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evanthenerd83 · 5 months

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“This Library? Occupied!”

“Do you guys have a library?”

Anna turned towards me, cocking an eyebrow.

She wore an emerald gown. It exposed both of her shoulders, which were extremely pale.

I could see a mole.

Somebody, maybe Emi, had put her hair up in a ponytail. It would bob whenever she walked or nodded her head.

“Yyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssssssss,” Anna nodded very slowly. “Why?”

She also stared at me. Hard.

I blushed. My hands instinctively went to my pockets, except… I didn’t have any. I was wearing my nightgown.

They were deflected by my hips, wounding up behind my back.

I coughed, avoiding her gaze. “No. No reason.”

‘Smooth move, idiot.’

Anna continued to stare. She drilled a hole through my already pitiful excuse of a… Well, an excuse.

There we were, two girls… just standing in the middle of a hallway, playing the quiet game. During a staring contest. I felt several pairs of eyes glancing our way.

Maids bowed their heads as they passed us. A bald butler came close to bumping into me, but carefully maneuvered around.

I didn’t have an answer for Anna. I hadn’t expected that question. In my mind, while sitting in the medium-sized armchair, I’d imagined this going one of two ways:

“Do you guys have a library?”

“Yes. It’s right over there. Here’s the key. Have fun!”

Or…

“Do you guys have a library?”

“Royals only, peasant.”

That’s it. Either apathetic affirmation or hostile gatekeeping. Maybe a cruel, short giggle fit before my swift, publicized beheading. But not… well-mannered suspicion.

I coughed into my hand, avoiding her gaze. “I… no reason… it’s just…”

I practically choked on my tongue. The words got stuck on a patch of flypaper, dying before they could come out.

Anna blinked.

I wasn’t embarrassed. Far from it. If she’d asked me about what I did as a hobby, I’d have confessed to being a magical girl.

But ask me what my obsession was? I’d have slammed my backpack on the table, unzipped it, and shown her the manga, the fairy tale anthology, and the one rogue light novel stuffed inside.

Yes. I’ll admit it. I’ll scream it from the mountaintops, the wind dramatically tossing my hair.

I loved to read.

I would read at home. I would read on the bus. I would read while navigating the foot traffic in the hallways, where students resembled spawning salmon.

I would even read during class. Which, come to think of it, might explain why Mr. Atlas eventually refused to let me visit the school library after finishing my assignments.

Eh. Whatever.

In terms of what I read… I only checked out my favorite genres. Fantasy and fairy tales. Maybe a little paranormal romance, if I was feeling particularly lonely.

What?

Being a magical girl doesn’t help you find dating prospects.

You barely have any free time. Witches and monsters constantly assault human cities, and you are responsible for repelling them.

These fights prove to be both time-consuming and exhausting. Casting spells costs large amounts of energy. Some monsters are harder to take down than others.

When you finally eliminate a combatant, you feel like you’ve just ran fifty kilometers. Everything is numb.

Walking turns into stumbling.

No time for dates. Or parties. You miss classes and dances. You focus squarely on your job.

Anyway…

… yeah, I loved to read.

What I didn’t love, however, was when someone teased me about it.

And at my middle school, where hormones turned rational human beings into moody, awkward psychos, someone was always teasing me.

I took a deep, long, shuddering breath. My mind dove headfirst into a foxhole.

“... I wanted to read something.”

Silence.

Anna simply blinked.

I bit my tongue, waiting for the sneer and the laughter. Anna blinked again. Her eyes went dull.

I cleared my throat.

She blinked for a third time, and then…

“YOU LOVE BOOKS TOO?!”

I leaned back. My hair touched the floor.

Anna was staring at me, face now inches from mine. Her teeth gleamed. Gems sparkled within her eyes.

Her eyes burned with childlike enthusiasm. And just a twinge of surprise.

“Y-yes? W-why wouldn’t I?”

I avoided her gaze, instead focusing on a corner of the ceiling.

We were so, so close. I could practically smell the flatcake she’d had for breakfast.

Not to mention her shampoo.

The scent hit my nose, and I instantly blushed. Strawberry. Or this world’s equivalent of strawberry.

Yes.

I know. Creepy.

But look, I couldn’t help it. We really were that close.

Anna didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy jumping, hair slapping her face with every ascent. Heels kept clicking against the floor.

She was also clapping.

It sounded like an automatic machine gun. Being fired by a little girl. Who’d just run into a friendly face.

My mind slowly lifted its head. It began surveying the battlefield, then sighed in relief. False alarm.

Anna suddenly grabbed my hands, then dragged me down the hallway.

The Grand Royal Library made quite an unusual first impression.

“Oh my god,” I gasped.

Anna stepped back. She crouched in the doorway, her body barely filling its girth.

The door had been big. Not as imposing as the others. And there were a lot of doors here, millions even, that might’ve given those a run for their money.

It was carved from deep crimson wood. Swirling lines curved around a golden knob.

Certain patterns caught my attention. Leafs. Trees. Streams converging.

But my eyes only lingered on these for a millisecond, because Anna soon clapped her hands.

Light flared into being. Flames whipped about, briefly illuminating a massive room, walls taller than anything I’d ever seen.

The ceiling loomed beyond their reach.

My mouth fell open.

It hit the floor.

“O…”

Anna giggled. She leaned against the door, arms crossed. “Amazing isn’t it?”

“... M…”

My jaws swung side to side. They creaked.

“... G!”

Bookshelves.

Tons of them. Millions of them. I couldn’t even tell where one ended and another began.

Nor how many rows each had. They seemed to extend into the sky, boundless; unrestricted by the laws of physics.

Just like with the Royal Castle.

And the books? Dear goddess, the books!

Big books. Small books. Books with labeled spines, titles unreadable, and books without labels themselves. Books that were close to collapsing into dust at the gentlest touch. Books hard as iron.

Books standing upright. Books floating in midair. Books standing stock still. Books vibrating and humming. Books knocking against their neighbors. Books dripping with these unrecognizable fluids.

Books of all sorts and kinds.

Books I desperately wanted to touch.

My hands clenched and unclenched.

“U-uh,” Anna blinked. “J-Juby?”

“Haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaa…”

“Juby? You’re bleeding.”

Anna weakly pointed at her own nose.

“S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s…”

I took a step. Well, it was more of a stumble. Warmth flooded my body. You could’ve seen steam wafting up from my forehead. Which might as well have been burning bright red.

Anna cringed. “You’re also drooling.”

“Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh,” I walked towards the nearest shelf. One stumble at a time.

This was perfect.

Paradise.

Heaven among heavens.

So many books to read. To sink deep into, like a stone falling into a pond.

Did this fantasy world have fairy tales of its own? It probably did. It had to. Ithyca itself was the stuff of fairy tales, with magic, elves, and cursed swords.

In any case, I intended to find out.

“Should I call for a healing mage?”

Immediately.

I began scanning the shelf one book at a time. Committing their titles to memory at a snail’s pace. Each cover was, thankfully, a different color than the rest.

Certain Tasks For Certain Classes.

Harnessing Your Innate Magical Potential For Magicless Dummies.

