The Box of Demons

by Daniel Whelan

  Ben glared at him.

  ‘What? It’s not like he can hear me.’

  A strange gargling noise came from the other side of the door in response. It was followed by the sound of a body being thrown against the door repeatedly. The gargling noise juddered into a familiar serpentine barking sound.

  ‘It’s that dog thing,’ said Ben.

  ‘At least it’s not a ticket inspector,’ said Kartofel. The door was beginning to show the signs of strain now, bending with each new slam.

  ‘What do we do?’ said Djinn ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Get ready,’ said Ben. He hobbled to his feet and hid behind the door. The demon’s assault continued, the little dog-man hitting the door more and more forcefully with each new pass. Ben waited for it to launch itself once more, then reached forward and undid the lock.

  The demon burst in. It was wearing a ticket collector’s uniform and a little peaked hat. It looked from side to side, searching for Ben, seeing only the demons. Ben thudded his satchel into the back of the demon’s head, sending it crashing into the rim of the toilet bowl.

  ‘Run!’ he shouted, and ducked out of the door. The demons scrambled, diving back into the Box as Ben fled down the empty carriage. It was hard to run, the movement of the train and the state of his ankle threatening his balance. He kept banging into seats as the winds and the uneven track rocked the carriage from side to side. As he reached the end, he glanced over his shoulder. The demon had come out of the cubicle, and stood growling at the opposite end. Black liquid dripped from its muzzle.

  It sprang into a run. Ben crashed through into the First Class carriage, slamming the door shut behind him. It was an old train, and so the carriage was split into a series of closed off compartments. He hobbled along to the third one, tried the handle, and ducked inside.

  It was empty. As he crouched beneath the door, he heard the dog-demon pad into the carriage, yapping and hissing as it stalked along the gangway outside.

  The train began to slow. Ben pulled the satchel close to his body, and held it tight. The Creature’s gargling got further away as it paced down the carriage. But then it stopped, and Ben heard it snuffling out his scent as it came back down the gangway on all fours.

  The train was almost at a complete stop. The dog-demon was maybe half a carriage away: before long it would follow his scent to the compartment. Over the tannoy, in Welsh and then English, the train’s arrival at Colwyn Bay was announced.

  And then Ben had an idea.

  He burst out of the compartment. The dog-demon stopped, shocked, and for a moment they stood staring at each other from opposite ends of the gangway. Ben broke first, on the sound of the doors unlocking. He dashed to the vestibule at his end of the carriage, hearing the dog-demon sprinting for the far one at the same time. He got to the exterior doors, pushed the button, and fell through on to the platform. Seconds later, the dog-demon did the same, skidding on to the concourse and continuing its pursuit without missing a step.

  Ben did not move. He waited in the middle of the platform, allowing the demon to catch up with him. It tore along on all fours until it was almost within touching distance; Ben could smell the foul black blood on the Creature’s muzzle, and its infernal breath as it bore down on him.

  And still he waited.

  The dog-demon snarled as it stalked forward, slowing as it approached its quarry.

  Ben took a deep breath and shot back on to the train, pressing the door button closed behind him. The station master blew his whistle, and the dog-demon let go a ferocious burst of snake-barking.

  The train pulled away. Ben staggered to his feet, pressed his head to the window, and saw the Creature frantically scurrying after the train. It was fast, but as the train picked up speed, the demon began to run out of platform until it was forced to rear up.

  Ben collapsed. He was breathing rapidly, and his poor lungs burned, but he had done it. He closed his eyes, and a wide grin crept across his face.

  ‘Tickets from Rhyl, Abergele and Pensarn, and Colwyn Bay, please.’

  Ben opened his eyes. A red-faced ticket inspector with a toothbrush moustache loomed over him.

  Ben laughed. A long, mad, exhilarated laugh.

  Chapter Nine

  The Greyhound’s Lair

  Ben paused at the top of Cromlech Road. According to Sacred Orme, Llety’r Filiast could be found in a field at the end of the street. He was surprised to see that there were houses there, and parked cars; there was even a streetlight at the opposite end, illuminating the small set of wooden steps that led over the wall and into the field. It had been difficult, climbing the steep hills of the Orme with a throbbing ankle, and it had been made all the harder by the weather: he always seemed to be heading into the wind, no matter which direction he faced. It had only gotten stronger the further up the Orme he climbed, and once he reached Cromlech Road it was all he could to do to keep his feet.

