Night of the Demons

I remember it all so well. It was a dark, stormy night. Angry winds raged outside as though the apocalypse was around the corner. The sky was getting rent apart by sharp spears of lightning. The thunderous roll of savage clouds seemed like the beating of monstrous drums in the heavens.

I still remember the newsflash on the radio that everyone dismissed as a hoax, a prank to add to the terror of that dreadful night.

“This is an emergency announcement. All citizens are requested to gather at the Town Hall.
The demons have come to town and solicit your presence for a night of communion.
Please be there at midnight. Beware all those who do not oblige. We will come and get you!”

Most of us laughed, some were scared, but none wanted to go. Except me. I believed the broadcast. It terrified me, the consequences of not going. When the clock struck twelve, I stood at the Town Hall, drenched and shivering both from cold and from fear.

I do not know how many but they were there. With soft jelly-like faces, their pale doughy flesh hanging in lumps from their skulls, they were loathsome to behold. When the slanting moonlight fell on them, it illuminated the moist gleam on their skin. And their smile, framed by piercing white canines, glittered like alien jewels in the flickering rays of the moon, making my heart shudder with an emotion that try as I will, fail to translate into words.

When they saw me, their faces glowed like phosphorescent balls of blobs in the dark. They crawled towards me, their limbs squirming with the sinuous grace of venomous vipers. As they came closer, I felt the serpent chill of their nearness, and their fang-like grin stiffened my already frozen body with the biting reek of long-forgotten crypts of yore.

They were true to their announcement. The communion ensued, though I was the only one present. Only what communion implied was different, more literal. The ordeal did not kill me. When it was over, I had become one of them. A demon of the darkness.

So we went out into the tempestuous night to get the ones who did not turn up. And we were true to our words. One by one, we broke down the doors and made them pay for not complying. Their price was to be devoured alive. To be randomly ripped apart, to be slowly shredded, to be frightfully fragmented into pitiful pieces. Their flesh was our feast; their blood was our wine, and the whole town was our banquet.

When the dawn broke, and the day tore into the skies, the entire town was laid to waste. Not a door was left standing, and not a person left breathing. The world called it an act of God, a natural disaster. Only I know the truth.

And you judge me for what I have become? You would not if you loved life as much as I did.

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Beryl Zephyr

An occasional writer but a regular thinker, Beryl sometimes fiddles in speculative fiction. He sees both humour and tragedy in everyday events and is extremely concerned with the fate of other creatures trapped in the monstrous march of 21st-century human civilization.

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