The Demonologia Biblica

by Wilde, Barbie

  “It’s the truth. The eyes...yes, I remember them staring at me too, through my bedroom window. But how can that be? Just before the storm...one minute they were outside, then inside....the heat on my skin...” She sobbed. “It was just a dream though wasn’t it?”

  “It was a dream Eloise, it isn’t you it wants, it’s me.” I resigned myself to the truth.,

  Barclay was confused. “What do you mean? Is there something you’re not telling me?” He was almost hysterical himself.

  “ENOUGH!” I needed time to think.

  “Madame?” Eloise sniffed.

  “Leave me at once, do you hear? At once!”

  Footsteps as they headed to the door. “Madame?”

  “Barclay?”

  “I do not believe the creature meant me harm.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  “Yes. I could have, but I’m alive.”

  “Perhaps you are right Barclay, perhaps ...”

  “Do you think it may return?” Barclay enquired. “We should be on our guard just in case? Perhaps go back to Paris?”

  I didn’t reply. They stood there for a moment or two before exiting.

  I lay down on the pillows, pulled my blanket up around me. I tried to sleep for that’s when I do my best thinking, and after sometime of tossing and turning, it eventually overpowered me.

  Out there in the hallway, I could hear Eloise and Barclay whispering to one another. I didn’t need to wonder what about.

  She was telling him everything.

  ***

  A storm was raging. My window was open, though I didn’t remember opening it. Momentarily, I could feel wings beating against my face. But once I calmed, I realised that it was only the muslin curtain billowing in the wind.

  Something was wrong. I could sense it.

  I was bewildered, didn’t know what time of day or night it was. I couldn’t hear the clock. I knew I was in my bed, but it felt different, I felt like I was floating in the ocean. I brought my hand to my face and sniffed: blood.

  “Who’s there?” I asked. Then called out for Eloise, Barclay, Berling, even old Querol.

  “They’re dead. All of them.” A voice coldly stated. “And you killed them.”

  “I killed no-one.” I replied.

  Laughter echoed around the room. “You don’t believe that surely?”

  “What do you want?” I enquired.

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  I put my feet down onto the floor. It was wet. Sticky.

  Death surrounded me.

  “What happened to them?”

  “The young bastard was beheaded like his father. The girl...well, what’s left of her lies about this room. Be careful where you step.”

  “Querol...Berling?”

  Again, that laughter. “Entwined with the animals they loved so much...in every way possible...and that serving wench...what amusement I had with her. Who knew the human body could be so...pliable.”

  “And what do you have planned for me?”

  A sudden seriousness. “That depends.”

  I had to think quickly, needed to keep it talking, not that I was paying much attention, for there was another sound, below that of the raging storm. Above the pelting rain, that I needed to concentrate on.”

  When I breathed in, that familiar scent filled my nostrils.

  “What have you done?” I asked, panicking.

  “What I always do: set the world alight.”

  With all my might, I stood up. I reached out for support. I wasn’t going to give this abomination the respect it was trying to eek out of me.

  “Your house is being raised to the ground.” It stated.

  That was what I could smell. Fire.

  I listened hard. The flames were licking at the door. Wave after wave of heat. Crashing into the wood, the metal, threatening to break through.

  I knew what was coming, had almost drowned in that ocean once before.

  I gathered my wits. Stepped forward through the curtain.

  “Qangiel Yah.” I whispered.

  “Madame de Blondel, how different you are to when we first met. Where once beauty reigned...”

  “...is now nothing but charred flesh and bone. I don’t need reminding.”

  Qangiel Yah sighed. “A portrait only half painted.”

  “On that we shall have to disagree.” I replied. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “To finish that dance we started all those years ago.”

  I covered my nose with my hand. Smoke was now infiltrating the room. The wood of the door, the floor, was creaking and bending. The plaster from the wall was peeling and cracking, dropping to the floor in large chunks.

