Six-Six-Six

Short dark story

'WHERE DO YOU think you are going?'

'Aw, Mum, what's wrong? I'm meeting my friends, we won't be long.'

'It's dark already. Don't be too late, or you won't go out again.'

'Okay, Mum, see you later.'

Xavia shook his head, grinning inwardly. He would get home when it pleased him. His gang had a date.

Xavia marched up the hill to his favourite building—number 666 Purple Street. The house had been home to a family for many years. Then they were gone. Grandparents, parents, children, in-laws, all six disappeared. Gone without trace, all of them, the old place slowly fell into disrepair. But now it had a new life. A gang of teenagers made it their clubhouse, and for as long as their parents didn't find out, it would remain that way.

Ella was waiting for the others. She started preparing the seating, manky old cushions scattered in a circle. Ella was a studious, clever and authoritative lass, and she took no shit from anyone.

Xavia, next to arrive, ducked his shy greeting and took his usual place, next to Ella's demonstrative arms as she took the lead. The others gradually clambered over each other, giggling, ready for tonight's fun.

'The number 666 is used to signify the devil, the antichrist, or evil in general. It's not to be confused with another, unrelated 666, used by Chinese gamers to commend skilful play,' started Ella. She studied each set of eyes, judging and waiting for any disagreement.

The lecture continued, 'The association of 666 with evil originates from a passage in the Book of Revelations in the New Testament. As it reads in the King James Version (13:18), and yes, I've checked it, read it, and asked our religious teacher. Any questions?'

A gang of averted eyes and head shakes.

'Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man, and his number is Six hundred three score and six.' Ella stopped and glared at John, who dared to snigger.

'What does "threescore" mean,' he asked. Ella tutted and carried on.

'The idea of the "number of a man" or "beast" may refer to the practice of gematria in Jewish numerology, where every letter of the Hebrew alphabet corresponds to a number, and words and names correspond to the sums of these numbers. John, look up "gematria"; you'll find it in those big books called dictionaries.'

'Are you Jewish?' asked John.

'What do you think, Dickhead,' answered Ella. John ducked away once more.

Ella grabbed her notepad and opened a thumbed page, 'Using gematria, scholars have variously decoded 666 to learn the biblical beast's name. A leading theory deciphers 666 as Nron Qsr or Nro Qsr, taken as Greek and Latin for Nero Caesar. The beastly 666 may refer to Nero's persecution of early Christians, though this theory has historical problems. Another similarly problematic theory identifies 666 as Muhammed, the founding Islamic prophet viewed as a false prophet in medieval Christianity.' She waited for questions, but the text and facts were above the intelligence of most of her listeners.

Her small gathering of five listeners was lost in her teachings but dared not to say a word.

'Now, regardless of what your parents, the vicar or priest say, it refers to the historical entity, 666, and it came to stand for the personification of evil over the centuries, thanks to the apocalyptic visions of the Book of Revelations. Some avoid the number out of fear of its evil associations, but others playfully revel in it. But we don't. Do we? We are scared of nothing.' The clapping started slowly, but soon, it was joined by whoops and cheers.

Xavia had been reading and researching facts for tonight's meeting; when the noise quietened, he spoke, 'The number 666 has inspired many superstitions. After their second term in the White House, Ronald and Nancy Reagan retired to 666 St. Cloud Road in Bel-Air, California, but had the house number officially changed to 668. Reagan has been the subject of conspiracy theories, where the number has an active life because Ronald, his middle name Wilson, and Reagan are each six letters long. In 2003, US Highway 666 was renamed US 491 after "decades of complaints," according to the Albuquerque Journal.' Xavia brushed imaginary dust from his outfit, proud of his addition to the lecture. There was even a ripple of applause. Xavia rarely speaks to the group. Even Ella was impressed.

'All talking aside, tonight we have a task to begin. We will discover why and what happened to our hosts at Number 666. Any ideas, anyone?'

There was chatter but no answers or suggestions. Ella spoke again, 'I was here much before you guys. I searched every room. There was nothing new.' Grunts of disappointment.

