A Following of Demons
By Jessica Cambrook
Copyright © Jessica Cambrook 2012
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Childhood
All my life, I got called Smiler. Always looking on the bright side of life, giving great advice and never feeling down, that was me. Someone once said to me that they didn’t know how I did it. Of course a few people didn’t like me, they didn’t know if I was a fake or maybe I just made them a bit jealous because of my apparent happiness. Then there were the few very intuitive people who didn’t like me because I made them feel uneasy. They saw through my care-free mask for what it was, as a way of coping. A blanket to cover my dark secret that I’d harboured for my entire life.
My grandfather helped me a lot during childhood. My parents never really listened, but when I told him about the people I saw, the nasty men with angry faces, he would clasp a protective arm around my shoulders and without fail would think of something to say to lift my spirits. Never did he patronise me or tell me the people were imaginary. I saw them but I also had imaginary friends, a huge dinosaur and a loud, barking dog that would save me from them if they got too close. They were my protective subconscious, defending me from them while I was young enough for them to steal away without me having to even think about it.
My grandfather once gave me some advice I never forgot, patting my head and smiling with watery, pale eyes. “Smile, and don’t let them see otherwise until you’re tucked up into bed.” By “them” I assumed he meant humans but to me it had a double meaning, eventually. But I followed his advice even with just my small amount of faith that it would work. All my life I’ve had more faith in love and family than a God who let me be plagued with such ungodly, cruel beings. I smiled all day every day and gained the nickname Smiler. We stayed at my Grandfather’s every Friday night, and that was the only time I shared a room with my brother Sebastian. After a few weeks, he began crying whenever we had to go to Grandfather’s house, and when mum asked him what was wrong he said his room didn’t like him. I explained to Seb about what I could see, and so we pinkie hard-boiled promised each other that no matter how scared we felt, we’d always have each other’s backs. Seb couldn’t see them like me, but he could sense them, and sleep came with great difficulty for us both.
During the day while I smiled and felt carefree they would leave me alone and it didn’t take long for me to adore daytime. Any fake happiness I pretended to have during sunlight hours turned into genuine feelings of content at being alone and not feeling threatened. Then, at night, they would come back stronger than ever after having the day to wait and rest, just in the boundaries of my peripheral vision as I stared at the ceiling wishing I was anyone else but me or anywhere else but in that house. At night, my dog and dinosaur would come and sit beside my bed as I slept lightly and uneasily at the prospect of being taken with them as I knew they could.
As a teenager I knew the people weren’t imaginary anymore but I wondered if everyone else could see them too. I wasn’t sure if it was just me making a big deal out of them when everyone else just got on with it. I asked my grandfather and he said “No, Smiler, son. No one else sees them. But don’t be disheartened because the best of us are different to everyone else somehow. Just remember you’re alive and breathing and that’s all that counts.” His words sounded strong to my ears and it made me even more determined to live by my grandfather’s motto about smiling, but to live it in such a way that I didn’t need night time to let out the bad feelings.
Joe
Of course they made this impossible, making it their mission after sunset to terrify me and unfortunately they did. It almost got to the point where I would hope to live no more, so death’s endless dreams would allow me to be protected and alone, away from the brutal souls that surrounded me every night.
Throughout my childhood, before I began stopping at other people’s houses, I suspected it might be my grandfather’s home that was haunted. That was until I became an adolescent, and I stopped at my friend Joe’s. It was the first time I’d ever stopped at a non-family member’s house, and we had a great time playing computer games and talking about the pretty girls in school we fancied, and what was on television the previous week. His mother made us go to bed at eleven, and immediately after the lights were turned out I felt safe for a minute or so. But then they came gradually forward, trying to come closer to me and Joe. I tried to ignore them and closed my eyes for sleep rebelliously. In his small bedroom they were nearer than they had ever gotten before and the smell of their half rotten flesh made me retch quietly before I eventually gave up on the idea on sleep and stayed awake listening to the sounds of their raspy breathing and hissed threats in a language I didn’t understand. I didn’t know if they were just focused on me, or if they would settle with Joe so I forced my eyes to stay open all night, at times using my fingers to literally pin my eyelids open.
