by Aaron Dawbot
"I'm fine, Lonnie. Now let's get to work," Thomas said with a hint of subtle irritation.
Lonnie nudged his chin to Fitz, the boy closed the van doors and Lonnie looked at Thomas who was caressing his forehead from the incessant pounding headache.
"No greater curse." Lonnie whispered.
An hour later, Thomas was walking the narrow stone lane lining the curved flower beds in Still Water's front garden. His eyes feasted on the glinting dewdrops shining on the leaves, the flower beds offered him a visual cleanse from the horrid visions he had to endure.
He was awakened from his reverie by Sister Louise. Her face carried the usual warm and tender welcome. "Good morning, Mr. Arsen."
"Good morning, Sister," he gave a cordial short bow.
"I see you're enjoying your morning stroll in our garden,"
"Yes...it's a wonderful sight. A source of visual relief."
"Relief of what?" she asked.
"I guess from the tribulations of everyday life," Thomas almost blushed.
"Ah…I see."
"I like that one the most," Thomas pointed to a small white flower barely rising from the ground
"You mean the white wake-robin," Louise said. "It is beautiful indeed."
"It doesn't follow the main pattern; scatters all over," Thomas wondered.
"That's because we never had a role in planting them, Mr. Arsen. It belongs to the land itself.”
Thomas continued his silence, urging for a more elaborate explanation.
Louise smiled, "This flower is ephemeral. It buds from the ground, then quickly dies after giving its seed. You could say like a sacrificing mother."
"So, a short living creature that offers all time it has for the love of its children?"
"Precisely! You could say its beauty is even amplified by its short existence," Louise said.
"And you allow it to grow among your flowers, giving it the chance to fulfill its purpose."
Louise nodded, her iridescent eyes shining against the glint of morning drops.
"Remarkable," Thomas said under the spell of wonder.
"I suspected you've come to discuss your finding with the headmistress."
Thomas replied, "Yes, you could say I gathered some lines and dots together, and it makes a solid theory. However, I should discuss this alone with Sister Elizabeth. I hope you don't mind?"
"Of course, I will notify her myself."
The nursed walked away. Thomas was still gazing on the white isolated flower - a stranger in its time bequeathing all it has for the ones that would come after it died and withered. How the act of love can seem so cruel, he thought.
Thomas stepped into Sister Elizabeth's office; A room that took most of its space by length, more like a short corridor celebrating the pious life of this hardened woman. The walls leading up to her desk were shrouded with bookshelves and countless ornamented objects, framed letters of appreciation from different religious authorities; a dazzling career befitting a woman forged into a hard alloy of unshakable faith.
The old mistress didn't bother to raise her eyes to her visitor. The perfect silence occupied by the incessant scribbling on her copybook, and the ticks of the ancient clock nailed in the corner.
Thomas approached the desk and stood in respect a few feet away. The woman didn't acknowledge his existence until a few minutes later, when she lifted her murky bright eyes from under two narrow lenses.
"You can sit now," she mumbled.
Thomas took his place on the creaky seat and dug out a folded envelope from his pocket. Without the woman noticing it, he tossed the package in his hand, rocking the contents back and forth.
Sister Elizabeth cleared her throat and placed the chromed pen into an underside drawer and leaned back in her rosewood chair. She took a deep and intrusive look at the young man on the other side of her desk.
"So, Mr. Arsen, as I recall," she smirked, “it is time to report your findings. Or was it a useless endeavor as I first thought?"
Thomas opened his mouth just about to formulate a proper response when she interrupted him, raising her shriveled wrinkled hand. "Should I mention that, according to your words, I shall decide if I would call the police," She leaned on the table, offering him a threatening grin, “Humor me, Mr. Arsen."
Thomas raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Well, if that's the case, I'll get straight to the point."
Thomas took out the phone and placed it in front of him.
"Your home is being used for staging demonic operations. The first patient had been hollowed out from most of his visceral organs. My mind shifts between organ harvesting or using him as a host of some kind," The old woman swallowed down a lump in her throat.
