Demonica

by Preston Norton

  Red and black skirts and tops filled the floor as Lillith and the cheer toadies took over. Their cheers and acrobatic stunts were pretty typical, and I lost interest instantly. My gaze wandered off to some invisible point in space.

  That’s when I noticed it. A speck in my peripheral vision. I turned to find a lone figure in black standing in the gym entrance.

  It was Bill.

  He had obviously just arrived. My initial conclusion was that he had skipped class as usual to smoke under the bleachers, and he had just now realized that a pep rally was going on. But instead of finding a seat in the bleachers, of which there were plenty, he just stood there.

  And then he started walking out into the open gymnasium.

  My jaw dropped. What was he thinking? The thought quickly occurred that maybe he was just baked. He looked like he was about one joint away from being lobotomized.

  It was a long moment before the majority of the student body noticed him as well. Whispers and snickers ushered throughout the crowds. The cheerleaders faltered their routine as he approached them. Lillith looked especially irked.

  Several faculty heads perked up. A few of them stood up simultaneously, but one male teacher was already moving to intercept Bill. My geometry teacher, Mr. Garrison, glared behind his those dual Hubble Space Telescopes he wore for glasses.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” said Mr. Garrison.

  Bill halted. He stared expressionless at Mr. Garrison. Then he took another step forward.

  “I’m warning you.” Mr. Garrison grabbed Bill by the shoulder. “Take a seat. Now.”

  Bill glanced down at the teacher’s arm. Though I observed from a distance, I saw perfectly what happened next.

  Bill blinked. When he opened his eyes, his eyes were white. No pupils. No irises. Just milky white, edged in red, bloodshot lines.

  And then he gripped Mr. Garrison by the wrist and bit into his forearm.

  18

  Quarantine

  Mr. Garrison screamed. His usual professional tone was replaced by a sound that was shrill and desperate. By the time Bill finally pulled his head away, blood was dripping from his clenched teeth. And gushing from Mr. Garrison’s open wound.

  Bill was chewing.

  Two football-padded teens had already broken from their ranks. Flying across the gym, they tackled Bill to the floor. His body hit the surface with a resounding smack. Had Bill not just taken a cannibalistic bite out of my geometry teacher, I might have felt sorry for him.

  Those eyes… I still couldn’t pull my memory away from those white, bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t wait to tell Dante that I was right, and he was wrong.

  Bill was definitely a Demon.

  “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!” said Kelly with all the eloquence of a machine gun.

  The entire gymnasium went batshit. Gasping. Screaming. Students bolted up from their seats, some pushing their way through the crowds for a better look.

  “Everyone, remain calm,” said Principal Marion who had barely even flinched from her normal authoritativeness. “Stay where you are. Do not come any closer.”

  The crowds settled in about the same way that a mushroom cloud settles after the nuclear blast.

  What was Bill thinking? I mean, from a Demon perspective, of course. Just biting someone like that, only to get tackled? Though my view had been largely obscured, I could still make out the two football players pinning him to the floor.

  Was he really a Demon? Wouldn’t a Demon put up more of a fight?

  Like much of the student body, I abandoned my seat. Fought my way to the front of the crowds. Fortunately, my matchstick frame was able to squeeze past the human obstacle course. By the time I emerged on the other side, a third football player had ripped off his jersey, wrapping it tight around Mr. Garrison’s forearm. He screamed even louder with the sudden pressure.

  It was Eli. A cross hung across his shirtless chest that was waaaaay too built for his own good. I mean, unless Christianity was suddenly about seducing innocent bystanding girls with rippling pectoral muscles and chiseled abs. Jesus Christ!

  Two campus security guards arrived on the scene. The other two football players hastily backed away as the guards closed in on Bill, snatching him by each arm. Though his eyes had returned to normal, Bill’s blood-stained mouth was pulled into a sick smile. Without wasting a moment, the security guards dragged him out of the gymnasium.

  “Somebody call an ambulance,” said a teacher.

  Mr. Garrison had collapsed on the floor. I stepped closer and could barely see him between the circling crowd. He was gasping and wheezing, twitching and squirming. The guy could have been having a heart attack or stroke for all I knew.

  Multiple cell phones were withdrawn and verbal chaos ensued.

  “I can’t get a signal.”

  “Me either.”

  “What the hell?”

  One student raised his phone high as if a signal might be in arm’s reach.

  I glanced back for Bill and the security guards, but they had already disappeared out the doors. I quickly decided that wherever Bill was going, I needed to go too.

  I took a few cautious steps away from the chaos before bolting for the exit. The hallway forked in both directions. However, I knew that the security office was by the entrance, and the first thing these guards would probably want to do was put Bill in handcuffs. Although a Hannibalesque muzzle might have been more practical.

  Breaking into a sprint, I followed the hallway to the entrance. What exactly I planned on doing when I caught up with them, I had no clue. Better to be safe than sorry, I figured. The most important thing was keeping an eye on Bill. And so help me, if he tried eating anyone else, I would decapitate the bastard without blinking.

  Hello, anger management issues. Long time, no see. Good thing I wasn’t a desensitized sociopath or anything.

