Page 6 of The Monster of Darkspell Comics

Fanny

A s far as day-jobs go—even if it is indentured servitude to a demon—working at Dark Spells Comics doesn’t appear to be all that heinous.

I side-eye my boss a few times as he gets settled behind a folding table set up off to the side.

I hadn’t particularly noticed it before as it’s out of the way from the various comic books and colorful signs, but I see that it sits in a place where he’s able to see all sides of the store through the use of positioned mirrors.

It is also in a spot that keeps him in view of the front door while he spends his newly acquired downtime doodling.

Carefully cradling a stack of comics in my arms, I venture closer to where he’s set up, curious as to what he’s working on. But the moment I get within a couple of feet, he covers his illustration while he raises his head to glower at me.

“Touchy, geez,” I mutter as I head off in the opposite direction.

I keep myself busy with various tasks around the shop as I spearhead some much-needed dusting and racking comics that the demon boss has stacked in several bins marked to go out on the shelves.

After a few hours, he stands and stretches before heading silently out of the shop, without a word to me.

Curious, I follow as I play with the idea of making a break for it, and honor be damned.

Thankfully, I’m saved from making a stupid decision because the collar zaps me the moment that I get near the shop entrance.

I yelp in surprise, but that’s not all it does.

Suddenly it’s like I’m encountering a thick barrier that I can’t move past.

“Uniform, my ass,” I murmur as I step back and peer at the shop’s entrance as I rub the collar around my neck.

The comics are obviously not the only thing in the shop that’s enchanted with demonic magic.

It’s also clearly a very handy employee leash, tethering me within its boundaries while simultaneously punishing me for trying to escape.

“I wonder what other employees he’s had ‘tied up’ in here? ”

Although it’s a bit disappointing to realize that I’m quite literally leashed to my punishment, it’s also a relief that the decision is taken away from me so that I’m not tempted to do something potentially suicidal.

Afterall, the likelihood of the demon being merciful if he catches me doesn’t look good.

There’s nothing I can do but serve my time.

Cool. Not being able to explore to my heart’s content sucks balls, but I’ll live.

One comic book shimmers in my hand and I pause as I stare down at its cover.

There is something so alluring about it.

On the cover there is a shadow of someone standing within a deep forest. The cover shimmers again, and I can see hints of flowers tucked among the trees and catch the scent of some sort of enticing, unearthly perfume.

There is a soft sound as the other comic books fall from my hand, all of them except for the precious one that I’m holding.

This one is meant for me. I’m certain of it.

It is waiting for me to explore the secrets it holds.

My breath catches, and my fingers glide over the cover. Suddenly it opens, and I’m not entirely sure if it has done it on its own or if it has opened itself. Energy crackles over my skin, and the first panel seems to move with a life of its own... drawing me in.

The forest is darker than it looks on the painted page, and a hint of mist clings to it.

The scent is growing stronger as I take my first steps into the lush growth, my eyes landing on long, elegant stems with perfect, tiny pale blooms hanging from them.

My fingertips trail over the flowers, and I can feel the dew of the mist that has collected on the petals.

That... is quite realistic.

A nervous chill runs over me, and several long fronds sway as a chirping sound fills the air.

I freeze as I catch sight of long, thin, black limbs rising above the brush up ahead.

Each limb moves with the dexterity of a whip and is tipped with a long metallic-looking hook.

They slash the air and bend toward me, as if tasting my sweat on the air.

Oh, fuck, what if they are attached to Xenomorphs or something?

They don’t look quite right and are much longer than the long, whipping tails of the aliens on the big screen, but the movement is similar enough to bring them to mind.

I backpedal, crash through the fronds as the thing shrieks and charges toward me, the inky black limbs lashing around its hidden body.

It’s too fast. Way too fast. I open my mouth to scream, but suddenly a hand closes brutally on my shoulder and yanks me backwards. .. hard .

I stumble back, my skin slick with sweat, and collide immediately with the large masculine body behind me. My thoughts are disorientated, still partially caught in the horrific jungle when I’m spun around to face my boss’s scowling mug.

“What’s wrong with you, are you stupid?” he barks at me and, to both of our horror, I immediately begin to cry.

I’m pretty sure I pissed myself, too, since I feel the rapidly cooling sensation of liquid trickling down my leg and soaking my jeans, which just makes me cry harder.

That explains what he meant about cleaning up the mess if people read the comics in the store.

I’m even more mortified when a wad of bills is shoved into my hand and he practically thrusts me toward the entrance.

“You have my permission to leave the shop. Go to the department store and get yourself something clean to wear,” he grumbles.

“Don’t think of leaving the mall—the permission on the collar won’t give you clearance for that.

And don’t think this is charity—you will be working it off—I just can’t abide the smell of you. ”

I sniffle and nod as I shuffle toward the entrance.

I wince, preparing for the zap but the collar tingles and I’m allowed to pass, though it feels a bit like I’m walking through Jello.

It’s humiliating walking to the department store with my ass soaked, but there’s nothing for it.

It’s not like the demon would likely know what size I needed.

That said, he’s surprisingly generous with how much he allotted me to use—even if I have to work it off, as he said.

I have enough to get clean pants and underwear, but also shoes that aren’t soaked in urine, a fresh shirt and bra that doesn’t smell like ass from sweating in terror in them, and a washcloth.