"The second victim couldn't take the toll, so they left him like some botched-up biology assignment. Whoever was responsible was kind enough to leave trails of a substance we call in the field, Hell grime - a yellow powder left after a demonic activity. I wouldn't know if it was out of negligence or sheer arrogance, needless to say. It was quite easy to decipher what was going on. I can't rule out that somebody might be helping them from the inside, which would require a literal witch-hunt between your staff. But for now, you need serious help from an expert demonologist,” Thomas finished with a grin, "Was that concise enough?"
The old nuns gave him a hard-lengthened stare. Her face was inanimate while her hands stirred from under the desk. Thomas looked at his hands, then he heard a click from the main door few meters from his back.
Sister Elizabeth's throat started to bloat, then deflated rapidly like an irritated bullfrog. She placed her hands on the desk, which were now made of gray necrotic fingers tipped with sheen black talons.
Thomas looked down and grinned, "Here we go."
"Tell me, Mr. Arsen," she rasped with descended pitch.
"How old are you?"
Thomas then shrugged, "Who would want to know?"
The demon hissed and slithered her tongue, "Confident, are we?"
She stood up, revealing that she was three feet taller than he last saw her. "I've killed so many of your putrid kind, but I've heard that the younger the flesh, the sweeter the meat. She smiled, showing two locked rows of dagger teeth."
She leaped with a freakish speed passing the desk like a panther. Thomas jumped from his chair, kicking it to the side as he avoided the lurched attack of the she-demon.
Her leap was astounding as she landed three meters away from him, now stilted with two bending elongated feet. Her torso was writhing like an erect King Cobra, her arms longer by two more feet, hissing between breaths like some serpent, puffing vapor from a bloated sac under her jaw.
“So, you're a shape-shifter, A Glyconian descendant,” Thomas was about to touch his phone when she yanked her arm, burning the phone from where it was. Thomas cursed, "and a strong one too."
The she-demon moved towards him, Thomas positioned behind the desk and stood beside the window.
She grinned, completely assured of her advantage, she had him pinned in the small space between the desk and window. Suddenly, she couldn't move a leg. Her face fell down to discover that she had just stepped into a small circle of iron dust. The precise location his chair was before it tumbled to the side. She looked back at Thomas with black vertical slit pupils. Her eyes seeped of rising fury.
Thomas took a deep breath and told her, “You should've watched where you're going.” He said as she crumbled on her swiveling knees, waving lines of vapor erupted up from her contact with the iron dust.
Thomas circled his prey, locking on her with a predatory gaze. “You should start talking or I could make this many times worse.”
She shouted incomprehensible words and spitting green and black slithers of slime on his feet.
He replied in the same Enochian tongue, “Your kind gets weaker and more foolish.”
The demon glared at the sound of his words. She then peeled her stalky limbs from the ground, ripping parts of her dress as it melted on the floor.
; Thomas tucked a hand in one of his side pockets and took out a silver brace. He twisted his palm to reveal a silver plate engraved with minute details circling an embossed Greek cross in the middle.
The demon shrieked at the sight the Holy sign.
She rose to her mid-height, faltering on weak limbs and attempted to flee through the window. The moment she groped for the window grid, her black hands sparkled, instantly burnt before she could touch the frame.
"The whole window is framed with an iron from the outside, compliments from a friend."
The demon scowled back with phosphorous eye and arched down with arms splayed wide, ready to strike. Thomas maintained his outstretched hands. He dared the hideous creature to a take her strike. "Come on, don't make it boring."
The demon lurched with an abnormal speed.
Thomas dodged her attack, reaching her back with a lightning move of his own and pulled her by the hair towards him. He locked her head with his left elbow while pressing his hand braced against her face.
The demon wailed in a contorted cacophony of hellish sounds. Thomas then shifted the position of his branding touch to her mouth, charring one-half of her lips. "Easy there, sweetheart, we wouldn't want to wake the neighbors."
