Tag Archives: demons

Tim’s Demons & Other Friends

When humans evolved and got superpowers, not everyone got a cool power. Of course, there were the super-strong people, the super-fast, super-tough and those that could fly, teleport or read minds or throw fireballs, or pretty much do anything cool.

Then there were the uncool or odd powers.

Some people could smell the future or see around corners, others could transform into a fish or summon custard pudding. Not all uncool powers were nasty, though. Many of these Pseudo-supers or “Pseuds” (as they became known) were accepted and loved in society kind of the same way you would accept and love a weird cousin.

But some of these Pseuds were downright creepy and ended up being ostracised.

On the fringe of towns and far out in the country, clusters of the Creeps (as they were known) would live together much like leppers had done centuries before. Not even the Pseuds wanted to be around them.

***

Little Tim had demons. They followed him around.

The first one had appeared after his father had left him when he was about five years old. It was a vague, shadowy demon with horns that said nothing and just followed him around. It had scared his mother who had sent him away to live with his Uncle Pat and the other Creeps.

That was when his second demon had been born. It was a pale reflection of her; gaunt and twisted as it was dark and eerie. It spoke only to other people and never to him and, mostly, just tried to sleep with them. He did not like it, as it was disliked by most people who do not have a fetish for ghosts.

Little Tim also had the snotty demon from when he was really sick that one time and the spiky one from when the bullies beat him up in the alleyway. He also had the creepy one from the old lady in the apartment below his mother’s place.

Yes, Little Tim had demons and they all obediently followed him around.

His Uncle Pat took him under his wing on the farm–the Creeps lived on a Collective where they grew their own food–and taught him the value of friendship and love. He taught him that you are not your superpower, but rather the collection of decisions on how to use it. If you use it to make the world a better place, you were a good person. If you use it for your own advantage, you were a bad person.

Uncle Pat, himself, had an awkward power: he could induce nightmares in people. Not very useful in homes with children nor in crowded cities. But, it was quite useful for the criminal justice system as an alternative form of punishment for offenders who–for some or other reason, most likely to do with their superpowers–could not go to prison.

All Uncle Pat would do was make them dream that they were in prison and serving out their full term. If a dream feels like it lasts a lifetime, then the dreamer has, in fact, dreamt a lifetime. They would wake up mere hours later but changed people.

The break-through for Little Tim was when he sat down with his demons and spoke to them. They all had a heart-to-heart. They were all stuck together; them and Little Tim. The least they could do was be friends. They, too, had not asked to be here but merely appeared. They, too, did not want to be abandoned.

Little Tim and his demons hugged afterward.

The other Creeps threw a party that night for Little Tim. Even Little Tim’s demon’s joined the party and, once they opened up, got on (more or less) wonderfully with everyone.

“Everyone is fighting a hard fight and is worth knowing when you get to know them”, Uncle Pat said and everyone agreed to loud cheers.

That was the night Little Tim kissed his first girl. Susan had lizard eyes, mosaic-scaled skin and a flickering tongue. It tickled him and they both laughed. She was very cute and Little Tim’s heart fluttered like a butterfly each time he thought of her.

When Little Tim woke up the next morning with a big smile on his face, a beautiful angel was standing at his bed. His demons stood around moping and shadowy, but the angel was radiant and smiled at him. He smiled back at her, suddenly understanding everything.

“Uncle Pat! Uncle Pat! Uncle Pat!” Little Tim panted, running through the farm to the lead-lined outer shed that Uncle Pat slept in so that he did not infect everyone else with nightmares while they slept, “Uncle Pat! I have an angel now!”

“Uh, wha–” Uncle Pat rolled over on his grubby mattress as the heavy lead-lined door squeaked open and light spilt in, “Timmy, what is it?”

“Uncle Pat, this is my angel. I now know what I have to do to make the world a better place!” Little Tim was smiling.

Uncle Pat sat up and yawned, smiling at the kid. He patted the mattress next to him, “Come sit here, Timmy, and tell me all about it.”

Little Tim dropped down onto the mattress, beaming: “I don’t just have demons. I also have now have an angel. All the bad makes my demons, but all the good can also make them. And those will be angels. And those angels will make the world a better place!”

Uncle Pat nodded, thoughtfully. He glanced up at the pack of eerie demons just outside of his shed’s open door and the single, radiant being that stood gracefully in their brooding midst. He felt peace and joy looking at her brilliance. Her light washed over his heart and lifted his spirits.

