Demons Beware

by mike Evans

  Father Joseph fell atop of it, putting his knees on its arms, pinning it to the floor. The smoke was just beginning to stop and the boy’s face actually appeared like what he thought it would have looked like before the demons had taken over. The grayish tones it had on its face had gone back to his normal, lightly tanned face, but his eyes glowed brighter than ever. The demon was heaving, his chest rising and falling. Joseph was unsure if the boy’s heart could handle the stress that it was being put through.

  He kept the cross on his hand and brought out a larger one from his pocket. He wiped at his brow. The words that he would use to send it back to hell were racing through his head. He wanted to spit them all at once but was trying to breathe, he knew that the power didn’t come from how fast you could say them, but how calm you could recite while under the pressure of the Devil.

  Joseph began, “My lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are Father. We beg you through the intercession and help of the archangels Michael, Raphael and Gabriel, for the deliverance of our brothers and sisters who are enslaved by the evil one. All saints of Heaven, come to our aid.”

  The demon rose from the floor, trying to force itself free from Joseph and the power that he had. Joseph did the sign of the cross on the boy, yelling as he started at his forehead with the large cross. “The father, the son, and the holy spirit. This boy is one with God; his soul is vowed towards Jesus. The Devil is powerless to take this boy. Now, go back to hell; go back to hell and leave this boy now!”

  Joseph placed the large cross on the demon’s chest, and removed his stole from around his neck, wrapping it in each of his hands and placing it in the boy’s mouth as he was trying to bite at him. His power was beginning to falter. He said it again, “My lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are Father. We beg you through the intercession and help of the archangels Michael, Raphael and Gabriel, for the deliverance of our brothers and sisters who are enslaved by the evil one. All saints of Heaven, come to our aid,” he started the sign of the cross again, “The father, the son, the Holy Spirit, I send you to hell; I send you to hell!”

  Smoke began to billow around the demon as the gates to hell slowly opened. Joseph smiled looking the demon in the eyes. There was no fear, nothing but confidence; nothing but hope and trust in his ability to do what he needed to accomplish his feat. Father Andrew was not forgotten. The words he had told Joseph time and time again—that he needed faith, to believe in the Holy Spirit and everything that went along with being a man of the cloth—rang throughout Joseph’s mind. The demon screamed as the smoke got thicker until there was nothing left to see but the smoke. A red light began to glow from beneath the boy and the demon screamed as the Devil placed his hand on his shoulder, growling the three words that sounded like they had been spoken in Latin: “You failed me.”

  The demon was clawing at his face and at Joseph’s chest screaming, “I’ll be back! I’ll be back. I swear it.”

  The smoke did not dissipate; it swirled in the room, almost chasing the demon and the Devil back to hell. Joseph stayed atop of the boy for a moment, watching him, unsure if it was a trick or if it was truly gone—if he was free from the grasp of evil upon his body. The boy’s skin was quickly returning to its normal color. His face and eyes no longer looked distorted and in pain; his eyes were no longer glowing red. Joseph, still not sure, let the pressure of the stole up from his mouth, waiting a moment longer, unsure if he was truly gone. When he did nothing else, he let the cloth off of his hand. The adrenaline was subsiding in his body, and the pain was coming back from his leg quickly.

  Joseph stared at the boy as his eyes were coming back around, and the realization that he was again himself dawned on his features; the fog that he’d been in for the last week was dissipating. Tears started to roll from his eyes as he got his senses back. He was staring at Joseph, whom he’d only seen at church. In a heavy accent, he said, “Priest, where is my mother? Are you okay? Why does everything hurt?”

  Joseph crawled over on his one good knee. He fought back the screams that his body wanted to let pour out. He pulled the boy up from the floor, looking at the tattered remnants of his shirt. The blood that was across his chest showed the marks of self-inflicted wounds where he’d scratched the upside down cross into himself. The sign of the Devil—and other markings, which he didn’t even know the meaning of.

  Joseph held the boy for a moment, trying to think of everything that had happened and how he could try to explain it to someone his age. He listened for a moment, hearing new screaming coming, but he realized it was the people on the streets; those that had been blinded by the glass. He did not know how much more he could handle on this day, but knew that if God did not test you that he also might not believe in you. He would not force you to handle things that were out of your reach.

  Joseph forced himself up to his feet. He held the boy tightly in one hand. He said, “You will be okay. I will explain everything to you over time, but I think for now that we need to get you to a hospital where you can rest and get better. I will look out for you, boy. I will make sure that you are okay, I promise you that.”

  Joseph fought each step to maintain his balance on the long staircase. When he made it to the ground, he took a deep breath, seeing the boy’s mother and Father Andrew. He knew there would be questions galore that would need answering, but they weren’t going to be addressed until this boy and himself both made it to the closest hospital. Joseph pressed the boys head down into his shoulder; this is not how he would have him remember his mother, if he had anything to do with it.

