First off, a word of explanation for those of you who aren't on the JuliaList. A while ago, one of the other members on the JuliaList invented a "monster" that she would figuratively send after people when they weren't fast enough in posting their stories, or if the discussion threads were scarce, for comic relief. I think of him as looking kinda like that big red hulk in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Anyway, not to be outdone, I invented one of my own, but she's very different than the big red hairy beast. There was quite a mini-story going on for awhile, with each of us trying to outdo the other one.

For a while, the monsters settled down, content to curl up in their cages with their fanfic. And if they're really good, we even let them out so they can look over our shoulders at the computer screen. But every once in a while they resurface.

Someone asked me why my monster is so different from the other one, and why she likes fanfic so much. And that's how this story was born

DESSPLACED
by Doreen Gregoire

Chapter 1

Angelique threaded her way delicately through the pits of flaming sulphur and boiling mud, holding her diaphanous white dress in one hand and a smoky grey orb in the other. Her pert nose wrinkled at the stench around her, especially when one of the mud pits gave a particularly loud, noisome belch, exposing the face of the one imprisoned therein. The unfortunate in the mud pit raised a hand in greeting.

"Hey gorgeous!" The person (there was too much mud to determine if the person was male, female or *other*) waved a hand frantically to get her attention. When she glanced down the figure smiled, exposing teeth that were almost as yellow as the sulphurous mud encrusted on *its* face. "Need a rest? There's plenty of room!"

In answer, Angelique merely used its head as a convenient stepping stone and continued on her way, oblivious to the indignant shouts that were eventually obliterated when the mud rose over its head again.

The columns of thick, yellowish-black smoke emanating from the pits all but obscured her goal, and she paused to get her bearings, stomping impatiently on another hand that clawed up from the depths of a sulphur pit to grab her ankle. A muffled gurgle was the only reply she heard.

She heard an ominous rumble and held her long skirt close to her body, leaping nimbly out of the way as a jet of bluish flame issued from yet another hole in the ground. A despairing wail could be heard before the hole closed up again. Merely shrugging her petite shoulders, she continued on her way, always working her way down in the seemingly endless spiral, skirting lakes of fire, ice, or offal.

Sometimes she would see no other sign of what passed for life in this miserable place. Once, as she neared a particularly smelly brown lake, she noticed a sea of heads bobbing in the muck. On a rock nearby a demon sat, picking its teeth with its pointed tail. After an indeterminate time, he whistled loudly. With a groan, the hundreds of heads ducked beneath the mess, and all was quiet again. She shuddered and hurried on, carefully lifting her miraculously immaculate skirts away from the dirt.

At last she found her destination, in the very bottom of the deepest layer of Hell. The quiet was uncanny, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. And cold, so very cold. It almost made her wish for the sulphur pits again, but remembering the ubiquitous stench, she revised that thought.

She searched the endless sea of ice for some indication of where she should go next. Delicately stepping on the icy lake, she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced down. She bit her lip to keep from drawing attention to herself with a scream. Under the thick layer of ice, which was somehow crystal clear, there was an endless sea of faces pressed up against the ice, hands pounding ineffectually in a vain effort to break free.

She ran faster to the centre of the lake, where she spied a vast volcano. It emerged from the frozen sea and soared high above, its top obscured by the yellow sulphur clouds. The fire of its constant eruption tinged the clouds a bilious orange.

At the bottom of the volcano was a gaping maw, leading into a vast, black cavern. More sure of herself now, Angelique stepped quickly through the maze of passages, unhampered by doomed souls; for some reason, this area was clear of the damned.

At last a sickeningly yellow glow on the black rock heralded the end of her journey. She emerged into a cave, so vast the edges could not be discerned. At the centre was a huge throne, on which sat The Master. About his cloven feet were yet more burning sulphur pits -- he actually moved a huge hoof and immersed it in the sulphur, rumbling in enjoyment as the flames warmed his icy extremity.

Angelique tilted her head back to stare up at the frightening visage far above her. When he failed to take notice of her, she cleared her throat in a ladylike little cough.

"Master?" she asked, trying very hard to keep her voice from trembling.

The Master bent his head, narrowing his eyes to focus on the insignificant figure in front of him, then as he recognized the white dress, narrowed them further to a frown.

"Angelique." His voice was a deep bass rumble that shook the very foundations of the mountain around them. "To what do I owe this *distinct* pleasure?" From the tone of his voice, her visit was anything *but* pleasant.

"Oh, most unholy and evil Master, she began. "Who reigns in Hell and over man--"

"Cut the hyperbole, wench," the vast being ordered imperiously. "You didn't come to seek me out just to flatter me. What do you want?"