Thomas dropped the she-demon from his grasp, she twisted on the carpeted floor and coiled in agony.
Briefly catching his breath, he sat on her chest and pressed his metal brace over her face, branding her wicked features with black impressions of the cross.
"What are your kind doing in Still Water? Answer me!" He slapped the old demon. She didn't answer, her snaking tongue rolled with wails of ancient curses.
Thomas continued his torture without an answer to his question. But the chain of events took a viler turn.
The demon changed from wailing to a more sinister giggle.
Thomas stopped his efforts, perplexed by the sudden change of her attitude. He was sweating, angry, and exhausted. The demon was continuing its raucous laugh.
"I smell it on yooouuuu, boyyyyyyy."
Thomas felt his senses fleeing, with the fire of his rage burning all roots of logic.
"Hurt me all you want....I smell the shame...I smell his fangs on you... his clutches on your heart."
Thomas gripped her black habit and lifted her foul face towards him.
"Give me a damn name!"
She was in deep convulsing laughter, "I know who you are...Thomas...son of Agatha...first seed of Ethan...we had you that day...we still own you, Tom."
Thomas released her and gave her his back, eagerly stopping himself from bursting.
"Tell me, Tom," she giggled, "do you still shiver in the night...or does your sweet sister warm you well?" Thomas launched a hand at her sprawled gray hair and dragged her on her back, laying her flat in the middle of the room.
He took an old flower vase and threw away its contents. He dropped a small tincture of salt and twirled a small cross in the receptacle while whispered soft words, but the demon was still laughing. He poured the brine over her face, burning her shriveling skin down to the bone.
Thomas grabbed her small steaming head and shouted, "Relinquo!"
His eyes blazed in a bright flame and the demon was now surrounded by a circle of white light, evaporating her into dust.
After one heartbeat, all dimmed back to silence.
Nothing left but the heavy breaths of Thomas, and the detached tics of that box-wood clock, no trace left of Sister Elizabeth.
Thomas wiped his sweat and tidied up the room. Few minutes later, he fled the corner office with small rapid steps. After he passed a corner, he was faced with Sister Marie. "Excuse me. Have you seen Sister Elizabeth?" she politely asked.
“She was called for an urgent matter, she left the office fast before I could ask anything else."
"Thank you," the young woman scurried away.
Thomas's wits and body were still overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. He shot out of the home with his hastened breath barely keeping up with him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
A cascade of cold drops washed away the tensed muscles under the bulged outlines on his chest. Although he still experienced the reverberating giggle so vivid in his mind. An old woman's face with vertical slit pupils laughing.
Thomas came out from the shower and drew back his silk black hair. He leaned on the hotel room couch and sent his gaze towards the orange-colored sunset peering from the window.
He heard a soft knock.
"Come in."
Lonnie and Fitz emerged from the door, their awkward pace made it look as if they tread on thin ice.
Lonnie broke the cold silence with a fast question. "Tell us what went down there?"
Thomas swiveled his aching head, "It wasn't her," He adjusted to a sitting position, rubbing on his tender scalp. "It was too easy." Thomas added.
"She was a demon like you suspected?" Fitz asked.
"Yeah, but not the one we're looking for."
"So, we keep looking. I still can't see what got your tail up." Lonnie said
Thomas huffed and moved to the other adjoined room.
Fitz nodded to Lonnie and left.
"Talk to me, son." Lonnie said.
Thomas smiled at him from behind his shoulder. "Son? I'm older than your grandpa."
Lonnie sat in the armchair in front of Tom. "Tell me what's wrong?"
Lonnie's concerned look urged Thomas to surrender the facts, "She came to me last night."
Lonnie pressed a hard palm on his receding line of long greasy hair, "So, it wasn't just the bad side of the bed?"
Thomas was measuring the pace of his words. "She came in the same form I could last remember. The same age, the same wounds, the same damn way she died. It was real and solid. I could smell her, hear her words coming at me. Visiting that Hell tribunal didn't measure up to seeing her face."
