And in the Darkness, Demons…

A Short Short-Story by K.

[Author’s note: This Biercean story/piece was inspired by the semi-mythical nature of certain events. The friend in whose house this happened will most certainly recognize mentions of them – and him – in the story; I request him to kindly forgive this trespass on my part, to forgive a writer’s enthusiasm for having twisted the facts. I am not portraying you, friend. The characters are mine own. Still, I apologise if anything comes across in the wrong sense.
Please forgive me.]

We are two scared men; living together. All alone. We dread the coming of the night; dread the visitations of our nightmares, our fears made flesh. Strange how in this time of demystification, of pooh-poohing of myth how the human mind conjures up images scarier than those any myth ever produced…strange…

The door groans as it is pushed open. The brand new, shiny steel lock glints against faded wood and rusty iron. The large house is empty and dark. The wooden rafters creak as they settle in for the night, tired from a long day of stretching and shrinking to the heat. The walls breathe, exhaling the miasma of years of accumulated smoke and whisky. The tang, with the odour of cigarettes and single-malt Scotch drifting behind it, assaults our nostrils.

...

He looks at me: I can see the tiredness in his eyes, as he can see the weariness in mine. Apathetic and disillusioned smiles stretch our faces. He motions towards the hall, his other hand making as though to hold a bottle. I understand. Time for M. Daniels. Silver Select. With ice.
…
The whisky is well inside us now, with a small amount of water. Heads are beginning to spin. The whisky educes humour, but behind our laughter we can see Hysteria grin, see Madness peer out from the unfathomable depths of Fear…The laughter is quickly silenced…there is work to be done. And it is getting late. Outside, a crow caws. The sound is so harsh it sets my teeth on edge; an involuntary shiver racks my body. I look at him, nod. He nods back. We do not speak. Stillness…

...
He goes into his room, to work and listen to music, his refuge against the demons. I return the bottle and glasses to the kitchen. The hall lights are silenced. Trees rustle outside and I know it is the wind but my mind…I can see images of horrendous beings clambering over the leaves, dribbling, slavering, peering in at the windows…A shadow moves across the shutters and I imagine red eyes looking into mine…

A scream tries to let itself out, but I prevent that, gagging in my dread…I do not want to scare the both of us. Failure has already made us weak. I take a book, and retire to my room. I shout goodnight so he can hear me but the sound is so loud it shakes our very souls…his mumbled response follows me inside my room. The window in the wall is open, it has no shutters. There is nothing scarier than waking up at an ungodly hour and trying to make sense of the shadows therein.

...
Mysterious creaks and midnight sounds leak into the room, the moonbeams seem to swish and whisper as they slide over the sheets…A rat squeaks. The book is no help, so I try to silence jangled nerves by reading out aloud.

Big mistake, for soon I can hear spectral voices chanting in cadence to mine…twisting the words…Being a Professor of Occult Studies is no used when you are scared: you can only give names to your fears…And I see the letters forming before my eyes…an innocent sentence…‘might like Ken…’ I see the starting letters…

m…l…k….MLK…Hebrew…Melekh...The King…But the Masoretic vocalisation reads Mōloch…The Devil…

MLK…Mōloch…

...
Bosheth! Shameful thing! Get away from me!!! “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour...”

I cannot stand it anymore, the words scream thmselves out my throat…Vade retro me Satana!!! Get thee behind me, Satan!!!

And then the meaning sinks through. I hear a rustle behind me, I turn round. But not fast enough…I can only see the swinging of the curtains…Something behind it must have moved…

...
I cannot stand it anymore. I get up, I run out of the room nto the darkness…I cannot find the light switch… VADE RETRO ME SATANA!!! I blindly rush to the main door, yanking it open, as behind me I hear two voices uplifted in song. Loud, very loud… “Regrets, I've had a few; But then again, too few to mention…” He takes his refuge in Sinatra. The same song plays through the night, a million times, till he has sung himself hoarse, and then Sinatra sings alone, keeping fiends at bay…

...
I rush out into the cold night, to the night of anonymous sounds, to the night of unknown insects making their insect sounds into the dank cold air, the night of Ba’al Mōloch, of Belial and Abaddon…

Behind me, there is the house, and Sinatra and darkness…

And in the darkness, demons…