Upon making my purchase, I head directly for the ladies’ room.

Mercifully, it’s empty. Being as quick as possible about it before anyone has the chance to walk in, I kick off my shoes and throw them in the trash.

They are worn to the point of falling apart anyway, and after being pissed on, there’s no saving them.

That taken care of, I head to the sink and strip my jeans and panties off and kick them to the side for the time being as I thoroughly wash my lower body with the lavatory soap and my handy washcloth.

It takes a few paper towels to dry me off, but I’m able to quickly don my clean bottoms before tackling my upper extremities.

By some miracle, I’m able to accomplish all of this and be freshly attired before a gaggle of girls, all in their early twenties, enters.

I don’t look at them as I scrub my jeans and underwear in the sink, but my cheeks are flaming all the same as their conversation slips a little and I can feel their eyes on me.

A few of them giggle as they pass, and I hear a few comments whispered between them speculating on the reason I’m washing my pants that makes me clench the material roughly between my hands.

Giving the material a thorough wringing, I toss the wet clothes into the shopping bag and slip out of the bathroom before I can encounter any of them coming out of the stalls.

My ears are still burning with embarrassment and anger when I return to the shop, but I try to play it off when the boss looks up at me quizzically from his table.

“What’s eating you, pet?”

I force a stiff smile to my lips and shake my head. “Just a group of mallrats chewing on my ego a bit.”

His head tips a bit, but he remains mercifully silent as I walk over and hand him his change.

It is only then that he shows a reaction, his hand closing over mine in a tight grip as I hold the remaining bills out for him.

My eyes widen at the warmth of his hand as it sends a strange flutter through me that I’m not entirely sure if its panic or something else, but it slowly grows to concern as I realize that he’s not letting me go and his grip is like iron.

“Now,” he says smoothly, a faint purr to his voice that is deceptively pleasing to the ear, “tell me, pet , what rules did you break?”

I swallow sharply, my eyes dropping miserably to my new sneakers. “Rule four—but it was a complete accident,” I rush to explain.

He nods as if expecting that and points a finger at me, the illusion around him blurring just enough to my eyes that I can see the claw at its tip.

I’m not entirely sure if it’s intentional on his part as a tactic to scare me into submission or if my eyes are just playing tricks on me because I saw him first in his demon form.

Just maybe his illusion doesn’t work as well on me as it does everyone else.

“That is why the rule is in place. You got caught in its spell, and it chose you.” He pats the comic book on the table in front of me, intentionally drawing my attention to it.

My eyes drop to the comic book. The shadowy figure amid the jungle decorates the cover as before, and again it shimmers. With considerable effort, I tear my gaze away to focus on my boss, and he grins.

“Good. I don’t think you will be caught by one of these again now that you’ve had that particular little lesson. Now, since you also broke rule two, that means you get to go clean up your mess. The mop is in the storage in the back.”

He points to the puddle that is waiting on the linoleum floor.

I grimace and nod. Without a word of complaint, I set my bag behind the counter before proceeding to fetch the mop and cleaning the mess up in short order.

When I finish, the boss doesn’t say anything but merely points to the register, and I have the sinking feeling that I will be exiled there for the rest of the day.

I admit that I’m feeling a bit mopey about the whole situation, though I try hard to pretend to be unaffected as I interact with the customers that drift in and out of the shop.

It’s not too hard since they are mostly pretty cool, but I brighten all the same when the boss returns from one of his numerous jaunts around the mall and tosses a bag in front of me and the salty smell of a giant pretzel and nacho dipping cheese wafts up from the bag.

I have no idea where he usually goes, but I’m super gratified that he returned with lunch this time.

“Wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he grumbles in passing, and a funny, fuzzy warm feeling settles briefly around the vicinity of my heart. “Don’t just stare at it,” he barks. “Just hurry and eat it while you can, and don’t make a mess.”

I bob my head quickly in agreement and set about consuming it as I watch several customers part from the crowd and drift into the store.

Some of them enter with a glazed look in their eyes as if beckoned—and they always leave with comic books—while others enter with the same sort of curious excitement and wonder that initially pulled me in.

A feeling of relief sweeps over me for every customer who leaves without anything in hand.

It’s not great for business, perhaps, but not everyone deserves to be dragged into one of that demon’s creations.

Propping a hip against the counter, I look over at the boss during a lull in traffic. “So, I get that there are obviously folks who come in because of whatever ookity wookity you have going on here, but what gives with the others?”

The demon looks up at me thoughtfully rather than his usual nasty smirk.

“Noticed that, did you,” he rumbles as he sets down his pen.

The corners of his mouth curl at my nod, and I’m actually surprised when he launches into an explanation that is neither snide nor condescending.

“There are some people who are merely drawn to the darkness. Whether because they feel at home in it or because they enjoy the brief thrill from it. It is mostly for their sake that rule number one is in place as they aren’t as deserving of torment as those who are captured by the magic of the shop and are already marked for torment in some way. ”

“I see,” I murmur.

Who knew that a demon would be so reasonable?

That opinion only grew when he materialized just before closing with a to-go bag from the Flaming Chopstick.

The aroma drifting from the bag made me salivate.

I could smell ginger and a good spicy curry coming from it.

I didn’t need to be told twice when he told me to turn off the open sign.