Posted on: 2012-07-16 by Guest

An old building. A book, large, bound in black leather, stiffened with age, heavy and thick. Realization. He must not have the book. He is evil. He is wickedness. For humanity, for our world, he must not have the book. And yet it is his, part of him. Family does not take me seriously. I scream, WE MUST FLEE! Get in my car, convince father to come. We Drive, and drive, anywhere. Men in dirty black furs and leather, black haired, angry, and bearing cruel, ancient steel weapons, axes, swords, no shields. They emerge from the side of the highway. I swerve to avoid them when I can, but they strike the car, hurling their bodies at it, completely unconcerned with thgeir own lives or the danger. A solid axe strike to the winshield shatters it. I am in the place I found the book. There, attached to the wall, bound by strands of acid spiderweb thick as cord, is a woman. She is naked, and her face is beauty and pain and sadness. Her body, what can be seen through the webbing, is criss-crossed with angry red welts, as though the webs burn as they imprison. I reach out, to tear the webbing away, to free her. she sadly shakes her head, and I know it is futile. He is coming. We must flee. WE MUST FLEE! Yet she is suffering, and I know her, she is I, if he captures me. I ask my father for the small, tiny knife I know he carries. I bring out the blade, and look her in the eye. She knows what I offer is a different kind of freedom. She gives a tiny nod, but it is the fear and gratitude in her eyes that tell me she is ready. Tearing at my soul, I grasp her hair. Roughly, I yank up. Without hesitation I draw the blade across her throat, as hard and sure as I can. It is a small blade, but sharp and my hand is steady. It has taken too long. He is there, and backing away I try to strike him with the knife. But it is a cross. A rosary from the Vatican. A gift from Craig. I strike him with a rosary, which burns and flings him away, his arm hurt, cut but not deeply. My sister will not believe me. Even my Father, who has seen strange men in black furs emerge and hurl themselves against the racing car, is confused. Craig is over. He believes. We flee in the car, but my father has forgotten the Book! It is at the house. We return to get it. My father has a car with no frame, like a jeep. Something incredibly fuel efficient. We will take that. I insist on driving, he accepts readily. But it is difficult to start, and my family's lack of belief, lack of fear has already delayed me. My father takes a moment to gloat, to explain the trick to starting the car. It is too much. There, in the passenger seat, is him. I know that Cruel, beardless chin. Those piercing brown eyes, so brown they are almost black in black. His hands are large, and his expression one of infinite evil. I gaze into his eyes, full of terror and resignation. Death would be better than capture, and briefly I wonder if I can find a way to die. I cannot. "So, this is the one who flees?" I nod, and offer him my wrists together, to bind or to cut. I am defeated. "Ha! He is no more than a gamer. He fled because he could do not other. And a good little rabbit, too. Led me on quite the chase. Do you know what will happen to you, little rabbit?" I know. I will suffer endlessly. I will have horrors without ending. If I cam lucky, he will eventually destroy me. "No, no luck. I will use you in dark rituals that will bind your soul to demons and you will be in endless hell. But first, you will serve me. Your fear is delicious, and you understand your place completely." We are in his place. It is cold stone and the smell of blood is there. I do whatever I can for my master. I fear the inevitable day of my endless torment, but... I am good at service. I am eager for his commands, and run to complete them. He has an apprentice, another servant, younger than I. But that boy does not understand quickly, and makes me seem more competent in contrast. He has two beautiful women servants. One hair blond as the sun, the other black as the night sky. The Blond is foolish and morally bankrupt, she serves not out of fear but a lust for power. The dark haired one is my ally. She tells me how he thinks, what he is like. She shares secret information. He is impressed with me. I have begun to help in the dark rituals. I have no hesitation, knowing that any day I may begin to suffer eternally, I commit blasphemy's with no doubt or guilt. I am also a natural... christopherleecruz@gmail.com for more