Page 45 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“It’s coming, the end, a new dawn is brimming,

Hold tight to your friends, we’ll go down singing,

Since the year’s turn, nothing’s been the same,

Our king disappeared and dodged all the blame.”

The street performer looks human, raggedly so. On the sides of his face running from temple to jaw are two deep red scars. He catches my stare and winks at me. I hurry onward.

“Where are you, Hazaar?” I mutter, peeking inside the open flaps of tents and pulling away when I take in goods that are decidedly not potions. I want to check my phone to see what time it is, but doing so might be too telling, so I amble on.

It’s only a few minutes later when I come across the street performer again. His tune is faster, bloody fingers strumming with an intensity that makes me wonder if the strings will snap.

With how meandering the alleys are, I must have accidentally done a square to get back to him. To avoid making the same mistake, I turn a different way than before, passing a row of tents. One sells candles made from ogre earwax, another displays a ghastly collection of faces frozen in terror in giant jars, suspended in some type of liquid. The third spikes my hopes with what looks like potions, but I’m quickly corrected. It’s a steaming pot of a shepherd’s flock. Ew.

I check every tent on the strip with increasing levels of disappointment. When I emerge into the small square at the end of the row, I stop short.

The same busker from before is here, but that’s impossible. I just saw him, and I only made one turn. But it is him.

This song is even faster, as if his hands and mouth can’t keep up with it.

“Beware the monsters who prey on pasts,

Beware the time which ticks too fast,

Take it from me, a ruined man,

Who entered the Night Market, now trapped in sand.”

The song is joyful—a silly, if not rushed tune. But his eyes are anything but. He’s warning me. Trying to tell me that I could get stuck here forever like him. Maybe I already am. It seems like every alley I go down, I end up right where I started. I’m caught in a loop. I need to get back to the man selling piglet hooves or even the lady with the wings. At least they weren’t part of this warp.

Now that I’ve realized it, I can feel it. The charged air isn’t just an incoming storm. An invisible current pulses around us, keeping me locked in this vortex.

My eyes catch on a narrow stretch of space between two tents. Unlike the dazzling colors and bustle of the loop, the alley slips into darkness. It’s the exact type of place I would normally avoid, but I barrel toward it, not caring who I shove out of the way in my pursuit. I slip between tents and down the alley, the frantic music fading behind me.

I’m clearly in a different part of the market. These tents are dirty and ancient, their color faded or so filthy they look black. Unlike the constant noise of the rest of the market, it’s quiet. People walk with their heads down, as if they don’t want to be known. The excitement is replaced with an air of secrecy. I glance into a tent as I pass and see a sign advertising “Blood of a virgin.”

I don’t notice the person right in front of me until I’m slamming into their hairy chest. “Oh!” I gasp. “I’m so—”

My words die as I take in the face grinning down at me. A face attached to a body I watched fall off the back of a train and end in a plume of blood.

“Sorry?” the monster in the denim jacket who chased Luke and I down the train asks, his grin growing to reveal yellowed fangs. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Fifteen

A squeak escapes. “How are you—”

“Alive?” Denim asks. His namesake jacket is now awash with dark blood. “I don’t suppose your friend is with you, hm?”

“He’s not my friend.” I try keeping my voice casual. “And yeah, he’s around. You should go find him.”

“Why would I, when I have the thing that will lead him straight to me?”

“First off, I’m not a thing,” I say, wagging a finger. “Second—”

I take off running down the ominous alley. He yells after me, his footsteps unwanted assurance he won’t let me off easy. While this part of the market isn’t as crowded as the rest, there’s still enough bodies to weave between to give me a leg up on Denim. He shouts behind me, shoving people out of the way. I might have the upper hand for the moment, but I can’t evade him forever. Especially when I haven’t completed the one thing Luke needed me to do.

A hell being comes out of a dark maroon tent and I slip inside. Sultry music encompasses me, the lighting dim and directed toward a stage. Women dance on poles wearing outfits that leave little to the imagination. Others walk around the room pouring glowing liquids into crystal goblets. It sloshes over the rims as the holders guffaw or lean toward the women to whisper in their ears.