The Haunting Lessons: 1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare a Demon War (The Ghosts & Demons Series)

by Robert Chazz Chute

  Tridents, I thought. Like Neptune.

  Flames lit the hole that had been the library window. Two demons, their skin shining a radiant blue, appeared together. The pair roared, their words echoing off the Keep’s walls in unison. “We are Gog and Magog!”

  Lesson 72: Never underestimate your enemy. Most demons are physically strong and they have the uncanny ability to make your heart race. They smell fear just as dogs do and, unlike ghosts, you can never get used to them. They smell like cabbage and dirty feet (and most do, in fact, go barefoot.)

  They are of varied races, but you’ll rarely see a short one or, thank god, a child demon. Some have horns that look like antlers and others have no horns at all. Perhaps because of where they come from, they don’t mind the heat and hate the cold.

  Demons can laugh, and often do, but they rarely laugh at anything we’d find funny. Usually it’s derisive laughter at the suffering and humiliation of others. They look upon humans as cattle to be slaughtered. If one of them took a liking to a human, the friendship would be fleeting since they bore easily. Though curious about us, we are inferior animals in their eyes.

  Their curiosity about our world seems to be limited to our food and music. We know they enjoy our alcoholic beverages, architecture and war machines. Mostly, they’re all about the conquering.

  When the two blue demons appeared, there was no follow up to, “We are Gog and Magog!”

  Lesson 73: Demons are not big on speeches.

  The first demons to jump into the courtyard killed several members of the Choir where they lay dazed from the explosion. The red monsters stuck their tridents through our members’ backs and twisted as they pulled the barbed blades away. Their weapons dripped with blood and gore.

  I saw several of the largest of our men rush at the demons. They only had wooden practice swords, but they did not use their weapons as swords. They held the bokkens at each end and pushed up under the monsters’ throats, shoving them back into the courtyard’s stone walls.

  The blessings and prayers of generations of ministers, priests, congregations, nuns and monks still held power. Though the demons towered above the humans, the men managed to pin two against the stone wall. One screamed in anguish and threw off his attackers. The other burst into flames and soon fell by the charred remains of St. Charles.

  The demon who had swept away two grown men in rage was weakened by his contact with the wall. His back smoked and he howled with pain.

  Though battered, three men of the Choir came at the weakened one before more invaders could come to their comrade’s rescue.

  One man slipped behind the monster and went to his hands and knees as two more men threw themselves at the demon’s torso. The evil thing fell backward, tripping over the man on his hands and knees. When the demon’s head hit the Keep’s blessed wall, it split open like a watermelon.

  As soon as more demons hit the ground, they killed the men who had taken their two soldiers. They ripped and tore with their tridents. Demons are sadists. They take their time and pleasure in the slaughter.

  The Choir lost good and brave soldiers in the first minute of the battle for the Keep. However, the red demons’ cruelty did yield one advantage to our side: time. The Choir fled.

  Rory appeared at my side again. “Despite what you said about not knowing when to quit, this is an excellent time to run. Call it a strategic retreat.”

  “Huh?”

  “Go!” Rory pointed to my left, through the west arch of the central courtyard toward the ruins of the church at the base of the bailey.

  The Choir swarmed past me, running from the demon invasion. There were only a dozen of the enemy, but they were formidable. Pitting our wooden practice swords against their tridents was not a winning strategy for us.

  But those in the east courtyard did not practice with swords. The Choir’s archers practiced there. There weren’t many Choir members armed with bows and arrows, but it was soon apparent their steel tips and razor edges were blessed. The archers rushed forward to support our sword section’s retreat to the barracks.

  As the red invaders ran through the circle of training pads, arrows tore through them. Demons bellowed in anguish. Many of the arrows missed. It is not easy to hit a running demon at forty yards, but the flight of arrows loosed on the monsters brought down three.

  That left seven red demons by my count. They all flew at the archers, scattering their ranks. By “flew” I’m not speaking metaphorically. Black, leathery wings concealed in their lumpy backs unfolded and spread wide. The demons scattered our archers, falling on them with swords and tridents.

