uncrumpled it. On it was written four words.
“ASTAROTH SENDS HIS LOVE.” Just as she read it, the bar of the pillory slammed down, trapping her ankles. Laura was facing away from the pillory, but she could hear one of the heavy iron padlocks being snapped into place. Desperately, Laura twisted around to see who was behind her, but could see no one. Then she Saw what was there. A demon! It grabbed her wrists with a supernatural strength and a chain from the wall locked itself around them seemingly of its own accord, trapping them behind her back. She was trapped.
“Greetings, witch,” the demon said. “I trust you read my note?”
“Release me, demon! Your magic can do me no harm!”
“Spare me,” Merin said. “I don’t intend to harm you... with magic. You have displeased my lord Astaroth, and I have been sent to demonstrate what happens to those who incur his displeasure.”
“Ha! You can do nothing to me! I... Hey! Cut that out! Stop it!” Merin had unbuckled Laura’s size 5 sandals and let them fall to the floor. Laura’s bare soles were now completely exposed and helpless.
“I can do nothing?” Merin mocked. “What about this?” The demonness dragged a pointed nail down the sole of Laura’s trapped left foot.
“Oh no! Not that! Plehehehehehese!!! Hahahahaha!!!”
“But I thought I could do nothing to you? Not even this?” Three nails traveled down her right sole with agonizing slowness.
“Hehehehehe!! No!!! Please!! Anything but that! Hehehehehehehe!!!”
“And certainly not this,” Merin taunted as she tickled both soles at the same time, moving her fingertips up and down both soles, slowly moving back and forth across her helpless feet. Laura was thrashing her body back and forth by now, pulling at her trapped ankles in a vain attempt to stop, or even interrupt, the torture. It was no use. The tickling just went on, and on, and on. Out of nowhere, Merin produced a long, blood-red feather. Her fingertip-tickling momentarily stopped. “Perhaps I should pay some attention to these lovely toes of yours as well, witch?”
“No! Not that! I’m begging you! Anything but thahahahahahahahahahat!!!”
The demon flicked the tip of the feather against the undersides of Laura’s toes, making them wiggle madly. Merin grabbed the big toe of one foot and pulled it back, stretching the foot taut and making it nearly impossible to move as she dragged the feather back and forth across the toes. Laura was breathless by now, reduced to wracking sobs. Merin, mistress of her craft, knew when to pull back, and
did so, momentarily allowing Laura to catch her breath. But just as she began to breathe normally, Laura once more burst forth with laughter, this time even more helplessly insane than before, as Merin began to pull the feather between each one of her small toes. Between the pinkie toe and the next; “These little piggies went to Hades,” Between the next two toes; “These little piggies aren’t those,” Between the next two; “These little piggies angered Astaroth,” Between the big toe and the next; “So I’m going to tickle these toes!”
Laura was howling madly by the end of the fiendish limerick. The feather was dragged once more up and down the length of Laura’s sole, and then began the whole process over on the other foot! It was an agony beyond any that she had endured, and she was helpless to stop it. After what seemed like an eternity, the torture finally stopped. As Laura was gasping to collect her breath, Merin spoke.
“This was just a sample, my dear, of what fate could befall you for a thousand years if my lord Astaroth were to will it. This has been a mere warning. Don’t make
me turn it into a lifestyle.”
With that, Merin disappeared in a cloud of brimstone, and the locks holding Laura unlocked themselves. Slowly, weakly, Laura climbed off of the exhibit and sank to the floor, exhausted. Oh, she’d do something about this, no doubt about it. No doubt at all.
 
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