A Demon for The Season
Boldolf, I thought, what the hell are you doing, man? Get the hell out of that cacaphony house of spirits and vampire bats, and things that go bump in the night. The house was always chilly now, cold, dead, dying in-fact, always making me shiver and falter to the rough carpet, red as a river of blood....flowing with cascading plasma over rivets of rusty, tetanus-inducing nails. Mongrel teeth scathing my flesh as I lay on sheets of ivory, a big slack jaw smile on bedposts.
Alfred came and left without much plight, scaring me awake, and pummeling me into unconsciousness. Each day he fed on my fears, growing stronger, growing bolder, leaving me in a mess of trouble, where I had to start explaining off black eyes, and cut lips. My bones were knitting back together in my fingers, the phalanges broken by bowling pins forcibly dropped on me during a sickening juggling performance. My eyes blackened by beanbag sacks pummeled from out of a potato gun into my welt-forming face.
The laugh, it hurt my ears like a siren from Hell, pulsating through me, becoming a signature part of me, leaving me with PTCD (Post-Traumatic Clown Disorder) and what else can I do? Only hearing that snickering shrill shriek bombarding my eardrums, leaving a tide of shakes and shivers up my spine, as I leave my mind to try and escape the horrors.
I missed work again...what was the point? Maybe by starving myself of income the bank would have to foreclose and I could escape this nightmare I've laid down so deep in...maybe Alfred would become some corporate welfare's problem...and I could be free of the demon that screamed at me every nightmare, and beat me into a submissive dog's ire. I have nothing but the escape now, I drink more often than not, the house decaying my insides, Alfred Salmon Sulinkzy III winning gains at my losses.
The night came when the full-moon light was blinding, like a battery-fixed bulb exploding across galaxies, forming a shining apparel of shimmering nightgowns throughout the world. I cried at how bright the beautiful shine was, so sweet and pure...classic moonlight shining in bliss, and why else would I want this bright moon...because I was about to fuck-up that demonic clown for good. Or so the website said I could.
Demonic spirits are like any other creature, they all have weaknesses and strengths. Not some candle-lighting bullshit and sage bundles, but legitimate weaknesses where they're most vulnerable. I knew deep-down that the was something I could do in those ample moments where the brightest bright moonlight shined down on the Earth. Like lupine howling, and vulpine raiding hen houses, I was now the predator, and Alfred Salmon Sulinkzy III was just peacocking prey.
That night, the clown came with a vengeance of such prowess, you'd swear I was surely doomed, that I was going to die that night, this monsters came at me with shit so terrifying, I can barely describe it now. The devil himself must have been through the ringer on this one, a hurricane of despair flooded over me as I fought for consciousness. The clown returned but with a familiar...some mongrel dog of raw blood and rotten flesh heaving and slurping the black ectoplasm at the demonic clown's talented feet. Slurping up that oily slick fluid, it made noises no animal, living-or-dying should ever make. I removed from my being a cross made of bundles of sacred herbs: wolfsbane, nettles, witch hazel, and nightshade.
The clown's chagrin smile turned into a foul grimace, serpents and spiders crawled from out its gaping hole, clambering with many legs, and none, onto the cloth sheets. I feared no evil, masking y mouth and lighting the deadly concoction. I took all the necessary precautions that my sane mind could, and placed a fire within my own soul, a white, pure spiritual fire, and the strength grew within me, my gas mask filtering the toxins that have stifled the mongrel vermin from their clawing advance.
"Ah! Somebody knows how to Google! Too bad I've grown stronger off your fear!" The maniacal voice was like an air horn blasting with decibels that are skull-splitting. The bastard was scared, and I felt a rise in my confidence...tonight, I was going regain my composure, and win back my freedom.
"How about turn down the volume, and turn up the custard pies!"
I gain my composure for but a second, as the vengeful spirit releases its grip from me for but a second, and I move towards bathroom. A flurry of pies and piranhas flew like ballistics right by me....I shut the heavy door and latch it shut. Still holding the visceral bundle of sweet poison, burning like a witch's shield, I panicked....I knew the spirit could manifest itself anywhere, a locked door was a facsimile of security, but i was biding my time. I knew that Alfred Slamon Sulinkzy III would have to be crazy to come into such a a small space while I had the herb bundle. Yet it was a ticking timebomb, because despite the large bundle I had made that could burn for years....it would eventually fill the small half bathroom that I was in.
Slamming at the door jutted be back into the everlasting moment of terror and excitement. It was all barking, the evil clown had convoluted the fear it was trying to instill, now becoming a very articulated frustration, colorful words and languages that could've passed for quotes from Satan himself. I sat on the toilet, not trying to breathe heavily; figuring out my options from here. I had several, and there was a game plan that was being started, as the chortles from sulphur pits came from out of myounding head....a last feeble attempt to keep me from my composure to do what needed to be done. Still, I knew what had to be done, I knew that this was going to be the final showdown...it was him or me.