  I heard the demons laughing. The sound is much like the calls of a murder of angry crows. I thought my heart might stop and, if it did, I would be grateful.

  Some archers survived the attack, but most fell dead. Those who did not die immediately, screamed. The monsters seemed to cherish our anguish and paused, fascinated, before ending the lives of the wounded.

  Another red demon appeared from the library’s ruins, a sword in his fist. It looked directly at me. I felt like I had telescopic vision. It wasn’t possible, I suppose, but in that moment, I could have sworn that, even at that distance, I could see the demon’s yellow eyes narrow as he zeroed in on me. He dropped lightly to the ground and began to run my way.

  All I had was a bokken, but seeing St. Charles die the way he did built my anger higher than my fear could reach. I ran at the red demon. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised.

  36

  I ran as hard as I could. He was huge and covered ground quickly. Had I run from him, he would have taken me down before I got halfway to the ruined church. I would have died screaming, a meal for a demon, within sight of my father’s grave.

  I was almost out of breath when I came at him, screaming a war cry, bokken raised high. The thing laughed at me and my spine went cold. He raised his sword and cut the air in a wide, horizontal arc as I slid on my knees across the wet grass and leaned way back.

  His weapon missed kissing my nose by an inch. Add a few more inches to that and the monster would have hacked my skull in half like a rotten melon. Instead, I rolled up to my feet behind him.

  Before my attacker could turn on me, I sprinted for the nearest pad, just to the right. It was the only training pad that might give me some small advantage: the circle of pipes.

  The space was narrow in that circular forest. I angled my body in as the demon’s roar and his thick blade followed me. He reached in, straining. I thought I was clear of him until, with one savage lunge, he tried to open my throat. The tip of his blade cut my hair short on one side instead.

  As the demon leaned in again, trying to end me, I wriggled away. The taser was no longer at my waist and I’d dropped my helmet in the explosion. All I had was the dull wooden practice sword and the thick cloth belt that had held the taser. I pulled off the belt and, when the demon next tried to cut me with his sword, I wrapped his thick wrist with it.

  He yanked his hand back and my head rang off one of the steel pipes. But I didn’t let go. I wrapped the end of my belt around another pole to gain leverage and hauled on it with all my might. I braced against the steel poles with my legs and used all my weight.

  I heard shots nearby. It was Manhattan, running forward and firing, two-handed. Very John Woo. The monster in my trap shuddered and screamed in rage.

  I prayed Manny’s ammo had been blessed by celibate monks who really were celibate and not faking it. My prayer was answered when I saw the monster’s yellow eyes go wide in pain as the holy rounds burned holes through his torso.

  Manny arrived and stepped too close as I was tying the belt around a pipe. The demon surged and spread his leathery wings, knocking my rescuer off her feet.

  The demon laughed then. I hate the sound of a demon laughing. I picked up my wooden practice sword.

  Lesson 74: Even a dull wooden sword can kill if you shove its tip as deep and as hard as you can through a red demon’s wide yellow eye. The monst
er’s brain is a small target. Press hard and rotate the sword in circles until you find it. Try not to barf. The insides of every demon smells like rotten Brussel sprouts on top of burning electronics.

  My attacker slumped to the ground, one clawed hand still tied to a pipe.

  I ran to Manhattan and pulled her up as she was changing mags on her pistols. The demons across the courtyard were finished with the Choir’s brave archers and soon they would turn their attention to us.

  “I can’t pull off that trick twice.” I said. “We have to get to heavier weapons.”

  We ran for our lives. I’d seen that in movies and heard the phrase a few times. It seemed like a silly cliche. When you really have to run for your life, you worry a lot and you’re pretty sure it’s a race you’re about to lose. Your back feels vulnerable. You try to run faster than your top speed.

  Lesson 75: You cannot, no matter how scared you are, run faster than your top speed just because you are terrified.

