The Dark Corner

 “I’m here to see the Freelancer.”  

The pig who had just opened the apartment door to me sized me up, his sharp eyes narrowing on the shoe box in my hands.  

“You’re a friend of …?” He asked, leaving ample space for me to mess up.  

“Richard’s. He told me three times to come here.”  

It was the password I was given but when the pig’s nose moved as if to sniff out my intentions, I went rigid regardless.  

“Close the door behind you and come with me.” 

The pig trotted down the hall, into the kitchen, and climbed onto a spare chair beside a skinny man with auburn hair.  

“What service can I provide for you today?” The man asked, his voice eerily gentle, hands folded just as neatly as his shirt was ironed. His eyes were a strange colour, almost like molten gold, but softer.  

The shoe box became awfully slippery in my grasp. This was him. The creature lurking in the dark, the criminal serving the threefold law and with it, turning those that dared stand in his way undead – the Freelancer.  

“Are you going to say why you’re here or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?”  

“Colin,” the Freelancer shot the pig a warning glance, “be nice. She’s a customer.” His gaze found mine and I nearly drowned in the amber hue of it. “What’s your name?” 

“Connie.” I cleared my throat, but still, my voice hitched. “I’m here for a resurrection spell.”  

The Freelancer’s features softened. “Thank you for coming, Connie.”  

“Resurrection spells start at five hundred,” Colin pushed.  

“Depending on the size of the animal,” the Freelancer added and gestured for me to step closer. “And the time of death.” His voice was smooth, measured – but something in his eyes flickered, dark and ancient. For a split second, I saw fangs.  

My mind whispered dread filled warnings, but I refused to listen. I could do this, I was entirely qualified.  

“Either way, payment upfront.” Colin jumped up on his hind legs and pointed his trotters at me for emphasis. “Cash only.” 

“Understood.” I fumbled with the shoe box and dropped it down onto the table, wincing at the loud thud. “Sorry.” I inhaled shakily.  

“It’s alright. Take your time.” I hated that the Freelancer’s baritone lay itself around me like a blanket. I could not afford distractions, a lot depended on this going as planned.  

Colin stared at me like I was simple.  

I started rummaging through my bag, searching for my wallet.  

From the corner of my eye, I saw Colin lift the lid slowly and peer inside. Nosy pig just couldn’t help himself. “What the…,” he hissed and gestured for the Freelancer to come look at his findings.  

The Freelancer obeyed and chuckled. “This isn’t the neighbour’s cat.” He tilted the box toward me. “I can’t resurrect a slab of bacon.”  

Going to the butcher’s before the mission was my own personal touch. 

Colin’s jaw worked. He was offended. Good. That pig had a criminal record longer than a demon’s wait list.  

“You won’t have to.”  

Three years in the police academy finally paid off when I pulled out my gun in the blink of an eye. No wallet in this bag, Colin. And no money for necromancers.  

“You are under arrest for tax fraud and practising witchcraft without a licence.”  

The Freelancer’s mouth twitched as he observed the shaking barrel aimed at his forehead. “Oh, Connie.”  

“Plus, nine charges of necromancy in the first degree.”  

Colin stirred, but I pulled out another handgun and aimed it at him. “As are your accomplices.”  

At that, the whole squad barged through the door. The weight of what this meant for my career pulled time to a standstill. I only started breathing again when I heard the clicking of handcuffs.  

“Curse her bloodline!” Colin yelled and kicked. “She’s just another tax man with a badge!” Two more officers came to secure the pig, it took three men to carry him out of the apartment.  

The Freelancer remained silent. He didn’t even get up from the table. I watched as he was being hauled upright, wondering if his eyes gave the whole world a gold hue when he looked at it. Was that what had led him down this path of greed?  

My commander approached me and broke the amber spell. “You earned your stripes today” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations, officer.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” I nodded, a warm rush of pride filling my body.  

“This city will be a safer place now having you enforcing the law in it.” 

The hand on my shoulder squeezed gently and I allowed myself to take it in. This was it. Everything I had worked so hard for.   

“Connie.”  

The Freelancer’s voice pierced through my neck like cold-tipped needles, nearly decapitating me. My blood ran thick and buzzed like flies in a wound.  

“Get back in line.” One of the officers yanked the Freelancer away from me.  

“Three times whispered…” my tongue betrayed me, and my eyes went wide.  

“Three drops bled.” The Freelancer replied, fangs glinting. “One for body, one for breath.” 

He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the box that was now in the hands of another officer.  

My hands clamped over my mouth, but it wasn’t me who spoke the three-fold law into being.  

“One name given.” The Freelancer’s golden eyes gleamed as he finished the spell. 

My gaze followed the amber trail. A fly, shimmering like black glass, crept from the edge of the box. Another followed. 

I smelled it before I saw it – something rancid, crawling, wrong. 

The officer holding the box yelped and dropped it. The lid burst open and the bacon covered in a white mass spilled onto the tile floor. It started moving; maggots writhing over red-streaked letters in the rotten flesh.  

“Confiscate the evidence.” My commander ordered but his voice was tight.  

“Six letters to a name.” The Freelancer’s fanged smile grew wicked.  

I didn’t need to look to know what was written in the dead meat. My name. Connie.  

A fly landed on my cheek. I swatted it away, but another immediately followed.  

My commander said something, but I didn’t hear him. Not really. All I could hear was how loud his heart was beating. All I could feel was the warmth radiating off him, as he was standing beside me.  

I realized I was cold. From the inside out.  

The officers forced the Freelancer out into the hallway, but he twisted his neck to look back one last time.  

He dipped his head like he was acknowledging me. Like he’d just …welcomed me home.  

I looked down at my hands. My fingertips had turned grey. Shaking, I pressed two of them to my neck. No pulse. 

Eileen is a non-binary spider poet and storyteller of the absurd macabre. Wandering the Thin Place between Dublin and Berlin their work has been awarded by Listowel Writer’s Week, the Irish Writer’s Centre, MONO and more. You can find their most recently published piece in Volume II of The Dark Corner. Linktr.ee: https://linktr.ee/eileenstltr, Instagram: @eileenstltr