'But, guess what?'

Five heads shook.

'There is a cellar, at least, I think so. I tapped the floor, and there was a hollow sound. Meaning?'

'There is nothing down there?' asked John. 'Or?'

'Exactly, or what? Who wants to find out?'

'Yeah,' they all shouted, following Ella to the front of the house.

Between the dining room and the kitchen was a hallway. Ella tapped. An empty sound echoed.

'All we have to do is find the doorway down. I could not find a hint of one.'

The group tapped, then thumped the flooring. There were ceramic tiles, flat cement, and old and worn carpeting. But no doorway.

John said, 'I may be no good at English, but my Dad's a builder, and I've watched him.'

'Yeah, and?' asked one of the others.

'We have been looking for an entrance that opens upwards. We may need a doorway that opens inwards.'

'We haven't seen either,' said one of the girls.

'No, because whoever built this place hid them. And it is possible that we need to push in more than one place simultaneously.'

'How do you mean?'

'It's a locking device, and most people don't want them as it takes two people to work it.'

'Okay, smarty pants, where?'

'Where would you place them if you didn't want anyone to open up?'

'No idea, where would you put them?'

'I would put them in the doorways. Let's look.'

Six teenagers ran from doorway to doorway, thumping and tapping the floor. Nothing.

Then, John had a bright idea, 'We have no electric power, but how about switching two or more light switches simultaneously? Use them as locks, not for light.'

'Eh, why?'

'My Dad showed me how his customers could only go to their sex room if they both went. They each had to press a button at both ends of their passageway at the same time. Then the door opened.'

'You are joking?'

'No, in days gone by, folk stopped their kids going into rooms they weren't supposed to.'

'What have we got to lose, let's try.'

Nothing worked—all combinations at all switches.

'There were six people in that family. Why not try with all six of us?'

A grinding noise started, scraping and scratching, wheels in motion. Slowly, a staircase was uncovered, revealing not just a cellar but one decorated with pentagrams, small and large, from floor to ceiling.

Ella led the way, and five others stood back.

'Come on,' she said.

Xavia was next to follow, and the others crept up behind. At first, the room seemed empty, other than the wild designs. Mirrors and glass sheets were affixed from floor to ceiling. Ella rushed ahead to see beyond. She stopped in her tracks, open-mouthed; she spread her arms, halting anyone brave enough to pass her.

'Christ Almighty. It's the family, entombed down here, for God knows how long?'

'They look perfect; how come they've not rotted?' asked Xavia.

The six friends looked but were afraid to touch.

They appeared as a typical family, sitting on fireside furniture watching a black and white TV show.

The six friends moved as close as possible without touching, looking at each other, and then the family. Eventually, Xavia stretched his arm and, with pointed fingertips, touched the father's skin.

'It feels warm!'

They all felt the family member closest, 'Warm skin, how come?' was whispered.

Xavia was transfixed, 'Did you see that?' he said. 'His eye moved. Well, it didn't, but something behind the pupil did. Look.'

They all peered at "father's" eyes, then at each of the family's, they nodded slowly. Something moved.

'I want to go,' screamed little Jenny. She broke away from the others. 'Oh no,' she wailed, running up the steps she hammered on the plasterboard above her. 'The ceiling has closed.'

The others could not take their vision from the scene in front. Jellied eyes dripped from sockets, and the slow slide of slops worked their way over cheeks and tickled corners of lips. As if the owner enjoyed the feeling, they started to smile.

As if hypnotised, Jenny rejoined her group. Six splitting sounds grabbed the attention, and skulls cracked open. Horns edged through, wiggling and twisting, spinning slowly until reaching up to its final size. The family faces changed from human to goat-like. Feet and ankles became hooves.

Then they powdered to dust.

'Xavia, where the hell have you been? It is past midnight,' asked his Mum.

'Fear not, dear wench,' he answered.

Her scowl appeared just before the shovel split her head.

The END

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