Fearful Day: Voices of Hell Prequel Read online

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  This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.

  Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing

  Text Copyright 2014 held by CHBB Publishing and the Individual Authors

  Edited by CLS Editing

  Cover by CLS Designs in conjunction with Amanda and Troy Krieger

  Visit www.catherinestovall.webs.com for more info on the author

  FEARFUL DAY

  Voices of Hell Prequel

  BY

  Catherine Stovall

  More From Author Catherine Stovall

  Arcana: The Maiden

  Faire Eve

  Condemned to Die: The Death Eater Series: Book One

  Destined to Live: The Death Eater Series: Book One

  Cogs in Time Anthology

  Rise of the Goddess Anthology

  Tales of the Fairy Anthology

  Stolen: Requiem of Humanity: Book 1

  Reborn: Requiem of Humanity: Book 2

  Eternity: Requiem of Humanity: Book 3

  Bloody Freedom in Broken Mirrors, Fractured Minds Anthology

  I Am Freak in Cirque D’obscure Anthology

  Acknowledgements:

  A special thanks to Mia Lynn Conley for her work as my amazing cover model, the RRR group for making this possible and encouraging me, Amanda and Troy Krieger for their exquisite photography skills, and all the many people that have helped me along this journey.

  From the lightning in the sky

  As it pass'd me flying by---

  From the thunder and the storm,

  And the cloud that took the form

  (When the rest of Heaven was blue)

  Of a demon in my view.

  ~ Edgar Allen Poe

  Fearful Day

  Fearful day, hateful moment, and no one cares. Listen closely to the unspoken words that Hell sings and you will know what is to come. The demons will dance in the firelight, the darkness will call from the shadows, and no one cares. The people throw words at me like psychosis, phobia, dementia, and hallucination. They talk to me, but I don’t talk back anymore. They stick me with their needles and run scans on my brain. I don’t fight anymore, but I am not a willing subject. When he comes back for me, he will show them I am not crazy. They will die, as all nonbelievers do. They will lie screaming in pools of blood, trying to shield their eyes from the horrific vision. He will annihilate them all.

  I was filled with excitement the morning of my thirteenth birthday. I wore my favorite jeans and a pretty new top my mother had bought just for the occasion. My long blonde hair, oh how I miss it, hung in a perfect ponytail down my back. I was not too tall or too short. I was neither fat nor skinny. I had many friends. I was a happy, well-adjusted little girl. I was also blind, like everyone else around me. None of us could see beyond our pathetic delusions. We lived in our mundane world of normalcy, and the only boogiemen existed on TV. Angels and devils were discussed at Sunday school, but everyone knew they didn’t walk among us.

  The day started out normal, but ended in hatred and pain. My mother and father took me out for breakfast. Relishing the sticky sweetness of childhood and youth, I devoured a stack of pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream. We spent the morning in bliss, posing without conscious thought to our own pretentious behavior, for the entire world to admire.

  By midafternoon, purple streamers and balloons decorated our house. The grand two-story ranch with manicured lawns and flawless trim suited my family well. On the outside, we were picture perfect. No one would ever see the paint peel or the shutters fall from the hinges. Inside, all the rooms were clean and presentable, as long as no one looked too far into the closets or beneath the living room sofa. My family was a well-oiled and socially accepted object of envy.

  My party was wonderful. All my friends and family came, and I received piles of gifts. We danced and ate cake. We sang and we danced some more. At last, the perfect day turned dim, and it was time to say goodbye to the guests. I felt like a princess climbing the stairs to my room as my parents followed, bearing armloads of shiny new things. A perfect day fit for a perfect girl in a perfect family.

  I went to bed in my favorite old T-shirt and fuzzy, green frog socks. The heaps of pastel pink covers kept me warm and comfortable. I fell asleep remembering the happy moments of the day like butterflies gliding through my head. I was secure in my safety, in love with my life, and happy to be just a thirteen-year-old girl. If someone had asked me in those last few seconds before closing my eyes, I would have said that my life could never be any better.

  As I slept, menial things representing joy filled my dreams. I do not recall exactly what they were now. It’s been so long. I only remember it being another perfect night at the end of a perfect day in my perfect life. I was a dandelion fluff floating on the winds of delusion and child naiveté—until he came.

  I woke to see him standing beside my bed. The scream that formed in my throat drowned in fear the instant my mouth fell open. I tried to skitter away, but he was too fast. Snagging me by the hair, the intruder pulled me to him. His hand clamped down on my mouth, and I could taste the salt of my own blood as my lips mashed against my teeth. Tears streamed in hot trickles down my cheeks and I fought to breathe. Panic and pure adrenaline fueled my resistance.

  He made quiet little shushing noises in my ear, while his fist stayed wrapped tight in my hair. The tugging sent searing pain through my scalp, and his large hand pressed even tighter across my face as I whimpered. His voice was low and husky, his breathing around his words heavy with anticipation of what he would soon do.

  I was shocked when he asked, “Do you believe in God?”

  Unable speak with the pressure of his hand nearly breaking my jaw, I nodded yes.

