“Hey little guy!”

“Daddy!”

Bursting up from his chair in the living room, the 10-year-old boy runs up to the man as he sets down his briefcase. Picking up his son and closing the door behind him in one fluid motion the man laughs holding his only child in a tight bear hug

“What’s up kiddo? Have you been helping your mother make the turkey? I can smell so many goods from here!”

“I made the macaroni!”

“What? You did? Awesome!” Setting down his progeny, he scoops up his discarded briefcase. “Alright I’m going to go change, so you set the table. That way when mommy finishes we can all eat. Okay?”

Nodding his head in vigorous anticipation the youth runs off to the kitchen overflowing with joyous energy.

“Mom! Dad’s home!”

“I heard! You know what I also heard?” Turning away from the oven she gives him a sly grin as he deflates and mumbles under his breath “What was that?”

“I said I have to set the table.” He lets out a slightly louder mumble and walks over pulling out three sets of pristine dinnerware.

Moving at the pace of a tortoise, the child finishes just in time for Dad to come down the stairs in more comfortable, albeit still formal, clothing and Mom to set the turkey upon the table. Taking his seat while eying the bounty set before him the imp dips a finger into one of the dishes, unseen, for a quick taste. Or at least he thought it was unseen, but that notion is quickly corrected as Mom slaps his hand away before it can reach his mouth.

“You know better than that, now, go wash your hands and then we’ll say grace.” She scolds, all the while giving him the stink eye.

Sullenly slinking off to the kitchen he turns the faucet to rinse his hands only to find that instead of water coming out of the faucet, all that covers his hands is a sticky red liquid that smells of iron. Frowning the boy focuses on the faucet and once more water comes out, washing his hands clean.

Bright and cheery anew, he takes his place at the table, staring in gluttonous delight at his high piled plate. Looking up as he scoots his seat in, he asks his father the question that has been nagging at him all day.

“Dad, do you really have the day off tomorrow? We’re really going on a thanksgiving vacation? Not like the other times?” He finishes the last part quietly reminding himself not get his hopes up. His father was an important businessman, even though he really didn’t understand what it was that he did, and he could be called in at any moment.

His father looks over at him with a broad smile, “Yes son, I have work off tomorrow and they can’t call me in no matter what. We’ll be going on-“

"" Harsh laughter interrupts as the boy’s parents look around in panic. Shadow stretch and lengthen as if seeking to swallow the room. Mom lets loose a scream as hands from the darkest depths reach out to drag them into the abyss. In the center of this storm sits a child who pouts petulantly with determined eyes that speak of things beyond his years. Suddenly the shadows are gone and with it does the sharpness of the youth’s gaze.

His father looks over at him with a broad smile, “Yes son, I have work off tomorrow and they can’t call me in no matter what. We’ll be going on vacation from Thursday until Sunday. That’s why we’re having our turkey tonight. Now, it is thanksgiving, so why don’t we all say what we have to be thankful for? How about you Mister?”

His father looks over at the hulking demon at the suddenly longer table. Baring its’ fangs in a malicious grin, the demon stares down at the child across from it, “I’ll tell you what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for this opportunity to have found someone with such a tasty soul.”

Unhappy with the turn of events the child sulks in front of his meal “I was rather enjoying death.” Exhaling an irritated puff of breath, the moment is ruined. This is but a memory of a Thanksgiving dinner that could have been. Waving my hand, the world falls away at the gesture. Now, a boy lost in a fantasy exist no longer as I take his place, conjuring a table I place it between me and the intruder.

“Now that the dream is thoroughly ruined why don’t you tell me what you’re here for? Drag my soul down for my sins? Or test me? Consider your words carefully I know your hold isn’t absolute and I will not go quietly in the night.”

Wearing a momentary expression of wonderment, the frightening beast of horns, claws, and fangs smiles as his form on ripples, distorting his features. In his place is the calm figure of the only person I’ve ever truly feared.

“Hmmm perhaps this is the more appropriate form to take? You knew this man as Abraxas, yes? Interesting. Don’t worry you’re not dead and I’m not here to take your soul. You still lack one. Though you are something of a conundrum. You see, rarely does one exhibit the willpower to consciously alter their Baptism, let alone recognize that I am not part of it.”

“You disgrace his memory.” Swiftly waving my hand, I focus on imposing the image of a white-haired comely gentleman in a pinstriped suit. His eyes, however, are a perfect black, from which no light escapes. The only thing that keeps me calm is that he doesn’t seem to actually be Abraxas. While I wouldn’t put it past the man to actually be a demon, that The Boss would actually be here, like this, is preposterous. Unless that’s what he wants me to think. “There. Now you look like a proper demon.”

