Chapter 7.3: Hail Satan!

Carlos's head tingled as he fell into the cold water, the skin on his head returning, the hair on his scalp slowly coming back, curling down and ending at his ears. His eyesight returned, and in front of him was the Cecil Hotel, in all of its grandeur.

Bright glowing red lights pulsated out of the boarded-up windows, heat emanating, pouring out of the open lobby doors, hot like a volcano. The water vibrated and pulsed, pinching at his face, pulling him towards the ghastly portal. The deeper Carlos fell down, the more he was sucked into its spell, luring him in, a fish to bait.

The actual fish themselves circled the hotel, in a perimeter, and watched as well, not going any closer past a certain, invisible mark. The animals could sense something that people couldn't, but Carlos could, and he was not afraid.

A different voice called out this time, this one just as friendly, however, slightly deeper.

Carlos, I've been waiting for you.

Soft creaks and groans, quieted by the ocean depths pushed and pushed, and the boarded-up windows broke against the weight of the damned souls. The young and the old, the ugly and beautiful, their souls slipped out of the hotel into the water, swimming towards Carlos to greet him.

We've been waiting for you, Carlos.

They stretched their arms, hands splayed out, smiling, laughing, because there was no pain when dead. Carlos decided that he had been waiting for them too. That's why he came, not to stop his curse, but to find them.

Nothing is wrong, everything is fine, Carlos.

Carlos knew he had to join them. There would be no more pain in death, no more resentment of being an after, no more bloody tears at night as the memories of before faded away.

The spirits, translucent and red, curled around him lovingly, embracing him, and Carlos relaxed as they pulled him down. He missed his family. They were horrible, perverted, and twisted, but they were his. The feeling was so similar, the warm and constant embrace when they were one, and he let them take him, towards Cecil Hotel.

A faint voice could be heard, but his family told him to ignore it. He ignored the pain as well, as their clumsy hands dragged his feet down the side of the building, scraping his hands against the granite walls and bumping his head against the fire escape.

The voice was hard to ignore, relentless, repeating incessantly like a drumbeat. It sounded so familiar. Who was it? Was it George?

Who is George?

The voice was louder and louder, and Carlos became annoyed. He was tired of watching him, whoever he was, the thorn in his side. Yet he was so lonely when they were apart, always worried if he was up to no good.

Gabriel, shut up.

Carlos started to remember. This was not his family, the hotel is not his home, and he pushed the spirits off of him, angering them. They turned a darker red, and they weren't friends anymore.

Pain wasn't physical in the underworld, but it was emotional.

Rotting teeth and eyeless sockets exposed tissue and squalid brain matter, these were the things that surrounded him. All love was lost from the damned when their spell was broken, and Carlos flailed his arms and legs, trying to get away, but the ocean worked against him.

With all of his might, Carlos broke free from their chains and swam upwards, trying not to look back, but he was forced to, their hands pulling back his hair, his cheeks, stretching his mouth wide open and forcing him to take in deep, enormous gulps of water.

Gabriel's shouts in his head added to the disorientation, and Carlos forgot that he didn't need to breathe, panic filling his lungs along with the water.

There was no need to breathe, but the water filled him up, distending his stomach making the process of escape brutal. Carlos grabbed onto the fire escape, but it was rusted and worn away from years of neglect that it pulled off from the side of the building, the screws hanging on by a thread.

They clawed at his bare chest and arms, scratched his face, and bruised his ankles, but Carlos refused to let go. The shadow of a dead man, a hole where the left part of his face should be, unhinged his jaw, the tendons spreading like rubber bands, and he let out a frightful screech.

The phantoms all let go at once, and Carlos pulled himself up on the rusty ladder, but he did not go up more than three copper-colored rungs until he was being dragged down again. The malevolent spirits were now one mind, a cohesive unit, and they pulled on his legs all at once.

Carlos's iron grip did not leave the fire escape, and somehow the fire escape was still latched onto the side of the building. Something had to give. Something had to break.

It was his legs.

