Free Death by Cliché by Bob Defendi

been funny . All’s fair in love, war, and the cause of a good joke, right?
    Wrong.
    He was in Hell. This was his entire existence. Clock in, clock out. The Department of Ironic Punishments owns your sorry white ass now.
    He scrambled to his feet, away from Gorthander. He thought the dwarf would follow him, but Damico saw someone standing in the woods about fifty feet away.
    “Gorthander,” Damico said. “Company.”
    Gorthander’s ax rattled behind Damico, as he reached for his new sword. The man in the woods started to withdraw, but stepped out of the woods instead.
    It was Jurkand.
    “You!” Damico shouted.
    Jurkand moved out of the ambiguous underbrush. Damico walked over to meet him.
    “You’re following us,” Damico said.
    “I am,” Jurkand said.
    Damico glanced over his shoulder at Gorthander who shrugged.
    “At least he’s honest,” Gorthander said.
    “I want to talk to you,” Jurkand said.
    “All right,” Damico said.
    “Alone.”
    Gorthander frowned and shook his head. Damico nodded back, and Gorthander shook his head again. Damico nodded more vigorously, and Gorthander shrugged and walked back to his breakfast beer.
    “What?” Damico asked. He’d rarely disliked another human being so much.
    “Do you know who you are?” Jurkand asked.
    Damico thought about that. “Yes. Do you?”
    “You are the driving force.”
    “I see.” He almost edged away from the man.
    “I saw what you did to the Barmaid.”
    “That was consensual.”
    “I’m not joking.”
    “Hmm.”
    They stood near the edge of the clearing, putting the camp thirty feet behind them, a cluster of tents with the fire in the middle. A wispy column of smoke rose from the fire. A greasier column of smoke rose from each of the beers. Damico shuddered. He’d better cook tomorrow morning.
    “So, what did I do to the Barmaid?”
    “You gave her the gift of life.”
    Damico looked at him sideways. “I’ve been told I was good before, but honestly, I never touched the barmaid.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    Damico shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
    “There is something about you that changes people.”
    Jurkand’s eyes were intense, penetrating. He leaned in as he talked. It creeped Damico out.
    “I don’t think I want to hear any more.”
    Damico started to leave.
    “You can’t leave this world,” Jurkand said.
    Damico stopped and glared at Jurkand. What was Carl playing at? No, Satan. What was Satan playing at?
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “You aren’t from here,” Jurkand said.
    Damico squinted at him. “I’m from right around here. I’d show you on a map if you had one.”
    Jurkand appraised Damico for what seemed like a long time. Then he said. “Yesterday I was nothing. I moved from whorehouse to whorehouse, and I never wondered why.”
    “Most men don’t need a reason.”
    “I had no spark. No essence. No soul . Then yesterday something happened. Where were you yesterday?”
    “In the Perilous Dungeon.”
    “And before that?”
    The sound of the silenced gunshot, the sight of the acre of trunk. Damico had to shake off the images to answer. “On the way to the Perilous Dungeon?”
    “I somehow doubt that.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Yesterday, this world and everyone in it was dull, lifeless. We had no spark. Then you showed up. I didn’t understand it until I saw you talking to the Barmaid. I saw the effect you had on her.”
    “You’re imagining things.” Damico walked away, shaking slightly.
    The expression of horror in that girl’s eyes haunted him. He couldn’t be responsible for it. He was a game designer and didn’t bring horror to people. Well, unless he designed a horror game.
    “I’m not having this conversation,” Damico called back over his shoulder.
    “You’re afraid!” Jurkand shouted.
    “Bug off!” Damico shouted back.
    “Me, her. How many more people have you affected?” Jurkand shouted. “How many people, just because you’re here? What