He smiled and hugged Little Tim, who hugged him tightly back. They were both crying now. It was tears of joy, maybe.

“Right, Timmy,” he began in all seriousness, choking back his tears and smiling widely, “You know what we have to do now, don’t you? We have to make sure that you have the most amazing, brilliant and happy life ever and, by the end of it, you will have filled the world with angels.”

***

When the world was filled with angels, happiness and light literally walked down the streets and joy stalked in every heart. Civilisation was at peace and the Creeps and Pseuds did not matter anymore. Neither did wars nor wealth. Society was healed and brought together in harmony.

A new age dawned for man and the President personally thanked Little Tim. In so doing, the President spawned a whole host more of angels that looked a lot like him. In fact, every street the Little Tim walked down, strangers hugged him and thanked him for all the light he had brought into the world.

It was still the same world, but it was now filled with angels, love, happiness and hope. The darkness was banished and no one had nightmares anymore.

But Little Tim still had his few demons. His father, mother, the snotty one, the spiky one and the old woman. They hid from all this light back in his apartment in the city. He felt sorry for them and spent time talking to each one of them.

They did not like the light, but he told them that they were very important. Without some darkness, there would be no need for light, he told them. Susan–who was now Little Tim’s wife–told them so too.

Uncle Pat would come over and induces terrifying nightmares in the demons. They loved it. They could escape into the darkness and terror of dreams, but when they woke the world was still full of blinding light.

And so, Little Tim, Susan and Uncle Pat closed all the windows, sat all the demons down and turned the lights off. Sitting in the darkness of the living room, the demons felt better and they began to talk. They spoke of their hopes and dreams. They spoke of their years of silence when no one looked and they spoke of Little Tim, Susan and Uncle Pat.

By the end of it, they–all of them–were crying.

“Everyone is fighting a hard fight and is worth knowing when you get to know them”, Uncle Pat said, choking back a tear.

Everyone nodded, agreeing in the darkness.

Little Tim stood up and hugged each one of his demons. They were his friends, and he wanted them to feel better. And they did.

Buying a Soul

“Souls! Souls! This way, sir!” the enchanted shadow calls, his form is pitch-black except for the white shirt indicating that whoever he was stolen from was wearing a suit, “Souls, souls, souls! Big ones, small ones, angry ones, loving ones… This way, sir, we have them all.”

I nod and step into the well-lit store. This is not the Dark Ages anymore. We have electricity and modern amenities, like this shopping centre hidden in plain sight. There is a booming economy that spans the globe, but there are also the nine layers of the Underworld that tuck into the roots of the World Tree as its swaying branches far above hold Mount Olympus and Valhalla.

“What are you looking for?” the shadow assistant standing next to me asks. His form is completely black. I cannot even make out a mouth or where his voice is coming from.

“Yeh, I’m looking for a good worker for the house. Something chore-related, perhaps?”

He nods and leads me to a back shelf in the shop. Bottles and lamps and other containers are everywhere on the shelves with labels like ‘Strong Warrior – 10gc’, ‘Wiccan Lover – 15gc’ and ‘Malchavian Assassin – 100gc’ written on them in old Arcane scrawl.

“Here’s the ‘Old Housekeeper’ product, sir,” the Shadow says, handing me a small glass bottle with a swirling green mist in it. His touch–or the bottle–is cold. I peer inside and there is a being swirling in and out of shape in there. It looks like an old lady.

“What’s her story?” I ask, intrigued. You have to vet these sort of transactions carefully. No one wants to buy a bad soul.

“Quite standard, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary,” the Shadow says cheerfully. I get the impression that it is smiling: “Sold her soul for long-life and magic, mixed potions and the like from her old house in the woods. She can cook, clean, has good basic knowledge and is not dangerous. Answers to ‘Merve’, but we can alter her Contract with any special requests you may have?”

“Great,” I nod, “I’ll take this one as she comes,” I reach into the hidden pocket in my robe for the fifteen gold coins it will cost.

Back in the castle, I read the instructions and then open the bottle. There is a soft gust of wind that sighs from it and the ethereal form of an old woman slowly materialises in front of me.

I’ll cut you and cook you, I’ll kill you and clean you–” a distant wailing begins to emanate from her as her face distorts and she starts to advance upon me.

