Except the eyes. There are two kinds of eyes, if you will. By far, most of these ghostly figures have no eyes, just holes in the foggy shapes of their faces where eyes should be. It’s quite eerie to stare into those black empty spaces, though they can’t see me when I do.
Then there are those who have a different condition of eyes altogether. There are so very few of them, I struggle to identify them in the mass of movement. These people have eyes that burn like hot blue stars, as if something beyond them, something living and bold, has come to dwell in their hazy white form. And what’s stranger, is that the fog parts from their feet as they slowly stroll along. The rooms and stairwells are slightly illumined wherever they go as well.
And they all bear the Seal on the backs of their necks.
How did they acquire the Seal? They’re brilliant among a sea of empty life forms. Most of these white, hazy spirits are only shells of what they could be.
My protective host takes me to the mezzanine overlooking the Grand Lobby. It sits down and does something at a table. I’m guessing it’s getting online in the other dimension, which means I have a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I look out over the throng of smoky beings swarming about below me, hoping I might catch sight of another ‘blue’ and follow it for a while.
But the Grand Lobby dims. Not like the dimming of light bulbs, where sight becomes strained. A blackness takes hold of the enormous room. Startled, I look up to the ceiling. A shadow as thick as tar, and as inky as polished marble, crawls to the four corners of the great curved surface above.
The hairs on my neck stand on end, and the muscles at the base of my nape tighten and ache. The old feeling of fear has returned with a nauseating thump to my gut.
The shapes below are completely unaware. But I know it’s here. It’s close. The liquid black has blotted out the translucent haze of the building. It’s literally dripping off the ceiling and slithering down the walls, undulating like a thousand black, eyeless serpents. Finally, it reaches the floor and stops. The fog rolls along, a foot deep, and gives the great blackened lobby its only light. White figures move about cluelessly in the dark, but there’s something in the corner of the lobby that grabs my interest.
A homeless man, or at least what I can see of the homeless man’s empty spirit, scurries (in slow motion) away from the black shadow snaking down the wall towards his corner. He can see it! Then the thought hits me that he might be able to see me, too! I wonder in vain with no courage to try the experiment, not. Not with the Algolim swarming all about the room.
A sickening howl bellows through the lobby. Its frequency resonates with crackling force. Different from the call of the fog wolf, it’s a shriek, a scream, and an earthquake all in one long, melancholy howl. I duck behind the mezzanine railing and hide from the monster that’s thundering into the lobby. I can hear it pass through the black ceiling, like a boulder dropping through a vat of congealed grease and falling to the floor. The landing of its feet on the lobby floor makes my teeth rattle in my skull. I can’t see it, but I know it’s powerful. The fog is kicked up in a rolling puff so high, it rolls over the mezzanine and fills the curvature of the ceiling.
Clicking, moaning, and howling rise in a tumult, heralding the arrival of their demon lord.
My thoughts suddenly align, and my mission burns back into my brain. This is why I’m here. I’ve come to stop this thing, somehow.
I peek over the railing. Standing in the middle of the room is a tall, hooded figure. Its cloak the color of a tumor, its face hidden in the deep shadow of its cowl. Only its eyes, golden pinpoints, dot the blackness.
This is one of the Nine, the Annunaki. I’ve made it just in time. And now I must use its name to drive it away before it can find and possess its victim.
But which name?
Chapter 13
The hooded figure stands in the middle of the fog-laden lobby, motionless. White figures of men and women walk in all directions around it, unaware of the predator sifting through the throng of prey for the perfect victim.
The mezzanine is mostly empty of both human forms and demons, but my ‘blue’ has disappeared. When the Annunaki arrived, it distracted me, and I lost track of the person bearing the Seal and shielding me from demonic assault. I move on my hands and knees to keep out of sight below the railing. When I get to the steps that descend into the lobby, I watch and wait for the cloaked one to turn its cowl away from my direction.
It’s looking for a victim, and apparently demon lords are ‘choosy.’
