Date: Mon, 16 Oct 2000 08:51:34 -0600 From: Robyn Herrington Organization: University of Calgary Subject: [WRITERS] SUB: CONTEST: DEMON'S PACT Entries and crits to rmherrin@ucalgary.ca --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Demon s Pact Here I sit, in the glow of the waning moon, and stare at my bloody hands. I have done this every night for the past week. I know of nothing else to do. I have scrubbed my hands until the blood became my own, but I cannot remove the stain. I dare not approach a mirror, for I know also that my face and chest drip with the life-giving fluid. How glorious it should have been. To live forever. To have unimaginable powers at my command. How foolish it all seems now. The demon that would later possess me first appeared in the guise of a rare friend. Jonathan O Reilly was new at school. He had just moved to the States from Ireland. We had a night class together and talked often before and after class. We found that our interests lay along the same lines, and I soon agreed to show him the American night-life. Over the next few weeks we became very close. I took him to all my favorite haunts. Dark and smoky places, usually underground. A particular favorite was in the basement of a large brownstone building downtown. He seemed quite at home. It often intrigued me that Jonathan would sometimes appear intoxicated, yet I never saw him touch a drink. One such night, I questioned him while returning home. He revealed to me a secret which stopped me in my tracks. At first I thought he was joking, but I saw no hint of humor in his face. I tried to question him further, but he was reluctant to talk. We finished the night in silence. The following day I spoke of the conversation with my fiancee. Sharon knew and respected my interests and beliefs in the occult and other, darker things, but she didn t share my enthusiasm. Sharon never saw me as "strange" or "different" because of my curiosity as so many others did. Instead, she listened with interest to my ponderings and observations. No matter how absurd they may have seemed to her, she always approached it with an opened mind. That was one of the reasons I loved her so dearly. She listened intently, as always, as I revealed Jonathan s dark secret and my speculations. When I finished, Sharon chuckled. It was the first time she d ever laughed at my observations, and I realized how truly outrageous the tale must be. She said Jonathan knew of my interest in the occult and was merely trying to have a little fun with a drunk friend. Eventually, I laughed along with her and agreed that she was probably right. Still, I harbored my doubts. Things continued much the same way between Jonathan and myself after that night. However, I noticed a marked soberness in him during our outings. It was as if he regretted what he had told me. I didn t want to run the risk of pushing him away, so it was several weeks before I found the opportunity to confront him with the subject again. That particular night he seemed to be in high spirits. We set off for the old brownstone that was our favorite spot, and he seemed his old self again. I was reluctant to breach the subject after it seemed to have been forgotten, but the questions, as ludicrous as they seemed, were driving me mad. I decided to confront him early, before my mind became muddled by alcohol. I wanted a clearer picture this time. After much prodding, he told me that he had been sincere and offered to prove it. I took him up on the offer and what ensued sent my mind reeling with possibilities. I thought hard on the things my friend had revealed for the rest of the night. I drank little as I wrestled with the questions that followed Jonathan s revelation. Finally, I came to a decision. On the return home that night, exactly one week ago, I made a pact with a demon. I slept late the next day, awakening only slightly before sunset. Astonished that I could have slept so long, I quickly showered and dressed. I made for Sharon s apartment, eager to share my new secret. When I arrived at her door, she asked if I was feeling well. I shook off her concerns, but she insisted I looked pale. I told her that I felt more alive than I had been in years, and it was true. Everything was clearer, more in focus than it had been 24 hours ago. Grabbing her up and leading her to the sofa, I launched into the story of what had transpired the night before. She only chuckled and told me that I should quit drinking or Jonathan would have me believing he was God. Oh, how far from the truth she was. I said little more on the subject, but my thoughts were reeling. With every passing moment things seemed clearer, my senses more acute. I noticed things about Sharon that I d never realized before. I smelled the scent of her faint perfume, which normally required close contact. I also smelled something else something I could not name, but it aroused primal desires in me. I thought much that night about my love for her. More than anything I wanted to share my power with her. We