That was yesterday. Today was a very different day.
At around six thirty this evening I killed my first demon, and I feel mostly calm about it. Somewhat disappointed maybe, and the reason for this I’ll explain later, but still, mostly calm. Let me start from the beginning.
I decided the first demon I was going to kill would be the one in Revere—the one whose address I had given Vincent Gilman, or Virgil, as I had known him on the message board. I chose this demon for several reasons. First, Revere is far enough away from Newton that it shouldn’t draw any attention to me. Second, so that I could avenge Vincent Gilman—after what he went through his whole life to battle these demons only to die the way he did, he needed to be avenged. And third, when I scouted this demon’s address months ago, I noticed that his property was isolated enough so that I would be able sneak into his house without being seen by neighbors. This was mostly true of all the demon addresses I had scouted, including Hanley’s house, but I particularly liked the way this house was situated, and I knew this demon’s work schedule from my earlier surveillance.
It was six o’clock when I got to his house, and it was easy enough to hop a backyard fence and break in through a back door. Since he was a demon, I didn’t have to worry that there might be a family or anyone else living with him. And he certainly wouldn’t have a dog, unless he had one caged up so he could butcher it later, which he didn’t. I found myself surprisingly calm as I waited in that empty house.
This demon went by the name Todd Robohoe. He was a big one, maybe the biggest demon I’d seen yet. With the human form he took, which I was able to see using my iPhone camera, he looked like an NFL offensive lineman. Thick neck, thicker body, square jaw, his blond hair cut down to a buzz cut. Of course, this was an illusion. In reality, he was as butt ugly as any other demon. Maybe even more so as there was something about his eyes that was particularly chilling. As I waited for him, I realized that one of the reasons I chose him—at least on a subconscious level—was that I knew if I could kill him, I could kill any of the other demons.
At six twenty-five I heard an angry demon snarl from outside the front door. I was waiting in his kitchen which was in the back of his house, but he must’ve smelled me from where he was. As I’ve mentioned before, these demons have exceptionally powerful olfactory senses. As the front door was flung open and then slammed shut, this demon roared out in that hissing and crackling voice that they have that I picked the wrong house to break into. His exact words were: You stupid asshole, you fucked up breaking into my house ’cause I’ll be eating your brains tonight. Maybe he would’ve too if I hadn’t killed him. Maybe that’s what they eat when they don’t have dog meat available.
It sounded like a rhinoceros rumbling towards me, and from the way he came charging into the kitchen, he knew I was there; again, either he smelled me or he could hear me breathing. Whichever it was, I didn’t bother to ask him. When he saw me, his ugly demon face twisted into an ugly snarl; the same vicious type that you might see on a rabid pit bull. Then he spotted the knife I was holding and his expression turned more into an amused smirk.
“You think that knife is going to do you any good?” he asked, his voice that same weird heavy mix of hisses and pops as all the other demons.
“I’m hoping so,” I said.
He took a step closer, then stopped as he noticed the symbols etched onto the knife’s blade. Maybe he didn’t stop voluntarily, maybe the symbols held a power over him. Whichever it was, a look of stunned surprise came over his face, his beady yellow eyes popping open and his grotesque, muzzle-like jaw falling slack.
“It’s been washed and baked in virgin’s blood,” I told him, my voice sounding unnatural to me, as if it weren’t my own. At that moment I might’ve been scared shitless, but I was also overwhelmed by a flood of adrenaline and all the anger and disgust I’d been feeling for two and a half years towards these demons. All of it left me trembling in a near homicidal rage. “L’Occulto Illuminato is real,” I forced out. “It’s not a myth like you demons might think. And if you haven’t figured it out yet, I own a copy.”
He took a frantic step away from me, and then fell backwards as if he had slipped on ice. While still on his back, he tried crawling away like a crab, but as I got closer his strength seemed to ebb out of his body. It had to be the symbols etched onto the knife. A look of horror shone through his gaping expression as I straddled him with the knife raised to plunge into him.
