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Date Posted: 04:14:24 12/03/03 Wed
Author: Doyle
Author Host/IP: ESS-p-144-138-109-213.mega.tmns.net.au / 144.138.109.213
Subject: 'The Longest Night Vol. 1' - An anthology of short stories written by the sanka board members...

7 P.M.


"'Tis the season...whatever that means"


by Doyle


Doyle aimlessly wandered down a lonely street towards what he hoped was Heather's place. Her directions hadn't exactly been clear. His neck craned upwards, gazing at the tall buildings with the bright holiday lights. He pulled out the flask which had been in his leather jacket pocket, removed the lid and took a swig. While still looking up at the multicoloured lights of the city instead of paying attention to where he was walking, Doyle ran straight into another pedestrian. The woman stumbled backwards, landing on her backside on the pavement. Doyle was more concerned about spilling some of the precious rum from his flask. "What the f---?!" he began to curse before glancing down at the young woman. "Watch where you're going you...drunkard!" the woman shouted at him. Doyle gave her a quizzical look before asserting, "qc!" The dazed woman blinked at him a few times before veryifying, "Doyle?" He held out his hand to aid qc in standing upright. "Sorry I knocked you on your butt." he apologised. The two friends almost hugged but they both pulled back at the same time and instead settled for an uncomplicated handshake.

The cool breeze tousled their hair as the pale moon and twinkling stars above battled to penetrate the thick layer of smog that smothered Los Angeles. "So where were you sauntering off to, qc?" Doyle enquired. "I was on my way to Heather's." she told him. "So was I." he confessed. She regarded him. Her head slightly cocked, she verified, "But you got lost huh?" "I was endeavouring not to" Doyle proclaimed, "but Heather's directions weren't exactly..." before he could finish, qc supplied the word he was looking for. "Precise?" "Exactly." he concured. "Definitely." "Absolutely." "Indeed." "Quite." "Don't fret, Doyle, I know the way." qc said, attempting to restore confidence in the lad. Half an hour had passed and the duo found themselves at a small gated park at Fifth Street. In the smog-dark night, it was hard to see anything clearly. Here they were skulking around on this cold, cold night in San Julian Park. "Who says it doesn't get cold in Los Angeles?" qc wondered aloud. "Don't change the subject, lass, you still got us lost." Doyle reminded her. "Would you stop with that horrid attempt at an Irish accent? You're worse at sounding Irish than DB." she informed him. Doyle hushed. "Well I don't know about you," she continued, "but I'm too cold to just stand here. I'm gonna push on and see where it gets me." He frowned at her. "You really think that's sensible considering where we are?" qc smirked. "Don't be such a meek little girly-girl. If anyone tries to mug you, I'll kick their arse." Doyle breathed a sigh of relief but then hastily attempted to cover it up.

It had to be below fourty degrees outside. qc fussed at the scarf wrapped around her neck. The end which was flung over her shoulder didn't want to stay put. It kept falling off and every time it did she'd just grumble and toss it back over her shoulder again. "Brrrr." she exclaimed and looked at Doyle for some sympathy. He glanced sideways at her and asked, "You cold?" "No." she answered, matter-of-factly, before pulling the hat she was wearing over her ears to warm them up. As they ventured onwards through the dimly-lit park, qc noticed Doyle shiver a bit. Feeling somewhat guilty that she was wearing more layers of clothing than he was, she offered him her scarf. "Want my scarf?" she asked. "Thanks for the offer but I'm okay." qc looked at him skeptically. "I just saw you quivering. You are not okay, pal." Doyle held up his hand, signalling to qc not to make a fuss. "I just got a bit of a chill down my spine is all. Nothing to worry about." She just rolled her eyes at him. "Stop with the bloody chivalrous act. Just take the damn scarf and shut-up." "But qc, I'm trying to explain to you that a friend once told me that the type of chill I just got is what you experience when someone, somewhere is walking over your future gravesite." qc just blinked at him. "Since I get these sorts of chills often, mine is apparently in a mall or something." "What kind of crazy-ass friends do you have, Doyle?!" qc asked in an exasperated fashion, surprising Doyle. "Did you just say "ass", qc?" he calmly shot back. She balked at him for a moment before trying to conceal her slip-up. "N-No. I said "arse". I wouldn't be caught dead saying "ass". Damn American word." Before you could say, "Is this story going anywhere?" the bickering twosome fell in a hole. (way to come out of left-field, Doyle)

