Bells rang out through the streets. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and wiping the sleep crust away. Alone in an unfamiliar alley, I fumbled through the pockets of my black suit, searching for the familiar flask of rum. My quest proved futile, but just as frustration crept in, I noticed the flask lying on the pavement nearby. Grasping it eagerly, I brought the burning liquid to my lips, the warmth coursing down my throat.

"Well, it's enough to get me going," I grumbled under my hot breath, rising to my feet. I ventured onto the main street, aiming to gauge my surroundings and find the nearest liquor store. The need for more rum pulsed through me; it was the only thing that kept me from thinking about how shitty my life had become.

Navigating the unfamiliar streets, the blazing streetlights assaulted my eyes. A mysterious disorientation gripped me; I couldn't recall ever being in this part of the city. The bells rang out again, their haunting melody echoing through the alleyways.

"What the fuck is that?" I pondered, dismissing the first set of bells as my imagination. As I continued down the block, the sense of unease intensified, amplified by the repeated tolling of the bells.

The streets seemed eerily deserted, with an ominous atmosphere hanging in the air. My steps quickened as the reality of my situation became apparent - I was lost. I picked up my pace, trying to find a liquor store or a street name I could remember. But every building on this part of the city was boarded up, then I realized that none of the streets had signs. I looked down at my dusty old wristwatch and saw that it was only 11:16 PM.

“Why is there no one else on the streets, no cars, no lights other than the street lamps?” I quickly asked myself. “What the fuck is this?”

As I turned a corner, a majestic yet decrepit building loomed before me, its facade adorned with grotesque gargoyles and foreboding statues. Atop the peculiar structure rested a towering crow's nest of sorts. Intently, I scrutinized the balcony, squinting my eyes to pierce the shadows. Dozens of hooded figures, their faces concealed, populated the balcony. Some wielded binoculars, peering into the darkness with an unsettling intensity.

Amidst my growing confusion, one hooded figure at the balcony's edge raised their hand and snapped their fingers. Silence prevailed until the resonating boom of the bell shattered it once more.

As I redirected my attention towards the source of the bells, I spotted a man sprinting toward me. "Great, I can ask him what's going on here," I muttered to myself as I advanced towards him.

Several strides away, the man began lifting a bat adorned with menacing nails over his head. It dawned on me—his intent was not to assist but to inflict harm. Swiftly, I pivoted, sprinting in the opposite direction. I glanced back in time to witness the man's futile swing, the miss slowing him down and granting me the upper hand in our footrace.

I skidded down a narrow alley, attempting to evade my assailant. Ducking behind an empty dumpster, I held my breath, straining to discern the other man's footsteps. A slow exhale escaped me as the footsteps hurried past the alley. I remained motionless for a minute, grappling with the surreal reality unfolding around me, trying to fathom where I was and what was happening.

As I stood, my attention was drawn to a cluster of posters affixed to the brick wall across from my hiding spot. Moving closer, I began reading them, each bearing the same phrase:

"Death is your only escape; kill or be killed, the bells will free you."

Another ring of the bells startled me, and I tore my eyes from the poster. Compelled by an unsettling curiosity, I walked towards the haunting sound, now closer than before. Despite turning down various alleys, I accepted that finding my way back to the posters was futile, yet they offered no additional insight. The buildings in this labyrinth of alleys became increasingly aged and decrepit.

Upon turning a final corner, I confronted the source of the ominous tolls—a man in a long black robe, clutching a rope, stood facing away from me. His pallid skin resembled the moon's glow, or so I initially thought. Drawing closer, a realization dawned upon me: this was no ordinary man. The absence of skin revealed a skeletal form, and what I beheld was not a man's face but a ghastly skull.

He swiftly pivoted towards me, and his bony finger jabbed accusingly at my face, sending shivers down my spine. “To escape this city, you must take the life of another traveler. When the bell tolls, someone has been killed and the killer has been freed from the City of Death.”

“Who were those figures on the lookout tower? Can I target them?” I questioned.

“No, those, like me, are the custodians of the city; we ensure adherence to the rules. Now, be on your way!” The Skeleton barked, his authority cutting through the air.

My attention snapped to a rapidly approaching figure. Panic seized me, and I bolted, an urgent need to arm myself propelling me forward. In a desperate dash, I sought refuge in another alley, scanning frantically for anything that could serve as a weapon. The approaching footsteps intensified, heightening my anxiety.