could be together forever. I wanted that more than anything in the world. I had only to convince her. I spoke to her of my love and my hopes. I told her we could spend eternity in each other s arms. She chuckled again and brushed it off as further proof of my overindulgence the night before. Her laughter and disbelief in the face of my solemn vow of eternal love hurt me. I decided to show her proof. I reached out to her, kissing her neck. Gently at first, then more urgently. As the first drops of her sweet blood landed on my tongue, she shoved me away. I met her gaze and was stunned. Her face was twisted in revulsion. This wasn t supposed to happen. She should have embraced me, embraced what I d become. She should have wanted to join me, to stay with me forever. I tried to explain these things, but she screamed at me. Hurling an ashtray across the room, she told me to leave and never come back. I could bear it no more. I had to prove to her that this was what she really wanted. Moments later, I stood gazing at the macabre scene. I held Sharon s head in my lap, gazing at her pale face and unmoving form. A thousand emotions raced through me. I was exhilarated, yet repulsed at the same time. I felt greater joy than ever before, yet deeper sadness. Then my gaze fell to the gaping hole which moments before had been the perfect throat of my dearest love. I realized in that moment that I had gone too far. When the realization that she could never join me sank in, one emotion won out. Hatred. Hatred of myself. Hatred of what I d become. Hatred of Sharon for not willingly coming to me. But most powerful of all, hatred for Jonathan. He had caused this. He, who I had once called friend, had visited this curse upon me, caused me to lose control and destroy that which I held most dear. And it was he who would pay for this misery that had been inflicted upon me. Soaked head to foot in the precious lifeblood of my beloved Sharon, I stalked across town, to the apartment of my one-time friend. As I crossed the threshold, he greeted me, and upon seeing my state, congratulated me for having come fully into my powers. I fell upon him in a blind rage. We struggled for several minutes, destroying almost everything in his home before he finally disengaged himself. He asked what had come over me. He mocked me. I snarled in reply. I told him he had condemned me to Hell, and I fully intended to see him there first. He laughed and told me I had little chance of harming him, but if I still wished to do battle, he wished to choose the weapon. I didn t care what I killed him with, only that he died, and I told him as much. Smiling, he went to a closet and produced a matched pair of huge two-handed broadswords. He said he had been waiting for the chance to use them. The day before I would have admired the pair of blades, their craftsmanship. I would have perhaps even offered to buy one of them. I certainly would have thought the request an odd one. In the red haze that enveloped me, I only snatched one from his hand and launched a vicious overhand blow, which he blocked easily. The battle was engaged. After several minutes, I realized that he could have already finished me. My attacks were awkward and should have easily been defeated by anyone who had any grasp of swordsmanship. The bastard was toying with me. This realization only served to heighten my bloodlust. I advanced with renewed vigor. It ended suddenly. I brought my blade around in a wide, savage arc. One that could have easily been blocked. Jonathan made no move to stop the flashing death that descended on him. Before I understood what was happening, his head was sliced cleanly from his shoulders. I had exacted my vengeance. The triumphant feeling that welled up in me soon turned to defeat as I gazed upon my former friend s severed head. In those last moments, his lips formed the words that have haunted me night and day. "Thank you." So ends my tale. The blood of both my dearest love and my closest friend stains my hands and face. In the week that has passed, I have pondered the ways to end my miserable existence. To do what Jonathan was too weak to do himself. Until now, I have also been unable to condemn myself to the Hell that surely awaits me. The hunger is once again upon me, and I fear that soon I may again destroy something that is dear to me. That I could not bear. My soul is already too stained. With that thought firmly planted in the front of my mind, my resolve holds firm as I face the rapidly fading night. I will remain here, upon this hill, and witness one final time the majesty of the rising sun. -- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Robyn Herrington New Currents in Teaching and Learning / InfoServe Phone: 220-2561 Email: rmherrin@ucalgary.ca Story ideas are like rabbits that have ventured unwittingly into view. The slightest noise or movement can spook them and they bolt off into the dark undergrowth never to be seen again. -- Adrian Bedford ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~