“A proper demon?” comes the soothing voice of the fiend before me.

“Yes. A proper demon. I’ve always thought of demons as more of creatures of freewill. Why would something that needed you to willing stray from the grace of God come spewing fire and brimstone? No, I find it far more likely that they would come as saviors from our troubles; offering happiness in human form. That they would not offer supernatural solutions but rather the mundane. After all, there’s something that everyone would trade their souls for. You just need to find the right presentation, like, say a dear trusted friend that might be able to save a loved one’s life. That kind of thing. But then again your no demon.” There, I’ve played my trump card. No Idea if I’m right but I know entirely too little about what’s happening. At least if he’s telling the truth I’m not dead. Yet.

“Depends on your definition of demon. My actions will soon bring calamity to your world, just as they have to many others before and it is now that I bring these tidings. That makes me a demon in most people’s book. These are tidings which few will hear and none will remember.” Slowly and patiently the man before me says these things as if he has told them a thousand times before. As if that’s not disturbing at all.

“The world would stand or fall because of you? Please how could you possibly be the cause of the Apocalypse?” End of the world? Wonderful, it’s officially worse than being dead. I’m crazy and still fucking hallucinating.

“I had a friend that said something similar once, a long time ago.” A distant recollection brings a sad smile to the man’s face before he refocuses on me, “We are not here, however, to discuss how I brought ruin to many, nor is this the end of your world. More of a rebirth, if you will.”

“Oh? What, then pray tell, are we here to discuss, sphinx?” Bastard, so cryptic and unrevealing. Like a hooker with Herpes that’s still trying to get you to fork your money over before you find out. Well he’s in my mind, might as well see whrere this leads to.

“Hahaha, forgive me, forgive me. It has been a long time since the last I held a conversation. Yes, you are the first in millenia to recognize me for what I am. Usually I am only capable of guiding the growing powers within those grasping for survival. It has been a long time since I last found someone as to recognize the illusion for what it is, and not seek to alter it when pushed. Even rarer is one that seeks to leash me and not simply expel them from their mind.”

“Oh? Well I guess the gig is up. I suppose I should have guessed with how easily you took my adjustments. So, what happens next?” Damn that was my last gambit. Not a fan of foreign uncontrollable mind entities. Who would’ve guessed? Maybe more so if it’s all a product of my imagination. It felt foreign in my dream and after I realized I couldn’t just get rid of it I thought slowly resting control from whatever he is would help, gradually making my way to who this thing is. So much for that.

“My power is still limited here but I have more control over the nature of your progress than most. I understand you probably think this is all simply a product of your subconscious, yes?” I nod tentatively and he continues, “Seeing as how you’re already here, why don’t you simply play along? Either it is a hallucination and you gain nothing but lose nothing as well, or my words will strike true and the opportunity for gain will be in your grasp. Either way you will not remember what happens here. If you believe nothing else, believe this.”

Well shit. That made sorta made sense. I guess this is the beginning of the fall, “Alright, say your piece.”

Standing up from his chair a cane appears in his hand and the emptiness that surrounds us is replaced by a field of ash. The scent of charred flesh reaches my nose and I fight the urge to vomit. Something moves in the distance but I can’t make it out through the smoke.

“I will not waste your time with the why of things. I will tell you what is happening to you, however, for that may help you best help yourself. Right now, power is gathering in your body and you have a chance to direct it. In most people undergoing The Baptism, this power remains untapped, leaving it as it will. They have the same potential as anyone else but simply remain open to all things equally. Occasionally, some will influence it as it forms. Shape it to what they will. This is where I step in. Many factors are involved in how the energy inside you manifests, from your surroundings, to buried trauma, to even simple luck. I find those with potential that are changing and make sure that they have less… disastrous… outcomes.” As he speaks the smoke parts and a twisted figure, so grotesque my mind draws a blank as its gnarled and blackened limbs hold what appears to be a human limb up to its toothy maw. Like the smoke around us the scene twists and breezes away replaced by a study with large comfy chairs and a window that looks out onto bright sunlit fields. “Typically, my ability to influence is limited but you have the benefit of a great deal of my influence. I cannot do the impossible though, all of you children are given the same amount of power to alter your reality. How you choose to manifest it is another matter entirely. I will lend you aid in choosing how it manifests, but!”, He turns on me, grinning from ear to ear, “there are conditions! It has been too long since I was in another’s company and I wish to play a game of sorts. You may ask any question but I will only answer 10 of them. Of the 10, 9 of my answers will be true, and 1 answer will be a falsehood. The rest of the rules are yours to discover!”