On and on they went.

The Demontongue-English Dictionary: Second Edition.

How To Cook Spriggans, Will-o-the-Wisps, & Other Pests.

Designing Your Very Own Familiar.

As I read more spines, the elation I had been feeling began to slowly… disappear. My finger traced disappointment after disappointment.

Goddess Dares You To Jump: Is YOUR Child Using Windleweed?

The History of Ithyca.

Witchcraft In Heresberg.

As The Sun Goes Down.

Eureka! A novel! I reached for the brick-sized paperback, hands trembling from anticipation. Expectations ran rampant. What would I find? A gothic romance? A dark fantasy epic about demons turning on their own kind?

My fingers inched closer towards…

“Gah! What’s that doing here?!”

I blinked. Where ATSGD had once been, only empty space.

A gap between two encyclopedias. Dust.

I turned towards Anna, who was now standing beside me. She clutched it. Both of her cheeks flushed bright red.

Her eyes were wider than mine.

“What’s wro—”

I went to grab it.

But the princess apparently had other plans. She recoiled from my empty hand, twisting away, curling inward. As if to protect some secret treasure.

Her body grew even redder than before.

The air between us got slightly warmer.

“You… You can’t read this bo-book.”

Shock turned into confusion.

“Why not?”

Anna’s face exploded into a supernova. Pure unadulterated embarrassment. Her eyes popped out of their sockets, looking very much like balloons. That were close to deflating.

I started to sweat. The collar of my white nightgown stuck to my clavicle.

“It… It’s not… Ap-app-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro-appro—”

She kept stammering. Her lips shook harder than San Francisco during the 1900s.

It would have been funny, if she wasn’t clenching the cover of ATSGD with every twitch. Panic settled in. She’d ruin it.

I hate rumpled or cressed, or bent, covers on paperbacks. I’m not sure why. Just seeing one bending upwards sends a sharp electric pulse straight to my brain that says:

NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONOONONONOOONONONONONONONONONONO

If I didn’t act fast enough…

“Appropriate? It’s not appropriate? Is that what you’re saying?”

My words might have come out harsher than necessary.

But this was serious.

Anna blinked a few times, then drained of color. The room cooled by several degrees.

She took a deep breath before looking me in the eyes. Speaking of serious. That look could have melted an Obliteride.

“Yes. That’s very much what I am saying, Juby.”

“Why?”

“Be-because…”

I tilted my head.

The princess sighed. She flipped ATSGD upside down and handed it to me. I graciously accepted it.

“Just read the back.”

“Oh. Ok?”

I glanced at the back of the novel.

“But I don’t see why you’d thii—”

I slipped the book back on the shelf.

Anna rubbed my shoulder. “Yeah. I know.”

A few minutes later…

“Why would your father leave that lying around for anyone to find?”

Anna shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Daddy usually keeps that…”

She glanced at ATSGD with muted horror.

“... Filth… in his chambers.”

The princess shuddered. Then shook her head, hair flopping all over.

She looked at me. A smile spread across her face. My heart knocked on my lungs, as if they were drums.

I bit my tongue.

Be still. Be still.

“Nevermind. Doesn’t matter.”

I began to nod.

Anna grabbed my hands, squeezing them.

“I’m just glad you like to read too.”

“U-uh-huh.”

Was I blushing?

I could’ve been blushing.

I definitely was blushing.

My eyes wandered around the room. I began counting the number of cobwebs in the ceiling, which was… Huh. Zero.

Say what you want about their paranoia about witches, and how eager they were to pull out their swords. The people of Ithyca knew how to clean. At least in places where they expected company.

No dust. No errant debris. Everything was polished, glinting, and maintained with utmost care.

One had to be in awe of the servants’ hardworking nature. They must’ve been paid well.

Either that, or the Royal Family hired extreme germaphobes who used weapons-grade cleaning products. Which was the most likely option. All things considered.

They probably screamed at the sight of a dust bunny. Fainted at a fingerprint on a window.

Or—

“Heh.”

“Uh,” someone asked. “Juby?”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh…”

“What’s so funny?”

Anna blinked, eyes so wide. So blue.

Like the sky. You could get lost in them. I almost started to.

She let go of my hands. That shut up those heckling thoughts, who sat back down. I wiped off my chin.

My blush deepened, a blinking traffic light warning passing motorists that, yes, this road was on fire. Please use extra caution.

Anna held a little heat herself.

“You okay? You always do that, zone out.”

I coughed. “Y-yeah. I’m fine. Just remembered something I saw on TV once.”

Anna tilted her head. “T… V? What is that?”

I almost explained what ‘TV’ stood for.

But I remembered. This was a fantasy world full of magic, witches and wizards; even giant squirrels. One modeled after medieval Europe.

Of course she wouldn’t understand. The only entertainment available ranged from books to plays, at the very least.

I waved my hand.

“Never mind. You wouldn’t get it.”

She tucked a golden strand behind an ear. Her heat disappeared. My own followed suit. We were both left staring in opposite directions.

She checked her black slippers. I had once again focused on the rows and rows of books.

So many to read.

Most were no doubt non-fiction, guides and enyclopedias. Textbooks giving advice on certain topics. How to cast spells. How to catch high-level monsters. Stuff like that.

But there had to be… Something.

Anything.

Poems. Records of battles. Entertainment hiding among all the educational grind.

I decided to ask.

“Are there any… You know?”

“Exciting inclusions?”

I nodded.

“Well,” Anna glanced around the library. “This place is my dad’s, and he’s a history buff, you know, but…”

Her eyes fell upon a shelf near the back. It didn’t seem as tall as the others, it barely overshadowed us. The little sibling.

Each row only held about seven or so tomes.

She sped-walked towards it. I trailed after her.

“... I think… We have a few.”

It held about seven or so tomes, but…

She knelt down, skirt pooling around her.

She pulled one out. The cover was black and smooth. I could see a symbol, think a hexagon inside a tree. It shined beneath the lights.

Upon glimpsing it, my head started to hurt.

… But the tome was thick.

Thicker than the telephone book. Than all of the textbooks I’d carry in my backpack at school, combined.

It swayed.

She stood up.

I don’t know how. From how heavy it looked, she couldn’t have been able to breath. Her spine should’ve cracked.

She spun around. Not a hint of sweat on her face.

She handed it to me. “This?”

I weakly nodded.

“Read the cover page.”

I did.

Knights Of Valor: Ithyca’s Greatest Heroes

I looked up.

Prepared to demure. To explain that by “exciting,” I’d meant fiction.

She fanned herself, both cheeks achieving mass criticality. The air between us had warmed by several thousand degrees. Her eyes were wider than dinner plates.

Sparkles shot off her like fireworks.

“That’s a personal favorite.”

I looked back down.

Shrugged.

“Thanks.”

Before I could walk out the door, though—

A hand grabbed my sleeve, pulling me to a stop. I turned around to see Anna shaking her head.

“What?”

She smiled. “I almost forgot.”

I tucked the eight-to-twenty brick equivalent of a book underneath my arm.

