What in Darnation?

By Jackie Sieks

A comedy western with a supernatural twist. 

During a performance review, the CEO of Hell, Inc discovers one of his top demons has been performing miracles. Miracles are against Hell, Inc's brand standards, and highly frowned upon. The demon in question, Jim, is forced into the realm of humans to shadow a notorious outlaw and relearn what it means to be the bad guy. Follow our loveable, and oddly relateable, demon on his quest to return to his job. Will he embrace the demonic ways, or will he learn that life is about more than work?

There's also a cat. Who doesn't love cats?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Sieks
• Release date: May 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201042653

Jackie Sieks

Jackie Sieks wanted to be a serious author, but each time she tried to pen something serious, only humor happened. Comedy plagues her, night and day. Essays for school, obituaries, you name it. It is a curse. Send help. She can be found in Louisiana, enjoying good food, pyrography, video games, or recording her podcast (Around the Campfire with the Cameo Gang). Just follow the groaning sounds of those who have fallen victim to her terrible jokes.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

"I t is commonly said that history is written by the winners. I disagree. The history that you have been taught may have been written by the victorious, but that is not true history. True history is told by drunks in bars. It is told by the homeless person begging for change on the street corner. It is written by average, everyday people. History taught in textbooks tell the stories of a victorious few, while completely forgetting the casualties. The aftermath. These stories, in no way, give the full picture of events that have occurred, and highlights the parts that fill others with an inflated sense of pride. Textbook history is little more than fairy tales told to children to give them hope of a brighter future. 

"While most see no issue with the way history is taught, it does mean those casualties are forgotten, or completely erased, from the event in question. These fallacies are used as weapons against minorities, the mentally ill, or people with alternative lifestyles. Humans will pick their way through until they find a story to justify their bigotry, their hatred, and use it as a shield to protect their reasoning. More suffer. More die. More people continue to be oppressed, fighting for basic rights simply because they exist. The true history is often ignored while evil people attempt to recreate the victorious feeling of winning, no matter the cost. The truth is, I prefer the stories spoken by the tongues of poets, by the brushes of artists, by the pens of writers, and the drunks in the bars. Then humanity stands to learn the truth often tucked away, no matter how ugly it may seem. 

Proper history, like all history, must be viewed with a balance of criticism and open mindedness. Alcohol can exaggerate details, passion can ignite the wrong emotions, and being afraid can make something small seem impossibly huge. I urge you, as you continue to listen to the tale I am about to tell you, to view the details with the same level of open mindedness, and criticism. It is, by far, the weirdest story I have to tell.

Do you mind keeping your weird hobo stories to yourself, old man? You’re scaring away my good paying customers. The bartender spoke with a bored tone, aggressively cleaning a glass. Why are bartenders always cleaning glasses? Next, he will be wiping the counters, just to complete the cliché.

Just pour me another drink and let me tell my weird hobo story. Who knows, you might learn a thing or two. 

The bartender sighed. This is not the first time I’ve come into this bar, and I’m certainly not the first patron to tell him a strange tale. That is the curse of the bartender, forced to listen to the tales of the drunken. Regardless, he begrudgingly pours another drink and slides the glass to me before settling in for what could be an exceptionally long story. And of course, he begins wiping down the counters. 

CHAPTER ONE

The rain pattering gently on a tin roof is considered a calming sound. For Matthias, however, the rain did nothing to calm his anguish. The gray clouds darkening the skies were a grim way to spend his final hours on earth. He longed for a view of the sunset just once more, but it seemed even that would be too much to ask. Voices outside drew his attention to the singular window in the room, and as he rose from the mattress with grunts of pain, he shuffled his way across the stone floors to peek outside. Gallows were being hastily constructed for the execution scheduled for the following day. His execution, to be exact. He wanted to scream at the workers from the window and proclaim once more his innocence. His begging had done little during his trial and would continue to fall on deaf ears until he was dead.

Lightning lit up the sky in a bright blue flash as though to highlight the noose waiting for him. How the swinging rope seemed to beckon him closer, mocking him. Those responsible for its construction tested the trap door and seemed delighted that their contraption worked. The eyes of the workers landed on him, each with a wicked smile. They had built the gallows so close to the jail so he would have plenty of time to contemplate his life choices.

Sure, Matthias was guilty of many things. He had seen the inside of a jail cell more than once. But murder? He had never killed anyone. Yet there he stood, watching the swaying noose as the rain began to fall harder and darken his view. The rain made the air colder, which only added to the miserable gloom lurking in the cell. This was it. There was no escape. Matthias was going to die.

With this oh so pleasant thought in mind, he slumped back to the lumpy mattress, closing his eyes to try and dream of a brighter future. His shoulder length dark brown hair, normally rather straight, fell in waves around his head after days of neglect. His thoughts, like the cell, began to grow darker as the hours stretched. Would being hanged hurt? How many would show up to witness his death? Would anyone beg for his life, beg for his forgiveness? Would he see familiar faces in the crowd? Would anyone miss him? The thought that caused him to shudder was wondering where his soul would go once he was dead. A single tear slid down his cheek and he silently cursed himself for crying. Outlaws were not supposed to cry. Given the circumstances, however, even the strongest outlaws should be allowed to shed some tears.

The trial had been swift, his sentence for death falling as quickly as the judge’s gavel. He had tried to beg, tried to bribe, but nothing worked. He had searched every inch of his cell for a way to break out, yet the cell had no weaknesses. The sounds outside quieted down as the citizens of the no name town hurried to the warmth of their homes. A single candle sitting upon the deputy’s desk was his only light. Left alone, Matthias began to do something he had never done before in his memory. He began to pray.