"I come to ask a favour, oh mighty one." She knelt down so her head touched the stone floor.

The Master laughed, and rocks shook themselves loose and rattled down around her. "A favour! Only you would be so brazen. Why should *I* grant you a favour, when all you have done is fail -- time after time after time?" He reached down negligently into one of the sulphur pits beside him, plucked out a wriggling body and popped it into his mouth, oblivious to the cries it uttered before he swallowed it. "Now, if you had been successful in the tasks I had assigned to you, I might consider it. But all you have done is mess up one assignment after another, or to openly defy me. One time you even changed sides! You're only here now because the *other* place won't take you! They fear you weren't exactly *sincere*. I wonder why?" He chuckled, and more ceiling rocks rained down on her. She moved her hands to protect her head.

Suddenly he leaned forward, all jocularity gone. He plucked her from the floor and held her dangling from one claw and regarded her as he would one of the least of the creatures in his vast domain. He raised her to a level with his eyes and she shuddered and tried to turn away from the fires she saw burning in his slitted gaze, but he shook her and made her meet his awful gaze..

"You are unworthy of even my notice!" So close, his voice was like thunder, and his breath was worse than anything she had passed on the way here. "I only choose to grant you an audience because you amuse me in your presumption. So tell me, insect, what *do* you want?"

Angelique held out the grey crystal ball she had managed to hold onto. She mumbled a few words and a scene appeared in it -- a man and a woman, both no longer young, but still in their middle years. The woman's short hair shone in the sunlight like spun copper, and the man laughed at something she said, then pulled her to him and kissed her lovingly. He held her hand, and a diamond sparkled.

"Master, you see before you one of my 'failures'." All fear was gone from her voice, and her words bore a knife-edged hardness. "I cursed this man, Barnabas Collins, long ago, that all who loved him would die. Yet you see the evidence that this is not the case. He's even gone so far as to marry this -- this *woman*. I ask only to put an end to my curse once and for all, and to call death on Barnabas and all who hold him dear."

The Master stroked his pocked chin in contemplation. "Why should you, who are eternally damned, care what happens in the world of the living?"

She raised her chin in near-defiance. "You said it yourself, Master. I have failed. I will live with that failure for eternity. I would like to gain your confidence -- that you may trust me with your tasks. How can I accomplish this when *he* still lives?"

The Master was silent while he considered. "And if you fail?"

She hung her head. "I will do as you ask, Master."

"I will not grant you any favours." At this Angelique opened her mouth to protest, secretly marvelling that she still had any kind of nerve left. The Master held up a clawed forefinger to forestall any protests. "But I *will* make a bargain with you." Angelique merely nodded her head, not trusting her voice this time to speak. "I will grant you your favour, BUT for your part, when you return, you will remain by my side as my pet." He reached over the arm of his throne and grasped a handful of the chains that she saw were embedded in the rock. He brought up a wriggling, squirming mass of yet more damned souls -- each one with an iron collar and chain about its neck.

Angelique gulped. "And if I fail?" she whispered, unconsciously echoing The Master's earlier words.

The Master casually opened his fist and let the chained souls drop, again ignoring their cries as they struck the sides of his basalt throne. He then reached over to the other side of the throne, where there were yet more chains. He tugged, but nothing happened, then released them. The chains made an almost-musical tinkling sound against the stone.

"You truly do not want to know where *these* chains are fastened," he told her with a sneer.

"I will not fail, Master," Angelique told him fervently.

"You will have four hours in which to accomplish your task." With that, The Master gave a casual flick with his immense clawed finger, as if he were disposing of some minute piece of dust. Angelique disappeared before she could hit the far wall.

The Master chuckled, sending demons scurrying to clean up the rock that again began to fall from the ceiling. He reached over and selected one chain in particular, and held it up to eye level. Instead of squirming in fear, the damned soul that dangled at the end of the chain was still. Somehow he retained a dignity that seemed impossible to attain in this place.

"You are amused, Master?"

"Yes, Nicholas. I find that witch very amusing." He set Nicholas down on the arm of the throne.

Nicholas straightened the tattered remnants of his once-natty grey suit. "And will she succeed in her task?"

The Master laughed aloud and an avalanche of rock and debris cascaded down the sides of the chamber and into the sulphur pits. "Of course not! I have made sure she fails at everything she does!"

Nicholas frowned in puzzlement. "But why, oh Evil One?"

"Because she grovels so beautifully." The Master chuckled again as he leaned over and dug with his claw in another pit.

* * * * *

(To be continued)

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production