  ‘You are early, Ben Robson,’ said a voice. Two small red dots floated in the air before him. ‘Allow me to escort you.’

  The Seraph appeared in a dull throb of orange light. Ben blinked, and fumbled with his now useless torch. ‘The Box,’ he said. ‘I can still hear it, in my head.’

  ‘Yes,’ said The Seraph. ‘It cannot be suppressed now. But you will get your peace soon enough. Come, it will not be long before the others arrive.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘The other Oblates of the Cult of the Four Winds. I cannot do this alone.’ The Seraph set off down the road. ‘You may find it easier to walk behind me. I do not feel the wind as you do.’

  Ben slipped into the angel’s wake. The difference was instant and amazing: the air was clearer, and the wind did not screech. ‘The Veil is weak, and this World is vulnerable,’ said The Seraph. ‘The Box knows this and is trying to exploit it.’

  ‘The Box is doing this?’ said Ben. In his head, it played a little self-congratulatory tune.

  ‘I told you it was powerful, did I not? Throughout history, wherever it has been, there has been disaster. It was in Troy on the day the horse was delivered, and it was in Alexandria when the library was sacked. It causes trouble, creates conflict. It leaks chaos and then absorbs the results, ready for the day when it can unleash the agents of the Apocalypse.’

  The Seraph led the way to the wooden steps, and took the first four in one massive stride. Ben clambered up after him, then followed him down into the field beyond. There, on top of a grassy mound and protected by a poorly maintained wooden fence, stood Llety’r Filiast. It was even less impressive in real life than the picture in his book: it looked like a pile of discarded rocks with a roof on it. It barely came up to his waist.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said The Seraph. ‘Millions of years ago, this place was on the Equator. The Box was hidden here when it was first created. This is sacred ground. You can feel it throbs with power.’

  ‘Um . . .’ said Ben.

  ‘I would not expect a human to be able to feel it. I thought you might.’ The Seraph sniffed the air, then licked his finger and held it up. ‘The other Oblates will be here soon. May I see the Box?’

  Ben reached inside his satchel. As soon as he touched it, the Box switched from the nauseating music it had been playing all day to a familiar comforting tune. He ran his hand over the lid in reverie. He remembered things he had long forgotten: sitting on Orff’s knee as he told stories; giggling as Kartofel switched the salt for the pepper just as his grandad was reaching for the shaker; getting Djinn to pass over his peas so he wouldn’t have to eat them. These were magical memories. They were his childhood. He did not want to let them go.

  ‘It is trying to seduce you, Ben. Do not let it.’ The Seraph spoke in breathy, soothing tones, with empathy. ‘Place the Box inside the stones, and I will prepare the ground for what must be done.’

  Reluctantly, Ben stepped out of the windbreaker of The Seraph’s body and headed for the mound. The wind had grown faster since he was last in
it fully, and it wailed as it whipped through him. The jumble of rocks formed a sort of shelter. Inside it there lay a piece of stone; from the shape of it Ben could tell it had once been part of the roof. He tucked the Box behind it, and took a step back. The yearning music stopped, and the Box returned to mimicking the rush of the wind.

  The lid opened, and the demons sprang out. As each left the Box, the symbols on their collars lit up, illuminating their faces in the dark January night. Djinn shone like a sun, but as Ben was admiring the pretty sight he noticed Djinn’s hands move to his neck. He tried to speak, but it was as if he was choking. Bewildered, Ben’s gaze moved to the other demons: Orff was on his knees, his mouth wide open. Kartofel was kicking up earth and grass, struggling like a wild rabbit caught in a snare. Ben turned back to The Seraph in panic. The angel had his arm raised, fingers outstretched, orange light flowing from each digit.

  ‘Do not worry, Ben,’ he said. ‘I have them under control.’

  ‘You don’t need to hurt them,’ yelled Ben over the wind.

