Demonic Tome

by Daniel Stephens

  “I have been following your progress for some time, Mr. Haskins,” the stranger says. “You have been a very bad man. It is time for this to end.”

  “You a cop?”

  “I serve no earthly power.”

  “Just who the hell are you, then?”

  “I have gone by many names,” the other says, “but in this instance, as you will not be repeating it, you may know me as Simon Magus.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Apparently you do not read your Bible.”

  “True enough.” Jimmy Bob fires the gun again, knocking Simon back against the booth. “Now how about you lay down and die like a good corpse?”

  “I don’t think so.” Simon shoves away from the booth, his clothes shredding further.

  Jimmy Bob’s jaw drops as he lowers his shotgun, the fluorescent lights above flashing on the cross at his neck.

  Simon’s eyes lock on the crucifix as he takes another step.

  Jimmy Bob jerks the gun at the man again. “Stay where you are, freak!”

  Simon points at the killer. “You wear that symbol?”

  “What the hell you talking about?”

  “Enough,” Simon says. “There shall be no penance for you.”

  The mage snaps his fingers and blood spurts from Jimmy Bob’s neck as if an ice pick had been plunged into his flesh.

  The killer’s eyes go wide as he stares down at the growing circle of red on his shirt.

  Simon snaps his fingers once more.

  Another fount of red blossoms from the killer’s neck.

  Fingers snap again, and again and again.

  Within seconds Jimmy Bob Haskins looks as if a hundred needles have been stabbed into him, tiny streams of red shooting forth from all over his body. The shotgun, slick in his hands from the blood, slips away and crashes to the floor.

  Jimmy Bob drops to his knees, his shaking hands gripped in front of him as if he is in prayer. His eyes wide and red, he stares up at the person who has done this to him.

  “Enjoy your stay in hell,” Simon says. Then he slaps the young man.

  Jimmy Bob’s head snaps to one side and he plops down in a widening pool of his own gore.

  Simon Magus leans forward, grabbing the crucifix between his fingers. He tugs, snapping the flimsy chain holding the cross.

  When he stands tall again, Simon holds the cross out before him. He stares with disgust at the tiny silver Jesus now dripping crimson. “Why?” he asks. “Why do you allow these things?”

  There is no answer.

  “It has been two thousand years,” Simon says to the figure. “I have tried and tried to do your bidding, but not one single word from you.”

  The little Jesus remains silent.

  Simon drops the cross, the cheap piece of jewelry splattering in Jimmy Bob’s blood.

  “No more,” Simon says. “No more.”

  Without a glance to the dead, the magus limps his way out of Bud’s Pump ’n Sip. Minutes later he is back on the highway in his black Lincoln Continental.

  Duppy

  Kody Boye

  The little kids liked Halloween because they could get candy, while the teenagers enjoyed it because of one or more things. They could get the hell scared out of them by going to a haunted house; toilet-papering or egging Miss ‘Old’ Margerie’s house, or fucking in the backseat of an old ’75, or for those more in the mood for a scare and the most ultimate fuck of their life—in a graveyard. But there were some teenagers who liked to take it to the extreme, and when those few meant extreme, they meant extreme.

  Just like Isaiah Cranberry, who had tagged along with a bunch of Mark’s friends. They’d come to the old cemetery to get a good scare, or—like one of the guys—a good ole’ fuck behind the safety of a gravestone.

  They’d also come for another reason, which was why Isaiah had been brought along. Normally he wouldn’t be hanging out with the type of sport-players that his best buddy Mark was friends with, but Mark had made him tag along.

  Isaiah was one of the rebellious seventeen-year-olds found in small old towns that border-lined big states like California or New York. Isaiah had a mane of maroon-colored hair that went down to his shoulders and sideburns the same color. The short stripe of hair that was supposed to be a thin soul patch was also the same color because of the constant nagging of his father—‘straight man turned gay’ after his mother had cheated on him—to keep his hair the same color.

  Isaiah had been brought along because he knew all of the old gothic and old-world legends that went around. They were here ‘grave-scouting,’ as Mark’s sports buddies called it. They were grave scouting for Trish Malory’s grave.

  Didada—as everyone else had called Trish—had been known for being the biggest dumb blonde in the world. In life, she could have been compared to the dumb blondes on TV sitcoms, and that was exactly what killed her. Poor Didada hadn’t listened to Mr. York in science class and had her face blown apart from a chemical reaction. Her way of ‘mixing all the pretty, sparkly and wonderfully delicious’ chemicals had killed her.

  She’d been buried in this cemetery because her parents had been poor and had given their daughter the best while depleting their own bank account in the process of all of their shopping. They couldn’t even pay for a headstone, so she had an unmarked grave.

  “Isaiah,” Mark said from behind him as he blew smoke from his mouth. “Where’s the grave?”

  “I don’t know.” Isaiah placed his hand on his face, thumbing his soul patch in thought. “It’s around here. I know it.”

  “Would you two knock it off and help us!” Mark yelled.

  The two who had been fucking behind the gravestone stopped grunting and moaning in pleasure after Mark had yelled at them. The guy raised his head up for a short moment before he stood, pulling his underwear up his legs before pulling up his jeans and buckling them.

