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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

the ordeal between two friends and not such a hippie being. inspired by the work of George Bacovia, Romanian symbolist poet.
PS: i'm sorry this looks like a pile-of-crap wall of text, if someone can and is willing to help me make it look more readable please pm me

The walls began to shiver and a damp stench of sulphur tickled his nose. He quickly watched at his cuckoo clock and saw the midnight approaching. Knowing he was rapidly growing out of time he ducked to the nearest shelter he could find and began to pray uninterrupted and with such a vigor that his life essence was poured into those very words he shouted with faith. As the ground shook, a terrible sound emananted from above him, the kind of sound that brings horror into your essence just by listening to it. As he went on and on with his protection prayer he mistakenly left his door unlocked, just enough for the evil to pass thru and he was too fearstruck to notice this, thus slowly the sound approached him, with big, precise footsteps until there was no sound, just a forced breathing, the kind you only encounter in hospitals where the plague's pacients are treated. He was simply horrified to just open his eyes or stop repeating his prayer but he did felt an even more unsettling presence staning right next to him boreing heavy breath upon his face with such intensity that he felt parts of his hair move at the impact of air.

When he realised there's no escape from such a situation he began to pray louder and louder hoping his piousness would be observed by the Creator and he would send him help to defend him of such a terrible, hellborn foe. Just as he began to lose hope and the monster was reaching for his throat, the door cracked a little bit and a voice carried over the corridors of his house, finally reaching him and the beast that harrassed him; "Silor, are you there? Have you forgotten about our meeting?".

As the words reached his ears the terrible being heard them too and fled without much noise, breaking one of the windows in his wake. His friend was visiting him, as they usually have a casual drink and a glass of old tales before the week starts as they are both lonely men unaffected by the mistress of love and hate, young and talented, yet tested. He was so glad to see his friend, he immediately jumped to him and gave him a long bear hug as he saw him as a guardian angel, a protector sent by the Creator in his time of dire need to safeguard him against the beast. Debating the probabilty of him being drunk and the wierdness of the cracked window, his friend decided to calm him down the best way he could and offered to bring him some "medicinal" herbs from the apothecary, as he was working there as a clerk.

Rolis was always worried for his friend as he had shown mild signs of dementia and paranoia but never had he thought Silor would be so affected by them. By 2 o'clock, Rolis took his rain-soaked coat and left the premises to reach for his home. Still affected by the happenings, Silor withdrew to his personal chamber and began to thinker about what had happened to him as his friend ensurred him that there was no such thing as a third party in the room and the blood in the glass shards from the broken windows was his probably from a drunk slip-up. He slowly poured some whiskey and began to sip firmly, to tap into his taste. This was his medicine for the most part, for his misery and dementia, he always drank whiskey to remind him of the first glass he shared with his father, whom passed away. His old man was such an inspiration for the boy that his death at the fragile age of 17 was a real shock for him. As an inheritance, he got his father's manor, a big yet modestly decorated hostel for arts students who are, for the most part, really broke.

He knew all the tenants but one, whom he never met, living in the floor right above him. He had overheard an argue between his father and this misterious individual months before he passed away and felt a strong urge to investigate but his death proved too much for Silor and he succumbed into the ways of alcohol, using this escape to mask his sadness.

As the night passed he felt more and more at ease with the situation, finally convincing himself that Rolf was right and he had just another dementia dream, but somehow it felt so real, that deep down inside him, in his inner core he knew he was right. He felt something out of this world, an preternatural being that gazed upon him and yet unable to logically explain this to himself he tried to forget the incident.

Silor managed to get a grip of himself and went for a long, refreshing walk along the boardwalk and with his every breath, he let in hope and ignorance, departing further and further from the strange ordeal. He even made a trip to his friend at the drugstore who gave him some special herbs to calm him down, said to be the root of all truth. And Rolf was so glad to see him well and smiling that promised he'd drop by when he close shop for a drink or two, to share some loneliness.

As Silor spent the rest of his day in town, medding different family affairs and trying to reinvent himself, dusk slowly began to settle in and another deep, unsettling feeling began to rest upon him. He thought of it as no more that a simple tireness and shrug it off by the time he got home. Upon his arrival everything was smooth and things seemed like could turn the right way and he could finally move on from his dreams and maybe try his luck with a girl he had a knack for, so it happened she was one of the tenants.