  ‘They are demons,’ said The Seraph.

  ‘You don’t understand. They want to be here.’

  The Seraph dropped his hand, and instantly the demons stopped struggling. ‘They want to go to Hell?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. To be free,’ said Ben.

  ‘How strange.’

  ‘See?’ said Kartofel, gasping from his ordeal. ‘Even the angel thinks this is crackers.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, demon,’ said The Seraph. ‘You will address me with respect.’

  ‘Screw that for a game of soldiers.’

  The Seraph leaped forward, his hand outstretched. Kartofel started to make the choking noise again. ‘I could grind you to dust and throw you to the wind if I so desired, but instead I will let you pass into Hell. As a beneficiary of my mercy, you will respect me.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Ben, pulling at The Seraph’s habit. The angel dropped his hand, releasing Kartofel.

  ‘Psycho,’ muttered Kartofel.

  ‘Forgive me, Ben Robson,’ said The Seraph. ‘I am unaccustomed to dealing with Infernals in an amiable manner.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Ben, taking the angel to one side. ‘Do you think you could give us a moment alone? I know it’s stupid, but, well, I’d like to say goodbye to them.’

  The Seraph shrugged. ‘As you wish. I have much to do.’ He walked away from the stones, and began scratching something into the ground with his fingers.

  ‘Right, just so you all know, I am on record as saying this is a bad idea, OK?’ said Kartofel once the angel was out of earshot. ‘So when you’re complaining about how Hell stinks of sulphur or about the heat bringing you out in hives, I’m not listening. Got it?’

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Djinn.

  ‘You don’t need to be,’ said Ben. ‘You’re going where there are others like you. You’ll probably be able to touch things.’

  ‘Will there be food?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose demons have to eat something.’

  Djinn grinned. Ben took one last look at the demons. Orff had his palms pressed against his lower back, rubbing at his imaginary sciatica. Kartofel was hopping from claw to claw, trying to disguise his nervousness, and Djinn was licking his lips. A new motif appeared in the Box’s music: it was sad, regretful. A requiem.

  ‘Despite everything, in a funny way, I think I’ll miss you,’ he said.

  ‘Everything is ready,’ said The Seraph. ‘I have prepared the earth.’ He had carved the symbols that the demons wore on their collars into the ground at four different points around the base of the mound. They formed the points of a cross, with Llety’r Filiast at the centre.

  There was a flash of lightning, followed by a roll of thunder. Malevolent black clouds gathered overhead. ‘They are coming,’ said The Seraph. ‘The Cult of the Four Winds are coming!’ He started to chant, words that Ben did not understand. The Seraph stretched out his arms, and raised his head to the heavens. He was brighter than ever now. The music in Ben’s head shifted again, becoming almost triumphant: regal fanfares were accompanied by a shift to a marching rhythm.

  A deep growl came from somewhere on the Orme.

  The Seraph stopped chanting, and looked around. The growling became a bark, a bark Ben knew only too well. It was sibilant, and slushy, and could only have come from one thing.

  ‘We are discovered,’ said The Seraph. In his head, Ben heard the music that meant the demons were being sucked back inside the Box. Lightning flashed.

  On the crest of the hill stood the dog-demon. It was on all fours, still wearing the remnants of its ticket inspector uniform. The thunder rumbled overhead, and it howled to greet it.

  And then it ran.

  ‘Protect the Box!’ cried The Seraph. ‘Get behind the stones!’

  Ben ran towards Llety’r Filiast and ducked inside, pulling the Box from where he had laid it. Then he dived behind the stones and poked his head round to view the oncoming threat.

  ‘You need to run!’ The Seraph turned to face the Creature, his wings fully unfurled. He cut such an imposing figure in comparison that Ben wondered how he could ever lose. Surely The Seraph, who could crush Kartofel to dust, would have no trouble with this yappy little thing?

  ‘I said run!’ blasted The Seraph. Ben saw a celestial rage in his eyes. Now he was scared. Now he would run. He grabbed hold of his satchel and ran up a nearby bank. At the top, he turned back. The dog-demon had stopped running, and was cautiously pawing towards the angel, snarling. The Seraph hovered above its head, treading air, poised to attack. It was an inspiring and fearsome sight, but if the Creature was afraid, it did not show it: it was leaning back on its hind legs, like a wild animal preparing to strike.