“Forgot wha—”

Movement. The world spinning around me. Shelf, door, shelf, door, shelf, door, shelf, shelf, shelf, shelf, shelf, until—

I landed in an oversized armchair.

And KOV:IGH landed on my chest.

Anna leaned over me, hands on her hips. She looked deadly serious. Like that drill instructor in Tin Foil Jacket.

“Here are some ground rules, Juby.”

I waddled and shook. It wasn’t comfortable, being in such a position. My back hurt a lot more than it did after being rammed by a Obliterod.

And I’d been slammed by a Obliterod many times. Too many times.

The book shifted, ever so slowly. My eyesight grew dark. I couldn’t see Anna any more, just her silhouette.

Then… Finally, the book fell into my lap.

Ah. Fresh air.

How I missed you.

I looked up at her. “O—”

“RULE NUMBER ONE,” a finger in my face. “You can’t take any books outside this room.”

“Why?”

“Because Daddy— er, I mean, Father doesn’t let me.”

“Fair enough. What’s ne—”

“RULE NUMBER TWO,” the finger poked my aching chest. “No food or drinks allowed in the library. Many of the books are zero editions. Which means… No other copies exist, in this world or any other.”

I blinked.

“Wait a minute. That makes no sense. If it’s a zero edition, then it can’t even exist in the first place, si—”

“RULE NUMBER THREE,” the finger tapped the cover of KOV:IGH. “If you need a bookmark, ask me. I’ve got tons.”

I opened my mouth to say something. I don’t remember what exactly. It might have been a question.

Or a “thank you.”

I’ll never know because, before I could…

“Scootch over, please.”

Anna spun around, then plopped herself down.

I scrambled to make room.

Too late. She nearly struck me with an elbow.

Strands of hair whipped my face. Before I could speak, though, the strawberries hit. Sweet and fruity.

Any and all objections died a quick, humane death.

She wiggled, waggled, until she fit neatly into the chair. There was plenty of room. The back was high and curved. We were both dwarfed by it.

“Excuse me.”

I gulped.

My heartbeat was going kilometers a minute.

—

Good thing magical girls can’t have heart attacks.

—

Anna simply smiled at me, sitting upright. Her posture was prim and proper. Befitting of a Princess.

One of her eyebrows arched.

“Well?”

I blinked.

“Go on! Open it! There’s one you might like, in Chapter eight-thousand seven hundred and fifty-nine.”

Ch-chapter… 8,759?

Chapter 8,759?!

The blasted thing had eight thousand chapters?! Seriously?! Why was every book in this world so gosh-darn long?!

Ok.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter how long it was. I’d read one of Stephanie Queen’s magnum opuses before, a 600 pages long behemoth that took me five months to finish. And I’d managed to survive.

How bad could KOV:IGH be?

I took a deep breath. Then breathed out. Some of the tension floated free. A lot remained trapped inside my chest.

I began reaching for the front cover. My hand shook harder than the Cascadian seduction zone in 1700.

That was when Anna leaned in closer. Her knee met mine, but by complete accident.

I bit my tongue to keep from jumping. No sense scaring the ever living daylights out of the Royal Princess.

The knight’s would never forgive me.

My hands shook as I gripped the cover.

I opened it.

I found the table of contents, itself requiring a table of table of contents.

I flipped to Chapter 8,759.

Anna peered over. “My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great—”

Just then, a faint knock.

We both looked up. From behind the door came a low coughing sound. Creaking metal.

A familiar voice.

“Uh, Your Little Highness, dinner’s rea—”

“OCCUPIED!”

#evanthenerd83's storytime #this magical girl isn’t a hero #short story #comic fantasy #magical girl #isekai #litRPG #parody #november 2023 #creative writing #original writing

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evanthenerd83 · 11 months

Text

“Holly And The Demon Play House”

CONTENT WARNING: The following story contains harsh language and graphic violence.

“Man… this is hard,” Holly said while she shoveled.

The demon glared at her, pupils supernova hot. It growled.

It sounded like a dog. No. More like a hellhound that had just spotted the soul of some unfortunate sinner.

Holly giggled. She reached over, rustling Its black hair.

“Aw, good doggie.”

A claw swiped. She yelped, drawing back.

Her pale flesh had been slit open. The cut stretched across her hand, barely missing the knuckles and wrist.

A bead of crimson was forming.

Crimson.

“B-bad d-d-doggie.”

The demon rolled Its eyes. “Just keep digging.”

They were standing in what was supposed to be a park. A very small, plastic park.

Fake trees. Fake grass. Fake dirt. Everything within this park had been manufactured by the newest geo-capitalist startup company.

Engineered to look natural, but not offend humanity’s delicate selfishness.

Holly hated it. Almost as much as nature. Being outside, being around animals, wasn’t something she found… let’s say… mentally relaxing.

Nor did it strike a particular chord. There was no chord to be struck.

Animals only made things difficult. Snapping twigs ruined months and months of stalking, observing.

It didn’t help that animals felt the same way. Dogs would bark whenever she’d walk past, nearly choking themselves with their own collars and chains.

Cats hissed. Bugs scuttled away from her traps.

Birds shat themselves.

And yet… Holly found this park disgusting. Whoever had designed it ignored the way the world worked.

The natural order.

She believed in the natural order. It was her guide to living, her so-called “moral code”.

The weak would be eaten.

The strong would eat.

The strongest would prevail.

And to Holly, she was the strongest. Humanity could go suck death’s boney, dry dick for all she cared. Which wasn’t much.

Or even a little.

“Do you think… we should leave her… wallet?”

The demon shot another glare. “What?”

Holly kept on digging, blonde curls plastered to her forehead. Sweat glistened beneath a full moon.

The hem of her skirt was covered with dirt and grime. Her uniform clung.

“We need… money… for like… some extra clothes and stuff… and maybe even food… you said so yourself…”

She stabbed her shovel into the ground. Another heap of dirt.

It quickly joined its brethren. There was so much of it, the demon could hardly see the girl anymore.

A memory flashed.

An awful, vivid memory. Graphic and gratuitous.

The demon screwed Its eyes shut. No such luck.

The image had been burned into Its head. The girl, rearing back; hands half-raised as if to stop—

Holly, turning around; face dead as she aims—

The pistol, barrel flashing; bullet—

The red, spewing out; chunks of brain and shattered skull—

The demon gagged.

It scrambled away from the hole, hooves casting dirt. It disappeared into a nearby bush.

Holly simply rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”

Ding-a-ring-a-long

Sing-a-song-a-dong

She froze, blade mid-stab. Her ears twitched.

A faint diddy. It wasn’t that complex, just a few repetitive notes played on a keyboard. The vocals were heavily synthesized.

The singer could’ve been a male or a female. It was difficult to tell.

What was easier to ascertain, though, was the source.

Holly stared at the impromptu grave.

“#$@& me.”

She dropped her shovel.

The ringtone suddenly ended. Silence fell upon the park.

Aside from the demon’s breakdown, of course. It was still puking Its guts out. As well as crying.

She kneeled.

Pain. And not the good, pleasurable kind.

The kind reserved for physical activity. A deep, hollow ache.