The next day we both woke up looking terrible and I guessed he’d had no sleep either for whatever reason, so I began to feel guilty. I hoped I hadn’t moved around a lot during the night to keep him awake. But without saying anything, he went to breakfast without me. He seemed to avoid me all morning, sitting away from me at the breakfast table without it seeming as if he even realised and I couldn’t wait for my grandfather to pick me up at lunchtime. The atmosphere was horrible, he had changed overnight and it didn’t appear like he wanted anything more to do with me. He wasn’t Joe anymore. Before I left, I saw him get one of the CDs out of my bag and start scratching onto it nonsensically with an empty biro as if in a daze. I saw something that reminded me of their dead, hollow eyes in his that day and after that I didn’t ever stop out at a friend’s home ever again. I didn’t think the demons would be able to haunt anyone else but me; however after the Joe incident of how he changed so suddenly towards me, I didn’t ever want to risk it again.
Through a lengthy article in the local newspaper I heard Joe had been admitted into a mental institution after a car crash he caused while drunk and he hanged himself with bed sheets just a few months later. After that I didn’t feel like getting involved with people too closely was a safe idea, except family who already knew about them.
Gwen
That all changed when I met Gwen. Gwen became the light in my life that kept the nightmares at bay. She made me so happy that the shadows in the edges of my vision at night time began to fade, although not disappear entirely. I met her at university when we were sat together in Maths and Accountancy class, and immediately her sunshine personality appealed to me and all along, she made my life better in every way just by being in it. Her immense smile was contagious, her sweet and selfless nature so easy to fall in love with. Her long, wavy brunette hair was full of life, always perfectly immaculate and well groomed, just like her. It took me about three months for me to realise I was in love with her, and two years for me to propose. I knew we’d be together for the rest of our lives.
I’ll never forget the day I asked her to marry me. It was winter time, and I took her to her father’s grave in the city graveyard on his birthday. I was boiling in my t-shirt as usual and she was wearing her furry thick woollen coat with my waterproof on top. Her small, heart-shaped face looked innocent and cute surrounded by all the layers of clothing. She smiled with ruddy cheeks bitter from the cold. I held her smooth hands tightly. “Gwen, I asked your father yesterday if it was okay if I to
ok responsibility for his little girl. I don’t know if he said yes but a small, white feather landed on my shoulder. If that’s enough consent for you, I’d be honoured if you would be my wife.” I bent on my knee and held out the ring my mother and grandmother had helped me choose. Gwen burst into loud, blissful sobs as she nodded wordlessly and slipped the ring onto her long, elegant finger.
“I love you, Rick!”
“I’ll never let you be alone. I love you so much, Gwen, and I promise to you and your father that I will try to be the best husband I can be every minute of every day of every decade we’re together.”
We were so wonderfully happy after that day, sure in the knowledge of our deep love represented with unbreakable silver rings. She kept me joyful, calm and safe from them and she said I kept her intrigued. Her reason was that I never let anyone in and she felt that even though we were going to be together for the rest of our lives, she said there would always be more she didn’t know. She also said that I always seemed like I owed people for something, and that made me chivalrous and kind.
Them
About a year after we began dating when we moved into my flat together, she noticed from the start that I hated going to bed, and asked me why. There was no point lying, she could always see through me.
“I’ve got to be honest, I’m going to sound crazy and you probably won’t believe me. I didn’t want you to move in before I thought you’d be able to take it, I knew you’d notice.” I cleared my throat and took her hand. “It’s gotten a lot better since you’ve been with me, and I’m so grateful to you for that. Since I can remember I always saw... things.” She looked concerned but didn’t say anything as I continued. “They’re almost human, but not quite. They want me, to take me with them to wherever they come from. There’s always a small crowd watching me, waiting for me to slip up somehow or to let them in. They always stay in the edges of my sight and I kind of leave them alone, but before I met you they were starting to get worse, starting to reel me in. I could feel myself going and I didn’t really care. They were beginning to get ever so slightly closer. Then you came into my life and they were forced back by your...” I searched for the right word.
“My what?” she asked, smiling slightly. Her soft Welsh accent sang to me merrily.
“I don’t know what it is! But they moved back because of something about you and haven’t even tried to come forward.” I grinned sheepishly back.
“So they stand there and watch you? And they want to take you? Where do they want to take you?” she didn’t sound disbelieving, just confused. It made me feel better that even someone outside of my family who hadn’t seen me when I had woken up so often during the night, sweating and shaking with fear that I was going to be stolen from my family and tortured for the rest of eternity believed what I was saying.
“I don’t know where it is exactly. I’ve seen it in my dreams; they can get to me more when I’m asleep. They come into my head during the night and show me things in my dreams, show me what will happen if they manage to take me. In one of the dreams it’s dark, very dark. There’s masses blood everywhere, probably the foul blood from those who stand around me at night. There are intestines and hearts that look like they’re still beating, bits of people’s faces like ripped out eyes and tongues, dead
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