Among a cluster of posters, one caught my eye with an arrow indicating a loose brick in the wall. My fingers reached out, tearing the brick from its resting place. Before I could think, I turned around and swung hard, landing a blow to the other man's temple. He stumbled to the ground. I jumped on top of him and kept hitting him, harder and angrier with each blow. Blood streamed from his head, covering me. The last sound I heard was the bells and the man's last gasp before death.

“Order Up” I yelled as I slid another cheeseburger under the hot lamp. I grabbed the ticket off the wheel, spinning it to next order and stabbing the ticket though the check spindle. Another slow Sunday night. I was stuck on the graveyard shift, I act like I hate it but I actually don’t mind it. Plus the extra dollar twenty five an hour bump really does me good.

I had about twenty more minutes left in my shift, with only two more tickets left on the wheel. Working at the Lucky Star Diner was never my dream. When I was young growing up in Las Vegas I had always dreamed of working at one of the 5 star restaurants or learning from some celebrity chef. But instead I flip burgers for drunks and chase out the homeless.

The bell over the door dings as a man in a long black coat and hat walked in and sat at the bar. I always found it strange when sober people who looked like they had a place to stay came in at this hour. Usually I assume they are here to spend the last of their money on a cheap meal before returning home.

“One burger.” he said in a gruff voice not looking up from the menu. “No sides.”

Man this guy must be down bad, cheese is only an extra 10 cents, I thought to myself.

“Order Up.” I called out again as I pulled down the next ticket from the wheel. Stacy slid the man's new ticket onto the wheel, and turned away without saying anything to me.

I threw the plain old burger onto the grill and flipped the other burgers. I pulled the fries in the deep fryer out and threw them into the bin, sprinkling salt over them. As I turned around to put the metal basket back into the deep fryer something moving across the kitchen caught my eye.

“Fuck!” I whispered out loud. The Lucky Star can’t deal with another rat problem. I thought Gus the owner had taken care of them. “I really need to get out of this shit hole.”

I was about to call over when Kevin bursted in through the back door and punched his time card.

“I’m not late, get lost.” Kevin said in a gruff voice. Kevin worked the morning shift. He really hated being around the late Night Shift crew, understandably. I had been told that he is a really nice guy after five am. But whenever he takes over for me he sure is rude.

“Whatever man.” I replied. “Let me get my shift meal and I’ll get out of here.” I punched my card into the time clock and stuffed my time card back into the board. I grabbed the strange man’s burger and walked it to the front and sat it down in front of him.

“Thanks” He growled. Still not looking up from the bar.

I took off my greasy apron and tossed it into the dish rag bin at the end of the bar. I poured myself a glass of iced tea and sat a few seats down from the strange man who was devouring his burger.

“Shit” I thought “Looks like we have a dasher, whatever I am off the clock.” I turned and waited for Kevin to finish my cheeseburger.

As I sipped my iced tea, I couldn't help but glance at the mysterious man out of the corner of my eye. He devoured the plain burger with an intensity that seemed unusual. The bell over the door chimed again as the door swung open, and a gust of cold air brushed against my face. I turned back to see Kevin approaching with a bag containing my cheeseburger.

"Here,” Kevin grunted, handing me the bag without making eye contact. Kevin never seemed to be in a good mood, but I didn't care; my shift was done, this place was no longer my problem.

I grabbed the bag and made my way toward the exit. Just as I reached the door, the mysterious man looked up from his meal. His eyes, obscured by the shadow of his hat, locked onto mine for a moment. It sent a shiver down my spine, but I brushed it off. I must be more tired than I thought.

As I stepped out into the cool Vegas night, I took a deep breath. The neon lights of the Strip flickered in the distance, and I felt a strange mixture of relief and unease. The Lucky Star Diner was none of my concern now, at least for tonight.

I strolled down the quiet streets, the distant sounds of the city echoing in my ears. The streets seemed emptier than usual for Las Vegas, but I shrugged it off. My mind was still on that mysterious man and the feeling I had felt when our eyes met.

Turning the corner, I caught sight of a figure in a long black coat and hat. It couldn't be the same guy, could it? I quickened my pace, my curiosity getting the better of me. As I approached, I realized it was him. The man from the diner.

