The Demonologia Biblica

by Wilde, Barbie

  “These doors can’t lock from the inside, can they?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

  “These doors can’t be locked at all. It must be stuck,” she replied.

  Brad turned the knob again and shoved his shoulder up against the door, but no luck.

  In the clinic bedroom, Jim was lying helpless as the dream dwarf leapt on his chest. It unbuttoned his pajama top and playfully tweaked his nipples before casually leaning down and viciously biting them until blood came. It started to lap delicately at the blood with its tongue. Jim overcame his terror and screamed as loud as he could.

  Outside in the corridor, Brad took a few steps back and then hurled himself at the door. It flew open and he tumbled into the darkened room. Sam followed to give him moral support. And then the door slammed behind them.

  In the monitor room, while all the machines beeped quietly, the only sounds coming from Jim’s CCTV audio were the whistling of a tennis racket swooshing through the air, followed by the “Pock!” of balls being violently smacked. Then more screams.

  Two hours later, Doug Sampson and Brenda Forge, Brad and Sam’s 4 AM relief, came into the ominously quiet monitor room. They looked around and spotted the images on Jim’s CCTV monitor. His room was still dimly lit, but the light from the hallway spilled into the room. They could see two figures lying on the floor, surrounded by puddles of dark liquid. Brenda didn’t hesitate and called security and the police, while Doug cautiously walked down the corridor to Jim’s room.

  Blood was creeping out of the doorway across the corridor floor. Doug stayed there and looked in, then warily put his hand around the doorframe to turn on the bedroom’s light wall switch. When he caught a glimpse of what was lying on the floor, his medical training deserted him. He whirled around and threw up spectacularly all over the corridor walls.

  Gobs of gore and brains were splattered Jackson Pollack-like across the bedroom walls and floor. Brad and Sam were dead: their white uniforms drenched in blood; their faces gruesomely cubed into hundreds of pieces, as if some demon from hell had prepared an obscene feast of face cubes instead of the usual cheese cubes for a satanic cocktail party. All that was missing were the toothpicks.

  Jim, on the other hand, was sleeping peacefully on the bed, the only signs of mayhem was the blood from a couple of wounds on his chest. Somehow he had escaped the slaughter.

  ***

  Marney sat in the office of homicide detective Jason Strummer, nervously wondering how on earth this could have happened. Jim was in a holding cell - still in his pajamas - protesting his innocence. It was hard to imagine how Jim of all people could have murdered the two sleep clinic technicians.

  Detective Strummer entered the room, a DVD in his hand. He looked at Marney appreciatively: blonde hair, great tits, long athletic legs. He wondered how the lanky, nervous bozo in Holding Cell 9 could have nabbed such a beauty, but hey, there’s no accounting for taste in the world.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to let your boyfriend go,” he said as he sat down behind his desk and Marney’s face brightened.

  “I told you Jim couldn’t have done such a thing,” she scolded.

  “We looked at the CCTV recordings and Jim was in bed the whole time during the attacks. It’s very weird. Here were two people running around the room, yelling their heads off, pounding on a door that can’t be locked and there’s your boyfriend lying there dead asleep.”

  “So who murdered those poor people?” asked Marney.

  “That’s the problem. We can’t see who killed them. The victims are either blocking the camera at the wrong time, or something unidentified moves between them and the camera. We can see the damage being inflicted on both of the victims, but we can’t see the perp. It’s bizarre.

  “We also rewound the recording back to the point where we could see something scuttling around Jim’s room - the incident which prompted the victims to go check on Jim in the first place - but again the images are too fuzzy to make any firm deductions on what it could be.”

  “What about Jim’s wounds?”

  “Well, it certainly looks like something bit him. We just don’t know what. We’re getting the bite marks analyzed, but nothing so far. But the blood on his chest is definitely his, not the technicians’.”

  “So Jim is free to go now?”

  “Yeah, but tell him not to leave town. Whether he was conscious or not, he’s a material witness to a double homicide.”

  ***

  It was Zeiner’s show now.