  “Well, what’s your friend waiting for, Mark? Isn’t he supposed to be finding Didada’s grave for us?”

  “Yeah, I wanna see her get out of the ground!” The guy’s girlfriend rose and shifted her skirt up her legs. “I wanna see her get up and move around!”

  Isaiah rolled his eyes at the stupid red-headed girl as he walked over to the unmarked grave, seeing the patch of squashed and broken violets on it.

  “You idiots, you were fucking on her grave!” Isaiah forced them to move with an unwavering stare.

  “Oopsie,” the redheaded girl said. “I guess we were being bad, huh?”

  Isaiah shook his head and bent down, brushing the violet petals off the grave. He looked at the girl’s burial plot for a moment before he stood, backing away from it until he wasn’t anywhere near it.

  “All right,” Isaiah said as he brushed his hair back away from his face, “we’ve all got to say her name over and over.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to spill blood on her grave?” one of Mark’s friends asked. “Sure you don’t have to do anything special, ass…”

  “Fuck off, Jerry.” Mark dropped and crushed the cigarette under his boot. “Do what Isaiah says. It was all of your idea to come out here and do this anyway.”

  Isaiah nodded and began the ritual. He whispered her name under his breath at first until he heard the others join in. When the others did, Isaiah gradually began to raise his voice until the others did, and then he would raise it again with their pitch.

  They all started chanting her name so loud that—for a second—Isaiah feared that they would get caught. Their chants were like that of a satanic cult worshipping the devil in his prime state by sacrificing animals and their own blood.

  After about five minutes, Jerry, who had mouthed off, stopped the chant.

  “Fuck this.” Jerry turned, grabbing the red head by the arm. “Come on, doll, we’re blowing this fuck joint.”

  The other guys who were Mark’s friends gave a small nod, walking up by Jerry.

  “See you later, faggot,” Jerry said before he walked away. “F
uck you and your rituals.”

  Isaiah shook his head and slumped down on the ground, letting a hand rest on his forehead before he felt Mark ease down into the grass beside him.

  “Fuck them.” Mark reached into his pocket. “You want a smoke?”

  Isaiah shrugged and took the cigarette, holding it out so Mark could light it.

  “I don’t care what they think of me.” Isaiah exhaled smoke, rubbing one of his sideburns. “You think I care what those assholes think of me?”

  Mark shook his head and took another drag.

  “So what if my hair’s a different color?” Isaiah continued. “So what if I have sideburns and a soul patch? Do you think I care if they’re jealous because they don’t have a beard, while I do? No, I don’t. I look the way I do because I like the way I look, Mark. I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks of me.”

  Mark gave a laugh and wrapped an arm around Isaiah’s shoulder, letting his free hand hold the cigarette in place while he took another drag.

  “I don’t think you’d give a fuck about anything, if I wasn’t your friend.” Mark laughed. “You do give a fuck about me, don’t you Isaiah?”

  “‘Course I give a fuck about you, Mark. You’re my best friend.”

  The two of them laughed for a moment before Mark looked down at his digital watch.

  “Shit, it’s eleven already.”

  “I should be getting home.” Isaiah stood. “Dad’s going to flip, but I don’t care. He and his new guy are probably on the couch right now.”

  “You’re not upset about your dad being into guys?” Mark asked. “I mean, if my dad had just broken up with my mom just to get at some guy’s ass, I think I’d be upset.”

  “Doesn’t bother me.” Isaiah shrugged, crushing the cigarette under his heel. “Besides, it distracts him from what I’m doing. He hasn’t asked about how my breath’s smelled in the past three weeks.”

  Mark muttered a small, ‘Yeah, I get ya’ under his breath before Isaiah climbed into the passenger seat of his friend’s car. Mark backed away from the cemetery with the lights off until they went down the old back road, the one that was so old it still didn’t have asphalt put in yet. The dirt scattered in a light dust as they left the cemetery, but he ignored it while fumbling for the radio, soon finding a channel with a low gothic metal sound.

  “Sorry about the guys,” Mark said. “I wanted tonight to be fun. I didn’t think they’d be assholes.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Isaiah settled back into his seat. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I’m going to rip all of them a new asshole tomorrow. I warned them not to say anything to you, Isaiah. I warned them that I’d kick all their asses to kingdom come if they smarted off about your hair or saying any kind of word like ’faggot.’”

  “It doesn’t bother me. You as well as I know that I’m bi, so I don’t care.” He shrugged and rolled down the window, taking a deep breath of the clean night air. “Besides, have you ever seen me with a guy?”

  “No, it wouldn’t bother me if you were, but I haven’t. The only person I ever saw you date was that one girl… What was her name?”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Isaiah saw his house come into view. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “No problem. Wait a second.” Mark reached down to the drink holders and pulled out a piece of gum. “Chew on this. It’ll make your breath smell better.”

  Isaiah nodded and waved Mark a final goodbye before he drove back down the street and to his own house. Isaiah took the piece of gum out of its wrapping and popped it into his mouth before walking up the path.

  The light was still on in the living room, so his dad was still up.