"Well, crap. We're in a hole." qc exclaimed. "I thought you liked being in holes." Doyle said as he stood up and dusted the grime off himself. "The only hole I'm at peace in is Silver's." They both suddenly noticed the massive drop in temperature. Sure, it had been cold before but now it was *freezing*. "Uh...qc? About that scarf offer...?" Though qc would have delighted in witnessing Doyle come crawling back to her for help, her concentration was somewhere else. Specifically, on the immense form she could see in the distance. A mammoth beast was beating its great wings which qc deduced was the source of the icy wind. She eventually managed to form words again. "Doyle?" He was engrossed in taking another swig of rum from his flask when qc finally got his attention. His eyes widened, his mouth gaped open like a fish and Doyle momentarily loosened his grip on the flask which fell to the ground, spilling the precious contents it once held. "You still be needing that scarf, Doyle?" qc asked him whilst never shifting her gaze from the grotesque monstrosity. Doyle first shook his head gently, then responded with, "N-No, it's okay, qc. I'm feeling oddly warm all of a sudden."

Once they both snapped out of their stupor, Doyle wasn't too pleased to find the accident he'd had. "No! Not good! Not good! The RUM!" "Yes, the rum is gone." qc acknowledged. "Why is the rum gone?" Doyle asked, unaware of the fact that *he* was the culprit responsible for the deprivation of rum. "You dropped it." she explained. He just gawked at her for a minute before asking, "But why is the rum gone?" qc rolled her eyes at him for the second time and tried to get through his single-mindedness by telling him to, "Stop quoting 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and tell me what that is!" She indicated the enormous atrocity which was batting its wings so fiercely, it made the place seem like a wind tunnel. The demon's tremendous thrashing wings were so boisterous and blustery, they were creating ice everywhere. Stalactites began to form all around. "I think we're in the ninth circle of hell, qc!" Doyle bellowed over the tempest. "Tell me about it!" qc hollered back. "No, I mean, I think we're literally in HELL! I recall reading about all this in Dante's Devine Comedy!" "I see nothing humourous about our predicament!" she shot back. "He was a poet who was taken on a guided tour of the underworld, through the nine levels of hell. Decending concentric rings based on the severity of the sin!" qc moved closer to Doyle so they wouldn't have to yell. "So you're saying we're actually *in* hell?" "Yes." "If this were hell, wouldn't there be an ironic punishment division where I'd be raped by goats or something?"

Doyle continued explaining, "So at the very bottom of hell, the ninth circle, the devil is frozen in ice." He paused for a moment. "What's wrong? You stopped yammering." qc pointed out. "qc, have you betrayed anyone lately?" Doyle asked her. After thinking for a moment, she answered, "No. Why?" "Because the worst spot in hell is reserved for those who betray." he informed her. "That's where we are now?" qc established. Doyle nodded. "So that's Satan who's blowing wind up my skirt?" she added gravely. "Yep. That's Lucifer alright." Doyle assured her. "Beelzebub. Old Nick." "Isn't that Santa Claus?" "No, that's Old SAINT Nick." "Oh." "The Devil. Mephistopheles. Prince of Darkness. The Evil One." "Alright, Doyle! I think we all get the point." Doyle promptly shushed. "So how do we get out of here?" qc asked, now extremely pale. Paler than most people. Both hers and Doyle's clothes were coated in frost. "Well, once Dante had seen the nine circles, he and his tour guide climbed up Satan himself to get out of hell." "You telling me we got to climb up that thing?" "Yes." "Won't he eat us?" "While it's true in each of his three mouths is a man whom he rips eternally with his teeth..." Doyle began. "It has three mouths?!" qc wailed. "Yes, but as he tries to escape the icy lake, he just ends up freezing himself more solidly in the ice. So we should be safe." Doyle said soothingly, trying to calm the frantic qc. "There's a flaw in that logic somewhere." she pointed out.

Ultimately, the two Australians reached the surface after clambering up the belly of the beast. They emerged from hell via a manhole cover. Once Doyle had made sure that there were no oncomming cars, he hoisted qc up and they got off the road pronto. Doyle finished what little rum was left in his flask then peered inside it to fortify that there was no more. "Oh my," qc exclaimed, "we're late for Heather's hootenanny." "I'm sure she'll overlook our tardiness when we inform her that we took a little side trip into HELL!" Doyle said in an exasperated tone. "And I'm sure she'll believe us." qc replied sarcastically. He contemplated that for a moment before agreeing, "Right. We won't tell anyone anything." After catching a taxi to the address Heather had given them, the two weary travellers knocked on what they hoped was Heatherosa's door. Indeed it was. They were both invited in. "Where've you been?" she questioned them. Doyle and qc just looked at each other before answering, "We got stuck in traffic." qc observed the lack of people in the room then asked, "Where'd everybody go?" "They left." Heather answered bluntly. "When you two didn't show up, they all decided to go off and do their own thing. Nog?"

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