He prepared a nice, warm chair and some whiskey in his glass, so he could try the herb his friend recommended. As he sat there, inhaling smoke by smoke he began to have less and less worries for the surrounding world and started seeing things he had never thought to gaze. The devil in the form of whiskey, a shadow demon in the aspect of a cigarette and a fallen angel as a lamp; this shooked him to the very core, this images being very vivid and real to the untrained eye. Yet as he stood and admired in awe these hellish landscapes, he slowly forgot the notion of time and before he could do anything to prevent it, the cuckoo clock rang again, signaling the dreaded midnight, the hour when the human soul is the most vulnerable to interactions from the surreal world of demons and angels. Yet this time, he did not felt the urge to duck into a corner and shout prayers, as he began to see a strange, black cloud emmanating from the ceiling. He was so stupified by what he saw that he did not perceive the difference between the herb's visions and his own, real images. The odd cloud began moving slowly towards different edges of the room, in a well organised manner and with a precise trajectory. When the cloud stopped, his eyes bounced to a passing fly that was disturbing him for a long time and again bouncing to a sheet of paper. As he reached for it, he realized some drawings were there, seemingly as he experienced this dream before and noted the beast's movement. Obviously, this was no vision offered by the "truth" herb, but a real and outworld experience regarding the beast that was haunting him for such a time. As soon as he realized this, he jumped to his feet and began to walk in straight lines, closely resembling a pentagram, known also as Temopab's horns.

Once completing the pentagram, he felt his whole attire being vacuumed into the center of the star, slowly whirlpooling to another plane of existence. His heart rate was out of control, so was his breath and this so much gave him away to the beast upstairs and the demon rushed towards his room with great haste. But this time, it was not only a fight between a demon and a human in the unseen, human world, this was a fullout battle in the realm of hell, where the demon finally revealed it's image; a large, hulking shadow with, deep, thick smoke layers dipping on the floor as he left an acid, black matter wherever he stepped. His eyes were coated in red and black, with a deepness to suck the most righteouss soul and with arms and legs twisted so much that a man would be considered crippled in in the normal world. His chest, bursting with pitch-black flames that seemed to engulf even the most brightest fire in the abyss-like blackness, resembling only the darkness of an abanoss tree.

Finally realising that indeed his fears were real and that he was not suffering dementia but tapping into another universe, he got the courage to call the beast out to a duel, as he was both tired of running and thought to avenge his father's death, somehow linked to this beast. The beast responded in a calm, imposing matter further giving Silor chills down the spine and lunged at him with his arms and claws in full air waiting to depart human flesh of the bone. In a the flash of a second, his life rolled before his eyes and saw his father in heavens, whom was not so glad to see him, and urged him to have the will to live, something he never had. And in that exact split second, he managed to evade the beast's attack and gained now a bit of confidente that he can defeat the demon. As the continued to dodge the attacks, he ran for the study where he his father's hunting rifle was stashed, alongside some huge oar horns. As he reached for the weapon, he once again saw his father for a split second and decided this battle was worth fighting for, if not for him but for the sake of his father and his legacy. So he hastenly grabbed the rifle and fired two shots at the beast who was wounded and somewhat showing sings of weakness but still not defeated. He took cover for a second to reload, hoping the beast would not recover so quick but there it was, the demon in his full might ready to thrust his claws to Silor's chest. He roared so hard that even the beast took a split-second decision and delayed his attacks by just the tiny time needed for Rolf to enter the room and fire his rifle. As he saw the beast shaking in weakness, he kicked the beast into the oar decoration so hart that fragments of the black acid touched his chest deeply wounding him.

As he was downed and could not stand on his feet after such a battle, he felt a close and warming feeling about this and hoped things would go better now that his father was avenged. Reaching for his friend's Rolf hands, all he got was a barrel to his temple and a cold, deafening sound quickly blew into his ears and in a matter of seconds his vision started to blacken, feeling his vision being drawn to the skies. Beginning to struggle and shake violently, he was soothed by the touch of a much older skin than his. Slowly rolling his eyes over, he saw his father in distance and embraced him with much love and the two shared a long, silent moment in which neither of them spoke yet the link between them was better than a thousand words.

So Silar finally found peace and love, not precisely what he was expecting but nevertheless, he did not felt alone anymore and found a place where he could be safe and with a parental figure to guide him.

As for the traitorous Rolf, well, he was not much of a backstabber after all. He was the Creator himself, hearing the payers of Silor, decided to finally give him some rest and reunite him with his father, in a way, well, not most would expect.

Submitted: April 26, 2012

© Copyright 2022 crusad3r. All rights reserved.

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