The victim will no doubt be female. Demons and fallen angels prefer to possess and trouble the ‘daughters of men’ more so than the male counterpart to the species. The Book of Enoch was enlightening.
My moment arrives, and the cloaked figure locks onto the white, hazy form of a young woman, her empty black eyes staring down at what must be her phone, and she moves in a straight line through the lobby. Other forms turn towards her and move out of her way. That’s not the norm in New York. It’s all bumping into each other and cutting people off, and cutting in line. But not for this lady. The crowd responds to her presence and accommodates it.
She must be beautiful, though I can’t tell by any other indicator. This flat eerie dimension strips everything down to the spirit and vague shape of a person.
The demon lord takes notice as well and is pleased with this woman. He moves across the lobby towards her, his cloak sliding across the floor as if the fog were a sheet of ice. His back is to me. Now’s my chance.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve my list of names. I move quickly, darting from the cover of kiosks, to stores, to metal dividers, and eventually the corner which the demon lord has rounded.
The victim turns into a restroom. I guess it’s unlikely that an evil entity would patiently wait outside a ladies room. I’m right, of course, and the hooded demon slides through the restroom entrance.
I stop short at the entrance to the restroom. I can’t help it. It’s habit. It seems so wrong to barge in. But this is no time to mind my p’s and q’s. The hesitation is a mistake. And a ghastly wail rises from within one of the stalls.
I bolt into the ladies room, the fog grasping at my feet and rolling before me like a beacon of my presence. The demon stands at the entrance of the last stall, and when I enter the room, it turns towards me, curious as to the interruption.
A hideous blackness possesses the cowl, and only the yellow pinpoint eyes betray a living being deep within. We lock eyes. It lets up another demonic wail, like a banshee. A warning to me not to interfere with its commission to take possession of the unsuspecting woman in the stall. My ears ring, and I feel a wet trickle on my left earlobe. Message received. But I have a message of my own, one that will shake this demon to its dark core.
It’s now or never.
I start at the top of the list, and in a commanding voice, I bellow out the nine ancient names, knowing that when I hit the right one, the demon will be banished.
“Anak!”
The demon doesn’t move, but it tilts its cowl head to the side. Curious, like a confused puppy, and greatly amused.
“Amalek!”
A small trickle of sweat betrays my anxiety. I notice that I’m holding my hand out as if I’m using magic, fingers sprawled and curled threateningly towards the demon lord. But it doesn’t budge.
“Sihon!”
I take a step back. That’s three names, and the demonic presence hasn’t even flinched.
“Og!”
The demon straightens in surprise! It knows that name. Bingo. It knows what I’m up to, but it doesn’t respond the way I’m hoping. It only acknowledges a recognized name and wails again, this time the vibrations from its cry blows the fog clear out of the room, and sends me backwards. Like a baseball bat made of foul-smelling air, I’m knocked back against a wall.
“Og!” I cry again, this time from the floor of the restroom. Desperation manifests in my voice. My shoulder smashes into the towel dispenser on my way down, an
d a throbbing pain leaves my arm limp at my side.
The demon lord emits three abrupt seal-like calls and in a flash, three gargoyle demons tumble into the restroom. They pounce on me, holding me down on the cold tile. One of them puts his foul, meaty claws over my mouth. I can no longer yell, nor can I move.
I can only watch. Completely overpowered, I witness the demon lord slide through the stall wall as if it weren’t even there. I thrash against the gargoyles, but they’re too strong for me. Under the stall, I can see the black cloak of Og and the white, hazy legs of the woman. But that’s all I can see. The black cloak rises out of view, and the woman’s legs jerk and kick. I can only imagine the horrible scene, the ancient demon forcing itself upon the woman and filling her small form with its oversized presence.
The lights flicker, and the gargoyles scream in ecstasy as their lord does his work. I can feel the anguish of her soul struggling hopelessly against the brute will of Og.
