by Brian Brahm
He dialed 911 while his left ear was still pressed against the door. “911 Operator, what’s your emergency?” The Dispatcher said in a routine tone.
“This is Cody Wells, there’s someone in my house!”
“What is your address, sir?”
“1901 Balsam Court, in Littleton.”
“Please repeat the address sir.”
“1901 Balsam Court, Littleton! I need someone immediately! Please!”
“An abrupt noise shot into Cody’s left ear as it was pressed against the door. He pulled away and looked at where his ear was—the tip of a knife blade had pierced the door. He felt pain and put his hand on his ear; he was bleeding. Fortunately the blade didn’t penetrate far enough to cause significant damage.
“Sir, are you there? Sir?” The Dispatcher was still on the line.
“I’ve been stabbed! They’re breaking into my room! Please hurry!”
“I need you to stay on the line—“ Cody hung up the phone. He had no time to speak to a 911 Operator while he was in the process of saving his life.
He searched his closet, throwing everything on the floor while frantically looking for an item to be used as a weapon.
He didn’t own a gun, but he wish he had. If he lived to see tomorrow, buying a gun would be the first thing he would do.
A loud crash emanated from the door. The knife had been pulled out, but someone was trying to break in. Bam! Another loud crash. The door was flexing with each strike; Cody could see the door handle being pushed in each time, which would indicate that the person on the other side was kicking near the lock.
With only moments before the intruder would blast in, Cody became desperate and grabbed his pool cue. It wasn’t much of a defense tool, but it would have to do.
He looked over at his second story window—not a great option. It was approximately thirteen feet down, and waiting below was concrete due to an extended back patio.
He could jump, but would most likely injure himself to the point where running would be impossible. He decided to await the predator and stand his ground.
Bam! The door continued to be repeatedly kicked, wood could be heard splintering, and the molding on the inside of the frame was giving way. One more good kick and it was go time!
The door gave and violently swung open. The hall was ink-black. Cody could only make out the silhouette of a figure, while the tip of the large butcher blade—most likely taken from his kitchen—was shimmering in the light offered by the bedroom.
The figure stood in the darkness that concealed it, silent, as if savoring the moment before the kill.
Cody stood frozen in time, waiting for the attack, hoping the police would arrive before it was too late.
Whispers hissed, barely kissing Cody’s ear. He couldn’t tell if it was a man’s or a woman’s voice—it almost sounded like several voices at once.
A low level, thunderous growl came from the intruder’s direction. Cody wondered: does he have a dog with him? Laughter followed the growl, as if the mysterious person found Cody’s reaction to the animal-like noise humorous. The laugh was more of a sadistic clown chuckle.
Confused by the multiple sounds and voices displayed by the intruder, Cody’s fear grew more intense by the second, not knowing who or what he was facing.
Where the Hell are the cops? His patience grew dimmer while the fear inside grew brighter. He couldn’t help but curse the police in his mind, knowing that death could be imminent. He paused mid-thought, remembering what had been written on his door. Was the tall man coming to make good on his promise?
He lost control and shouted out, “Who the Hell are you? What do you want with me?”
There was no response, just sickly breathing. The breathing stopped, and then a seemingly long pause filled the air with utter silence. A voice broke the stillness, a woman’s voice. “Cody? It’s me, Lisa.”
He dropped the pool cue, forgetting he had hold of it. She had been half dead and completely unconscious when he made up her name, there’s no way she could have heard him. “Please leave,” he offered.
She stepped into the light, just inside the doorway. Her eyelids were sewn shut with black medical sutures; blood and pus oozed from the fresh wounds on her face. Her greasy hair still contained matted blood, dirt, sweat, and asphalt. There was a brace on her exposed injured leg with pins going into her skin, and dried scabs formed around the untreated punctures. She wore a hospital gown that was only partially tied in the back. Her skin was pale as were her lips—she looked like the walking dead.
She smiled, exposing her blackened rotted teeth, and then spoke. “I’m here to repay your kindness, Cody.” She sounded like a serpent, as she whispered through her cracked bluish lips. “You and your friend are suckers for a damsel in distress, aren’t you? It will be your undoing!”
She lunged at him with the knife; Cody sidestepped forcing her to fall into the wall. The leg brace was her only obvious handicap, and he would have to take full advantage.
Thinking he had a clear shot at the door, he ran for it out of sheer desperation. The possessed intruder let out a deafening scream that he couldn’t escape soon enough, and both ears rang at shattering volumes.
He ran down the stairs too fast, almost losing his footing and sliding to the bottom, but regaining balance at the last moment. He made it to the bottom; the front door was in sight.
A cackling echoed throughout the small home.
He looked up the stairs. She wasn’t there. He ran towards the door. “Don’t leave me,” a sweet, innocent sounding voice let out.
Cody slowly looked up. She fell from the ceiling like a spider dropping from its web, and landed directly in front of him.
Petrified, he stood motionless, staring at the grotesque female he once thought attractive.
“What’s the matter, Cody? Don’t you love me anymore?” She said in a frightfully eerie tone. “I can be pretty again, Cody. Watch!” Her voice became masculine, angry, and before he could take his next breath, she grabbed her hair with each hand, and ripped out fist sized chunks of hair and scalp.