  His breath was hot against my skin as he quietly laughed. His next question came with his lips brushing my ear. “Do you believe in the devil?”

  I knew I was going die. I sobbed and struggled, but he held me tighter. Letting go of my hair, the stranger wrapped his arm around my waist. He yanked me hard against him and squeezed me so tight that my sobs were cut off. I couldn’t breathe, I could no longer fight, and I was paralyzed by his strength and my fear.

  His words came again, “Do you believe in the devil?”

  I nodded yes again, my vision growing blurry from lack of oxygen and the tears that never ceased. I stared directly ahead of me, watching our dark reflections in the mirror on my vanity. I still couldn’t see his face, but I could see our outlines as they began to twist and meld. Two massive black wings seemed to sprout from his back and hover as if preparing to wrap us both inside. I blinked furiously, trying to clear away the tears, but the wings remained.

  He spoke, but his words ran together in my frightened mind. The terror would not allow me to understand. It sounded as if he prayed or chanted. My world filled with words upon words, hot breath on my skin, and rough flesh crushing my own. My eyes fluttered open and shut.

  The walls bubbled and bled thick peels of blackness and helplessness overcame me. I couldn’t stop him, or the shadows, as they slithered and slid from their places beyond the light to gather on my bed. They pooled in a swarming mass, covering the once pink comforter in a thick fog of blackness. Revulsion filled me, forcing me to clamped down on the sickness, afraid to vomit.

  I tried to flee. I kne
w he would hurt me, but I became more afraid of the living shadows than the monster that held me. I jerked away as hard as I could and felt a painful snap in my side. I almost managed to wrench myself from his grip, but he caught me by the back of the neck. In one violent and angry motion, he threw me onto the bed, the shadows wailing as my body sank through them.

  The impact forced the air out of my lungs and my broken rib flared in agony. I tried to scream for my mother, but no sound came. The shadows flowed into my open mouth, filling the space where the air should have been. They ate my words and agonizing moans in feverish gulps. I was gagging, choking, and flailing. I felt the weight of his body press hard against me. The shadows clung to him as he covered my mouth with his hand again.

  He pressed his face inches from mine, his leering grin belonging in a macabre cartoon. His teeth were large and perfect, as if they were painted on or part of a mask. Ebony wings blocking the light from the street lamp outside the window, the monster became the only thing I could see.

  The shadows fed from him, hanging from his skin like giant leaches and gorging themselves on the evil permeating his presence. As they covered his face, the skin of the man began to peel away, revealing the beast within. The sight of his true nature was terrifying and tragic, beautiful and grotesque.

  He removed his hand from my mouth and pressed it to my throat, the sharp edges of his talons digging into my flesh. When he spoke, the duality of his tone scraped the edges of my brain. Another voice, one with a much deeper and haunting timber, now echoed the whisper I had heard moments before.

  “I am the demon. I am the seer. You are my chosen, my vessel. I have come for you, a virgin bride of Christ, so that you may be a prophet for the other side. Learn through me of your future and of all those who sleep beneath God’s great eye.”

  He forced my mouth open and bent his heads inches from my lips, breathing the darkness that filled him into me. It swelled and pressed against the mortal limits of my flesh. The burning and searing hurt swallowed my perfect world. The stabbing pain cut into my chest as if he had pierced me with a flaming sword. The agony filled my entire body as I fought to move, scream, or perhaps even pray. In silence, I wept as his talons dug into my throat, stifling any sound I tried to utter.

  He rose above me once again, watching me cry in sobbing gasps. His forked tongue stretched impossibly long, a black snake licking away my tears and the blood from where he had punctured the tender flesh of my neck. His hands were human once again when his fingers closed my lids as if I were a dearly departed friend. I shivered and gasped, but did not open my eyes. Falling into the unconscious wasteland that awaited me, I knew I could not stop the progression.

  What he did to my body in those few tormenting and endless moments was nothing compared to what he showed me in my dreams. I walked through a valley of corpses, split in half by a river of blood. I knew he had caused the mass annihilation that surrounded me. I knew I looked upon the future of mankind. All living things would come to rest in the barren and bloody necropolis.

  I tried to utter the old prayer, the 23rd Psalm, but the words died on my lips. I could not force them beyond the thoughts in my head, so I repeated the words in my mind as I walked on. Each time I saw the tormented face of a child protruding from the mass graves of millions, I shivered and wept. I saw what I was meant to see, but I couldn’t understand why the demon had chosen me as his vessel. I was a child lost in Hell with no guide. One of God’s lambs led to slaughter.

  He stood on a plateau overlooking the valley. The burning sky shined bright behind him, casting his shadow on the ground before me. My eyes rose to look up at him, and I took in the bloody glory of my master.

  His words echoed through the corpse-ridden gorge, “You will be the crier of my deeds. You will go from here and tell the world of what you have seen. When I return, you will be spared the Hell that all others succumb to. You are the innocent, and your tale shall be one of death and revenge. Pray they heed you, or all shall die.”

