The last place Steve Tunglo wanted to be was in a smoke-ridden, rat-infested pub at night. Yet, that was exactly where he was. Steve gagged on the fog as he stood quietly in the entrance. His eyes had always been better than average, but however good his eyes were, he struggled to make out anything through the immense cigar smoke. Steve ran his fingers through his wavy, dark brown hair and exhaled slowly.
“Come on, Tunglo!” he whispered to himself.
Steve straightened his back and tensed his buff arms. He strolled, in what he hoped, was a confident stride towards where he thought the bar would be. Through the smoke he could make out a long bench and sighed with relief that at least he looked like he knew where he was going. Stopping in front of the bench, he leaned down to look a short man straight in the eyes. The man stared up at him, then glared, realizing who he was.
“Get lost, boy,” he sneered. “I wouldn’t disturb Lengálou, if I was you. You may get worse than what you have already gotten.” The man shuffled into a nearby room.
Steve’s mind started to race. What if I don’t get out of here? Alive? It doesn’t matter. You need to do this, Tunglo!
The short man stood in front of him again, grinning a smile that could rot your teeth. He bowed mockingly and reached out his hand.
“Lord Lengálou will see you, Tunglo,” he cackled.
Steve clenched his jaw, in which a shave was way overdue, and boldly walked towards the man who had murdered his family.
The difference in room décor and smell was distinct and worse than the pub. Statues of demonic-looking immortals stood in each corner. Pictures of graphic murders lined the dark purple walls. Even though Steve felt like vomiting, he held his head high and focused on what was important. Helping Lengálou. He was talking to his Father God, when the door behind him opened. He didn’t turn, but he could feel the weight and evil that came in. A man in a suit of purple and black hovered to his desk. Literally above the ground about seven inches. Steve inhaled, and rolled his eyes.
“No need to show off, Lengálou. I am perfectly aware of the power that holds you,” was Steve’s smart remark.
Lengálou laughed heartily, and sat in a claw-like chair then turned to face him. Steve was taken aback by his eyes. You could have said that the whole of the world’s evil lay inside them. Lengálou smile a perfect grin. Perfect white teeth, perfectly ironed clothes, perfect russet-coloured hair. He acted publicly in gestures of kindness, and anyone would think him a good man. However, under the cover of darkness he was beyond any evil anyone could understand. Lengálou was good at blinding people.
“I believe you’re mistaken, Stephen. It is not the power that holds me. I hold the power.”
So you think, Steve thought.
“You are here on what business, Tunglo?”
“One from my Lord,” Steve replied.
Lengálou’s face hardened and his eyes flared with hatred. He glared at him from under dark eyebrows.
“Your family was gullible,” Steve stiffened and grit his teeth. “They didn’t understand. If they had just obeyed me nothing would have happened to them,” Lengálou stated matter-of-factly, turning his palms to the ceiling. “I wanted something small. Something that only needed one breath to reveal to me their reliability. They didn’t have it. They didn’t want their god to send them to hell for rejecting him. A god that would do that is no worthy god. Now, I am the worthy god. I have had people who have needed to deny me in order to get what I want, and they are still alive.”
Steve’s hidden tongue moved side to side quickly in his mouth, as he did when he was angry. Lengálou saw that he had done a good job in working the man up and raised his eyebrow and grinned devilishly.
“My family was not weak. My family was not gullible. My family did not think that of our God. You know perfectly well our God and you are definitely not Him! My family would rather have been murdered by you here and get a better reward from heaven! Jesus said we would be persecuted here and we have no fear of pain here, but fear God only!”
Lengálou eyes betrayed the demon inside of him and he screamed a scream from hell itself.
“Shut up! You stupid human! You are a hindrance to me. You don’t know anything about me and God!” he screeched. No longer was Lengálou in this equation but the devil in him speaking of his own account. “I have every right to say and do anything I want! You cannot stop me!” The demon sneered, “You fear me. I see it.”
Steve shook, not from fear but from anger. “Enough! That is enough from your darkness and your devils!”
The short man who tended the bar shook uncontrollably. It wasn’t cold, but he felt so cold and deathly he felt he wanted to just fade away. No one sat in the bar any longer.
Lengálou had stumbled out of that room screeching and wailing. Steve had calmly walked out behind him.
“It is finished, Lengálou. You are under bondage no longer. Snap out of it!” Steve had commanded.
No one had ever told his lord to do anything, yet all his lord could do was cry out “I want them back!”
Steve talked to him about things the bartender couldn’t comprehend. He did hear the name Jesus, though. Then his master had started to sob violently, speaking gibberish and it seemed as though Steve could understand. After about a half hour, both men stood, hugged each other tightly and left, leaving the bartender dumbfounded and scared of what had just happened in front of him that night.
By Amariah Corowa