  It seemed there was nothing to stop the invaders from reaching the barracks now. Once inside, they would kill all our forces, room by room. Those great wings would knock us off our feet. The tridents would thrust and plunge. Once we were all trapped and crippled, they’d put down their spears and swords. Then they’d use the weapons they were born with. They’d make us into sweetbread pizza by claw and fang.

  The demons didn’t get the chance. Their wide and clear way was across an open courtyard. It was not to be an easy defeat of the Choir. The open courtyard looked like an invitation to the enemy. Instead, it was a field of fire.

  At the sound of the gatling guns, I remembered Victor’s words. “This courtyard is a trap,” he’d told me. “The Oracle says a great battle will take place here, in these courtyards.”

  When Victor mentioned his charms and enchantments, I’d pretty much shrugged it off. I’d been impressed with the power of the lamp of Tighloon, but it was at best a tool and at least a curiosity.

  And, I confess, when Victor had mentioned he had his very own Oracle, all I could think of was the black woman in The Matrix who (spoiler alert!) turned out to be a computer program.

  I pressed against a courtyard wall, transfixed by the sight of the demons shot from the air and falling to the ground like clay pigeons. When I craned my neck, I could see Vlad at the gun in the central tower of the West dividing wall. Victor manned a gatling gun in the East tower. The invaders were caught in a crossfire.

  I thanked God for the Oracle, or, Whoever Is in Charge, anyway. I love science, but magic is often less longwinded in reaching conclusions and solving problems.

  In a few moments, the red invaders were dead. I’d almost forgotten about the blue demons. Gog and Magog flew along the courtyard wall from their station in the library, turned in a tight loop and came up the West dividing wall behind Vlad.

  Before he could turn his gun on them or even draw a blade, the pair of demons seized his arms. They threw the man who could not tell a lie to the ground far below.

  I heard the crack of Vlad’s spine as he hit the concrete. The training pad was a circle of stairs that went nowhere. In a blink, it looked like Vlad Estasia was dying in the middle of an Escher sketch.

  Lesson 76: You don’t hate demons enough.

  37

  Victor told me later that, in Revelation, Gog and Magog symbolize all future enemies of the Kingdom of God.

  I’m not up on my Bible. Mama is a red letter Presbyterian. “I just read the words in red to skim what Jesus said. I assume I got the gist.”

  Interpretations of the Book of Revelation are a labyrinth. I’ve tried to find the way through, but I just get lost. I don’t know about Whoever’s In Charge. However, as Vlad fell, I believed Gog and Magog were surely my enemies. I didn’t just swear to kill the blue demons for murdering Vlad. I swore to obliterate them. If they liked eating humans so much, I thought, maybe it was time to see what blue demon tastes like.

  I didn’t get the chance for vengeance. The bright blue demons roared and soared as the Choir’s reinforcements arrived. From the Keep, fresh soldiers boiled into the archer’s courtyard and rushed to join the fight. They wore the armor of many ages. The Sword Section that had retreated carrying wooden swords returned to the field of battle with guns and swords and crossbows. When I saw them coming, I even believed in angels for a moment.

  One of the monsters, I didn’t know which was which, flew over the bailey and disappeared from sight. The other retreated behind the West courtyard wall and reappeared only briefly to disappear back into the smoking library. Shots were fired, but too late to kill or even wound the monster.

  One went back to his world. The other was loose in ours.

  I ran to Vlad. He lay shattered atop the concrete stairs. He still breathed, but barely.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll get you help.”

  Through shallow breaths, Vlad said, “I am not worried. I am beyond help.” He coughed and a trickle of blood slid from the corner of his mouth. He frowned. “I am a little worried.”

  Manhattan bent over him, assessing his injuries. When she sat up, she shook her head. I asked her if magic would help him.

  “Magic is good for tricks and blessings and charms and an evening with Penn and Teller. Shaman’s suck at this sort of thing,” she said.

  Vlad nodded slightly and it hurt him. “If the shamans were more capable, we wouldn’t need oncologists and orthopedic surgeons. Besides, even Maimonides Medical Center is too far away for me now.”

  I began to cry as the Choir gathered in a huge circle. “What do we do?”