It wasn't a clean break when they tore off his legs. The left leg was detached at about near the where it connected to the hip, at his glutes. The lower part of the leg cracked, popping off like a crab leg at the knee cap, disjointing at the hips, the tender flesh exposed to the world.

The right leg was not as merciful.

The pain was so intense on the left leg that the absence of feeling in of itself was the shock, but the pain from the right was what made his eyesight almost fail him once more. Carlos's ankle crackled like popcorn as it broke in various places, blood blooming around his foot. His tibia snapped, and pushed up into the back part of his leg, causing him to weaken his grasp momentarily.

It was enough for spirits to take hold of him.

Carlos wasn't sure why after two hundred and one years he wasn't ready to die. He told himself that everything would be fine as they latched onto his torso. Nothing was wrong as the side of the Cecil Hotel's fire escape grew long, icicles, the windows frosted over, and they cracked.

The crack started small, a little chink in the lower-left corner. The source of the frost came from there, somehow stronger than the demonic heat pouring forth from the hotel. The ice crawled down the windowsill, wrapped around the railings, slid down the escape, and wrapped itself around the body of Carlos Alvarez.

A black glow coiled around the ice, and then around him, expanding and sucking out all the light in the water. Carlos let go of the rails, the red glow flowing towards the black miasma and spreading through the water, everything silent and still.

Nothing could be heard except for the tiny cracks expanding, spreading like a web against the opaque window. The pieces of glass sparkled in the dark as Gabriel burst through, his hands protected in a thin layer of ice.

Leaping out from the window, Gabriel took Carlos by the arms, gripping his mouth shut to not get any water inside. The ghosts were frozen solid, their contorted faces and twisted frames still, perfectly poised mannequins glowing brightly.

Gabriel and Carlos didn't speak because they didn't need words when they looked into each other's eyes. Gabriel's frozen fingers interlocked with his and their gaze never left each other as the water around them churned.

The building was angry.

Cecil was very much alive, and it needed to be fed. The stray tourist that fell into the water, never to be seen again, was not enough. The souls of two undead creatures, that was exactly what Cecil needed, and his gatekeeper as well. A surge of water pushed Gabriel and Carlos into the building, and Gabriel froze up, a globe of ice surrounding the two of them.

They catapulted through the inside of the hotel, wood, and metal scraping against the thick exterior of the shield. The bits of trash inside shook around their makeshift shift snowglobe as it bounced back and forth, back and forth, a pinball in the dark.

In one swift and final push, Cecil pushed them out, right through the roof, and they crashed onto the pavement, the thick shield sinking into the cement. Gabriel shuddered, and the ball of ice melted away.

Carlos went limp, regurgitating debris and blood, his eyes receding into his skull while Gabriel never let go the entire time. Water dribbled out of his own mouth as well, but he was more concerned about Carlos, and the man that approached them.

Wearing a black leather jacket, an AC/DC shirt, torn black jeans, and black sneakers, stood a man with black hair and gaunt cheeks. Gabriel was confused, as he had similar features to Carlos, with his brown skin and curly hair. Carlos was confused because he recognized the man.

Sputtering, legless and deformed, Carlos looked up at him and asked in a long-dead language,

"¿Por qué estás aquí? ¿Cómo estás vivo? You died before I was even born! "

The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his handsome smile revealed dead and rotting teeth. Gabriel tried to keep his gaze steady, to not show fear in front of the thing that appeared in front of them, the thing masquerading in a dead meatsuit.

"It's been so long since I've heard someone speak Spanish," he cooed. "It's a shame I have to kill you. It's what Our Father asks of me."

"¡Dios nunca te pediría que hicieras esto!" Carlos screamed. "You lie!"

Gabriel was confused as he had no idea what Carlos was saying, and his confusion turned into terror as long, curling horns sprouted out of the man's head, black, tarry blood pouring down his face, a crown of the devil blessed upon his head.

"I would never lie about Him. Hail Satan ."

The Night Stalker would kill them, but he wouldn't make it quick.

He needed to see the fear in their eyes first before he could do it.