Holly could feel it in her bones. Each muscle burned. Overuse coupled with stress, making a bastard child.

Burying a body proved to be difficult work.

Unlike in movies, the ground refused to yield. It grew harder the deeper one went. The soil became stone.

They had started working hours ago. It took them several just digging the hole.

Holly despised labor. Exercise would leave her feeling used. Both of her armpits were swamps, and an unpleasant scent clung to her skin.

And exhaustion…

She ignored it. Her hands thrust themselves into the mound.

Cold engulfed them. Squishy dirt gave way. Excess rainwater added to the overall sensation.

Holly smiled.

Like exploring a victim’s body.

She searched.

…

“What are you doing,” the demon groaned.

Holly didn’t respond. She was sitting on the ground, legs crossed.

She seemed to be looking at something. The demon ran a single claw across Its face, knocking globs of leftover vomit from both cheeks.

It stumbled forward.

It felt like crap.

Utter crap.

Its throat was burning. Ribs were being beaten up by Its rogue heart, and something sent shockwaves through Its nerves. Shock.

Shock?

Yes.

Shock. Trauma. It couldn’t have been sick. Its immune system acted as a hellfirewall against invaders.

Nothing got through. Lowly creatures, viruses and bacteria, would find themselves in a world of hurt.

Or worse. Absorbed.

It coughed, peering over Holly’s shoulder.

She had both hands in her lap. They were wrapped around something small.

The demon squinted.

It was incredibly dark. Branches formed a canopy that prevented moonlight from reaching them. Whoever had designed the park deserved eternity in such darkness.

“Uh, Holly?”

“…”

“H-Holly,” It whispered. “What is tha—“

Ding-a-ring-a-long

Sing-a-song-a-dong

A song.

Light.

Bright. Blinding. It cut the dark like a butcher knife.

The demon yelped, falling backwards. It crawled away from the source of this light. On all fours.

It quickly scrambled to Its hooves. “H-Holly—“

A slender finger rose.

An angered hiss broke free. It froze in place, mouth snapping closed.

It stared at Holly with wide eyes.

She simply answered the cell phone. “Y’ello?”

The demon winced.

This wouldn’t work. This couldn’t work.

Holly was a lot of things. A mass murderer. A spree killer. An arsonist. A monster. A sexual deviant.

A sniper. A torturer. A perfect singer.

“Uh huh.”

A fugitive. An excellent cook. A sadist.

“I’m sorry, but she can’t. My… Uh, my sister has fallen ill.”

A survivalist. A master planner. An awful writer.

“No. No. No need! You enjoy your night, Ms. Woodhouse! I’ll…”

Holly eyed the demon, face going blank.

It felt her gaze on Its back. It stopped pacing.

“… you know what? We’ll be there! In about… what’s your address?”

The realization hit.

It instantly paled. Horror liquified Its face, and beads of sweat cascaded down Its cheeks.

Holly smiled as It started to shake Its head. She looked away.

“Perfect! That’s not far at all!”

It darted forward, claws outstretched.

Holly simply raised her pistol, and It froze.

“Hm? Oh. Just my brother.”

A pause. Her smile fell, replaced once again by the emptiness. She blinked a few times.

And then—

She threw her head back.

“Ha! Ha! Hahahahahaha! Of course not, Ms. Woodhouse! That’d be inappropriate!”

The demon cringed. Holly was inappropriate.

Her laughter simmered down. Yet another sneer appeared.

“And don’t worry. You can just pay me, and we—my brother and I—will split the money!”

It glanced at the mound. It gulped when It saw the glazed eye staring back.

“Yes ma’am! Just five more minutes! We’ll be there! Thank you! Thank you! Goodbye!”

Holly hung up.

She allowed the cell phone to fall. It landed in the dirt, face down.

“Um…” the demon backed away. “H-H—“

It cringed. The sound of shattering glass and snapping plastic echoed, joined by crunching leaves. She lifted her shoes.

Debris. Wasted technology.

She looked up, then started walking.

“Holly,” It whimpered. “What—“

She grabbed Its collar, pulling It behind her. It didn’t dare to resist. Resistance was futile.

It had seen enough to understand.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #holly and the demon #short story #black comedy #crime fiction #urban fantasy #horror comedy #june 2023 #creative writing #original writing

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evanthenerd83 · 6 months

Text

Holly & The Demon Confess Their Sins

Father O’Rille heard the knocking on the door.

His eyes glanced at his wristwatch. Three thirty-three.

The witching hour. Concern filled his old locked heart. Possibilities presented themselves.

A desperate soul looking for absolution? An early morning confession? Maybe one of the community’s many troubled teens, pressured by peers and the modern world, simply wanted to talk.

Whoever it was, they needed help.

And there was no way Ronald O’Rille would turn his back on those in need.

He removed his reading glasses, tucking them into their case. Then that case was slipped into a pocket.

Another knock-knock-knock. Louder this time. More desperate, it seemed.

The concern deepened.

He next slipped the soft tassel between Matthew 5:21 and 5:22. The King James Bible was gently placed on a pew. It joined a haphazardly forgotten sermon book.

O’Rille made his way towards the big wooden doors. They’d been aged by thunderstorms, snowstorms, the elements, wannabe artists with spray paint, among other incorrigibles.

Souls trapped between Heaven and Hell. Those who abandoned prayer and silent reflection for eating Dy-pods and filming themselves drunk driving. Kids who’d never experienced the harsh love of a nun’s ruler.

Something flashed through his mind. An image of a grim-faced woman swinging a fifty-inch ruler.

O’Rille shuddered. He remembered his time at Saint Fyrenne Catholic School.

He never wanted to remember.

Shaking away repressed trauma, O’Rille forgave the past. There were more important things to dwell on.

Speaking of which…

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

The knocking rang out. It seemed like thunder, or some Nephilem was stomping towards the church.

Dust and wood shavings danced lightly from the rafters.

O’Rille frowned. He spent hours watching Anne work up high. She’d swipe and wipe with a damp washcloth, balancing on a rickety old ladder.

She should’ve gotten all of it.

But the knocking revealed otherwise. Truely, Mother Superior had been right: The faithful needed to be vigilant.

Evil stood on every street corner. Or waited in the shadows.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Coming!”

O’Rille felt his heart go thu-thu-thump. The concern was now long gone. It’d been replaced by fear.

Fear for the sake of the poor soul no doubt knocking on his front door.

It must have been serious. Gravely serious. Maybe someone needed an exorcism performed.

He hadn’t undertaken Exorcism 101 at Saint Fyrenne Catholic School. Nor did he choose the necessary electives during his seminary years.

Too many prayer parties to attend.

But he did know Archangel Michael’s Blessing.

That verse’d been chiseled into his head. Mother Superior forced all her students to learn it, repeat it, over and over again. Before breakfast. Before dinner.

In their sleep.

He shuddered again.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

This time, the whole building shook. Dust coated the floor like snow. O’Rille quickly glanced back at the sermon room, where the large cross wobbled.

Right above the rows and rows of lit candles.

In the middle of an old church constructed with such trustworthy materials as wood.