“You’re insane,” he blubbered in those demon hisses and snarls. “Don’t do this!”
He raised one of his claws to try to stop me. The knife sliced through his flesh as if it were made of butter instead of leathery hide, and I continued thrusting the knife downward until the blade went through his throat and the tip stuck into the floor underneath him, just as L’Occulto Illuminato had described. With very little difficulty I soon had his head severed from his body.
The stench that poured out of him was awful. Like burning sulfur and vomit and decayed flesh all mixed together. I had to struggle to keep from throwing up, but at least the demon was dead.
Now for the disappointing part. I had assumed that when I killed the demon that his human façade would disappear and he would show himself to the world as what he was, and because of that I had used my phone to record the killing. Of course, when I looked at the dead demon, that’s exactly what I saw, as well as the black blood pooling from his severed neck. But when I looked at him through the iPhone display, he retained his human disguise even while in death, and the color of his blood was the same dark red that you’d expect from a human. It hadn’t occurred to me that that would happen, and it was deeply deflating to see that was the case. I had convinced myself that with this one killing, I would be able to prove to the world what these demons were.
I erased the video after watching it, disappointed that not even a glimpse of his demon form showed on the recording. Then I stood over the dead demon, staring at its corpse through the iPhone viewer and praying that it would transform into the same demon image that I saw when I looked at it directly. I did this for maybe ten minutes before giving up. I considered cutting it open. I knew a demon couldn’t possibly have the same organs and biological make up as a human, but I just didn’t have the nerve to do it. It took all my resolve to cut its head off as L’Occulto Illuminato demanded, and I had nothing left inside to do anything further. I had to hope that when they did an autopsy its human disguise would vanish and they’d realize they were dealing with something nightmarish from outside of this world.
I have to admit, when I watched the video of me killing the demon Todd Robohoe as if he were only a frightened man, I felt a twinge of uneasiness when I wondered if I could’ve been hallucinating all this demon stuff after all. I know it was crazy to think like that, but the situation I was in was so bizarre that a brief moment of self-doubt was natural. But then when I looked away from the video and saw the already rotting demon corpse by my feet and continued to smell that awful stench from it, any slight momentary qualms I’d had were gone. Convinced, I cleaned the demon blood from my knife blade using the method detailed in L’Occulto Illuminato.
When I visited the hospital the other day, I took a handful of latex gloves, and I had slipped on a pair before entering the demon Robohoe’s house so I didn’t have to worry about fingerprints. I opened his refrigerator and searched inside, and all it had in it were wrapped up cuts of meat. These were thick, uneven cuts, something that you might get if you butchered the animal yourself. I unwrapped one of the packages and knew from the smell that it had to be dog meat. I wrapped it back up and stacked it with the other packages. Same in the freezer: only thing in it were these thick, uneven packages of frozen meat. At least when the police investigate they’ll wonder why Robohoe had only dog meat in his refrigerator and freezer. Maybe if they dig up his backyard, they’ll find the remains of all the dogs he’s butchered.
I gave his cabinets a quick look and found no other food, and the kit
chen drawers were mostly empty. They didn’t even have the usual homeowner bills that my parents were always collecting, which made me wonder if there was one central demon paying their bills. I did find a sheet of paper with phone numbers, and one of the numbers struck me as familiar. Once I checked my phone, I realized why—it was the phone number that Chaske had given me, the one that he was supposed to call in case anyone tried contacting the demon Connor Devin. The same number I had called when I was in New York. I entered the other numbers into my iPhone and searched the rest of the house, which didn’t take me long given that it was a small two-bedroom ranch. One thing was obvious right away: there were no personal effects—no books, CDs, photos, knickknacks, nothing! There was a big screen TV set and a recliner in what would’ve been the living room, and I found a stack of hardcore porn DVDs piled next to the TV. Really nasty looking stuff—at least the ones with labels and pictures. Now I know that demons like porn, and the nastier the better.