The site, which so-far had yet to produce any helpful fruit, claimed that the spirit would keep away from the bundle, but that for such isolstion to continue, it would then double its malevolence; becoming a more oowerful entity, but it was still weakened by my cautionary actions.
The door was pounding, slamming with such rage, but I held my ground, burning the purifying poison, and humming superfluously under my breath. The clown just kept berating me, cursing me with laughs and screams that melded into my soul.
"You won't hold out in three forever! You know the air will suffocate from that room!!! It'll only be smoke. I don't need to breathe, but you do, you pitiless moron!!"
It was right, the beast would have it right in-that I would be without oxygen if this kept up for much longer, but if sufficed, knowing thwt the coals at the end of my old-fashioned mask would hold. He may have been a monster, but I wore the mask of a warrior, ready to battle the hypothetical dragon back into it's cave,to slay it on the mountain of gold it protected.
Then it happened, I've burned enough bundle to fill the entire bathroom with smoke. It was mystical, turning and whipping around in the room with malady. Feverish jerks until it turned eerily black as the charcoal that kept me from suffocating on such toxins. Still there was no end to the smoke. The tiny ember off the flare-like bundle barely showcased a firefly light in the vastness of that muddied smog. I walked forward, looking for the door, and as I walked, I saw velvet walls of black smoke. It felt as though the blankets of black were webbing,hindering my walk to trudge and push, rather than free movement. The bathroom was infantile in-comparison to the size of the whole house. I kept walking, knowing something was devilishly wrong with the circumstances I've become entangled in....thee was most definitely a stolid issue...I wasn't in the bathroom any longer, I have been transferred to something far more heinous, far more deadly.
The darkness was so thick, light seemed to only shine down straight onto me, my eyes had bulged so far out of my sockets for a grip on something of differentiation, they could see flies in an oil spill. The silence was so deafening in the wake of coming to this obscure location, I felt tinnitus screams ruining about, giving me a headache that I began to breathe heavily to have something to counter the void. This of course made my mask fog up greatly, and in already pitch-black surroundings, I felt exquisitely more frightened than I had when I thought it was just a bathroom.
Suddenly, a booming voice, like a television static turned up to maximum volume blared at me. A loudspeaker of insanity and fright, nearly having my soul jump from out my chest, and run to the farthest reaches of the hereafter.
"Welcome! I have not had to bring a soul here in a long time. You've come prepared Bobo, but I've been prepared for millennia! Are you ready to face me? No little bundle of flowers will save you now! Oh I'm so tickled by the thought of carving my claws so deep into the well of your aching back, I could almost choke my rubber chicken HAHAHAHAHA!"
That annoying voice, that ear-gouging laugh, and that face of the devil itself staring down atop me. I was certain I was going to be dead, I was certain I was going to be te slave of this Freakshow host.
"Do not fret! My little lamb! Your fleece will be stained with blood as I tear your flesh from bone! Maybe a little lemon spray to slean up the mess while your writhing in pain!!!"
I didn't allow for an answer, I flung the bundle at the beast, and it hit dead on into the awaiting, cackling mouth. It hit the target, and I felt a surge of electricity rumble throughout all of Hell. Abysmal sounds came from the beastly apparition. It changed so many forms that it could compete with a wendigo. The smoke spilled from out the monster's mouth, like the fabled dragon aforementioned, but this was a fire of purification, this was no defense...it was my only offense, and I ran. Alfred Salamon Sulinkzy III made way, and clambered towards me, but it was only gesticulating motions of anguish and fear. I had slated my demon, but now the world it built up to entrapt me was collapsing. Quickly I flung myself out of the darkness, and onto my bed.
The world had ended,mand thousands of years prior, I was in a world of fear, now a world of dismay. I had killed the clown, I had resurrected my own spirit on to the plain of the living, but to what goal had I kept such sanity in a world thousands of years gone past? The future was my fortress, and the were millions of demons now. Boldolf, you fool, a pack of monsters now bit at your feet, and yet, you now lead these packs towards the destiny they so rightly defile with salivating jowls, and ghostly imagery.
The world ended, and I lived on, Alfred Salmon Sulinkzy III was no longer my captor, no longer master of my reality. But now...now I was trapped, and the dead were just dying to get their hands in me. The bed I landed upon was but a sekletal remain from the bygone years, the house a shamble of it's former glory, and the world I knew...well, at least I didn't have board a plane ever again. I guess life could always be worst, but where I was but one killer clown in a glorious mansion, I now had a demon for every season.
Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial! Next week will either be a "short" short, or some sort of mini post. Then a full- length short story, and a final post. The last one will be worth the wait,mom certain,mits a long story and I will do my best to focus primarily on that for the next two weeks, so I appologize that the length of the next few short stories are going to suffer for it,mbut this last story may just take the whole month to read, it will be extremely longer than most other posts. I hope you've enjoyed a demon for every season, and I will return next week with more posts.
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