Excited the old man flings away his cane and, in a surprisingly spry gesture for a man of his apparent age, jumps clicking his heels together. I find myself now dressed in fake chainmail complete with gauntlets, a tunic, a shield and a scabbard at my side. Looking around, I find an old man stooped at the foot of a decrepit wooden bridge that spans a mist shrouded gorge. His face is obscured with hair that seems to not have been cared for or cut in decades, all that peeks out are unseeing milky white eyes.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” I ask.

“This is the bridge of death and I am the old man from scene 24, the Bridgekeeper. Should you wish to cross and claim what you are bereft, you must answer me, these questions 3. 9 answers left.” Croaks the gravelly voice. “What is your name?”

No, this won’t do at all. This is my mind and my turf. I do want answers to my questions and this must be to just keep me on my toes. The scene changes once more, but this time at my bidding and we are now sitting across from one another at a poker table.

“You have no appreciation for the classics.” Says the frowning old man

“Which answer shall be a lie.”

“I do not know, I think I shall decide as I go! 8 answers!” he replies with that damn grin like he knows something I don’t. Well at least as far as I could tell he wasn’t lying. That might be the only thing I can rely upon.

“Was your previous answer a lie?”

The scene changes once more. I can feel it this time before it happens, but I am too late to stop the change. This time I’m wearing a blue dress. Ok now I’m fucking pissed. A massive purple and pink striped cat looms before me lazily in a tree, sporting a grin that stretches around his face in a crescent. Now this is something that’s straight out of a horror flick.

“Yes and no. You see, I did know, but oft I can’t remember what I did last December. I do have some future recollections but I just can’t seem to find the directions.” His smoky voice fades as I struggle and hastily bring back the table and the old man with eyes that stare into the abyss. It’s faster this time.

“7 answers left.”

I must keep it like this. This will be my only chance to tell which are truths and which are lies. If I can’t tell here then there is absolutely no way I’ll be able to tell with him changing things. I’m confident in my abilities but I am no fool.

“What is the Baptism. You referenced it before.” I’m prepared this time and I can feel the shift. I exert my will focusing on the current view before me, but my will is like waves crashing against an unmoving mountain. A younger man that seems to have an unhealthy obsession with question marks stands before me in a garish green suit and a cane with the afore-mentioned symbol at the end. I don’t give him time to answer though and as soon as the hold on the world around recedes, I force everything back to what it was.

“The Baptism is simply the word that your people will give it. At least those that survive.

A sickness, a disease,

It seems you’ve caught the flu.

A blessing, a curse,

Your world begins anew.

A new world, a new opportunity,

For wealth, they come conquering.

A new world, a new home,

By chance beasts come settling.

Spaniards all, history repeats

A pox is brought and death many meet.

Struggle and live

And you will find power yours to bend.

Relax and die

And find your struggle at an end.

A mundane sickness now blessed,

The Baptism is a boon.

A mundane disease now cursed

The Baptism is a bane.

Incans and Aztecs

Learn from their fate

And maybe your actions will not be too late.”

Cryptic, but what does smallpox have to do with it? Is someone invading? Who is invading who? And how is it supposed to be affecting me? Okay so maybe the reason why I was so messed up was because I’m undergoing this Baptism? Which is apparently a disease of some kind. Well that explains my symptoms from before I passed out. But power through sickness? It seems like a lot of doublespeak and that I’m not the only one going to be going through this. The worse part is I didn’t detect any falsehood.

A tide washes over a part of my consciousness and I immediately know he trying to change things again. Keep me off balance. This time though I don’t try to stop him. No, I simply follow the tide and redirect it as it goes along.

It works. Sort of. I find that this time my clothes are not changed. I’m still wearing a fresh-pressed suit, and the edges of the landscape are hazy. Almost like they’re not fully formed.

“6 answers left.” The sphynx before me says.

Smiling I can feel my hold on this scene is different, and I doubt I can change it without great effort. Time for a different tactic.

“What is your favorite color?”

The beast before me blinks several times as if uncertain how to respond. Probing I find a weakness and immediately exploit it, breaking the sphynx’s hold and reverting everything back to what it was.

The man looks across at me stunned and then smiles ferociously.

“It has been a long time since I have had a chance to talk with someone, but it has been even longer that someone has challenged me at my games. I do not see things as you do however. I would say that my favorite color is the smell of fresh cut grass, but that would make little sense to you. The closest thing to your senses would most likely be lavender. 5 answers left.”