The bedroom had a large king-sized bed and a closet full of clothes and shoes. My skin crawled as I entered the room—as if something unholy and evil permeated it. I soon found myself drenched in cold sweat, but I forced myself to search through the closet and eventually I found these odd and ancient-looking trinkets. I had no idea what they were since I hadn’t found anything like them mentioned in L’Occulto Illuminato, but I still had a third of the book to go through. I took photos of them.
When I walked into the basement, I felt like I was walking into a slaughterhouse. There was a stench of death there, and I knew this had to be where Robohoe butchered the dogs that he rounded up. I didn’t find any direct evidence—no pools of blood or dog carcasses or anything like that, but I knew this was what he used his basement for.
I didn’t stay long in the basement—I would’ve gotten sick to my stomach if I had. I’d spent long enough in that house, so I left through the kitchen door into his fenced-in backyard and hopped the fence. That took me to an empty lot overgrown with weeds. From there, I broke into a jog, and twenty minutes later I was back to where I had earlier hidden my bike, the latex gloves I had worn discarded along the way.
That was over three hours ago. Before I came home I secured my knife in a plastic bag and buried it in the same secluded woods along the golf course where Sally and I used to go after school. There was little chance any golfer would hit a stray ball anywhere near where I hid the knife, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon it. Not only were the woods secluded, but they were up on a hill with the course greens far below.
I got home forty minutes ago. My parents were furious with me for being out so late without calling. My mom was eyeballing me extra hard trying to figure out if I’d been doing drugs. I told them that I had studied all day to keep up with my schoolwork, and that at five decided to go for a bike ride to blow off some steam. My mom didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything, but from the way her mouth tightened it was pretty obvious. Whether my dad did or not, I couldn’t tell, but he clearly wasn’t happy with me.
“Where’d you ride your bike?”
“To Cambridge. I rode along the Charles River for a while, then stopped off at Harvard Square, had falafel, hung around some more, and rode home.”
“You couldn’t think of calling?”
“My battery had run down and I couldn’t make a call. Sorry.”
That was a lie. All he had to do was ask to see my cell phone and he’d know I was lying. But he didn’t ask for it, and instead stood staring at me as he tried to size me up and decide for himself whether I was lying. Of course, I must’ve looked like I’d done a strenuous bike ride, which I had. Newton to Revere was about twice the distance as Newton to Cambridge. I also hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but I told him that story about the falafel so my mom wouldn’t put out anything for me to eat. After killing the demon Robohoe, there was no way I would’ve been able to force down a bite of food. After a minute or so, my dad grudgingly decided to accept my story, although he still complained about me being out as late as I was.
“I really don’t want you out riding your bike in the dark like this,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from giggling. Riding my bike late at night was the least of it. Anyway, these demons all had day jobs, so unless I only killed them on weekends, I was going to have to be out in the evenings, which meant getting home late. And also riding my bike, since I wasn’t about to take public transportation after killing a demon. But there was no point arguing any of that with my dad, so I nodded in agreement and politely asked if I could be excused. Then I went upstairs to my room so I could write this journal entry.
So I’ve killed my first demon. And as I said, I mostly feel calm about it, although the whole experience seems too surreal to have actually happened, like it’s something from a dream or a movie. I know that it really did happen and that it’s not something I imagined or am deluding myself about. I also know that I should be a little worried that I left a clue of some sort behind that could lead the demons back to me. Maybe even simply my scent. But I’m not worried. Maybe I’m too numb right now to feel worried.
I’m certainly not worried about the police, either. Even if someone saw me leaving the house, they wouldn’t have been able to see me well enough in the dark to describe me. And likewise, the Revere police wouldn’t be able to connect the demon Robohoe’s murder to some high school kid living in Newton. No, I had nothing to worry about with the police. The demons, though, were another matter. But fuck them. I was sick of worrying about them.