  Vlad coughed. “Wait.” Then he coughed up more blood. “This will not take long.”

  Manny slid an open hand under the big man’s left fist so he could take it if he wanted to and she wouldn’t hurt him.

  He clutched it and reached for my hand, as well. His hand was cold. I felt for his pulse. It was weak and slowing.

  He smiled at me. “I think I have enough evidence…to answer your earlier question more conclusively…” He began to pant. “I am…not…a robot.”

  “You saved us all,” I said. “You and Victor saved us all.”

  Vlad’s smile disappeared. “Not all.”

  “We won the battle,” I said.

  Vlad managed to shake his head. I thought he would say something more, but his stare went on too long and he stopped breathing.

  “Call for help!” I said. “Please! There’s got to be someth — ” but when I touched his chest, I knew there was nothing more to be done. Beneath Vlad’s suit jacket, his shirt was soaked blood red and his chest was like a soft bag, every bone shattered. His chest had been opened with the slashes of three sharp claws. The wound was as deep as the trace of long knives.

  I searched the faces of the Choir. I did not see Vlad’s ghost among the armored throng.

  Lesson 77: We all need at least one person in our lives who will tell the truth.

  The crowd parted for Victor. He stood over his fallen friend and said, “Just as the Oracle predicted.”

  I caught Manhattan’s eye. She looked furious. “Too bad the Oracle couldn’t be more specific about which rainy afternoon the attack would come.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Victor, you told me you were supposed to die in an attack in the courtyard.”

  “In the final attack. This wasn’t the final attack. It was only a small force that got through. And they devastated us. This is just the end of the beginning. We have a long war ahead, and that’s if we’re successful.”

  Mr. Chang, his face still smeared with blood, appeared beside Victor. I looked from Vlad to Victor to my martial arts teacher. “You guys aren’t named after places,” I said absently. “What city or town or state will fall without Vlad fighting for it?”

  “I started the Choir Invisible,” Victor said. “Vlad was the first to join me.”

  “I was the third,” Mr. Chang said. “Peter Smythe was fourth.”

  I looked away from the dead man at my feet to th
e fallen bodies of the Choir’s defenders.

  “It’s bad luck that Vlad’s name wasn’t Russia,” Victor said. “With him gone, I don’t feel like his home nation is in danger of falling to demons. It feels like the whole Choir is vulnerable.”

  Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. “We won today’s battle at too terrible a cost.”

  “We lost,” Mr. Chang said. “They pushed more forces through the rift than they ever have. They’ll do it again. They’re getting stronger while our barrier weakens. Our archer section is depleted. One of the blue demons got out into the world.”

  “The biggest loss is St. Charles,” Manhattan said. “With the library destroyed, how can we close the rift? Somewhere in the library’s ashes was the secret to how we could close the passages between dimensions.”

  Victor looked from face to face. I expected him to give one of his rousing, eloquent speeches. I thought he’d motivate and inspire. Instead, the old man said, “Well…shit.”

  Lesson 78: No use preaching to the Choir.

  38

  New York City is a surprisingly good place for wars with demons. Mayor Bill de Blasio has a secret Magical and Demoniacal PR Department. It’s just one public relations guy, but he can keep a secret. His sole purpose is to cover up anything that would divulge the fact that the Secret City swarms with ghosts and is sometimes invaded by demons.

  Any strange sights and the noises of warfare are easily explained away. Worried inquiries are answered with cover ups and sometimes a few payoffs.

  The magic words are, “We’re filming a movie.” The addition of, “Mila Kunis will star in it,” makes New Yorkers nod knowingly.

  That giant, flying blue demon you thought you saw? Nah. It was a drone in a Halloween suit that went off course from the movie set, last seen over Jersey.

  New York City has forty or so billionaires, a thriving stock exchange and millions of tourists. The PTB don’t want to mess with that. They’ll keep up the pretense that Armageddon isn’t coming. The subways will keep running and you’ll still be able to buy tickets to Mets games right up until the moment fire rains down from the sky and legions of horned devils march down Wall Street.