He quickened his pace.

“Goodness,” he whispered.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

“What,” he gripped the handle.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

He pushed hard. “Is”

One of the doors creaked open.

“Wron—”

And the pistol clicked.

…

Holly’s aim was steady.

Cool. Collected.

The barrel didn’t shake an inch. If fired, it was obvious what part of the pastor’s anatomy would get shredded. All three of them knew that.

She glanced towards her companion. “See Dem? Told you someone was in.”

The pastor blinked.

“Well,” the demon said. “There was always a chance. Wasn’t there?”

It didn’t bother with Its human disguise. No reason too.

It held a paper bag in each arm. They were close to bursting.

Holly rolled her eyes. Then focused them back on the pastor. A soft smile stretched dry, cracked lips.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But we need your help with something.”

The pastor blinked again.

His mouth fell open wide. Nearly nicked the floor. Fear grew thicker and thicker with every heartbeat.

The demon looked down at Its shoe, the lace untied.

It leaned too far. A can of bean-dip toppled from the precarious tower of food stuff.

Rolling. Rolling. Rolling away.

“Ah,” It yelped. “No. Not again!”

The pastor watched as It reached out a hand… No, a claw. It had no hands.

Only claws. With five reptilian, sharper than sharp nails. Nails It no doubt would no doubt dig into his feeble mortal flesh.

Would no doubt run across his throat. His wrists. Severing the blue lines just barely sheltered by the skin. Releasing a torrent of crimson upon holy ground.

“Um,” Holly waved a hand. “Hello?”

It’d bleed him dry. Oh yes, it would.

A demon would love to torture a man of God. Inflict pain and agony on a servant of Its greatest enemy, the savior of mankind. It would go slow. Enjoying the way his screams would echo within the church.

“Hello,” Holly snapped her fingers. “Earth to priest. Earth to priest.”

It’d rip him apart. Because that’s what demons do.

oh, yes, slithered an awful voice, we do

Fear solidified as if concrete.

we rip you apart fingertip from fingertip toenail to toenail we will go up up up godman up from fingertips and toenails to fingers and toes and then knuckles then hands and feet we will wretch your arms and legs from their sockets

He felt his crotch go wet. Something streamed down his leg, pooling into his shoes.

His heart jack-hammered against his ribs. Lungs turned to ice. The fear snarled behind him, fangs bared; hungry.

Like a beast. A wolf.

we will rip your guts out and tie them around your neck that tree out back seems tall enough close enough to your box your empty box maybe you will still be alive by the time we do maybe we will leave you in your precious little box and anne will find you find you all in pieces tiny little pieces maybe we will make you like a jigsaw puzzle oh we just love jigsaw puzzles Something cold.

Something cold and steel.

“Snap out of it,” Holly hissed.

That finally did it. The pastor blinked once, twice, thrice. The red haze covering his pupils dissipated.

He slowly looked over at her.

The girl. The sixteen-year-old in a blood-stained Catholic school uniform. Blond hair curling upward. Green eyes bright.

Bright with the hunger.

Wolf eyes.

He jolted.

“Wh-what do you want, my… child?”

She held up a finger.

She dug around inside her pocket.

She brought it out lickety-split.

And smiled her wolf-smile.

“Can you bless this?”

A condom.

Still in the wrapper.

The pastor blushed. He quickly looked away, choosing to focus on something else. Anything else.

Not because he was embarrassed by it.

No. He had no reason to be embarrassed.

Because the condom was his.

“Wh-where did you—”

“At a motel.”

“A-a motel?”

“Yep.”

“Which one?”

“The, uh, the,” Holly rubbed her temple with the barrel of the pistol. “What the #$@&, the… I’m gonna say… the one with that god-awful name…”

The pastor began to sweat.

Oh please, he thought. Please god, no, no, no.

Holly snapped her fingers. “... Ah, the Ja-Jat-Jake—”

The Ja-Ka Motel.

“... The Ja-Ka Motel! The Ja-Ka Motel! You know, the one in, uhhhhhh…”

The pastor hoped against it. Prayed that he was just mistaken. That the condom this girl was holding, that she wanted him to bless, wasn’t…

… Couldn’t have been…

… Shouldn’t have been…

“...”

“... Oregon?”

“...”

“Near that one mall,” Holly turned around as the demon approached. “Dem, you remember that mall?”

It held the bags tighter than before.

An eyebrow cocked. “Which one?”

She stared at It. “You know. The one that burned down?”

“Which one?”

“You know, Dem.”

It tilted Its head. “Ummmm…”

Holly lowered the pistol, then took a step towards It. A faint heat bloomed in her cheeks.

“You know…”

The demon’s eyes shot up. It thought a good long while. Almost for a full minute.

Before…

“Nope. I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Oh. #$@& you.”

“Oh. That one!”

Holly glared hard. “Seriously. #$@& you.”

The pastor watched this exchange with a passive, cool detachment. Like a bystander during an absurd comedy act.

Or an inmate on death row.

He knew he needed to do something.

Obviously the girl was innocent.

The demon was ultimately responsible. It had no doubt tricked the poor girl into becoming Its slave, induced such foul language.

She must have killed someone.

A lot of someones, considering the amount of blood-stains. Maybe millions.

His eyes focused on the condom.

He took a deep breath.

“Why would you think I’d remember? It’s been so long since then!”

“Well, EX-CUUUSEE me for caring! Dickhead.”

“You? Caring? Please all you care about, missy, is taking a literal bloodbath!”

“Are you #$@&ing kink-shaming me, you #$@&ing clit-muncher?”

He weighed his options.

Expose his past sins, and maybe further sully the already deathbed reputation of the Catholic church.

Or bless this condom, allow the forces of Hell to further drag the poor girl’s soul to hell, but salvage his own reputation in the process.

“I just want to have fun, Dem! THAT’S ALL I WANT! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET ME HAVE—”

“BECAUSE YOUR KIND OF FUN IS KILLING PEOPLE, HOLLY! YOU KILL PEOPLE!”

He cleared his throat.

Both of them stopped screaming.

They turned towards the pastor, who had his hands clasped behind his back.

“Please, child,” he stepped aside. “Come inside.”

…

“I’ll be staying outside.”

Holly looked at the demon.

“Why?”

It pointed up. She followed Its finger towards the topmost spire, and the large cross painted pure white.

“Oh. Right.”

She shrugged. Her hair bounced with the motion.

She walked through the front door of the church. “Just hide in the bushes, or something.”

…

Holly whistled.

O’Rille briefly felt a bit of pride. But quickly squashed that down.

Pride was a sin, after all.

He still had to admit, though. She was a thing of awe. ‘She’ meaning the church.

Unlike other pastors and priests, O’Rille didn’t hold such perverted desires. Only thing which brought a slight tent to his robes was a good, ol’ leatherbound Holy Bible.

The church was old. It’d been built during the early 1800s by a husband and wife pair.

A kindly couple whose trek down the infamous Mooney Trail revived not just their marriage, but also their faith.

Many once flocked to its halls for salvation, guidance, and forgiveness.