It was apparent that the demon wanted to put on a show for him, making his final memories as horrifying as possible.
After ripping out half her hair, she reached for her eyes, grabbed both the upper and lower lids that were attached by the self administered sutures, and violently ripped them off, exposing both afflicted eyeballs, now looking at Cody with a crazed and desperate stare.
“Like me now? Huh . . . Cody? No? I can do more.” She then reached into her mouth, and one by one picked out rotted teeth, flicking them into his face. It was as if the demon inside not only wanted to torture Cody, but the possessed girl too.
Her breath—the demon’s breath smelled of death, as if the inside of the female’s body was rapidly decaying. He wanted to, and almost vomited, but held back.
Troubled at what would happen next, he watched as she dug her nails into the left side of her nose and pulled to the right, removing the last beautiful part of her face, exposing the cartilage of the skulls nasal cavity.
A horrible wheezing and slurping sound came from the now exposed, ventilated skull. “How about now? How do you like your little bitch now?”
The more demonic the female became in appearance, the more she sounded like one.
An acute jolt of pain came from Cody’s neck. She had hold of his throat, and he didn’t even see the strike unfold—telling that the demon possessed better than human speed and strength.
She came within an inch of his face, eye to eye, as she squeezed the life out of him. Just before he was about to pass out, she threw him across the room. He slid across the floor after landing, and skidded to a stop against the wall.
Unable to move, Cody watched as the possessed attacker ominously approached with death in its eyes. She stopped a foot away, and stared down at him—taking pride in a job well done.
The entire attack only took minutes from the time Cody called the police, but it might
as well have been hours—the damage was done.
Police sirens bounced off the walls of homes throughout the neighborhood, a pounding on the front door got the attention of the incubus.
She grabbed Cody by the arm, and carelessly pulled him to the backyard. “Time’s up. Death is imminent!”
The police forced their way through the front door, and a search began with officers going up the stairs, systematically checking every room in the house.
She grabbed the top of Cody’s hair, pulled his head back, and grabbed his throat with the other hand. “In case you’re wondering. Her real name was, Samantha,” it said in a voice not likened to a human.
Cody stared into her eyes and barely found the strength to speak her name, “Samantha?”
Hoping she was somewhere inside, that he had somehow reached her, he locked into her eyes. She stared back, but with a cold emptiness that left Cody feeling completely hopeless. And with that, he accepted his fate as promised by the tall man who wore a top hat: death is imminent.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Scott’s doorbell rang; he rolled over to check his alarm clock, it was 2:26 A.M. He grabbed the gun from under his pillow, and slowly walked to the front door. Peeking out the corner of the window, he saw two police cars. He ran back, placed the gun back under the pillow, and then answered the door immediately.
“Are you Scott Abrahamson?” One of the Officers questioned.
“Yes sir, how can I help you? Is there something wrong?”
“Do you know a, Cody Wells?”
“Yes . . . did something happen to him? Scott feared that the tall man had gotten to Cody already.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. When did you last speak with Cody?”
“Yesterday, at about 11:00 A.M.”
“He called 911 last night, complaining of an intruder—he told the dispatcher that he had been stabbed—“
“Stabbed? Is he alright?”
“We’re not sure, he’s still missing. We searched his home, and when we got to the backyard, we found a dead woman. Her prints were on a knife found in Cody’s room, and the knife had Cody’s blood on it, so we’re thinking she was the intruder.”
“A woman? Who?”
“We had to go by her prints because her face had been badly injured. Have you heard of Samantha Jacobs?”
“No sir and I don’t recall Cody speaking of a girlfriend.”
“Here’s a card . . . would you please contact us if you find out anything about his whereabouts?”
“Yes, and would you please let me know if you find out anything?”
“We have to alert family first, but I’m sure you’ll be notified eventually. Thank you for your time.”
After the police left, Scott called Ella out of fear she had met the same fate. Ella answered. A flood of relief washed through him, and hope was again restored.
“Ella, Cody was stabbed by some woman. They found the woman dead and Cody is missing.”
“Oh my . . . I’m so sorry, Scott!”
“I know . . . I am too. I think it would be best if we all came together tonight. We’ve got to be better off together than separated.”
“Agreed . . . I’ll finish packing and head right over. How about Mustapha? Did you get in touch with him?”
“Not yet—I’ll call in a few hours when he wakes up, and ask him to come over then. For now, you can come over and get settled in, and that should it make easier for when Mustapha arrives.”
“OK, I’m really sorry, Scott. I know how close you and Cody were. ARE! I’ll pray he’s alright and contacts you soon.”
“Thank you, Ella. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Somehow, Ella’s words made him feel as though everything would be fine, despite how chaotic everything seemed at the moment.
He worried about Cody, and found the story to be perplexing. Had Cody killed the woman? Was she possessed? Had he gotten away with minor injuries, or were they life threatening? If they were minor, why hadn’t he contacted him? If they were life threatening, wouldn’t he have gone to the emergency room? There were so many unanswered questions, but thinking about it was pointless. He would have to wait to hear from either the cops or Cody.
