Demon Story

Did I mention I write stories too? Well I don’t do so actively, but I do love writing. If any of you have read the Demonata or any of Darren Shan’s other works then you will notice a certain similarity between the writing styles. Anyways, please comment and,  more importantly, enjoy

→THE COLD NOVEMBER AIR cuts my skin as soon as I open the front door to the town house in which I live. I brace the cold and step out into the morning outside. My slender build helps in sports but is not optimal for the cold of winter  and late autumn. “Its cold, close the door!”, I hear from upstairs, my mother seldom wakes up this early and would rather keep warm. I close the door and set off into the early fog which so often descends upon our city. 

I walk at a brisk pace, trying to combat the relentless cold which has already began to seep into my bones. The walk to school isn’t especially long, however, long enough that by the time I reach the foreboding building, I was pink faced from the cold and glad to be inside.

I always come to school early, that way I have time to chat with friends and on countless occasions finish up the days homework. As I walk over to the our usual hangout, beside my locker, I recall today’s schedule. “Today’s first block is…” I groan out loud at the thought of spending an hour and a half reading old English, written by our teacher’s favorite author, Mark Twain. Now don’t get me wrong, its not that he isn’t a great author, he is, its the pain of trying to discern the old English words and the constantly changing regional tongues Twain so often uses. The teacher isn’t of much help either. She is an old aged women, very strict and severe on rule breaking, she is not one to agitate. She has a slow way of talking and seams to talk to her self or the board, instead of the students. Putting thoughts of the “hag”, as she is known by her students, aside, I walk over to my friends and chat about regular teenage needs, complaints and problems. The warning bell rings ten minutes before hell starts, and we all grab our school bags and make our way down the hall, to English class. 

The class starts, as it always does, exactly on time. Right when the bell rings, the teacher faces the board and starts her tedious monologue. We file into the class quietly, Mrs Williams is used to us coming late yet still scowls at our lateness. She ignores us and we take our usual spots, as far away from the “hag” as possible. We sit in tables of two, a pair of students to each table. To my right sits my best friend Pierre. He’s half French and very proud of that part of his family. We’ve been friends since before middle school, gotten into but a few real fights yet never stop arguing. We fashion our selves a good pair of debaters, only problem is we almost always argue amongst ourselves instead of the opposition. 

To my left sit two girls, one being very pretty and having an oriental look to her, the other, sitting to my immediate left, is in a constant state of depression, which does not help with the desperate boredom of this class. I’ve had a crush on the former for a long time, and often think I stand some sort of chance. So far, no luck. I turn my attention from the important aspect of my life, females, and instead focus on more rants about how life was back in Mrs. Williams day, and how iPods and Xbox’s are killing the youths interest for true “entertainment”…the class is usually spent dozing or doodling on the side of my page on my part, and today is no different. I’ll just snap out my dreaming as soon  as the bell rings…

→A scream of absolute terror awakens me quite brutally leaving my mind in a jumble. I pause to gather my thoughts, and after a few seconds of trying to remember where I was and why I was so bored, I glance around the class, searching for the source of the piercing shriek. The class is frozen, and staring out into the hall from their seats, unsure of what to expect. What could have possibly caused such a loud, fearful sound? Surely an “F” could not be taken that badly. Everyone seamed quite tense, but as the seconds rolled by slowly, the class became slightly reanimated. A whisper passed around the class, all asking the same question. Unbeknownst of the horrifying answer.

The teacher coughed her disapproval at such a waste of a few minutes and almost began her monologue when she was cut short by a red figure which came crashing into the class. It ran for a few seconds, dashing madly through the class and, as if losing all life, hit the floor hard, splattering the nearby chairs and students in blood. It is a tall figure, of medium build and a brutally slashed up face, leaving blood all down the man’s chest and head. The misfortunate victim of who ever could have done this flopped on the floor like a mutilated fish out of water, and froze, leaving the class in a trance of fear, which was soon broken by a scream followed by a volley of other peoples shrill, fearful wails. A few students vomited, seeing the bloody figure at the base of an already large puddle of blood. The room is filled with the rancid smells of blood and vomit, and the sounds of thirty students who we’re yelling, and we’re scared shitless. 

The figure truly is the definition of massacre. Resembling something from Saw and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Face no longer existent, reduced to a shredded load of skin that is positioned at the front of one’s head. The face, however, is merely the most visible wound. I am now astounded at how this man got so far, considering his intestines are ripped open and lying in long, gruesome strings on the floor, marking his desperate run. I vomit at and the thought and double over to dry heave right after. 

Blood is still flowing freely from the multiple wounds, pooling up, covering more and more area, dying student’s shoes and causing more vomiting. Bloody trails are visible were he made his final dash and his innards spilled out. The scarlet pathway could lead us straight to the killer. “Or the killer, to more prey.” 

I’m not the first to be hit by this realization but definitely one of the first to act on it. I stand up sharply, and suddenly feel my own blood rushing to my head, I stumble forward trying to leave the room, find help and, if it comes to it, save myself. On my way out I look back at my friends, whom I may never see anymore, which is why im saving myself. I am a coward, I didn’t think I could do something like this, but you never know exactly what a coward you are until it’s you’re own ass on the line. 

Some other students are standing up and trying to get out, most however, are saying we should lock the door and pretend to not exist. We’ve practiced lockdowns before, but that was with mildly swearing teachers banging on the doors, this is a blood thirsty killer. Ignoring my friend’s calls I regain control of my body and make my way out the door with a few others. I turn my head left to see the bloody tracks left by the first victim of this morning. The first, but not the last. 

Following the intestine strewn path with my eyes I see something that makes me freeze, heart pounding louder then the screams of my class mates but a minute earlier. It was no man that murdered that poor man. It is a monster. A twisted creature, unlike anything natural, evil to the very core. A thin layer of semitransparent skin is stretched across its large, disfigured body. My eyes dart between its many limbs sticking out at obtrusive angles, none human or of any animal, just mutated extremities ending in sharp, crimson covered claws or simply mutilated stumps. The over all form of a hairless spider it has a head sticking out an odd angle, quite small for its large body. The fangs set in rows on rows inside the mouth, however, correspond almost perfectly to the size of this hellish beast’s body.

Directly beneath it lies the corpse of a young child, head missing, no doubt clawed off by this demon. The, thing catches sight of me and lets out a shrill sound like that of a falcon when it sights its prey. A red glint in the monsters extremely large eyes passes quickly and the monster parts its jaws slightly revealing the head of the very child that is under it, a horrified and very bloody facial expression is all I see before the monster spits out the snack and goes after a juicer fly to munch on. ME! 

Liked it? Wanna read chapter 2? you can do so here.