  As I rounded the hallway corner, I froze mid-step.

  The security guards had been easily side-tracked from their office. From where I stood, the main hallway became a straight shot to the glass entryway doors.

  Dozens of police lights flashed ominously from the other side of the glass.

  I blinked, unconsciously considering the possibility that this might be a figment of my imagination. From where I stood, I could make out the several armed men in uniforms, all pointing guns at the entryway from a distance. It looked like something from a movie. The security guards stood awestruck, barely maintaining a firm grip on Bill. Though his back was turned to me, I imagined Bill’s usual bored and half-stoned look, unchanging. After a long pause, the security guards frantically approached the doors, dragging Bill along.

  “Stop right there,” said a harsh voice from a megaphone. “Do not come any closer.”

  Both guards halted uncertainly. In desperation, one of them yelled back, “There’s been an attack. We have an injured man inside.”

  “Step away from the doors,” said the officer with the megaphone. “This is a quarantined zone now.”

  Quarantine?

  My heart stopped. Suddenly, I remembered all too clearly the government agent at the hospital. He had said something about a quarantine.

  A sudden uneasy thought caused me to glance up. The gentle hum of a security camera broke the silence, its lens directed at me.

  The brand new security cameras... Holy shit. Had a quarantine been planned all along?

  “Did you hear me?” said the security guard. He took a few steps closer and dragged Bill with him. “There’s a man bleeding to death in here!”

  The second guard, also holding Bill, was forced along unwillingly. “Hey, Joe, I don’t like this.”

  “Come any closer and we’ll be forced to shoot,” said the officer.

  “Shoot? Are you shitting me? We need medical attention!”

  He took anot
her step forward, and pressed the glass door.

  That was all it took. Holes burst through the glass, cracking but not shattering. Blood sprayed from the security guards and even Bill, staining the glass doors.

  All three figures collapsed and fell like limp dolls to the floor.

  No amount of desensitization could keep me from covering my mouth. I shrieked into the palms of my hands. I watched their bodies, wide-eyed, hoping for some sort of movement—any indication of life.

  There was nothing.

  What sort of fucked quarantine was this? Weren’t quarantines usually associated with viruses?

  In a daze, I glanced down the adjacent hallway where I’d just come from. I half-expected that someone would have wandered this way by now. Hoped, at least.

  The hallway was empty. I felt empty. The school was being completely confined, and as far as I could tell, I was currently the only one who knew about it. I returned my gaze to the entrance and the flash of police lights.

  Something was gut-wrenchingly wrong. There were only two bodies by the door—both clothed in bloody security uniforms.

  Bill was gone.

  Two subtle sounds immediately caught my attention:

  The gentle hum of the security camera…

  …and something scurrying across the ceiling above me.

  I glanced up just as a black form dropped down. My Demon Slayer instincts lashed out. In one agile leap backwards, I dodged the shadow. The Demon Dagger materialized in my grasp, leaving behind a trail of wispy black mist.

  Bill’s hood was pulled over his head as he landed in front of me. He made no indication of attacking. In fact, he reverted back to his slouched, unmotivated stance, his expression half-bored. However, the bullet holes in his black, blood-stained shirt were notable additions to his otherwise-unaltered appearance.

  “Bill…” I said.

  Bill blinked, and his eyes were once again white and bloodshot. “I go by Belphegor.”

  My momentary daze was instantly shattered as his skeletal structure cracked and crunched, re-altering.. He grew taller and paler. The skin on his face became a gaunt mask. His black eyes sunk deeper into their sockets. His skin thinned to a papery wrapping. His nose eroded into a deep nasal cavity. His lips peeled back, revealing a full mouth of rotten teeth. In a matter of seconds, he emerged as a skeletal monstrosity standing over six feet tall, his black attire now tattered and torn. With his black hood still pulled over his head, he looked like the goddamn Grim Reaper.

  “Hello, Monica,” said Belphegor (apparently), his voice a dry rasp.

  I replied with my Demon Dagger. Belphegor was too fast. He caught my wrist in his skeletal grip, stopping my blade short.

  “Is that how you say hello?” said Belphegor. He pulled my wrist closer, intentionally bringing the tip of the blade so that it was touching the bulging rips in his emaciated torso. “Go ahead. Kill me.”

  The determination behind my blade faltered and not just because he held my wrist. I felt his bony grip weaken, and I knew that I could easily break free and stab him. But why? What was he doing?

  “I’ve already spread my poison,” said Belphegor. “My work here is done. This quarantine is my doing. The other Remnants didn’t know about it. They’re trapped here for the time being. Which, I might add, is not a good thing for the rest of your classmates.”

  “Remnants?” I said. “Poison? You poisoned Mr. Garrison?”

  “He wasn’t the first. And now that it’s started, he won’t be the last.”

  I did not like where this was going. I found myself pulling against Belphegor’s grip as he positioned the Demon Dagger over his heart.

  “Do it. Kill me now. I’m too tired and lazy to be involved in this pointless Demon charade. The others are simply resisting what is inevitable.”

  “What do you mean? What are the others resisting?”