  “Haven’t you had enough? You took my daughter. You almost killed me.”

  “Josephine,” the creature whispered. “Sweet memories. You still have that memento of her.”

  “It’s the only remembrance of her I have left. You took everything else.”

  “You were a clever clever bitch.” It hissed. “It took an eon to find you again and then, almost by chance...we dance again.”

  I coughed. Fought for air. The smoke was thick, acrid. Some of my furniture had caught alight. I turned my head, focused on the open window.

  “I never hid.” My throat was killing me – contracting. Slowly I made way round the bed. “I just kept out of your way.”

  “But here we are: the house where it all begun. A shame my flames will destroy it for a second time. And please don’t think there will be a last minute reprieve, there is no-one to save you this time or sacrifice themselves in your place. It’s just you and I.”

  I wasn’t going to give it the pleasure of a response. The smoke cloud hung heavy, it was in what remained of my eyes, my ears.

  “My devastation is so beautiful. The power my flames wield.”

  “How did you locate me then?” I hoped to distract the creature.

  It had its back to me. It was no doubt preening itself, dusting down its deep black feathers, a tempest of butterflies. I moved closer to the window.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before – it didn’t take much. I used that rosbif diplomat – serenaded him, seduced him, convinced him to murder all those people. He was eager enough. I just had to give him a welcome nudge.”

  “But the son – how did he find me?”

  “Simple. I gave the father your name. Then he planted it in his son’s head. It was like a worm eating away at his brain. The wheels of fate were set in motion and here we are. He would have killed you in the end if I hadn’t got to you first. He had some of my fire inside him, but he didn’t know it. They’ll write stories about him one day I’m sure.”

  The ceiling above us gave way. A timber broke free and crashed to the floor.

  “That was close.” Qangiel Yah chuckled. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  I had almost managed to get to the window. I’d even managed to get my hand onto the ledge – I think I was planning to throw myself out of it, I don’t know – but it was academic, Qangiel Yah rushed towards me, grabbed me, held me in its claw-like hands., threw me back into the cloud of smoke. The heat was worse than a furnace. I was on the verge of passing out.

  “You murdered my daughter.” I spat.

  It squeezed my body tighter. “And I should have killed you too...snuffed out your light like a candle, but no matter, there are no third chances.”

  I fought, hit, kicked out as best I could. “No!” I shrieked, the stench was flooding my nostrils: burning flesh.

  “Why fight it, my dear?” It whispered, the flames licking at what remained of my feet.

  It was then the truth hit me. Qangiel Yah was right. Dead right.

  So instead of fighting it, I moved in closer. A lover’s embrace.

  “Is this what you were lacking all these years?” I stated, ignoring the intense agony which was working its way up my body.

  “Another trick?” It replied, trying to move a
way but I wouldn’t acquiesce. I held on for dear life.

  “Take me.” I relented.

  Its wings beat me, its claws tore me, ripping my clothes, my flesh, deeper still, breaking what remained of my bones but still I wouldn’t accede. I ignored my own pain, my own suffering, dug my nails in (metaphorically if nothing else!).

  I was concentrating so hard that I didn’t realise that we were airborne, floating, vibrating. The tears flowed from my eyes like molten metal. The blood poured from the wounds which were now legion upon me.

  A scream was building up inside my soul, literally dying to be let loose, but I fought to keep it inside, though knew it was only a matter of moments before it would break free and take flight.

  Qangiel Yah began to shake. We crashed into the burning timber, the falling plaster, the bending metal.

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” It yelled.

  I tilted my head. It was time to make my move.

  Our mouths interlocked and I let out my scream.

  It was such a powerful, furious shriek. Qangiel Yah attempted to break free but refused to let go even when the roof finally gave way and came smashing down on top of us and we hurtled into the floor...

  ***

  Tuesday 13th March 1897, Châteaubriant, France

  For the second time in twenty-five years, the house was in ruins. This time permanently.

