Demonic Influence


Genre: Horror

Word Count: Roughly 750

Origin: My husband and his boundless imagination. I may expand this story later, because he had some great ideas about where it could go.

Premise: A man encounters a demon.

Blake rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t have seen what he thought he saw. No way. He pulled the plaid curtain aside again.

A towering figure filled the alley outside his kitchen; he couldn’t even see the head of the thing. The window framed one enormous, clawed hand covered with blue-black skin. The razor-tipped fingers twitched.

Blake’s breath caught in his throat. He had to be dreaming.

The thing–whatever the hell it was–turned in a slow pivot. The most impressive six-pack of abs that Blake had ever seen came into view. He watched the rippling muscles with detached fascination as equally ripped pectorals lowered into the frame.

Oh. Shit.

He backpedaled and toppled over a chair. Losing his balance, he hit the ground. His surprised yelp sounded much too loud in the small space. He scrambled, backing into the cabinets. Breathing hard, he watched as huge shoulders followed by a bulky neck moved down into view in the small window.

The face that finally appeared was like nothing he had ever seen. Tilted, green eyes dominated over cheekbones that made a sharp angle to the chiseled jaw. The bluff, almost animalistic features reminded him of a gargoyle carved of granite.

The wide mouth moved. Vibrations pounded through Blake, jarring his bones and reverberating through every air-containing space in his body. He screamed, instinctively moving to cover his ears, though it did no good. The sounds ceased after a few seconds that lasted an eternity.

Blake panted, his head resting against the cool ceramic tile of his kitchen floor. He pushed himself up, shaking his head. A seizure, that’s what had happened, which was why he felt so cloudy. He definitely hadn’t seen…

One clawed hand reached in the open window and felt around inside, knocking over everything it touched. The dish drainer clattered to the ground, pushed aside by the questing arm. The noise of shattering dishes brought Blake back to reality.

He jumped up and ran into the living room. “Sandy!” He called for his sister, but knew she wouldn’t answer him. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced to her bedroom.

Sandy sat Indian-style in the center of the room, a book that looked like an old encyclopedia open in her lap. Small for her sixteen years, her tangled blonde hair hung down to obscure her face from view.

Blake swallowed before he spoke. “Sandy, honey, we have to go.” He made his voice as calm as he could, knowing she’d react badly to any hint of panic he let show.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t acknowledge that he’d entered the room at all.

With a sigh, Blake stepped into the room and tapped her on the head. “Goose.”

Sandy shot to her feet, her forgotten book tumbling from her lap. She giggled. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door, but she resisted, backing away from him. A keening whine came from her throat. She pointed at her backpack on the floor next to where she’d been sitting.

Knowing better than to attempt to argue with her, Blake picked up the discarded book and shoved it into her bag. He took her hand again and dragged her after him. This time she didn’t protest.

Blake led Sandy down the stairs and hurried toward the front hall, hoping to avoid seeing whatever the hell that was in the alley behind the house. After lifting his keys from the hook hanging in the entryway, he opened the front door a crack and peered around. Relieved that he didn’t see anything crazy on the porch, he pulled Sandy outside after him.

Almost falling down the steps, he fumbled with his car remote. A whooshing noise above him brought his head up. The shape of the monstrous thing blotted out the light from the moon. It landed between them and the car with a soft sound that belied its huge bulk.

Blake pushed Sandy away from him and yelled, “Go!” He rushed toward the beast, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stop it, but not wanting to give up and let it kill his sister.

Sandy giggled. Blake turned back to find her looking up at the enormous monster, a rare smile lighting her face. “Dargoss,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Creature lifted its mouth into a snarling approximation of a grin and took a lumbering step toward her.


Creative Commons License
Demonic Influence by Coral Moore is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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