Then everything stops. The lights are back on, and the gargoyles have tumbled off me. They cackle and hiss a warning to me as they scurry away. I’m free to move now and jump to my feet, my arm still throbbing and limp.
The stall door opens, and the woman emerges, crawling on her hands and knees. She’s as shapely and striking as before, but her eyes burn like red coals, flames deep within laughing at me and my foolish and feeble attempt to interfere.
She sees me. Og sees me, the victor of the struggle and supreme lord of this woman’s soul. With a look of hatred, the woman is thrown fully face down and thrashes about violently. Other white forms in the room come to her aid and rush about. No doubt, someone is calling for medical attention in the other plane.
I’ve lost.
Wounded and confused, I run back to the steps and descend to the lower platform of the N-line. The cylinder of blue light still beams from the Seal of Perseus I had scrawled on the floor. Just before I step into the Seal and return home, I kick a fat, grimy rat out of my path in anger, sending it sailing and shrieking into the dark. I hear it thud against the metal rails below the platform and instantly, I feel a compassion for the vermin. I know what that feels like.
Chapter 14
“How did you get in here?” I’m stunned but more annoyed than anything else. Fritz’s clinginess shining at level eleven.
“Well, you didn’t answer, and I thought something may have… you know… gone wrong.” My best friend clearly has some boundary issues.
“I didn’t answer because I wanted to be left alone.”
Fritz shrugs his shoulders and flops down on the futon next to me.
“Yeah, well alone is the last thing you need to be right now, bruh.”
He’s probably right. I get dark when I’m alone for too long. And after what I just witnessed, there’s no one on God’s earth who I could talk to about it, except Fritz. And Professor Shipley. But Shipley is nowhere to be found. When I crossed back over, I went straight to his apartment. I wanted answers. I wanted to know why it didn’t work. I wanted to know what I missed in Shipley’s notes. But he wasn’t there. So I slunk back to my apartment above Village Vapes and began my descent into self-loathing.
But Fritz showed up. And somehow got through my locked front door.
“Besides, your deadbolt is a joke. Took me eight seconds.”
“So, you just help yourself anytime someone’s door is locked, Fritz? I think that’s called breaking and entering. At least that’s what NYPD calls it.”
Fritz shrugs off the insincere threat. “Sometimes you have to break the law, bruh.”
Annoyed as I am, I let loose my grip on the argument and relinquish the victory to my friend. I’m drained, too tired, and disturbed to put up the fight.
“Well, did you at least lock it behind you?”
“Yeah. Of course. But I didn’t draw the little circle thingy on the door like you.” Fritz is a little nervous. He knows I’ve had another encounter with the supernatural, and the added protection of the Seal would be a comfort to him. I slip the note from my pocket on which Shipley had drawn the symbol and hand it to him.
“Here. Trace this on the door. Then whisper the word Algolim.” A sharp anger boils in my brain. Speaking the demon lord’s name didn’t have the potent effect it would on the inferior class of evil spirits. Why didn’t Shipley tell me? All that talk of names and their inherent power, all for naught tonight. Maybe I’m just supposed to deal with the small underlings, the giant zombie skeletons, and the gargoyles. Maybe the fog wolf demons. Perhaps the Annunaki require someone with a greater toolbox, a more sharply honed skill set.
“We need to find the professor, Fritz. I’ve failed at… something. I need to let him know.”
“Okay, Henry. Sure. Can you tell me about it? What did you fail at?”
I recall the scene in this same apartment nights ago when we cast Malfik out the front door. Well, when I cast the demon out. Fritz was lying on his back like a frightened goat. He was basically dumb-struck if not rolling in shock.
“I never told you about my visit with your pastor friend… you know, Elliott?”
“You went to see him? That’s great! He’s an awesome guy. When did you… what did he say? Did it help at all?”
Annoyed at the rapid-fire questioning, I raise my palm. “One at a time, please,” I growl. “I went to see him the day the thing attacked us here. Just like you suggested.”