  The boy tried to move his head up but Joseph did not let up on his pressure until he was sure that he was outside where he could not see his mother’s body. Joseph was surprised to see those who hadn’t been blinded coming to the aid of those that had gotten glass in their eyes. He smiled at the people who were going out of their way to help each other, to show love and compassion. It gave him an even greater renew in his faith; his high had been coming down.

  He wobbled, looking like he was going to fall over. Two massive sets of hands gripped each of his biceps. The boy was lifted from his arms and the men put his arms around their necks lifting him almost off the ground. They carried him, and a third had the boy, heading towards the hospital. Joseph looked up as the clouds began to part above him; a single ray of light shone down, creating a path that seemed to stretch for as far as their path would go.

  Chapter 22

  Chicago, 1972

  James and Billy sprinted through the streets, stopping for nothing. The very idea that whatever was happening to those men could be following them, or even worse, be coming for them to make them part of their army, was terrifying. Neither boy was too sure how much additional stress they could handle. This was not something they’d ever dealt with, nor was it something they ever wanted to handle again. They kept looking to the sky and each other, wondering secretly when God, the almighty ruler, the one they were told to have faith and believe in each weekend, was going to step in and put an end to these monstrosities. Billy looked over his shoulder, seeing if they were being followed, and had never been happier to see a street filled with only the normal street people they were used to seeing.

  Billy stopped, trying to scream, but had no breath in his lungs to do it. He clapped instead before almost collapsing to the ground. His legs were on fire and his stress level was unlike anything a child of his age needed to know about. He actually felt sorry for James, knowing that he was in no way used to having to deal with things like this. His home life was as normal as anything could be, and he actually felt guilty, letting him tag along on this now. “You should go home, James, do it while you still can. Maybe they don’t know who you are, or that you are a choir boy, yet. I think it’d be smart to go home.”

  James tried to speak, but he to needed a fresh breath of air. “I don’t think you understand what you are saying. Do you really, truly want to deal with these things on your own?”

  Billy, who was usuall
y as polite and respectful as a kid could be, yelled, “Are you kidding me, James? Hell no, I don’t want to do this by myself, but taking you through all of this only because you and I are friends doesn’t seem quite fair to you.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair to you? Since when has life ever been fair? Now, what are we going to do? Do we still want to go to the church, or do we want to go to my place? I don’t know if either is much better than the other spot.”

  Billy shrugged and said, “If you’d prefer to come with me and get yourself eaten, then be my guest. Yes, I still want to go to the church. I don’t think police or firemen are going to be doing anything that we can count on for help. I’d rather put all the holy power between us and those... those things, and if there’s a half-a-foot thick oak door, all the better, along with a handful of priests.”

  James said, “I’ve definitely made better decisions, but that doesn’t matter right now. I'm not about to leave you to deal with this. Besides, we aren’t going to be any safer anywhere else, so we might as well be together.”

  The two boys looked around for a minute, watching the cars picking up their pace and looking more and more annoyed at the fact that they were out in midday rush hour. Billy pointed to a group of kids walking the sidewalk, almost appearing to be in a dazed state. “What’s wrong with those kids? Would you look at them, James? They barely look like they are able to walk. I wonder if they are sick?”

  The kids stopped walking, but that was only for a moment—a moment that might change the world forever. As a large bread truck turned the corner, the children almost waited until the very last second before taking a step off of the curb. The driver, Walt, who’d been working for fifteen hours straight, making sure his route was covered after having the weekend off, was only half paying attention and was more focused on the end of his route and the soft bed he’d have waiting for him. The boys stepped out; each of them had a grin, but it was a sickly one, and when they looked at each other their faces were bright red.

  Billy pointed to the boys the second he saw it, which was the same time that James had noticed as well. “What the heck is going on here James? Look at their eyes, they look just like the guys in the alley. I thought that it was just my house, but I think… I think that… that-”

  James cut him off. “Billy, I think that there’s death everywhere. I don’t know what to do, what's wrong with those kids?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say a lot, but look at their eyes,” Billy said.

  Both boy’s stomachs turned as the first boy stepped off fully into the street, Walt swerved the bread truck; all the loaves of bread in the rear of it fell to the walkway between the shelves. His heart was in his throat as he slammed on the brakes, steering clear of the one boy. He tried to straighten the truck out, but the street became flooded with boys and girls no older than Billy and James running into the street and diving in front of the driver. The truck thudded, and with each of the bumps, Walt’s heart felt like it was dying a little. He couldn’t twist the wheel any further and it seemed like wherever he was pointing the truck, a group of children were finding their way in front of it.