"It could be just exhaustion. Shit, you've gone to Hell and back. Who knows what that could do to ya."
Thomas placed two clenched fists on his tensed face. "And the demon I just sent back sniffed it on my skin. She knew everything."
"She couldn't have, might only sense the guilt built up inside,"
"That guilt is all I've got," Thomas thundered, "I wasted her back to the hole she came from, couldn't control myself." He stared into thin air, overcome by the sheer power of his shame.
The two were interrupted when Fitz barged in the room.
"Guys, I found something."
Bringing forth the spawn of fire
Lonnie asked what the hell that meant.
Fitz pointed to the miniature tab screen, "Keep reading, old man."
Lonnie screwed his face over the minute font. "The rite of unholy union to bring forth the spawn of Hell. The creature should be incubated in the womb of a holy creation, offering them landing into the realm of flesh."
Thomas was curling his palm under his chin, brooding on the new revelation. "In other words, they're using human bodies as portals from Hell?"
"Like surrogate mothers littering demon puppies to wreak havoc on all there is, and that gave me more jibbers as I said it."
"Tell us more, Fitz," Thomas said.
"Well, it says that, in theory, for the ritual to properly work, you need to find the perfect host, physically weak to be inseminated, and strong enough to withstand the crossing process.
"That explains why they choose old people."
"It also says that there had been no records of a successful crossing so far," Fitz added.
"Unless a demon performs the ritual himself," Thomas said.
Lonnie pursed his lips, "Pretty sure we're talking about a she. Could it be the bitch you wasted today?"
"No, it couldn't. Her behavior was too much on the nose, more of a distraction than a real perpetrator." Thomas shook his head, "It doesn't add up. The details and the way it's been carried out couldn't possibly be done by one culprit. There should be another."
Fitz said, "Well, it also mentions
that the newborn needs to be nursed from a pure demonic essence."
"So, we're looking for some demon love child and a wet nurse with horns? Pretty much my usual day." Lonnie said with a half smirk.
"And I think it gets even more interesting. I'll head out to Still Water, while you guys work out how I could find this thing before it gets bigger and hungrier." Thomas said as he headed to the door.
Fitz left to the kitchen while Lonnie rummaged through his dun-colored leather bag and took out a tan moleskin with tattered edges. “A collection of curses by Benjamin Clyde” titled at the center of the first page.
Fitz fixed a glass under the sink's faucet. Water poured and filled the tall sink up to the brim and overflowing, with the boy not reacting to what was happening before him. He had zoned out as he heard a wave of whispers invading every sense he had, pervading his body from every direction.
The water rose in the sink, with the boy still plastered in his pose with his hand holding the glass. Hot water rushed down the faucet. Fitz still didn't react to the steam ascending from the sink. Several minutes later, and the boy still didn't flinch. He was still under the stupefying spell, not aware that his flesh was being boiled.
Suddenly, the young man came to his senses and yanked his burnt hand away. Beside the excruciating pain, he felt a wicked vibration of a raucous chuckle collecting from scattered voices behind him. He only dared to pivot his head inch by inch, only to see a dense swarm of moths and flies, coalescing into a tapered maelstrom that took the outline of a squat human body.
The hundred voices chattered in small wavelets, whispering vague words barely comprehensible by Fitz. "Nothing like a warm touch, my little baby shark," the apparition said with countless voices.
Fitz tumbled on the yellow-tiled floor. The apparition of insects tilted towards him, inching closer to his feet, a wave of flying curses reaching out to him, moving at a steady pace.
In that moment, Lonnie yelled from a distance, "Hey Fitz, come on here and help me, will ya?"
The swirling phantom scattered to countless ashes. And the boy was alone again, shaking vigorously with his face now glistening in cold sweat. He saw that his hand was unscathed without a sign of his earlier burn. He wiped his face and darted out of the kitchen.