“That’s a great place isn’t it? And the music is top notch! Best musicians in New York play there. Man, I love that church.”
Fritz is easily impressed, I gather. I had no such reactions to the church, the service, the music, and especially the pastor. It was all just a carbon copy of the failed relevance-seeking Evangelical self-worship model… with a dash of demon possession.
“Yeah, no. I’m not a fan, Fritz.”
“Why not?” Fritz looks crushed that I don’t fall in head-over-heels love with his plastic knock-off of what church should be.
“Look, Fritz…” I don’t want to push away the only friend I have. “It’s just not my style, you know? It was okay. But the pastor, Elliott…”
“Dude, he’s the best pastor ever, isn’t he? He’s so cool. You’d never guess he was the pastor of a Christian church by looking at him!”
“Or talking with him.”
Fritz stops mid-enthusiasm, mouth open, ready to turn the firehose of thoughtless positivity back on.
“He told me,” I growl while I bore into Fritz’s eyes with my own for effect, “that I’m crazy. He told me to get some help. A psychiatrist.”
“Wha…” Fritz looks away. Total surprise and disbelief crawl across his face like a nest of cockroaches. The rug has been yanked out from under him. Clearly, he thought his favorite Jesus ambassador would woo me into the faith and give me some deep, meaningful, and helpful answers.
“I told him everything, Fritz. I spared no details. I wanted guidance. But it was too much for him to handle. Or believe. Or deal with. I hate to say it, but I don’t think he actually believes in the supernatural.”
Fritz just stares at me in disbelief, his dumb mouth hanging open still.
“It gets worse. Before I left, he was attacked by one of those things.”
After a silent moment, Fritz comes out of the
mind-scramble stupor I just whipped up for him.
“That explains why he was in the hospital.”
“So, someone did call for help?” I’m relieved that he survived the demon’s vicious attack. I felt kind of bad leaving him there in the middle of a violent seizure. I had hoped that someone called 9-1-1, but I didn’t care enough to double back and make sure.
“Well…” Fritz sighed, “I bet he believes now.”
We both take a few moments and roll in laughter, soothed by the release of anxiety.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Fritz asks.
“I was on my way home when I got the news about my dad.”
“Right. Do you want to… talk about that? Or anything
? You know I’m here for you, bruh.”
Good old Fritz. I know he’s sincere when he calls me bruh. But it irritates me to no end. I can live with it though. It’s worth the friendship.
“No. I don’t want to talk about that. But I do need to talk to Shipley about last night. And I think it’s time I brought you into the fold, Fritz. You need to know what’s going on. And I need you with me next time. I can’t cross over alone and accomplish anything.”
“Wait. What? What do you mean cross over?”
Chapter 15
Shipley drones on and on. He’s on a rabbit trail about the shared narratives of an ancient deluge in every significant culture’s mythology. I’ve heard it all before—a cataclysmic event that ruptures and rents the preamble of the ancient world from the historical record. The continents drift, and the peoples of Earth migrate to find new ways of life. The species is reborn and thrust into an ice age. The morons in the back of the class are sound asleep. They made it to class, and that’s enough. Shipley will give them credit. And even if they miss every question on every test, he will give them a grade just high enough to keep the mouth breathers moving on… and out of his world.
I sit in the front row now, next to the teacher’s pet. But I have nothing to prove to myself, or the people watching. I’m not trying to ‘heel’ like a good academic dog, drink the Kool-Aid of grade-point averages, or pursue the excellence of a future mommy and daddy have chosen for me.
I just want answers. And Shipley is going to give them to me. I stare at him, unblinking as he talks. I never look away. But it’s not the look of an eager validation-chasing goodie-two-shoes, like the prim and proper drone next to me. No. I glare at the professor with a twisted anger. A menacing stare, full of confusion and hurt for his lack of preparation. He will not see the end of this day before he explains why I failed, and why he didn’t properly inform me of how to defeat Og.
Henry Halfmoon Page 8