God, he spoke aloud quietly, though he didn’t care if the deputy overheard him, It’s me, Matthias. I know we ain’t talked much in the past, but I could really use your help. You know I ain’t guilty of what they’re sayin’ I done. I don’t deserve to be hung. He felt stupid for praying, but it was all he had left. Please, God, another tear streaked across his unwashed face, send me a miracle. Get me outta this place.

The door to the jail slammed open with a loud crack, sending a cold rush of air to flood the room. The single flame was extinguished, plunging everything into total darkness. Matthias, who was now sitting up in his bed, squinting to try and make out the figures he was seeing. One of the figures was the deputy who was dragging another unlucky man into the jail before tossing him into the empty cell beside him. The man hit the floor, but immediately jumped back up to rush the cell door as the deputy slammed it and locked it.

There has been a mistake! You’ve got it all wrong, the man banged his hands on the bars, I am not drunk!

Sleep it off, ya bum.

Are you even listening to me? I am not intoxicated. Everything I’ve told you is real! Oh, just wait until my boss hears about this, he’ll be furious! Well, maybe not furious, but he will most assuredly be mildly inconvenienced!

The deputy, as unmoved by the strange man’s threat as he’d been with Matthias’ begging, rolled his eyes and returned to his desk. He struck a match on the bottom of his shoe to relight the candle, then used the same flame to light a cigarette. A newspaper he had discarded earlier, featuring headlines about a millionaire donating thousands of dollars to the local orphanage, was retrieved and the deputy leaned back in his seat to continue reading. The supposed drunk man slammed his hands against the bars before turning to pace furiously in the tiny cell.

With the candle relit, Matthias could finally make out the details of the pacing man. He was surprisingly tall, but other than that he could not name another remarkable feature about him. His brown hair was slicked back away from an angular face. The man was extraordinarily average in appearance, but as he turned to face Matthias, there was something unsettling about his eyes. They were brown, but they were too intense. They knew too much, had seen too much. As they stared at each other, Matthias could not help but wonder if the other man could see straight through to his soul.

What’d ya do to get in here, buddy? Matthias asked, leaning back against the bars of his cell. Somehow, it was more comfortable than the mattress.

Nothing! I’ve done nothing wrong, but this buffoon will not listen to reason.

Join the crowd, they don’t make a habit of listenin’ round these parts. Matthias gave a pointed stare to the deputy who continued to happily ignore them. Alright, what’d ya supposedly do to get here?

He claims I am intoxicated, but I can assure you, I am not. Not once in my entire life have I ever consumed alcohol!

Never? Not even beer? Matthias quirked an eyebrow. I find that hard to believe.

Not a single drop. The man sighed heavily and shook his head. Today has been a terrible day.

Cheer up, soon as the sun’s up you’ll be walkin’ out of here. Might as well catch a nap or somethin’. The bed ain’t too comfortable, but it’ll do. He laid his head back against the bars.

You don’t understand, I have to get out of here right this instant. I’m supposed to be meeting someone! At this, the man began frantically pacing his cell once more. Because he was so tall, he covered the space in a step or two, making it appear more like an awkward waltz.

A lunatic with an important business meeting? Now Matthias was sure he’d heard everything. He closed his eyes, concentrating on trying to sleep. If he concentrated really hard, perhaps his last dream would be of a beautiful sunset, with the best whiskey being served to him by the prettiest women in town. But the sound of the man pacing distracted him from the happy thoughts, and with a sigh he lifted his head.

Who’re ya lookin’ for, if I might ask? Matthias scratched his neck.

I don’t know.

You don’t know? Well, where’re ya supposed to be meetin’ this fella?

I don’t know that either. The man sheepishly began to wring his shirt that had come untucked from his pants.

Important business meetin’ ya gotta leave jail for, but ya don’t know who you’re meetin’ or where? Boy, no wonder they picked ya up as a drunk.

Look, my boss didn’t say a name. He just said I would know him when I saw him. But I have seen a lot of people since I arrived on Earth, and I don’t know anyone. Hey, the man grabbed the bars that separated them, maybe I’m supposed to find you!

I don’t think so, buddy. I ain’t made no business meetin’ with a lunatic, no offense. Ain’t no one wanna do any talkin’ to me. Clearly the guy was drunker than he thought, but Matthias decided not to press the arrival on Earth comment. Maybe the guy had accidentally eaten something he wasn’t supposed to eat and was now hallucinating. It happened a lot more often than most people realized. 

Well, are you an outlaw? The man tilted his head inquisitively.

In a manner of speakin’. Matthias quirked an eyebrow. Why?

Well, my boss said the man I was supposed to meet was a hardened criminal outlaw, and if I followed him around, he could teach me.

Teach ya what, exactly?

How to be bad.

Matthias knew he should just tell him to be quiet so he could sleep the last few hours of his life away. The look in the man’s eyes, however, made him pause. There was an urgency there, a desperation. He didn’t have the look of a drunken man, or a man who accidentally encountered hallucinogenic mushrooms. He concluded, finally, that the man was simply insane. If the guy was insane, there would be no way to shut him up. At least the last few hours would be interesting.

Why the hell would ya wanna learn how to be bad?

Because if I don’t, my boss will likely have me banished from Hell to live among the humans until the end of days. From what I’ve seen of humanity, and their tendency to lock up innocent people on false charges, I don’t really want any part of this. I need to return home.

"So you’re tellin’ me your boss told ya to come