  When I woke, it was in a hospital. My mother hovered protectively over me, her tears falling on my face as she talked in a soothing voice. She told me it was over and I was safe. It seemed people surrounded me with endless questions, but when I told them the answers they didn’t want to hear, they turned from me. Disdain and ridicule filled their eyes as they pronounced that I had gone crazy, another statistic fallen to demise. Demons did not walk the Earth to torment little girls.

  The police were frustrated when I could not give them a description. They had no suspect. The doctors at the hospital were confounded because I was the worst case of trauma to enter into their wards. My parents were frightened and ashamed because their perfect little girl became defective. They locked me away in a barren, cold place for my own safety and their selfish need to uphold their social status. The children suffer for the sins of the father and mother.

  That was ten years ago today. I was thirteen then, and now I am twenty-three. It is my birthday. I wear ugly faded green hospital scrubs and paper slippers. My long blonde hair is gone, cut short in an uneven and shaggy bowl. The staff hacked it away long ago when I refused to brush it until it shined with beauty. I no longer want to be beautiful. I am not too tall or too short. I am far from fat. In fact, I have grown thin and gaunt without the proper nutrition to meet the needs of my body and from the excessive medication.

  Here I have no friends. I am a miserable, disheartened, and disillusioned woman. My endless days are spent confined to lukewarm colors and the prodding of scrub-clad wardens who hate what I am or pity what I once was. I have awaited his return in both fear and longing. I am no longer blind like everyone else around me. I see beyond the world of the living and the light. Angels and demons walk among us, and they are waiting for you when you close your eyes.

  I tried to be his vessel. I tried to cry out the truth. I told them all that they would die. They could have stopped his coming. They only needed to turn away from their selfishness, their vanity, and their idols made of gold and diamonds. They only had to embrace the light, and he would have kept his darkness from them. After all, that is why he chose me. The perfection on Earth that I lived within was a sin against the ethereal, no one person should lay claim to Heaven without Hell.

  They did not listen. They locked me away. Now, he will come again.

  Fearful day, hateful moment, and no one cares. Listen closely to the unspoken words that Hell sings and you will know what is to come. The demons will dance in the firelight, the darkness will call from the shadows, and no one cares. Today is the day he will come again. The shadows are already coming alive. The slender black creatures come and go from my room. They crawl on the faces of the other patients and the staff. They wiggle their way into the eyes of the nurse. I see them, but no one else does.

  Blinded by their own security in their right to life, the fools continue with their day. Even the ones who lack the state of mind to function in a normal society are deaf to him. I hear his heavy footsteps in the hall. I can smell the fire and reeking corpses from the valley from which he travels. I feel him in every fiber of my body.

  I sit in my little room, on my little bed, and stare out the little window with the large bars and metal screens. The sun is slipping slowly down the horizon. With each inch, the shadows stretch their bodies longer. They yearn to grasp flesh, to rip and tear at it as they once did mine. The first screams echo off the cold walls in the long dormitory. These are not the screams of the manic or deranged. These tormented wails are uttered from the dying lips of an innocent at the hands of a monster.

  One by one, he will destroy them. Raping, mutilating, reaping, and murdering innocent and guilty with no judgment or discern. I wonder what he will do when he finds me. Will he keep his word? Will he leave me locked in this cage or will he set me free?

  I am afraid, but at least I know my fear. They know nothing because they have all been blind. They will only know him once his outer shell is sucked away by the greedy mouths of the shadow leac
hes.

  The screams are louder and there are many. I am trembling and I am afraid. Yet, I record this moment for anyone who might be left. I am not crazy. I am not just a victim or another sad lunatic raving of Heaven and Hell. I am a survivor of the evil that destroys those who closed their hearts to a child’s voice.

  The nonbelievers shall see the truth as he rips their souls from their useless bodies. I, alone, escape death. I do not see this as a blessing.

  His steps come closer. The shadows flow into the room like a great tidal wave of slithering black slugs, thick with the blood of his victims. The thick metal door is locked, but he needs no key to open it. He stands in all his menacing glory in the buzzing fluorescent lights beyond him.

  I try to shield my face. I do not want to look upon the demon.

  The shadows inch up my legs and around my waist. I do not move, despite the terrible slick and heavy slithering across my skin. Suddenly, I am in his arms. My body is fully swathed in the shadow creatures, a mummy wrapped in its ceremonial rags. He forces my chin up with the sharp talons that once bit deep into my young flesh.

  I can’t fight it any longer. Seeing the monster is somehow less frightening than standing within his grasp and not knowing what is in his eyes. When I look into his handsome face, his own black orbs burrow deep within me.

  I stutter, “You… you… promised.”

  His voice is the whisper of duality, a voice-over from the seventh circle of Hell, “I shall keep my promise. You were my vessel, my crier, my siren. It is not your fault that fools do not hear the words of the child. I shall grant you what I promised.”

  The tears slipped from my eyes. Grief for the lost child I had been, and relief that I shall live and be free, fill me. Yet, something inside me tugs at that relief. It wants to pull it away. The demon is not releasing me. He is not granting me my freedom. Something in his promise is wrong. Something that my child’s mind misread and my battered adult psyche could not grasp, still hangs in the air.