  Jim couldn’t science his way out of meeting up with the old guy, because Marney was threatening to move out if he didn’t. According to Zeiner, the fact that the creature bit Jim’s nipples and sucked his blood was a dead giveaway that the perpetrator was an Alp and Jim was too damn exhausted to argue.

  Zeiner came over to their place a week after the disastrous episode at the clinic. His plan was to monitor Jim’s sleep, sitting in a chair in their bedroom, while Marney slept in the spare room. Zeiner had brought all sorts of traditional accruements to assist him in his exorcism of the Alp. These included favorite Alp repellents such as a broomstick to lay under Jim and Marney’s bed; iron horseshoes to hang from the bedpost; a mirror to place on Jim’s chest and a large silver cross to hang on the headboard. Then Zeiner plugged the keyhole in the bedroom door, a common method of entry for Alps. Jim also had to sleep with a nightlight, as this was another effective way to ward off an Alpdrücke.

  Marney retired for the night and Jim tried to get to sleep, but he was a bit weirded out by Zeiner’s presence in the room. Jim peeked through a nearly closed eyelid and the old guy was staring at him in a particularly unnerving fashion. Jim tried to turn over, but the mirror got in his way.

  “I can’t sleep with this thing on my chest,” Jim complained.

  “Would you rather have an Alp sitting on your chest, with his infernal tennis racket?” asked Zeiner.

  “Hey, that’s right. You were going to tell me about the tennis racket,” said Jim.

  “It’s too late now. I will in the morning,” Zeiner said.

  “I want to know now,” Jim demanded.

  “All right, my impatient friend. It is an unusual implement, to be sure, but Alps are mischievous creatures. This one obviously admires the game of tennis, so in his twisted way, he finds it amusing to slice and dice his victims using a tennis racket strung with cheese wire. And the balls he uses are interesting. It makes you wonder what they are made of - to be so resistant against cheese wire.”

  “Teflon, maybe?” Jim asked sarcastically.

  Zeiner ignored him and continued, “Normally, Alps are not so vicious, so this is a very unusual occurrence. It is possible that this Alp is not necessarily a demon, but a particularly unpleasant human. After death, his unquiet spirit metamorphosed into an Alp. So perhaps this Alp in his previous human existence was a tennis player? Who knows?” Zeiner pontificated.

  “What a load of bilge,” Jim mumbled and closed his eyes.

  ***

  4 AM, the darkest hour. The time when humans have their most tenuous hold on life - their most fragile grip on the planet. Jim knew in his heart that all the precautions Zeiner had taken were inadequate. The Alp was coming to get him.

  Jim’s feelings of anxiety were at their height and not only for his own sake. He wondered if Zeiner was going to get butchered by the Alp. Having already been a suspect from the previous clinic carnage, albeit briefly, the police would definitely try to pin Zeiner’s murder on him for sure.

  Jim opened his eyes and he was surprised to see that he was in his own bedroom, not the vast blue room. He looked around and Zeiner was gone. What the fuck? He was supposed to be watching over him.

  Jim removed the mirror from his chest and cautiously got up. He looked around: in the closet, even under the bed, and he was relieved that he couldn’t find any cubed remains of Zeiner. Maybe the old bastard just needed a bathroom break.

  Then Jim heard something. A moaning sound. The hairs s
tiffened at the back of his neck. Instead of exasperation, he felt sudden fear in the pit of his belly, as if someone had thrown ice water on his groin.

  He quietly walked across the room, opened the door and peered into the hallway. It was dark, lit only by a small wall socket nightlight under the table at the end of the corridor by the bathroom. The bathroom door was open and the room beyond it dark, so Jim’s theory about the old geezer taking a leak flew out the window.

  Then he heard the sound again. It was coming from the spare bedroom. Where Marney was.