He stood in the dimly lit alley, staring at a flickering neon sign. When he noticed me, he simply nodded and gestured to the bag in my hand. "Enjoy your meal," he said, his voice less gruff than before.

As I continued down the quiet streets, the dimly lit alley where I had last seen the mysterious man loomed in my thoughts. I shook off the strange encounter, chalking it up to the weariness of the graveyard shift. The city's shadows seemed to dance eerily around me, but I pressed on.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me, echoing through the emptiness of the night. I quickened my pace, glancing over my shoulder. There he was again—the man in the long black coat and hat, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

"Nice night for a stroll, don't you think?" he remarked, his voice now surprisingly smooth. I hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

"I noticed you're not too thrilled with your job at the Lucky Star," he continued, as if reading my thoughts. "I can offer you a way out, a chance for something more."

His offer hung in the air, shrouded in mystery. I stopped in my tracks, skepticism and curiosity battling within me. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

He stepped closer, the dim light revealing a face obscured by shadows. "Let's just say I can make your dreams come true, but not without a cost."

The air grew colder, and the distant sounds of the city faded into an unsettling silence. I felt a chill run down my spine, but something in his offer intrigued me. The monotony of flipping burgers for drunks had worn me down. Maybe this was my ticket out. My chance to make it.

"What do you want in return?" I asked cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, a sinister glint in his eyes. "Oh, just a small favor. Nothing you can't handle."

With those words, he handed me a small, nondescript package. "Deliver this to a place called The Haven. You'll know it when you see it. Your dreams will come true once the delivery is complete."

I hesitated, the weight of his proposition settling over me like a heavy fog. The package felt cold and mysterious in my hands.

"What if I refuse?" I asked, trying to maintain a semblance of control.

The man's grin widened. "You don't want to find out. But remember, the Lucky Star Diner won't be the worst place you've ever worked."

The alley seemed to close in around us, and the shadows whispered secrets that I dared not comprehend. With a nod, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone with the package and a choice that would change the course of my life. As I stood there, the echoes of his footsteps faded, and the city's symphony resumed, unaware of the fortunate bargain that had just been struck.

"What kind of deal had I really made?" I asked myself as I headed to the address on the package. I stopped and decided to look into the box to see what I was carrying, just in case the police stopped me.

I opened the box slowly under the flickering glow of the alley light. I squinted as I read a small piece of paper. "Your soul" was written on the slip.

Right then and there, I understood what was being asked of me. I closed the box, tucked it safely under my arm, tossed aside my bagged cheeseburger and walked into the darkness of the alley. I had been waiting for this, praying for this moment, my chance to make a deal with the Devil.

Grapes lined the vines that twisted up the side of the trellis, protecting the deck overlooking the vineyard from the sun. As I sat staring out into the vast field trying to think of anything but how bad the past year has been, I used the Veiled Valley Cellars house pinot noir to drown out my thoughts.

I had to get anyway from my apartment which I was forced into after I caught my dirt bag of a husband cheating on me. After 22 years of marriage, living in our beautiful house, in the foothills of the Cascade Mountain Range. I was left with nothing. Nothing but a dead end job as a secretary to a real estate agent, in a time when increased interest rates are keeping people from buying homes.

“You need a weekend away from here,” Scott, my boss, had told me a few weeks ago. “Why don’t you stay up in my cabin in the Willamette Valley, drink pinot and think or at least forget about Daren. Who knows maybe you will meet someone new, the wineries are always full of interesting people.”

It took some persuasion but I had finally come around to the idea that it would be a great chance to clear my mind and think of ways to move forward. The week before my trip I spent a lot of time researching and planning out where I would spend time losing myself in wine.

Veiled Valley Cellars was my number one choice, it was known like many wines of the Willamette Valley for its house pinot noir. They say the soil on the estate is what causes the beautiful flavors of cherry pie to come singing out of the glass. Others say that it is the grapes themselves that made Veiled Valley Cellars pinot so much better than any other pinots. Many other vintners have traveled long and far to try to steal seeds or sprout clones of the vines which held these award winning grapes. But most people think that it has something to do with the eclectic owner, Sebastian Ferrell the third, saying he has not only taken a great pinot but he has surpassed the wines his father and grandfather had created. All of this within the first 2 years of taking over the helm of the company.

Unlike his father before him, Sebastian III likes to keep out of the limelight that his wines cast, which makes his celebrity grow all that much more. So much so that there is usually a long waiting list to even get a single seat on the sprawling back deck of Veiled Valley Cellars.