  Most of the villagers were there, standing, watching, as the last of the smoke, the ashes floated on the wind.

  A policeman shifted through the debris. He beckoned to Doctor LeFranc to join him amongst the rubble.

  “Is that her?” He asked, shifting a half-burnt roof timber with his foot.

  LeFranc approached, knelt down to where the policeman pointed.

  It was a body –what was left of a body. An old, frail body. There could be no doubt.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “It appears to be Madame de Blondel”

  The policeman looked about him. “And she was responsible for all this?”

  LeFranc stood up, dusted down his trousers, headed away. The policeman frowned, then (with great difficulty it had to be said) rushed after him, grabbing his arm when he reached him.

  “Don’t you walk away from me!”

  LeFranc nodded. “I’m not deaf, but what’s the point? She was a troubled woman...her only daughter killed in a fire so many years ago...I can’t tell you what happened for certain...you’re the policeman after all.” He shrugged, mumbled his apologies.

  The policeman removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead. “But don’t you understand? I’ve got no idea what happened either. It’s a bloody mystery!” He spun round, trying to make sense of it all.

  He looked up, the sky was full of butterflies, beautiful black butterflies.

  It was a bloody mystery indeed...

  R Is For Ronove

  Where there’s a Will…

  Dave Jeffery

  In the heavy stillness, the man on the bed whispered; the words rising from his shivering lips lost to the nurse sitting next to him.

  The magnolia walls corralled a room that was small and sparsely furnished. On the air, a heavy smell of surgical spirit and detergent did not mask the quiet and insistent odour of urine. Its sweet acrid aroma lingered like a ghost.

  After turning down the corner of the page, Nurse Amanda Softly placed the book she’d been reading on the bedside locker. Adjusting the black cardigan draped over the shoulder of her white uniform, Amanda reached out for the man's gnarled, aged hand and gently covered it with her own. Her skin was smooth and white like marble, and a stark contrast to the wizened hand it encapsulated.

  “Hush, now, Arthur,” she said. “Be at peace.”

  If Arthur Conlon heard her words there was no acknowledgement. He continued his muted monotone ramblings, sallow face made fat by a dirty grey beard. This was what Alzheimer’s disease did to its host, a dirty parasite sucking dry the faculties of man and leaving an empty vessel that was to drift through life rudderless, incapable of thought or memory.

  “How is he?”

  Despite its softness Amanda was startled by the voice.

  She looked up, her brown eyes meeting those of the man now standing at the foot of Arthur’s bed. He was clad in the garb of a male orderly. Indeed, he even had a clip board under his right arm and a biro tucked behind his left ear.

  For a moment, Amanda’s brain told her she had never seen the orderly before, but this notion was short lived. Within seconds of thinking such a thing, her mind shimmied and she suddenly felt giddy enough to sit back and bring a palm up to her brow. The vertigo vanished as soon as it came and when she once more eyed the orderly Amanda believed she'd known him for seven years and went by the name of Dan Murphy.

  “Hi, Dan,” she said. “I’m afraid he’s not long for this world.”

  “I suspect not. We are all just passing through, after all,” Dan replied, his voice almost whimsical. He had bright blue eyes and, even in the low light from her reading lamp, they sparkled like black ice in the winter sun. “I’ve come to relieve you.”

  “Is it that time already?” She yawned before he could answer and realised it probably was that time. “Strange how tiredness creeps up on you during a nightshift isn’t it?” she sighed.

  “Lots of things can creep around in the dark,” Dan smiled. As he spoke his face appeared to shiver in the light, as though the lamp did not contain a bulb at all but a sputtering flame.

  “Now don’t you go saying things that will be giving me nightmares, Daniel Murphy,” she said with a chuckle.

  He laughed along with her but had she looked closer she would have seen his mouth was not moving. Instead it was a hyphen framed by dark lips.

  Amanda stood and picked up her book. “I shall do the rounds and make us a nice cup of coffee. That sound good to you?”