  ***

  Now it was Marney who was trapped in the vast, blue, high-ceilinged room - moonlight splashing across her bed like a spotlight. Although she instinctively knew where she was, she had her eyes tightly shut. It was almost an out-of-body experience. In her mind’s eye, she could see everything that was happening in the room from above. Marney was dreaming, but not dreaming - hovering somewhere between wakefulness and nightmare. She was helpless, unable to move, her arms stretched above her head, totally incapable of defending herself. She tried to call out to Jim, but every time she managed to vocalize, a hairy palm clamped itself over her nose and mouth, suffocating her. She stopped and the hand was removed.

  Marney was terrified, but aroused at the same time. Her nightdress was open to the waist and something was lying on top of her - alternatively suffocating her and then gently biting and sucking her nipples. Its hand slipped away from her mouth down to her neck, pressing just hard enough to cut off a bit of oxygen to her brain, making the sensations from her tormented breasts almost unbearably pleasurable.

  Marney was too petrified to open her eyes to find out what was lying on top of her. It couldn’t be the Alp, as the creature’s noises of passion were not accompanied by any tennis racket sound effects. It was at her neck now, breathing heavily, then a tongue forced itself into her ear. She moaned with pleasure, but it quickly cut her off by squeezing her throat again. The creature chuckled in her ear with delight. She could feel it making its way down her body. It pushed her quivering legs apart. A pause while it adjusted itself, then something hard and icy thrust inside her and the sensations were almost unbearable.

  The thing pounded into her.

  The force was agonizing and, at the same time, electrifying. Marney couldn’t control herself and quickly orgasmed, but it didn’t stop. Finally, it shot its load and whatever fiercely spouted into her was COLD -- freezing, demon seed that chilled her body as the individual, fiendish spermatozoons made their way up her vagina.

  Marney tried to scream, but the hairy hand covered her nose and mouth again. She struggled, attempted to push the thing off, but she was rapidly descending into unconsciousness. She finally opened her eyes and looked into its startling blue eyes, spotting that recognizable black mono-brow and knew that Jim had never been part of the plan. She had always been the target.

  Marney blacked out. The Alp pushed away from her, hopped down from the bed and resumed its Zeiner human shape. He felt her pulse. It was still strong, even after her ordeal. He had chosen his bride well.

  Zeiner tiptoed over to the door and opened it, totally unprepared to find a furious Jim standing in the corridor holding a baseball bat.

  “What the fuck are you doing in Marney’s room, you fucking pervert!” Jim shouted and he swung the bat at Zeiner’s head. Zeiner ducked dexterously and then feinted to the left. As Jim moved in to take another swing, Zeiner shot to his right and dashed into the corridor. Jim turned to chase after him, but Zeiner had disappeared down the stairs.

  Jim followed, turning on all the lights. Even though the front door was still closed and locked, and although he searched every room, including the basement, he couldn’t find Zeiner.

  His rage abated and Jim realized that he had no idea how long Zeiner had been in Marney’s room. He ran up the stairs to find her standing in the doorway, trembling and crying. He tried to get an explanation, but she was incoherent and in shock. He bundled her into bed and called the police.

  ***

  Marney never told anyone what really happened that night. She wouldn't allow a physical exam. She said that Zeiner had tried to attack her in her sleep and she had fought him off. She knew in her heart that it was completely illogical not to report the actual assault, but she was unable to verbalize what had happened to her. It was as if some otherworldly force had sealed her lips on the subject. Or maybe it was just a dream after all?

  Zeiner didn’t show up at work the next day. His address was found to be an old warehouse downtown that hadn’t been used in years. He simply disappeared. Along with Jim’s sleep paralysis.

  Nine months later, Jim and Marney had a baby boy they called Jim Junior. The baby looked and acted normal (no sign of twinkling blue eyes, a German accent, or a mono-brow) and Marney was mightily relieved. She put it down to experiencing one doozy of a dream that crazy night.

  But one day, when Jim Junior was still learning to speak, he turned to her with a wide, gummy, baby smile and, with spine-chilling clarity, spoke his first complete sentence:

  “Anyone for tennis?”

  And that’s when Marney got really worried.

  B Is For Berith

  The Red Soldier

  William Meikle

  “Well that was stupid,” Kath said as the credits rolled. “Why do you watch this crap?”