Of course, Scott, knows one of the managers and was able to sneak me in off to the side of the deck hidden in the shadows. As I pushed my empty glass to the edge of the table to alert the waiter that I was ready for another glass, I noticed a strangely dressed man standing at the other side of the deck, staring off into the field. One of his hands was grasping a glass of red wine, presumably the highly acclaimed pinot, he looked at the contents of the glass, lifted it to his nose, gave it a sniff and tossed the wine over the edge of the railing. Turning with a disgusted look on his face and stormed off the deck.

“Wow, I can’t imagine anyone disliking this wine.” I thought to myself. My waiter had dropped off a fresh glass of pinot and cleared my empty glass from the small table. I lifted the glass to my nose, a symphony of red fruits enveloped me. Layers of earthiness, spice, and gentle wafts of vanilla, how could anyone waste such a fine wine.

I spent the next few hours staring and drinking, each glass brought me more happiness, along with forgetting about my shitty boring life. Before I knew it, I was all alone on the dark deck. The sun had set hours before, I had no idea what time it was or where my waiter was with my tab. I grabbed at my purse beside me to get up and go settle my tab, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

I gaspt and quickly turned around to see the strangely dressed man looking down at me with a slight smirk on his face.

“I am sorry to scare you,” the man apologized. “But, I wanted to let you know that your tab has been taken care of.”

“By whom?” I questioned, “I would love to thank them.”

“By me of course,” the man responded “I am the owner, Sebastian Ferrell the third, who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

I was so embarrassed, shocked and surprised that the famous Sebstain the third was not only talking to me but had paid my tab. “My, My name? I’m Amanda Spenc…sorry Amanda Martin.” I spilled out, realizing that I was a little drunker than I thought.

“Well Miss Martin, I can see you have been enjoying my pinot very much. Would you like to join me and my private cellar for a bottle of my favorite vintage; 2018, the year I learned how to turn my family's wine into a masterpiece?”

“I, I would be honored, to umm join you, Mr… Mr. Ferrel.” I stammered.

“You may call me Sebstain.” He responded while gently grabbing my hand and helping me out of my seat.

He led me through his now empty tasting room, only a few lights were left on which accented the enormous fireplace on the far wall of the room. We came to a stop in front of a huge iron door, as Sebstain pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He pushed open the large door which led to a stone spiral staircase. A gust of cold wind hit my face as we walked down to his private cellar.

The cellar was very cool and damp. The large cave-like room was filled with racks covered in cobwebs full of old dusty wine bottles. Two big arm chairs sat in the coroner separated by a small table with two wine glasses beckoning to be filled and a few unlit white candles. Sebastian eyed the racks and pulled out a bottle, set it on the small table and lit the candles.

“Please take a seat.” Sebastian said in a soft voice.

This is so romantic I thought as he pulled the cork on the dusty bottle of Pinot, I can’t believe Scott was right, there still is hope for me yet.

Sebastian poured two glasses of wine, handing me one and held the other out in front of him. “Cheers.” His smile and eyes lit up.

“Cheers.” I replied, clinking my glass against his. I took a sip and let the deep complex flavors take over my senses. “This is the best glass of Pinot Noir I have ever had, no this is the best thing I have ever tasted in my life. How? What is your secret Sebastian?”

“I have never told another living soul my secret.” He replied.

“Pretty, pretty please,” I said flirtily. “I swear your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh, I know my secret will be safe with you. People have been guessing for years what my secret is, and it's very simple. The soil.” He said his voice was a little colder.

“I read that most people think that is what it is. But if that is the case why are your vintages so much better than your fathers or grandfathers?”

“That's because I bury my victims under the vines.” He said with a crazy laugh, his eyes grew wider.

“That’s not very funny.” I said starting to feel a little dizzy. That was when I noticed Sebastain hadn’t taken a sip from his glass, he began rising to his feet and reached for something in his back pocket.

He pulled out a huge knife and the last thing I heard was him saying; “You will make a great addition to next year's vintage of Pinot.”

Rain smacked down hard on my umbrella, rushing off both sides as I hurry down the crowded street. “Damnit” I thought to myself as I came to a halt behind a crowd at another crosswalk. I focused at the red glowing hand symbol across Doyers Street waiting for the light to change, I feel someone staring at me, following me with their eyes. I get that feeling a lot, there are so many people in New York City that how could there not be someone looking at you.