  The angel’s wings beat rhythmically, blowing gusts towards the dog-demon, ruffling its mangy fur. The Creature sprang up, strong and powerful, and sank its sole row of teeth deep into The Seraph’s shoulder. It hung above his breast, and wrapped its short legs around his trunk. It tore at The Seraph’s habit with its grubby paws, leaving deep scratches on his chest. The Seraph shrieked.

  The brawling pair fell backwards, the dog-demon pinning the angel to the ground. With its upper jaw free, it was able to swipe at The Seraph. When Ben had first seen the Creature, he had assumed that its scars were the result of centuries of torture in some dark corner of Hell, but now he could see the truth: the demon was a warrior.

  But so was The Seraph. He worked an arm free and thrust it, palm up, into the beast’s maw, reopening the wound it had received on the train. The angel screamed as his handmade contact with the Creature’s teeth, but followed the blow through nonetheless, freeing himself, sending the demon flying backwards in an arc of black gore. It landed hard on the ground, righted itself, and came straight back at The Seraph.

  This time the angel was prepared. As the Creature launched itself forward, The Seraph leaped to greet it, slamming it down into the ground from mid-air. With the Creature squirming under his arm, The Seraph went to work. The Creature’s arms flailed, struggling to push The Seraph away with his short limbs, all the while taking the angel’s heavy blows.

  The battle was all but over. It was only a matter of time before The Seraph destroyed the Creature. It was beaten, but nobody had told it that. A paw shot up and caught The Seraph’s left arm, and then another caught the right. It wriggled its small body out from under the angel, and powered up through its legs, forcing The Seraph back. They grappled for a while, until the Creature swung its neck back and slammed its face into The Seraph’s glowing head.

  There was another flash of lightning, and a thunderclap. The Creature pulled back and The Seraph slumped to the ground.

  ‘No!’ yelled Ben.

  The Creature looked at him, a dopey grin on its face, its muzzle dripping blacks and golds and browns. It sniffed the air, and galloped up the hill on all fours. It covered the ground between them in no time at all, snake-barking all the way.

  ‘WARNED. YOU
.’ The dog-demon called as it ran, struggling to slur the words out. ‘I. WARNED. YOU.’ Ben dropped his satchel, and took the Box in both hands. It was now playing a full-on fanfare, war music, a charge. It was vibrating. He could feel power surging up and down his arms. He let out an anguished yowl, and thrust the Box out in front of him.

  A beam of green light shot out towards the demon. It missed its target, but caused the Creature to skid to one side, thrown off balance by the wind and the need to dodge the blow. Stunned, it blinked its one good eye and cocked its head before charging again.

  ‘Back!’ cried Ben, his voice surging up from deep within him, the power of the Box flooding his system. He felt it in the soles of his feet, pumping up from the ground, through his body, and into the Box.

  Lightning blasted the burial mound. The thunder rumbled applause. The Box shuddered violently, and once again an intense beam of green light shot out towards the monster.

  Ben gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, feeling the beam connect with the Creature, dissolving it, flooding through it until there was nothing. No resistance. No flow.

  He opened his eyes. The screaming wind died down to a mere breeze. The Creature had gone, the lightning and the thunder had gone, and so had the body of The Seraph.

  Ben dropped the Box, and there, on top of the Great Orme, with no shelter except the blasted trees, he curled up into a ball, and began to cry.

  Chapter Ten

  The Grand Druid

  The day after the storm struck, the news was full of the damage that had been done. Schools and offices had been forced to shut, advertising hoardings had been thrown on to motorways, and telegraph poles had been toppled. Not that anyone in Rhyl needed to turn on a television to see evidence of the carnage: it was all around them, from the upturned rubbish bins that made the streets look even grimmer than they had done before, to the uprooted tree that lay across Fford Coed Mawr. This was an especially potent symbol of the power of the storm, for there were no trees to be found on Fford Coed Mawr before the storm, nor in any of the surrounding streets.