Sunday, October 16th 7:15 PM
I DIDN’T KILL ANY MORE DEMONS THIS WEEKEND. IT WAS PARTLY that I didn’t feel up to it and partly that I wanted to see how the demon Robohoe’s murder would be reported. So far there was nothing in the newspapers or on TV. If they’d found his body, it would be a big story. It would have to be with the way I cut off his head, and with his refrigerator and freezer filled with dog meat. They’d then dig into his background and realize that he just showed up one day without any parents or relatives or a birth certificate or anything else. And when they performed an autopsy, they’d learn the truth about him: that there was nothing human about Robohoe.
I guess I should’ve expected that his body wouldn’t have been found yet. He wouldn’t have any family or friends visiting, so why would his body have been found? At some point next week, his employer will send the police over there, but until then I have to be patient and resist the temptation to call the murder in anonymously.
I wonder if the demons know. They might. I checked the message board a half hour ago and found another bogus message from Virgil, this one posted early this morning. It was another attempt to smoke me out by sending me another address for a demon for me to verify. And guess what address they gave me? My demon neighbor from a few doors down, Hanley. So either they’re onto me and are just being cute, or it was a bizarre coincidence. But if they sent it because they suspect me, then they’re expecting some sort of reaction from me, which they’re not going to get.
I know I’ve wasted two days that I could’ve been out killing demons, especially since I could be reinstated back in school Monday, which would mean an end to all this free time. I also expect it will be much harder to kill them once they find out about their brother demon, Robohoe. They’ll know for sure then that L’Occulto Illuminato exists, and that whoever it was that Vincent Gilman had been in contact with is now hunting them down. But I couldn’t attempt killing another demon feeling the way I do. I’ll feel better soon. I just need another day or so, although I can’t help feeling time is running out. There haven’t been any more stories in the papers or on TV about little kids being kidnapped, at least not since the one that was taken from Rhode Island over three weeks ago. They must have their thirty-nine stolen children by now, and I could only have ten days left—that’s when we have our next full moon. I need to start killing demons. I know that. And I need to find out where they’ve hidden those children.
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So it’s been a weekend of sitting and waiting and trying to keep myself on an even keel. My dad’s mostly been okay this weekend—he’s looking forward to winning a battle tomorrow with the school, and has refused to consider that those drugs could’ve been mine or that I had anything to do with stealing the Spider-Man comic book. My mom, though, hasn’t been showing the same trusting spirit. I catch the way she looks at me when she doesn’t think I’m watching, and I know she suspects the worst of me. Maybe not that I went out Friday to cut the head off a demon, but I’m sure she’s convinced that I’m guilty of everything else I’ve been accused of. I guess she’s just more perceptive than my dad. But I’m sure she’s not giving me the benefit of any doubt as far as my motives go. I’m going to make sure this journal and my books are well hidden. I wouldn’t put it past her to search my room looking for evidence against me.
At least that police detective hasn’t shown up yet with a warrant. I’m sure he needs more solid evidence than Mr. Neuberger’s accusations, so it’s very possible he won’t be showing up. I hope not.
Sunday, October 16th 9:30 PM
I’VE GOT A LOT TO REPORT, ALTHOUGH NOT THAT MUCH ABOUT demons. Some, but not much.
First, while not much of a surprise, my dad was successful in getting me reinstated back in school. Not only that, he got the police charges against me dropped. The school’s investigation found no one who could corroborate the demon Connor Devin’s claim that I had been dealing drugs, or that I had ever done drugs, or was ever seen in the presence of drugs, which made it highly suspicious that he brought the police to my locker. Although the principal didn’t come out and say this, it sounded like he believed Devin planted the drugs in my locker and that the school was currently investigating him. I badly wanted to tell him that Devin wasn’t living in Waltham, regardless of what his supposed foster parent, Chaske, might’ve been telling them, but I wisely held my tongue and didn’t blurt this out, since I had no reasonable way of explaining how I knew this.
The Boy Who Killed Demons: A Novel Page 18