  John waved the DVD case in front of her. “Hello…Killer puppets. What’s not to like?”

  Kath laughed.

  “It’s a boy thing, obviously.” She extracted herself from under John’s left arm just as he made a grab for her breast. “Next time I get to chose what to watch.”

  “What’s wrong with puppets?” John asked. He slurred the words, and knocked over a beer bottle on the coffee table as he grabbed for it. Kath reached over and righted it.

  “There’s nothing wrong with puppets, per se,” Kath replied. “But there’s only so many times you can watch them dismember some stupid bimbo before it gets boring.”

  She stood up from the sofa. John made another grab for her but she danced out of his way and switched on the main light.

  “Besides,” she said as she turned back. “It’s a bloody stupid idea. Possessed puppets? Oh, scary…not.”

  “You don’t believe in possession then?” John enquired. “I thought you were a good Catholic girl?”

  Kath laughed. “You know better than that.” She blew him a kiss. “But no, I don’t believe in demons and possession and all that shit. It’s just fairy tales to keep the proles in line.”

  “Come on Kath,” John said, struggling to focus. “Surely there’s room in life for some magic.”

  “Nope,” she stated. “No such thing. And the puppets weren’t scary at all. They were kind of cute actually...like dolls for grown-ups.”

  John broke into a wide grin.

  “I was hoping you would say that. Stay right there.”

  He went out into the hall and came back with a large gift-wrapped box.

  “I know it’s early, but I can’t wait. Happy birthday,” he handed Kath the box.

  Given what they’d just been watching she wasn’t quite sure what to expect as she ripped off the wrapping. She was pleasantly surprised when she opened the lid of the box underneath.

  A puppet lay on a bed of tissue paper.

  “I remembered you said your family was Scottish,” John stated.

  Kath laughed. “Yes. But this is about as Scottish as you are.”

  She lifted it out of the box and let the puppet dangle on its strings from the crossed wooden spars. The figure was entirely made of wood and stood nearly two feet tall. It was an American’s representation of a kilted highlander, with a bright red tartan kilt, a tartan beret and a white shirt of lace and frills. It had a mass of red hair under the beret, and a thick bushy red beard beneath piercing blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. A sword swung at its hip in a leather scabbard, and the hilt of a long knife showed above where the blade had been tucked into thick wool socks.

&nb
sp; She looked at the name on the box: The Red McGregor.

  “What, no bagpipes?” Kath giggled. She made the puppet do a jig across the carpet before letting it fall in a heap. She threw her arms around John. “Thank you, I love him!”

  John disentangled himself from her. “Let’s see if you still love him after this shall we?”

  He held his hands out above the puppet. She knew what he was about to do… she’d just watched a similar scene in the movie.

  But if he wants to play, that’s up to him.

  John started intoning in a put-on silly voice.

  “Great Berith hear us. We call on you as your humble servants. Blood is the promise, death is the reward. Come, red soldier, come and do battle.”

  John looked down at the puppet, hunched his back and shouted loudly in a crazed voice.

  “Give my creature life!”

  Kath laughed aloud.

  “You really are as dumb as you look,” she said.

  “It’s all part of my boyish charm,” he replied, and once more took her in his arms.

  This time she didn’t resist, even as he herded her towards the bedroom.

  Kath had one last look back. The puppet didn’t move. It lay on the carpet, a misshapen bundle of string and limbs and tartan.

  She half-woke during the night.

  Somewhere someone was singing, an old Scottish song she remembered her Grandma crooning to her.

  Roamin’ in the gloamin’ wi’ a lassie by my side.

  Even as she recognized the tune she had already fallen back into sleep.

  ***

  The puppet was still there in the morning, lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. Kath smiled every time she looked at it. She had only been to Scotland once, but that trip had shown her that it was much like anywhere else. She had been there a week and not seen a single person wearing a kilt, let alone any bushy red beards or tartan berets. The puppet might not look like any Scotsman she’d ever met, but there was something about the red-bearded stereotypical figure that invited you to play along with the joke.