Ella packed with desperation and determination: desperate to be with Scott as soon as possible, and determined to live through the growing nightmare.
A door slammed. Ella ran out to the living room—the front door was closed. She checked it . . . it was still locked. She turned to check the other doors and ran face first into the tall man’s chest. She looked up and saw the pointy nose and chin, but the eyes were still cloaked in darkness under the brim of the weathered hat.
“Going somewhere, Ella?” His voice contained intensity, but was calm and smooth. His mouth was wide with thin, tight, pale lips, and when he spoke she expected a long forked tongue to lash out at her, smelling her like a snake would a tiny field mouse.
He leaned closer, sniffing her neck before pressing his nose against her cheek. He paused, touched the tip of his tongue to her soft porcelain like flesh, and then pressed harder, licking her while moaning with delight. “A virgin . . . I can taste it . . . smell it. So fresh and pure . . . I’ll have fun inside you.” He said as he chuckled to himself.
Ella didn’t say a word. She held still instinctively, straining to keep her emotions contained. She had never felt fear like this before; it was overwhelming, and her heart felt as though it would explode any second.
He grabbed her throat, pushed her to her knees, and peered into her eyes. She stared back as his eyes rolled into the back of his elongated skull. Unable to stand the sight, she closed her eyes and began to pray. Praying was all she could do. Only God could help her now, and she believed with all her heart that if it were meant to be, he would somehow save her.
The whites of his eyes started to shake uncontrollably, veins began to pop out of his temples, his throat and mouth tensed up, causing tendons and muscle to line his neck like ropes, blood pooled from under his eyelids and overflowed onto his face. He let go and stumbled back, grabbing his face with both hands as he gasped for air.
Ella opened her eyes and observed the spectacle. She thought about running, but something kept her in her place. Perhaps she needed to see why the Wraith-like man appeared to be in distress.
He ripped his bloodied hands from his face; his eyes were now completely red as if every vein had erupted.
He looked at his hands and then looked at Ella. “You! You did this! You may not let me in now, my dear, but your precious boyfriend will. And when that happens, I’ll be sure to pay you another visit.”
He bowed and tipped his hat to her, in a gentlemanly but disturbing way, and sauntered out—leaving her on the floor, bewildered at what she had witnessed.
She had been saved somehow, and maybe she could do the same for Scott and Mustapha.
Ella called and explained everything to Scott before leaving for his house. She told him that if the man comes for him before she arrives, to pray that he would be protected and saved.
She kept her other concerns to herself—maybe she was saved because she had lived her entire life keeping God’s ways and reading his word. Scott on the other hand, although a moral and good person, did not read God’s word or pray daily. Would this be the difference between life and death when dancing with the Devil himself? Ella didn’t know and that bothered her. After all, she loved Scott and didn’t want to lose him before truly knowing him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Mustapha finished his crystal chalice filled with century old red wine. He had opened it for the first time this evening, even though he had purchased it for a special occasion. Perhaps tonight was special . . . should the demon caller come for him this eve, he at least would have tasted the sweet nectar he had longed to experience since purchasing it ten years past.
He cleaned up the black granite kitchen counter that had turned to a mess when he cooked up one of his favorite Italian dishes. After
bringing things back to order, he walked to open the back patio door for some fresh air and maybe stand in awe under the bespangled night sky.
He pulled on the door—it was stuck. A perfectly good evening may not see its perfect ending if he wasn’t able to peer into the flickering starry night. He continued to pull, but nothing happened, it wouldn’t budge.
Exasperated, Mustapha sighed out loud, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away utterly defeated.
It’s possible he had a little too much wine, because he was reduced to a child when he didn’t get his way.
A thought arose in his brilliant but pickled Egyptian brain: what about the front door? I could stand in the front yard to see the sky before bed. He walked over, grabbed the handle, turned it, and pulled. His semi-limp body, which fully expected the door to open, had been jerked forward when the stubborn door remained shut. “What now?” Mustapha griped. He continued to yank repeatedly; his now sweaty hair covered his eyes, making him look like a madman. “You’ve got to be kidding!” Frustrated, he stood back and stared at the door. He could always climb out the window, but that would wait till morning—looking at the stars wasn’t that important. Still . . . both doors were stuck. Maybe the temperature fluctuated enough to flex the frame and seal the doors? Maybe, but not likely.
Mustapha walked to the bathroom and began his nightly routine of flossing, brushing, showering, and then relieving himself of his alcoholic beverage before lying down.
He pulled back the decorative maroon and gold bedspread and curled up underneath the covers to shield him from the chill emanating from outside.
His eyes closed and sleep found him quickly. A long day and half bottle of wine will do that.
Mustapha woke after only two hours of sleep; his bladder hadn’t quite emptied, so a visit to the restroom was necessary before sleep could continue. Time to get up, he thought as he prepared sit-up. His mind willed his body to move, but nothing happened. He was tired, sure, but not so much that he couldn’t move. He made a second attempt, and again, no movement from his limbs. His mind worked—his eyes too—but nothing from his neck down seemed to function.