Maybe, I am just always paranoid but that comes with the territory, in my line of work you can never be too careful. I glanced down at my briefcase to make sure that its not getting soaked, as a loud crack of thunder broke up the honking car horns. “Fuck this,” I whispered out loud and turned into a small restaurant with a bright white and red signs that reads; Noodle Village with chinese characters running up and down the tall sign.

I shut my umbrella as I ducked through the door, a bell rang causing the bartender to lift his head from his phone. The only other person in the whole restaurant was an old man at the far end of the bar, staring into his beer. I took a seat at the opposite end with my back to the door and ordered a beer. If I sit here long enough maybe the storm will pass and I can get to the randevu point and hand off this stupid artifact.

I am not in the business of stealing things, but I am in the business of transporting stolen goods. This one has been especially hard to transport but I had already made it across the world with it, what was another couple of blocks. I have been afraid to open the briefcase because of the legends that surround the item, they call; the Exquisite Pagoda. I looked down again to make sure the briefcase was still safely between my legs.

When I looked back up at my beer, I jumped in my seat . The old man at the other end of the bar was sitting right next to me. Still with his head down.

“You should not be here and nor should that item.” The old man growled as he lifted his head. I could see that his eyes were solid milky blue, his face was pale and his skin was stretched so tightly over his bones, it looked more like a skull than a face.

“Leave me alone old man,” I said as I stood up, grabbed my briefcase, threw a few dollars on the bar and headed for the door. “If the Exquisite Pagoda were to fall into the wrong hands, you will be doomed.” The old man shouted after me.

I turned back in shock; “how did he know I had the Exquisite Pagoda, how had he snuck up on me?” I asked myself. As I turned back around, I was shocked all the bar stools were empty. The bartender looked at me strangely.

“You aren’t going to finish your beer? You haven’t even had a sip.” The bartender called, as I opened my umbrella and rushed back to the busy street.

That was it, I was starting to crack, I had to get rid of this artifact. I had heard tales as a kid that the Exquisite Pagoda would play tricks on the person who possessed it, unless the person who held it understood how to harnish its true powers; the powers to imprison any living being. Some say that even one look from the wrong person can cast them into imprisonment in another world. The world of forever.

My head began to pound as I picked up my pace. I bumped into a younger woman with her little girl huddled under their Hello Kitty umbrella.

“Sorry, so sorry,” I whimpered.

“The Exquisite Pagoda must be returned,” the little girl shouted at me. I didn’t turn back to see if I was imagining it. Instead I broke out into a full on sprint to the meeting spot. Another crack of thunder scared me into dropping my umbrella, which had become more of a parachute, slowing down my run.

I was soaked at this point, it didn’t matter anymore, I just needed to make this delivery. I finally reached the alley that led to the warehouse, I slowed my pace and caught my breath. I had to act cool, or else my clients might think I was being followed.

As I walked past a dumpster a homeless man with no shirt on jumped out and grabbed the briefcase and tried to take off. I yelled and pulled with all of my might in the opposite direction, causing the case to fall open, spilling out the bag that contained the Exquisite Pagoda.

The homeless man darted for the bag and opened it, holding it away from his eyes he pointed it at me.

I didn’t have time to react, I looked right into it and a large flash of light made me shut my eyes. I was blinded, fumbling around, I grabbed the wall to keep from falling. I had to get the Exquisite Pagoda back.

“You should have never taken the Exquisite Pagoda, you shall now be imprisoned in the world of forever.” The homeless man’s voice boomed like a thunder clap.

I rubbed my eyes frantically hoping I would be able to see again. Slowly my vision had returned, I realized that I was still in the same alley, that myths must not be true. “I need to hurry” I thought to myself and I tore down the alley hoping to catch the homeless man.

As I reached Doyers Street, I looked both ways to see where the man had run off to. All I could see was a street full of hundreds of black umbrellas.

“Shit” I swore to myself as I went left and pushed through the crowd of people. I bumped into everyone as I fought my way through the stream of people. They seemed to be pushing me back, fighting me from going further up the street. As I pushed past another set of people I realized they were not people, they were demons, each identical, holding their black umbrellas. Their eyes, blue and empty, each one with the same smirk on their face.

“Welcome” they all said in unison “To the World of Forever.”