  “Wonderful,” said Dan.

  “How do you take it again?” Amanda asked. She couldn’t quite recall having ever made coffee for Daniel Murphy.

  “As black as Lucifer’s soul,” Dan stated. He licked his lips and Amanda blinked twice. Tiredness was playing tricks on her again. For a moment she thought that the tongue Dan had dragged across his teeth had been blue and forked.

  She shook the image away and went out of the room, stopping in the doorway, her silhouette large and misshapen against the stark white corridor beyond.

  “Please call me if he decides to pass on,” she called.

  Dan watched her go and looked down at the figure in the bed.

  “Hello, Arthur,” he said as he sat in Amanda's recently vacated chair. “Seems that time’s up.”

  ***

  The smile was back on Daniel’s lips as he pulled the pen from behind his ear and placed the clip board on his knees.

  Arthur continued to mutter incoherently, eyelids flickering fervently as though struggling to remain shut.

  “If this is going to work, you really are going to have to speak up, dear fellow,” Dan said.

  He raised a hand, extending a finger which he placed on Arthur’s forehead, muttering under his breath,

  “Ego tribuo vos expedio in illa , vestri denique moments.” I give you clarity in these, your final moments.

  Where Dan’s fingertip met the papery skin, darkness pooled like an oil spill, radiating outwards until it became the size of an old penny. As Dan took his finger away, the black blot faded to grey as it sank into the skin. Within a few moments it had disappeared completely.

  Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he gasped as though someone had just given him bad news.

  “Easy, now, Arthur,” Dan said calmly. “Don’t want to stop that old ticker before we start, now, do we?”

  “Where am I?” Arthur enquired, bemused and trembling.

  Dan consulted his clip board.

  “Meadowsweet Care Home, apparently,” he replied after a few seconds. “Not really interested in the details, if I’m honest.”

  His awakening had Arthur flustered
and confused. This was relayed through the old man’s face; his jaw slack, eyes wide and frightened. Yet he still couldn’t move his body. His limbs felt as though strong arms held him, forcing him into the thin, foam mattress.

  “Who are you and what do you want from me?” he asked. Despite his fear his voice was hard edged.

  “What I want we will get too eventually,” Dan said assertively.

  “Let me go! I need to rest,” Arthur groaned and closed his eyes as if to try to undo what had been done to him.

  “Not wanting to open with a cliché but there’s no rest for the wicked, dear Arthur. It’s why I’m here, after all,” Dan mused.

  “I don’t understand,” said Arthur with the total conviction of a man who really didn’t.

  “Now, here’s the thing,” Dan replied. “I really wouldn’t expect you to, not yet at least. But I’m here on behalf of Dean.”

  “I don’t recognise that name.” The comment came too fast to be true.

  “Oh, I get that, Arthur. Yes I get that plenty. So does Dean. And that is why I’m sitting here beside you right now having this little tête-à-tête.”

  “Get out of here!” Arthur said angrily. “Nurse! Nurse!”

  “Oh, what big lungs you have for an old fella,” Dan said calmly. “All pointless. Amanda can’t hear you. At the moment time is nothing to her. We’re in a kind of bubble, locked in, if you prefer. This is all happening in the blink of an eye. In five minutes Nurse Softly will bring me coffee and you'll be as dead as Elvis."

  “Why can’t you just let me be?” Arthur moaned.

  “Ah, deflection,” Dan mused. “I gave you enough juice to buff up that rusty tin can of a brain of yours. So I know you remember the part where I mentioned Dean. I want you to say the name.”

  “I will not.”

  “Say it or I will make you piss fire,” said Dan. The smile was in place but his eyes were dancing with malevolence. “I'm told it’s quite painful.”

  “You’re talking nonsense.” Before Alzheimer’s disease crippled his mind Arthur was known for his defiance in the same way he was known for his conceit. Both returned now, stoked by fear and anger at a past he’d rather remain unvisited.