  The bystanders screamed as the gore was being left in a long, winding trail. There was a slew of children bloodied, battered, and with broken bones. Some of them had become lodged underneath the delivery truck and Walt stepped out in a daze, staring at what he did and unable to come to terms with it. A little boy who had his spine ran over stared up at him looking perfectly aware. His eyes glowed red and he smiled, but this was not a healthy look. The boy, in a voice of a fifty-year-old veteran smoker, said, “Why don’t you take care of yourself. The last thing that we want to do is have the priests come and start blessing the children.”

  “I don’t understand what you are saying,” Walt replied.

  “You don’t have to ask yourself what I mean, you just need to get your gun, put the barrel to your skull, and pull the trigger. Go to your truck and get your pistol. It’s in the money box; you know where it is Walt.”

  The cries coming from around him were falling on deaf ears. Women in the streets were on their knees, hands together, screaming to God. Walt looked around in a daze, his eyes just beginning to glow red as the suggestion of the boy was finally accepted. He stumbled to the truck, and the boy lay his head back, waiting for the time where they would pass through to the other side to happen.

  Walt made his way to the truck, pulling out the money box. He opened it, letting the small tin fall to the ground. The change hit the ground, rolling away, as the dollar bills danced in the wind until they were out of sight. Chicago’s gusty wind was enough to send them to the other side of town. Walt didn’t need help with what he should be doing; he cocked back the hammer on the pistol and placed it in his mouth. A woman was screaming, “What are you doing?! What are you-”

  Walt pulled the trigger once and only once. The rear of his brain exploded, sending brain and small bits of bone and black hair across the street. Walt fell to the ground, his head hitting hard. The sirens couldn’t be heard over the screams; the parents were horrified, and even worse for those finding their children—or what was left of them.

  Billy screamed to James, “There’s something wrong here, look at the clouds! Look at everything!”

  James looked at the sky, seeing that a single ray of light was passing through the sky to the ground, seeming to scour the ground, looking like it was after a group of souls. He thought about what the bible would say about innocence and how children could pass through without question; without doubt that they could have done anything wrong. James shook Billy, looking frantic and insane. “You realize what they are doing, right? Well, do you? Do you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about! What are you freaking about?”

  “These kids had red eyes, right? Well, think about it—what happens if you are killed and a child, where do you go? What happens, come on, tell me.”

  “They go to-”

  “Heaven, Billy, they go to heaven. We don’t want these trying to pass through the gates.”

  Billy, who was still trying to wrap his head around the implications of what results might come from this if everything actually happened. Billy said, “They might ruin heaven. Do you think they are going to try to hurt God?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t think the Devil is trying to clear out the good souls so that they can have the rest of Earth saved for the trouble makers. I mean, can you?” James asked. “We need to do something, though, or we are going to have to deal with the aftermath for the rest of our lives. I don’t think that either of us want to do that, now do we?”

  “No, of course not! But I don't know what we are going to do.”

  “We’re going to run to the church like we’ve never done before, and see if we can get a priest to come back with us; someone who can help us and get a prayer or something done in time that these things—or whatever they are—don’t get a free pass to heaven,” James said.

  “But where do the kids go if we don’t get them to heaven?”

  “Hopefully their souls go to heaven, and the demons in charge have to go to hell!” James yelled.

  Billy pulled him behind him. “We better get going then. Come on, don’t screw around.”

  As the two approached a graveyard, they saw something they’d never seen before.

  Chapter 23

  Chicago Graveyard

  The two priests were standing back to back in the graveyard. Both of them were saying prayers that were their personal favorites. The two had learned that no two priests had the same favorite. The reason typically had been that there were so many reasons that priests could enter the seminary. Joseph was thinking of his favorite prayer: about God holding him in his light. If the dead approaching them could have seen them smiling, it would have infuriated them.

  Joseph looked up at the dark skies, watching them in a bit of confusion as the brightest light he’d ever seen seemed to grow from the middle of the clouds overhead. They pa
rted way until the purest blue—bluer than any ocean or sea—shot from the sky. Joseph winced, wondering what would happen, when it struck the ground. It hit with a thunderous boom, shaking the immediate ground beneath their feet. Fathers Joseph and Michaels both crouched, trying to make sure that they had their feet under them. He gripped Michaels’ wrist out of fear of the unknown.

  They turned, seeing the blue light was growing even brighter, until they were unable to look upon it. When the first of the dead reached for them, mouths open, arms extended, the light seemed almost as if it exploded across the graveyard. A voice that Joseph hadn’t heard in decades sounded as clear as day. “Demons beware!”

  Joseph whipped his head around, confused, happy, sad, and terrified all at the same time.

  Michaels yelled, “Was that you screaming?”

  His yell fell upon deaf ears. Joseph was looking around, probably appearing to be a crazy man. Joseph yelled, “Father Andrew? Father Andrew, is that you my friend? Is that you? Where are you? Please, tell me!”