Things all out of stock at all the other churches currently popping up all over the place.

No-one visited this church. Per the national statistic, attendance dropped from 300 a Sunday to 0 a year.

Oh well, thought O’Rille. More heaven for me.

“Wow.”

Holly took it in.

The pews with cracks slowly reaching upwards.

The floor scuffed by decades of shoes shuffling about.

She found it impressive. How, in all its years of existence, no-one had thought to gently, ever so gently, knock over those candles. One small nudge.

And there’d be a fire. A grand ol’ fire.

One that witches once danced around. Nude. Laughing. Maybe slaughtering a lamb or virgin for their wicked patrons.

God, Holly thought. I wish I was alive back then.

O’Rille cleared his throat.

Her attention snapped back. One hand tightened around the pistol. Grooved ridges against flesh.

The other hand instantly fell away. It’d barely reached the hemline of her skirt.

A look crossed over his face. One Holly recognized well. The demon usually had the exact same expression.

Disgust. Concern.

Barely concealed… fear?

Of course.

Of course he’d be afraid of her. She’d pointed a gun at his head.

And why shouldn’t he be? There was still a possibility she would kill him afterwards, right? It wasn’t everyday Holly Slaughter would spare someone.

Unless she was tired.

She unconsciously slowed down.

O’Rille stepped around the lectern, hands slapping down on its flat surface. Candlelight flickered behind him. His shadow grew large.

He reached out expectantly.

“Well, come on. Let’s get this thing over with.”

Holly blinked.

O’Rille tilted his head. A friendly smile flashed.

The smile of a shepherd helping a stray lamb.

How sweet. She rolled her eyes. Next he would be asking her to recite the Lord’s Prayer several dozen times.

Maybe throw in a couple hundred Hail Marys for good measure.

Anything to save her soul.

The smile widened.

“Well?”

Holly blinked again.

Then approached the lectern.

Why not? Pastors were always trying to save souls, even those who didn’t want to be.

Goths knew this better than anyone. Holly wasn’t an atheist; she believed in God and angels and all that crap.

She knew an actual demon. That proved the supernatural existed.

She stretched out her own hand, ready to drop the condom.

O’Rille grabbed her wrist, fingers closing. Quicker than she could realize. The condom fell to the lectern.

“What the #$@& are you—”

He pulled her.

Her stomach hit the edge, and pain briefly sang; an opera of agony. Thoughts went dumb.

She tried to raise the pistol.

Wrath flashed its fangs. Fear hissed, ears flat against its skull; ready for war. One twitch of a finger.

And everything would be over.

Over.

But he moved quicker still.

A hand was thrust against the barrel, sending it up. Off target.

Out of her hands. It toppled to the floor. It laid dead.

She opened her mouth, not to scream, but to curse.

That hand smothered those words.

O’Rille was now leaning over, close, danger close. Goosebumps flared down her spine.

Wrath and Fear pounced—

“How long?”

He whispered.

“How long has that… that thing been…”

… And were pulled back. Confusion tugged roughly on their leashes, leashes that hadn’t been there before. It wagged a finger; tisk-tisk.

Holly stared at him.

Anger simmered. She released.

“... I know, you know, that thing isn’t your friend, right? I know it’s been leading you astray from God’s light, telling you to do such awful things.”

He glanced mournfully at her uniform.

The sleeves stained by blood. Some of it had long since dried, turned brown. The majority was still red, wet, and dripping.

In their struggle, specks were flicked.

A little droplet pockmarked his collar.

Holly’s eyebrow curled.

“You know I’m right.”

Holly stared daggers.

“You know,” he tightened his grip. “I’m right.”

They were deflected by a pure heart. A kind heart. Not quite spotless, yet ultimately well-meaning.

Holly didn’t care about good intentions.

All she cared about was survival.

And while it was annoying, and would whine about spilled blood, she’d managed to survive with It. The demon.

Dem.

“I-I can help you! I might not be a sanctioned exorcist, but I-I still know the Prayer! And there are some chains in the basement! Just say the word and…”

This pastor hadn’t burned down that mall.

He hadn’t set the trap for those pig-#$@&ers at the motel.

He hadn’t helped her.

Helped her.

Help, she thought.

“... And I can get rid of it! Okay? You understand… Right?!”

Dem. Help.

He smiled even wider. Far too wide.

She glanced at the big wooden doors.

…

Crunch.

Crumbs fell from permanently chapped lips. They scattered across a lap.

The demon kept chewing. It glanced down.

Subtle movement. It peered closer at the ground. Fire ants were marching, dangerously close to Its hoofs.

Innumerable. This legion had been coaxed out by Its presence, like other hateful creatures of the Earth. Snakes emerged from beneath rocks. Hornets swarmed the closest priest.

Fetuses went all Brocky on their mothers.

Merely stepping on solid ground seemed to trigger an alarm present in all living things. Danger! Danger! Demon! Demon!

It swept away the crumbs, casting them down, like Its own personal Lucifers.

Then shoved a hand back into the can of potato chips.

…

Glanced back.

Oh, she rolled her eyes. #$@& it.

She suddenly, violently shook her head. Like a dog tearing into a chew toy.

“H-hey,” the pastor struggled to hold on. “Wait a minute, just—”

She wouldn’t wait a minute.

His hand fell away. A mouth opened, and fresh air filled aching lungs.

She bent over, coughed.

“Jesus #$@&ing Christ on a Stick,” she backed away. “The #$@& are you talking about?!”

The smile vanished.

O’Rille blinked.

“I’m… What?”

Holly felt her feet bump into something. She looked down and, upon seeing a familiar black sheen, smiled to herself.

She grabbed the pistol.

O’Rille raised both hands. “Wait! Wait! Wait!”

“Wait for what,” Holly gritted her teeth. “For you to hurt him?”

“Hurt him?”

“Yes,” Holly aimed the pistol. Her aim was steady, nice and cool. Collected.

They both knew, if it fired, what part of his anatomy would be blown right off.

O’Rille covered his groin. He looked at her with wide, unblinking eyes. As if he couldn’t believe it.

The insinuation.

“Y-you call it a… a him?”

“What of it?”

O’Rille shook his head. He remained on the opposite side of the lectern.

“You… You…”

His head dropped.

“You were just… Talking to it. Just… Like you’re friends. A-and you called it… You called it… ‘Dem.’ You called it… You gave it a nickname…”

The tremors started, then rolled all over.

Holly saw the chance. At the same time, Wrath saw the wheel, left unoccupied. They both took it.

She backed away from him.

Slowly at first. Then fast. Her hair stopped being curly and turned straight as an arrow.

He wasn’t worth it. His blood wouldn’t be worth the hassle of extending energy.

Plus… He was nutso. Out of his mind. Delusional. How did he not understand what kind of relationship the demon and her had?

What kind of relationship…

“... You still carried around that condom… F-for months… Months and months… Which means…”

She was close.

The doors were right there, coming up ahead. Just a few more strides and then…

She could barely hear his muttering. His voice had gone low, dry. Cracking.

… One more step, and…

“... Which m-means…”

… She grabbed the handle.

