Dark Lord Rob's DarkForce

The Dark Lord's Lair

Nathan called the number on the card and got us an appointment with the Dark Lord (and did we have a blast making fun of that name!). We drove out to his house which of course was on the outskirts of town, near the river in the historic district (I called it the "hysteric district" and got a laugh).We got there at twilight, which wasn't really necessary I guess 'cause it was the weekend and we could have done it in the morning but Shana insisted on maximum spookiness. Nathan scoffed but went along with it anyway, 'cause he's kinda full of crap, skeptic or not he likes the spookiness as much as anyone.
     And the Dark Lord's place didn't skimp on the spookiness, that's for sure. Think Addams' Family mixed with Psycho house plus Munsters divided by Amityville, add a cloud-dimmed sunset sky, some bats and a raven, lots of gnarled trees, a couple stone gargoyles, etc. etc. A little fog and it would have been one righteously creepy freak den, except for the lawn gnomes.
     Well, he didn't have one of those Jacob Marley door knockers, maybe that would have been "too much". So we rang the bell. "Come on in," said a disembodied voice from beyond (through a small speaker next to the bell. What did you think I meant?). Nathan tried the door and sure enough it was unlocked so we walked on in.
     The front door entered into a short hallway, with rooms leading off of it and a staircase to one side. The decor of the rooms seemed to be early House of Usher with a strong mortuary motif. "If he's got some racket going, he's sure not splurging on the light bills," I said as we walked into the dimly lit hallway. Shana was about to say something complimentary about my powers of observation (I'm pretty sure) when our little procession came to a sudden screeching halt. I think it was me that was screeching.
     There, at the end of the hallway, sitting on his haunches and watching us, was the largest damn dog in the whole freaking world. I'm not kidding, I didn't notice him right away 'cause I thought he was a piece of furniture! (That's how dark it was in there). But the glint of light reflecting in his eyes gave him away. He looked to be the color (and size) of a lion (a small one, okay?), except his face was deep black, like he was Simba wearing a dog mask.
     "An English Mastiff!" Nathan said. "You don't see one of these every day!" And he extended a hand, palm down, and walked confidently toward the dog, the sort of move that'd have you or me shredded to muttburger in about a half second but of course no such thing happens to Nathan (not that I want to see Nathan chewed up or anything), The dog responded by standing and stepping into the next room, then turning his head to see if we were following.
     "I think he wants us to follow him," Maggie said. "Lead on, MacGruff," I said.
     The dog led us through a mid-sized room lined with cushioned chairs, with paintings of stormy seascapes on the walls and end tables with magazines on them (Fortean Times, Magical Blend, Fangoria)... a waiting room. "The Dark Lord will see you now," I quipped. I swear the dog gave me a dirty look.
     The dog led us through a beaded hippie curtain into a larger room, dominated by a hardwood table with a crystal ball at its center flanked by two flickering candles. Outside a wind began to softly whisper through the trees. Oooeeeooo. As our eyes got used to the dark we noticed a large antique mirror at the far side of the room, the lights and crystal reflected in it. As our eyes grew more accustomed, we saw something else reflected in it, a face. And, on this side of the mirror, a body to go with the face, the Dark Lord, watching us enter in the mirror.
     "The word 'sinister'," he said, in that quiet ghost voice of his, "Means 'left-handed', and echoes to the past when left-handed people were thought to be evil. The left side of the body is controlled by the right side of the brain, and vice versa; that side of the brain is the center of intuition and the mystic faculties. The other side is the rational side. This dichotomy is reflected in faces; look at the left side of my face, then the right." He placed a hand over half his face, first the left, then the right. He wasn't kidding; the right half of his face seemed open, even goofy; the left seemed to be secretly mocking you. I tried it myself when I got home . Spooky.
     "The question is, 'which side of my face am I showing today?'" With that, he turned, grinning, and gestured for us to take seats at the table. We did, and he sat as well, folding his hands beneath his chin.
     "Now," he said, "What can I do for you ?"

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