I calmly lift the dusty, old scroll that came with the bottle in front of me. She stops dead, her wailing dying out.

“Merve, do you remember your Contract?”

Yes, yesss,” her form blinks and hazily shifts a little in front of me, like a hidden wind was blowing through it, “Yes, I remember the wicked little man and the blood on the page. Yes, yesss…

“Great, Merve,” I smile at her, “The demon’s Contract that gave you power during life was ceded to another and I have bought it. That means that your Contract now lies with me.”

I was met with silence. Sometimes the souls need a little time to adjust.

“Merve, you work for me now,” I try to smile welcomingly to her. It is always better if they accept things willingly.

Yesss, Master, how can I serve you?

I smile and lean back in my armchair. Life is good.

Three month’s later, the banshees are wailing outside the castle and the black candles are lit through the chamber. My family is there in all their oddity as well as close friends and even a couple strange, silent observers of the Arcane Lore scratching away in their old, leather-bound notebooks.

“I have lived a long, rich life,” I rasp, on my deathbed, “but–Merve, will you write this down–” Merve appears through a wall in my crowded bedroom and floats over to my desk for a scroll, quill and ink, “I have lived a long, rich life, but all things end…” this time I am interrupted by a fit of coughing. I wipe the blood away and continue. So this is how it ends, I think, strangely disappointed.

“In this order, here is my final will and testament: To my brother, I leave this castle and all that is in it, save those items I mention now. To my sister, I leave my spellbook, wand and I cede all my Contracts. To my nephew…” and so I continue until all the hordes are satisfied, including myself.

Later that night, I find myself staring at my body on the bed. Around it sit, slump or skulk the few family members that remained overnight. Many of them are asleep and the couple that are awake do not seem aware that I am no longer sleeping, but dead.

Yes, you are dead.

The slightly high-pitched voice by my side startles me. It is strangely familiar and as I turn to look, it all makes sense.

You. So this is happening after all,” I state looking down at my ethereal hands rippling in a hidden breeze.

“Yes, of course, this is happening. What else would be happening? Here is the Contract, please verify that you are happy with it,” and the wicked, little man with pointed teeth hands me a page written in my own blood. It is a page that I signed a long, long time ago when I was a lowly apprentice of a lowly wizard. It is a page that offered me a way out of the destitution of my family and a way to fill my life and me with great, history-changing magic.

“Yes, that is the Contract,” I sigh. It really is time. There is nothing I can do, because he has the Contract and I can feel the inescapable tug of its words on me.

I have a last look at the room with my body in it. My family still has not realised that I am gone. Suddenly, I am being pulled down. The room is getting bigger, or am I getting smaller? Glass walls spring up around me, and then a glass ceiling slams shut.

No one hears me start screaming.

***

“Come on, this one is worth a couple hundred, at least?” the wicked, little man with pointed teeth pleads in his high-pitched voice with a shadow.

“I am sorry, sir,” says the Shadow; they are sitting in the back office of the store with a glass bottle with a dark, purple soul flickering in it, “Demand and supply.”

Exactly,” hisses the wicked, little man, “Exactly. And there aren’t many great wizard souls these days. Worth a lot, no?”

“No,” sighs the Shadow, “because there aren’t all that many people who want a powerful soul that can curse them with magic to help around the house or the office. You got to invest in protection spells and so on. Those dark souls get expensive to maintain. People don’t like them anymore. 50gp, or nothing. Your call, Agares.”

The wicked, little demon, Agares, glares murder at the Shadow, but its form is so black that not even he can see its expression.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll take fifty, but you are robbing me. Back in the day, these were worth something. Bloody electricity and technology; all this bullshit is ruining the old economy and none of them run off souls!”

The Shadow stands up, walks to a chest and take outs a little bag of gold coins for the demon Agares. Outside, the shopping centre is opening and the store doors are swinging open. Soon there will be hordes of people–some aware and some oblivious–crawling all of this place.

The Shadow flicks the bag of gold to the demon, Agares, and picks up the glass bottle with my soul in it. I am no longer screaming, but rather I am contemplating my escape. Before turning and walking out into the shop floor, the Shadow pauses and–perhaps in a show of sympathy–offers the dejected demon a final thought, “Come on, Agares, it’s not all that bad. The future offers opportunities too. Perhaps you should consider a career change? We’ve started stocking iPhones and iPads. The kids love them. Perhaps, instead of selling souls, you should sell some Samsung gear? I hear that Azazel is making a killing with Android stuff or something…”

The dejected, little demon snorts, and that is the last I see of him. My round, glass prison is carried by the Shadow and put on a shelf surrounded by other souls that signed similar Contracts.

