The flimsy skeleton of a horror-fantasy thriller. Not sure where it might lead yet though.
"I know the truth", Daniel backed away from the apparition on quivering legs.
Its shrouded form did not move, but its gaze kept pursuing him. He almost fell over a desk as he bumped into it.
"You're not real, never was, I... I made you", his voice was unsteady. Daniel felt as though his throat was going numb with fear as he spoke. The apparition remained. Wasn't it supposed to disappear, he thought. He knew the truth. This so-called patron saint of the insane, this thing, wasn't real. It was supposed to be the fantasy brought on by trauma. A figment of imagination, a legend created by the people of Ravensfield. But it didn't go away. And it seemed stronger now than ever before. More real. Cold sweat began to gather and form droplets in his face and back. Was he already lost beyond return?
"Why am I still here then, Daniel?". It pronounced his name as Daanjel, in its murky voice that seemed to shift between emanating from somewhere deep below and high above him.
"Daniel...", its voice suddenly seemed to whisper in his ear even though it had not moved.
Daniel was hyperventilating and his facial musculature was going numb. Fear raced through his frantic mind.
"Thus the hand shall see, the ear shall smell and the eyes touch the firmament of Hell
And comst the glow, the ashen veil, thine lantern and thine nighting sail..."
"No, no, no, NOOO!!", Daniel clutched his head in his hands as he slumped down the wall.
"Cast off thine flesh, ride the waves
Without anchor upon the graves..."
He had killed his mother and father. Their screams and pleas for mercy unheard. And Earlston. He was innocent of those murders, though he had killed some other couple. In a robbery gone wrong, as the police had said. He, Daniel, had killed them all. And then the ritual. The demon he had summoned in his sleep was not Dastur. The stearine was fresh. The wind must have flipped the pages. It was Mabostros. The Liberator of souls. An overwheling sense of understanding and peace came upon him. Daniel saw it all. All this time he had been denying it. His mad quest had not been one of avenging his parents. He had tried to find the truth of himself. The dreams had not just been dreams. They had shown him his true self. Daniel looked up at the apparition which now stood right in front of him. Its dancing shroud of shadows gently touching him. The demon had called him by his true name the whole time.
"Liberation wrack thine soul... Danjeel. You are whole"
Mabostros touched his forehead and a searing pain rushed through him like lightning.
His skin burned and fell off of him in singed and bloody droves. Yet despite the gory mass of flesh, bones and intestine falling to the floor he managed to stand up.
A clarity he had never known came to his mind as he watched the strange body emerging beneath his old. Something blocked his sight. He pressed his hand aginst his face and as if in a dream it came off.
He threw it away and stared at it in disbelief. The eyes had melted and been reduced to a liquid which had poured down from the sockets. Its empty sockets stared at him. When he shook his head the skull cracked and fell apart. Landing into the wet mess on the floor. Now he knew.
He was Daanjel. The demon Daanjel.
Short story by Rex Panthera
Read 763 times
Written on 2011-05-20 at 01:29
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Soul-searching
..."I know the truth", Daniel backed away from the apparition on quivering legs.
Its shrouded form did not move, but its gaze kept pursuing him. He almost fell over a desk as he bumped into it.
"You're not real, never was, I... I made you", his voice was unsteady. Daniel felt as though his throat was going numb with fear as he spoke. The apparition remained. Wasn't it supposed to disappear, he thought. He knew the truth. This so-called patron saint of the insane, this thing, wasn't real. It was supposed to be the fantasy brought on by trauma. A figment of imagination, a legend created by the people of Ravensfield. But it didn't go away. And it seemed stronger now than ever before. More real. Cold sweat began to gather and form droplets in his face and back. Was he already lost beyond return?
"Why am I still here then, Daniel?". It pronounced his name as Daanjel, in its murky voice that seemed to shift between emanating from somewhere deep below and high above him.
"Daniel...", its voice suddenly seemed to whisper in his ear even though it had not moved.
Daniel was hyperventilating and his facial musculature was going numb. Fear raced through his frantic mind.
"Thus the hand shall see, the ear shall smell and the eyes touch the firmament of Hell
And comst the glow, the ashen veil, thine lantern and thine nighting sail..."
"No, no, no, NOOO!!", Daniel clutched his head in his hands as he slumped down the wall.
"Cast off thine flesh, ride the waves
Without anchor upon the graves..."
He had killed his mother and father. Their screams and pleas for mercy unheard. And Earlston. He was innocent of those murders, though he had killed some other couple. In a robbery gone wrong, as the police had said. He, Daniel, had killed them all. And then the ritual. The demon he had summoned in his sleep was not Dastur. The stearine was fresh. The wind must have flipped the pages. It was Mabostros. The Liberator of souls. An overwheling sense of understanding and peace came upon him. Daniel saw it all. All this time he had been denying it. His mad quest had not been one of avenging his parents. He had tried to find the truth of himself. The dreams had not just been dreams. They had shown him his true self. Daniel looked up at the apparition which now stood right in front of him. Its dancing shroud of shadows gently touching him. The demon had called him by his true name the whole time.
"Liberation wrack thine soul... Danjeel. You are whole"
Mabostros touched his forehead and a searing pain rushed through him like lightning.
His skin burned and fell off of him in singed and bloody droves. Yet despite the gory mass of flesh, bones and intestine falling to the floor he managed to stand up.
A clarity he had never known came to his mind as he watched the strange body emerging beneath his old. Something blocked his sight. He pressed his hand aginst his face and as if in a dream it came off.
He threw it away and stared at it in disbelief. The eyes had melted and been reduced to a liquid which had poured down from the sockets. Its empty sockets stared at him. When he shook his head the skull cracked and fell apart. Landing into the wet mess on the floor. Now he knew.
He was Daanjel. The demon Daanjel.
Short story by Rex Panthera
Read 763 times
Written on 2011-05-20 at 01:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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