She pushed—

“... You love him.”

… Freeze.

Full stop.

Muscle paralysis.

“Holly,” O’Rille croaked.

His voice was like death. Old and broken.

Weak from disbelief. A smidge of disgust. A dollop of horrid, overly judgemental hatred.

Holly twitched.

“Holly,” O’Rille croaked, louder this time.

Holly slowly, ever so slowly turned around, eyes wide, bright, full of something far worse than any sociopathic apathy.

“Do you,” O’Rille gagged.

An element far worse than any hemophiliac fetish.

“Do you… Love it?”

Boom.

Supernova.

Cataclysm.

World-shaking. Mind breaking. Unmorring not everything, but pretty damn close to everything.

Holly stared.

Her eyes shone with pure, unadulterated, horrifying panic.

Minutes passed.

An hour.

The demon dug around, reaching for yet another bag of chips. It could sense it. Flavor danced upon Its tongue.

Sour cream and cheddar. Drool sizzled against Its chin.

A creaking sound. Then a heavy thump. So loud it made the demon jump.

It stared at Holly as she calmly walked away from the church.

“Uh,” It blinked. “Holly?”

She didn’t respond. Simply passed It by, choosing a random direction.

It looked around. Opened bags and wrappers littered the ground, strewn about. Hell of a mess.

A hell of a mess.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #holly and the demon #black comedy #crime drama #urban fantasy #comedy horror #short story #creative writing #original writing #October 2023 #satire

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evanthenerd83 · 1 year

Text

“Darker Than The Old Sea”

Day Thirty. No one was coming.

It was obvious. True. There all the time. Surely, they had known. Surely, they’d realized that the distress call never reached home.

Home.

A pinprick. Light faintly shimmering. Winking on the face of darkness. Darkness lurking beyond the glass, stars long dead. Out here, everything was dead. The ship was dead. Amie and Rockand were dead.

Torn to pieces. Splattered against the walls and floor and ceiling. Flesh floated across his vision, miniscule; the size of particles. Dust.

Dust.

We all turn to dust.

Singing bled through the metal. That voice.

He recognized that voice. That voice belonged to Jale. The repairman. Gray-haired and skin splotched by black, long scorched, eyes furtive. Jale who was supposed to be dead.

Dead. Lost in the walls. He had crawled after hearing his wife’s voice. The voice singing beside his. The voice that couldn’t have been a voice. Had never been a voice. Just the creaking and groaning whine of oxygen pipes.

There was no one in the walls.

There was no one calling his name.

There was no one.

No one.

They were no ones. Him and the rest, if there were any left. He hadn’t seen the others since Haten pulled the gun during supper. It shouldn’t have been loaded. They never kept it loaded.

But it had been loaded. And what was loaded was unloaded, suddenly, loudly. Unloaded straight into Haten and his poor, mottled brain. His brain painted them.

His brain was still on the wall.

The wall was still feeding on his brain. Everyone else had been running away, their meals forgotten. Voices echoing. So, he was the only one who saw.

Dear god of homeward journeys. He saw.

Red paint seethed. Meat was slurped behind steel, metal, smarterial. It vanished before his very eyes. At that, he very nearly wished his eyes would vanish. But he stopped himself before it could crystallize.

Before the thought could be thought.

Thirty days.

Thirty days of silence.

Not even screams. Just silence. And the singing.

The others were probably already dead. Long dead. Which way had they run, which rooms did they choose to hide in? Which shelter was safe? None.

All the rooms. Once you stepped inside, the door would close, the jaw would snap shut, and you’d be mush. Jelly. Paste.

Chewed up.

Spat back out.

Thirty days of sitting in his special spot.

Thirty days of canid hunger gnawing at his bones.

Thirty days of watching for the wall to breathe.

Rochle didn’t want to come. To leave Home again, leave her daughter alone. There’d been enough months spent away from Home already. Enough of the Dark.

He blinked despite himself.

Rochle’s daughter. Her daughter.

Her daughter kept sending messages, video-calls. Images flung across this abyss. Sounds echoed in this hall of horrors. Even when the power had gone and the lights went dim, the calls kept coming. The anger kept coming. The hatred.

Rochle would watch them. But not around the others. She only watched them behind a closed door. Everyone could still hear. Cries of pain at the sight that seeped through regardless, appearing inside one’s eye.

Her daughter’s pretty face, babyface, blue-eyed, blond hair. Skin split open. Maggots birthing from desecrated flesh. Sockets elongating.

Mouth moving. A silent accusation. A question.

Why?

#evanthenerd83's storytime #sci fi & fantasy #cosmic horror #psychological horror #april 2023 #short story #creative writing #original writing #creepy stories

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evanthenerd83 · 6 months

Text

Raggy's Hell Is Other People Being Stubborn

“And when did this occur?”

I looked up from my notebook.

“Um…”

Mrs. Lude glanced around, eyes wide. Alert.

She looked like an anxious deer. A hunter was nearby, close enough to bring everything to an end. That hunter being…

“Please tell the truth. Lying is a sin. And you know that you shouldn’t sin…”

The elderly woman jerked. A trembling hand reached for her neck.

For the crucifix necklace hanging from it.

Typical. They always did this. Whenever I came around, anytime and anywhere, humans defaulted onto personal quirks.

Be it begging, bribing, excusing, or praying. It depended on the type of person. Who they were as people.

People.

I held back a laugh. No sense causing myself further misery.

I had enough misery to deal with.

“I… Uh, thi-this week… I mean, last week, last week!”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, resuming my notetaking. “Sure.”

I didn’t mean to come off as sarcastic, or even slightly doubtful. My voice simply comes off that way.

It is unbearably dry and low, cracking in places. Hearing it makes folks’ eyes water. Mrs. Lude was crying like a newborn.

She shouldn’t have been crying. Seeing other people cry makes me want to cry.

Sympathy.

Or maybe not. Probably just irritation from Earthly air.

I don’t understand how anybody can see through all those unclaimed souls.

Anyway…

… Mrs. Lude didn’t know that I wasn’t disputing her actions. Not entirely.

I was just skeptical. What she was saying seemed pretty ridiculous, especially when her permanent record said otherwise.

Every soul had a permanent record.

Think of it as a little black book containing everything about a person. Every word that they have said. Every thought they’ve ever had.

What they’ve done.

And what Mrs. Lude had done, over her seventy-two years of life, constituted…

“Mrs. Lude…”

I shook my head. This loosened a strand of hair. It hung there, an obstruction in my peripheral eyesight.

“... I thought I just told you. Lying is an Evilony. And committing an Evilony comes with…”

The crone yelped. She sounded like a mouse being caught in a trap, squealing; air escaping from collapsed lungs.

Her face paled even further. Veins popped out. Sickly. Looked one heart attack away from a nice, relaxing dirt nap.

That trembling hand changed course. It grabbed the front of my shirt.

“You,” breathing hard. “You don’t understand, I never did anything wrong! I’ve never hurt anyone! Never drank! Never cussed! Waited until marriage—”

“Please let go.”

She didn’t seem to hear me.

She was already on a roll.