In my little, glass bottle, no one hears me screaming bloody vengeance and plague over all the living.

When the Darkness Answered Back

occult-ritual

He had always liked the occult. Even if he believed that a lot of it was rubbish, it still felt good to have knowledge that most other people did not have. It made him feel special like he was elite and set apart from his fellow man.

He had never been the most athletic or popular kid in school, but one day hiding in the library he had found a dusty old book with references to other dusty old books. It had piqued his interest, so he had found another one. Seeking out and reading these books had become his hobby.

And from the Witches Bible, the Emerald Tablets, the Satanic Bible, the Wiccan Handbook, he had begun to piece his internal image together.

It had even begun to be slightly hip to be a Wiccan, so he felt like he was going in the right direction. Like vegetarians or those people who do Crossfit, own iPhones or electric cars, he could bring up his occult religion, Wicca, at dinner conversations. It not only scared people, but it gave him a sense of power. People in these circumstances would be forced to listen and open-mindedly smiled and nod.

He would wait until those vegetarians and other social constructs had announced themselves–as they always did–before announcing himself.

He loved stealing their limelight.

He would usual pour himself a glass of wine and propose a toast to one of his old gods. He would then let his pentacle accidentally be revealed around his neck and answer the inevitable question that someone would ask.

“Oh, I’m a Magi in the Golden Dawn, dear. We practice the Great Art. How much do you know about the Occult?”

The answer was almost always nothing, and from there he would control the conversation.

Afterwards, he would go home and light the candles. He would then mumble to the old gods and look at the moon in self-induced wonder. He was in control. He was special. He was apart from and above his fellow man.

There was not a huge lot of believing that actually went into it. It was kind of like an interesting hobby that made him feel unique; draw the circle, sprinkle the dust and light the incense while sitting in the glow of candlelight and feeling special.

One night he played out this well-rehearsed dance, before returning home. The one Christian woman at the table had looked particularly shocked, which had made him quite happy with himself. He had found that a little bit of shock and awe did wonder to elevate himself in society.

It was the Dark Moon far above. The night sky hid the pale face of Isis in a bed of twinkling stars. He lit the incense and candle before muttering the incantation he had found in the Book of the Dead. It was old and sounded most exotic as the strange words rolled off his practiced tongue.

Something felt different, though. It was like someone was watching him. But he ignored it and took a sip of his wine.

“And Osiris, brother of Set, answer my call in the darkness of Isis’s closed eyes…”

Suddenly the candle went out. The room fell into a heavy darkness and there was a moment of absolute silence. It was then that he felt a presence unlike anything he had experienced before.

“ALEISTER, I HEAR YOU CALL FOR MY BROTHER, BUT IT IS I THAT YOU DESIRE. I WILL GRANT YOU THE WISH YOU HAVE ASKED FOR, BUT I WILL TAKE FROM YOU THE PRICE OFFERED.”

A number of nights later he was at another dinner party.

The conversation tired of a young woman explaining how she was lesbian. She had only just come out to her parents. Everyone had nodded, smiled and told her how brave she was. The guests were mentally patting themselves on their back for being so open-minded.

He tried to smile reassuring to her and reached forward with his glass. His pentacle accidently slipped from under his black shirt and sparkled in the soft light.

“Oh, is that a pentacle?” a young man asked, “Are you one of those occultists? You simply must tell me about that, I find these new beliefs fascinating. Or are they old beliefs? You see, I just don’t know anymore. Which school do you practice?”

He fumbled and stuffed the amulet back under his shirt. Back away from prying eyes. These people had no idea what they were messing with. It was dark and dangerous, not fit for a dinner table. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt like he was being watched again. The corners in the room suddenly looked especially dark.

“Uh, it is,” he began, not sure what to say, but then he remembered the cold, powerful voice in the darkness and shivered again, “It-it is nothing. Just jewellery I wear. Tell me, though, did you say that you do Crossfit? How’s that work? Is it worth going?”

And somewhere, not-as-far-away-as-you-would-think, something old, cold and powerful smiled in the darkness.