Sweat breaks across my brow as I struggle to hold onto this image. Making sure there is no leverage for him to break my hold on our surroundings. I stay wary of his influence as much as his words.

“Earlier, you said that I still lack a soul. Why?”

“Open-ended question. Not bad, however, the answer is simple. The Baptism is not yet finished and you had none to begin with. At least nothing your kind would call a soul.” Great. More questions. Smiling like the cat that caught the canary he lifts a glass to his lips that wasn’t there before, drinking a liquid I did not dream up. He’s still probing but I can barely feel it. I’m losing and he knows it. “4 answers left.”

“What is the cause for my sickness?”

“A virus carried in the blood of those Marvishta you killed earlier. Not exactly a potent or even deadly thing, but then again, your body has only developed defenses against mundane disease.”

My strengths fades and I release hold of the surrounding feigning a look of shock at the information. Instead of fighting the change though this time I follow the hand that is molding the world around us. What stands before me is a projection, not the real thing, I can feel it somehow. If I can trace it back to the source maybe I can come out on top. This is my domain, and his touch is distinctly different from everything here. My surrounding stop rippling before I can finish my task and I finally take a second to ponder his answer. He has used the word mundane several times now, signifying things that are mundane no longer. Those giant lizards, the Marvishta, certainly didn’t seem very mundane. Magic? Spirits? Maybe he is a demon.

A small twisted figure stands before me now amidst a pile of straw in a windowless stone basement cellar. In it’s right hand it holds threads of gold and the only other object in the room is an ancient spinning wheel. “3 answers left.”

An iron grip is on the windowless, stone room we find ourselves in. Outside of this room, though, I can sense is not under his attention. I dismiss everything outside and watch for a reaction. I observe none.

“What are these powers you can supposedly guide?”

Not waiting for his answer, I decide to set him off balance, and try to get everything back under my influence. So, I take a page out of his book and simply modify a piece of what is here inside the room. Going for simple chaos above all else I simply light the hay on fire.

“Reality twists and-AH!”

His attention is diverted but not enough to release his hold. I need him to try to shift things so that I can find where he’s coming through. I act on a hunch, given his figure and the pattern I’ve observe so far. A door appears, opens up, and in rushes a young woman in fine medieval clothing. The small figure finally made his way out of the burning heap, golden threads still clutched in his hand, and takes an incredulous look at the weeping woman kneeling before him.

“Please! Please give me my daughter back! I’ll do anything! All the gold you want! Please just give my daughter back Rumpelstiltskin!”

Astonishment flickers across his face and then he’s gone in a puff of smoke. Reforming the poker table once again I observe as the figure of the old man shimmers into view. Shaking his head in disbelief he reaches up to his mouth and makes as if to drink from a glass just as he did before. Except this time there is no glass.

“Well... I believe myself properly beat. Excellently well done. I figured you’d use the environment at some point but I never guessed you’d use my own form against me.”

“Everything has rules. You just need to determine whether they apply.” I finally got a firm hold on him after he disappeared, and now he holds no sway here. There shall be no magic or mischief. Only words.

“Now I believe I am due an answer.”

“Yes, yes indeed. As you are the victor here is your answer. The powers you shall gain can be anything. Others shall have them as well but essentially it is my hopes that they shall help you survive. Think of them as your own personal superpower. Just be careful what you wish for. 2 answers left.”

“Did you alluded to invaders that will spread what I assume will be a biological weapon?”

“You are mistaken. The invaders will be the biological weapon. You are not the first world to be changed nor will you be the last. The invaders are those that have long ago adapted to the change and just as the Europeans brought smallpox to the New World, so shall they bring strife to yours. 1 answer left.”

I think I have my answers now. The best way to not just ensure survival but thrive. Now to wrap this up.

“Will you be visiting again mister…”

“Ah, no, you won’t be seeing me again. And as to my name, well why don’t you just call me Dream.”

His lie! I found it. A twitch and achange in tone. Subtle, in fact it almost seemed like he was irritated more than lying. I’m not even sure he knew he was doing it and apparently, he believes we’ll be meeting again. Interesting.

“As to this power? I’d like to decide on what it is.”

“You already have. Like I said I merely guide it there. Quite fitting if I do so say myself. To strip one of their powers, of their Lies. Don’t worry I cleaned it up a little bit so that you might be able to aid your allies. It seems our time is at an end. I sincerely wish you good fortune and hope you enjoy the rest of your dream.”

And then he is gone. And so is Belial. All that remains is a small child by the name of Salem, sitting at a table enjoying thanksgiving dinner with his family.