  Isaiah shook his head and knocked on the door for a short moment before hearing somebody rise and come to the door.

  “Isaiah, where the hell were you?” His father rested a hand on the doorframe, restricting him from coming through the door. “I want an honest answer, son. You made me worry about your safety for those two hours.”

  “I was just out with Mark, Dad. All we did was drive around.”

  “Let my smell your breath, boy. Now!”

  Isaiah turned his head for a brief moment to spit his gum out into the grass and let his father grab his chin.

  “You were smoking.”

  Isaiah gave a nod and sighed before his father let go of his chin.

  “You’re grounded for two weeks, Isaiah. I’m sick of you coming home smelling like smoke. The next time you do it, it’ll be a month.”

  Isaiah nodded and waited until his father took his hand off of the doorframe before he passed, giving a small sigh as he looked over to his father’s guy, Richard. He had watched the whole thing, but his father’s man gave him a smile.

  Isaiah felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Isaiah, go to bed,” his father told him. “It’s late and you need your sleep. Remember, you’re grounded. I’ll hear that TV if you turn it on.”

  Isaiah gave a nod and turned to hug his father for a short moment before he walked up the stairs and into his attic bedroom. He felt like shit and just wanted to go to bed. He had just disappointed his father again and it hurt him so much when he did that. He knew his dad was going through a rough time. It didn’t help things if he was smoking.

  He crawled into bed and pulled the covers up so they rested below his nipples, placing his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

  It was a stupid idea, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head and closed his eyes. So much for telling Mark to bring along some of his friends for a scare.

  All Jerry got was a good fuck and a nice hit to his ego.

  That was the last time Isaiah invited any of Mark’s friends to come with him. Mark had been against the idea, but he had pressed him into it.

  Isaiah shook his head and rolled over onto his stomach, placing his hands under the pillow and sighed.

  He fell asleep shortly after, but little did he know that miles away in the old graveyard, something shifted and began to tear at the grave.

  #

  Isaiah woke to the phone ringing. He turned over and pulled the phone from the cradle, placing it to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Isaiah, it’s me,” Mark said. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “It’s seven-thirty. I should be getting up anyway.” Isaiah rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  “So, what’d your dad think of you coming home late last night?”

  “He smelled the smoke on my breath. I’m grounded for two weeks.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, man.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mark. I’d better get off the phone. Dad will kill me if he comes up here and sees that I’m on the phone with someone.”

  “All right, I’ll see you around, Isaiah.”

  “All right, bye.”

  Isaiah put the phone back in its place and crawled out of bed, lifting his arms and arching his back so he could stretch his entire body at the same time. He grabbed some clothes before he walked down the stairs and into the bathroom.

  The dark circles under his eyes were the first thing that greeted him.

  Must’ve been a long night, he thought as he closed the door, stripping out of his underwear. He looked like he didn’t sleep at all.

  He wasn’t sure if he had slept all that well. He felt a little more tired than usual, but he had come in late last night, so maybe that was the reason.

  He shook his head and turned the hot water on before the door to the bathroom opened behind him.

  “Sorry,” Richard said from behind him. “I didn’t know you were getting in the shower.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Isaiah crawled into the shower and closed the curtain.

  “Is Dad up?” Isaiah asked.

  “Scott? Hell no, your father’s not going to be awake for another two hours, son. He and I were up a little late last night after we went to bed.”

&nbs
p; Isaiah didn’t have to wait for Richard to explain what they were doing together. He guided his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the grease out of it. He tried to ignore the fact that he was grounded and would be as bored as hell for the week he had off for Halloween vacation.

  Great, the only town in the whole U.S. that has Halloween vacation and I’m grounded during it.

  He’d get over it eventually, but he would be getting over it a lot sooner when his father got up and started making him do all the chores around the house. They usually split the chores, but when he was grounded, he did all of them.

  He turned the water off and got out of the shower just as Richard closed the bathroom door. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself off before dressing and walking out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to start on the dishes.

  He got an approving nod from Richard.

  “That’s good that you’re starting early. That way your father won’t be harping on you.”

  “Yeah, I guess…”

  The doorbell distracted him.

  “I’ll get it.” Isaiah dried his hands off and walked to the door.

  Mark stood at the doorway, jogging in place. On the weekends and during the summer, Mark always came over as he was dressed now: in an undershirt that had sweat stains running down from his armpits and shorts, showing his muscular, hairy legs. “Will your dad let you go running with me?” Mark wiped a hand across his sweaty hairline.

  “I don’t know. Let me ask.”

  Isaiah turned and walked over to where Richard was standing.

  “Do you care if I go?”

  “Isaiah, your father wouldn’t want me to let you go out running, especially if you were hanging out with your friend. Remember what he said when you’re grounded? No electronics, no going anywhere, and no friends.”

  “I know, but come on. It’s only for a little bit. Please, Richard? When do I ask you for anything?”

  The man shook his head and scratched at the stubble on his chin.

  “I don’t care if you go. Just be back soon, alright? Don’t stay out for very long.”

  Isaiah nodded and gave Richard a smile before he bent down to grab his sandals, pushing his feet into them and strapping them in before he walked out with Mark.