  Belphegor leaned his decaying skeletal face until it was only inches from mine. His breath smelt like ancient death “We are puzzle pieces. Fragments of something much, much bigger.”

  With that, he summoned all of his strength into stabbing my Demon Dagger into his own chest. He grunted as the blade pierced into his heart. And then his grip fell loose from my wrist. Two familiar things happened immediately: With a satisfied sigh, Belphegor began to disintegrate. He crumbled to the floor in a pile of ash. And then a glowing blue aura erupted from his decomposing corpse, channeling into the Demon Dagger’s blade. In one solid blast, that same blue energy exploded out of the handle and into my chest.

  My world went black.

  19

  The Dead and Undead

  I could not distinguish dream from reality. Distorted images came in and out of focus as I wavered unsteadily on the verge of consciousness. Gunshots echoed. Teenagers ran screaming past me.

  Blackness.

  ***

  Awaking once again, I realized I was being lifted. I felt the touch of bare skin, and realized my carrier was shirtless. With great effort, I managed to tilt my heavy head back, which seemed to weigh a couple hundred pounds. My unsteady gaze identified Eli Jacobson holding me close. His attention was focused elsewhere, however, as he rushed with me down the hall.

  “Nuh-uh, not with the others,” said an all-too-familiar female voice “Somebody’s after her. We have to hide her somewhere.”

  Confirming my suspicion, I caught a glance of blue-streaked black hair.

  Zoey?

  I blacked out yet again.

  ***

  Consciousness continued to come in brief, blurry spurts. I was lying in a dim-lit room that more closely resembled an attic than anything else. The shapes of random colorful objects were cluttered together, and I found myself unable—or even desiring—to discern them. I would occasionally catch glances of Zoey or Eli hovering over me, or sometimes both of them together, talking. My distorted comprehensive abilities slurred their words together. And, as always, these images faded into dark, shadowy nothingness.

  ***

  “Monica…”

  It was a substanceless voice reverberating from the furthest reaches of outer space. The voice of God? An alien transmission? Whatever it was, it sounded anything but real.

  “Monica.”

  The voice sounded much, much closer. Inches away, even. The effect was eerie. But it was also discernible.

  Eli?

  I don’t even know if I opened my eyes or if they were already open. I was suddenly staring at Eli’s face, halfway shrouded in the shadows. But his firm jawline and crew cut were unmistakable. His curious expression was unchanging as he stared down on me. I also couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a shirt now.

  My muscles were cement. Atrophied. No, not even that. It was as if my brain was completely disconnected from my body. I couldn’t even open my mouth. And even if I could, I doubted my voice could find its way out.

  The strangest sensation came several long seconds afterward: I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to speak. I just wanted to sleep. To immerse myself in the engulfing blackness of my mental oblivion.

  “Monica, say something,” said Eli. His tone became much more frantic. “You’re looking at me. Can you give me some sign that you can hear me? Blink. Anything!”

  As he mulled anxiously over me, his hand reached down and touched my face. That one touch sent a spark that ignited throughout my entire body. As if my brain had just connected human touch with reality. In fact, the concept of reality had seemed distant and almost unfeasible to my brain until that moment.

  Zoey. I had to talk to Zoey.

  I blinked.

  No sooner did Eli gasp at my seemingly insignificant reaction, I could feel the rest of my body. I wiggled my fingers slightly. I shifted my body where I lay. Then, taking a deep breath, I performed the most physically taxing task of all. I attempted to sit up
.

  Eli’s stunned shock quickly wore off. Sensing my struggle, he helped to pull me upright. “Monica! Are you okay?”

  I blinked again as his question registered. However, I became quickly distracted by the room we were immersed in. All of the indiscernible shapes and colors suddenly became drama props. Flamboyant costume racks took up a large portion of the room. These were accompanied by mirrors, fake plants, stacked up blocks of which I could not discern a purpose. There was also a fully-functioning door prop, hanging slightly open from its wall-deprived doorframe, among countless other objects.

  “What is this place?” I said, still blinking out of my daze.

  “This?” said Eli. He cast a casual glance around the room. “This is the drama department’s storage loft. I told Zoey about it, and she insisted we keep you here.”

  “Zoey? Where is she?”

  I also wanted to ask how I had managed not to see her all day at school, only to get saved by her while unconscious. I refrained.

  “Downstairs, talking to the others,” said Eli. He seemed uncomfortable as he mentioned this. “Trying to find out if anything new has happened.”

  Anything new? As my mind slowly solidified in the real world, I remembered all too clearly the events that led to my incapacitation. Bill attacking my geometry teacher. Police officers announcing a quarantine and shooting Bill and his two security guard escorts. And then Bill...no…Belphegor…

  I killed another Demon.

  Actually, that wasn’t true. Belphegor made me kill him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. Even as the question escaped my lips, I knew that Eli couldn’t answer half of the thoughts that were racing through my mind. As if my thoughts made any coherent sense to begin with.

  Eli’s expression became a grimace. “The whole school has been locked down as a quarantine zone. They haven’t said why, but we’re pretty positive it has something to do with Bill biting Mr. Garrison. Like rabies or something messed up like that.”