“If you have to punish anyone, punish them! Those delinquents are responsible! They were stepping all over my lawn! Messing up my grass! Getting their trash everywhere! One was—”

“Let go.”

Her grip tightened. Nails sharpened into talons pierced the weak fabric.

I hated Earthly clothing. It got dirty rather easily and could be torn. Got wet too. I couldn’t help but miss my previous attire.

Heavenly materials may itch. They don’t let harm befall us.

Mrs. Lude was foaming at the mouth.

“Those kids deserved it! Okay?! They deserved what was coming to them! I told them, I told them, I told them to get off my property, but they wouldn’t listen! They wouldn’t leave! So, I did what I had to—”

I looked her in the eye. “You did what you had to?”

She went silent.

“You did what you had to? Really?”

I stood stock still, arms by my sides. Palms against jeans. Fingers splayed.

No use getting angry.

“You had to do that? There was no other option? No peaceful resolution to your conflict?”

My voice lost its edge. An expanse grew between my words and my tone, hollow. Unfathomably deep.

Yet completely level. Flat.

Neutral.

Better not get angry.

“You couldn’t think of anything else, nothing else, none at all? You couldn’t just stop yelling at them? Couldn’t have turned the other cheek? Ignored them?”

Mrs. Lude took a step back.

She was scared. Even I could tell. All that energy, however misplaced, had instantly flickered out, died.

“B-but…”

I stared hard at her.

The excuse died.

“You had to do it,” I sneered. “You had to, huh?”

She took another step back.

Then another.

And another.

“You had to grab your husband’s service pistol?”

Her mouth fell open.

“You had to check the chamber?”

Her body seized.

“You had to fire it?”

I took a single step, and she instinctively leaned away. Bad mistake.

She suffered terrible back pain. Bones weak from living life. Those tears were no longer from denial.

But from misery.

I peered down.

“Multiple times?”

Her soul finally got the message.

She started to shake her head. Subtly at first.

Barely discernible amidst the panic shakes.

I sneered even wider.

“You had to reload it?”

“N-n-no,” she sputtered. “No.”

“Then why?”

Tilting my head.

Her eyes slid up. They grew wider than ever at the sight of my handcuffs.

Handcuffs in the metaphorical sense. No handcuffs could restrain me, even in this form. My kind are never guilty of mortal crimes.

“P-p-p-p—”

“Why, Mrs. Lude, why?”

“Wh-wha-what are—”

Do not…

… Ah. Fuck it.

I pressed one of my nails under her chin.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Wanted to?”

“I wanted to kill them. Always have.”

“Teens?”

“Boys.”

“Boys?”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Boys will be boys.” I flapped my wings, feathers scorched black.

A halo encircled my head. Dull like moonlight, it made one full rotation.

I wouldn’t say I was without sympathy. Even fallen angels still have a bit of angel in them, whether they want it or not.

They had to help others. Condemn those who sin. Punish those who go against the Commandments.

And I’d spent nearly a year on Earth. I understood enough about human nature, especially that of males.

Those words, “boys will be boys,” meant something very, very different.

Seconds passed. We stayed like that, Mrs. Lude and I, for several minutes. A truck came tumbling down the street. Dogs barked in the distance.

“Homicidal ideation is still a sin, lady.”

“I acted in self-defense.”

“Uh. News flash. Self-defense is still murder. Doesn’t matter why, you still took somebody’s life.”

“He didn’t die.”

“You left him braindead.”

“Oh please! It was his family who pulled the plug.”

“He was already dead. Hence… Brain… dead.”

“You sure are something.”

“You won’t be anything in a few minutes, if you keep on denying what you did.”

A beat. Neither of us spoke, so I could hear the whispering from the neighbors, two women across the street.

They hadn’t been there before.

One cupped her mouth to the other’s ear.

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know, but they have wings.”

“And they’re floating.”

This was going nowhere.

I needed to act. Before they started recording our little exchange.

Becoming an Internet celebrity would mean losing the element of surprise. Optimal secrecy is necessary for a fallen angel. They can’t be seen.

Especially if they were assigned to this job.

Someone like me.

Taking a deep breath, I lowered Mrs. Lude.

I smiled my sweetest smile. Which was as sweet as cancer.

“Why don’t we just get this over with, hm?”

The old lady glanced behind me. She blinked.

Then she smirked.

I tightened my grip.

“Come on.”

“Why? I was acquitted.”

“Yeah. In a court of human law.”

“What do you mean by tha—?”

…

It took flying up beyond the clouds, dangling her upside down, and letting go.

But she confessed.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #urban fantasy #black comedy #October 2023 #short story #creative writing #original writing

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evanthenerd83 · 6 months

Text

A Catholic schoolgirl and a demon knock on the front door of a church…

Holly & The Demon Confess Their Sins, the seventh installment in the bloodily hilarious and hilariously bloody story series, is coming soon!

On October 25, 2023!

#Holly And The Demon #announcement #evanthenerd83's storytime

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evanthenerd83 · 1 year

Text

“Just A Peek, I Swear”

We try to ignore them. Keep our heads down, focus on something else. The glow of our cell phones. What the newscasters are saying. Wherever that plastic bag might be heading.

It doesn’t work. We can still feel their gaze on our backs. Our skin flares up with goosebumps, as if it is bare. Fear overtakes what should prevail. Rational thinking ceases.

Against our better judgment, we begin to turn around. Just to look, we tell ourselves. And we do it slowly. Ever slowly. No use giving ourselves a nasty shock.

The gaze grows colder. Sharper. Knives slip right through raw flesh, nerves scream in panic. This makes us go slower.

We turn around. Just to look. Just to take a peek, catch a glimpse. We don’t actually want to know their faces, what they look like. But we can’t help ourselves.

When we have turned around, when we have looked, there is nothing there.

Want More? 👇🏻

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evanthenerd83 · 9 months

Text

“Test Results”

BioSys Solutions

IBRP TESTING CASE REPORT

For Intra-Company Use Only

REPORTER INFORMATION

Today’s Date: 11/16/2020

Clinic: Alpha

Clinician: Dr. Natalie House

Phone: (210) 555-0107

Reporter: Joan Torres

Phone: (210) 555-0119

IBRP TESTING INFORMATION

Lab #: 14

Specimen #: F-04

Test Type

BGS/biopsy: Negative

Psychological evaluation (performed by on-site counselor): Negative

PATIENT INFORMATION

First Name: Amy

Last Name: Kushnier

Phone: (210) 555-0110

Address: PLQ-303, Adjacent Personnel Complex

City: Haverford

Zip Code: 10023

County: Stanford

State: New York

Date of Birth: 2/17/1984

Age: 36

Sex: F

Race

White_Y

Black/African American_

Asian_

American Indian/Alaskan Native_

Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander_

Other_

Ethnicity

Hispanic_

Not Hispanic_Y

Does the patient work in a physical interactivity occupation (e.g, biopsy or blood sample retrieval, floor exploration, drug administration, surgical treatment, etc)?

Yes_

No_X

Department Title_

Employee Occupation_

Does the patient work in a visually restrained position (e.g, Internal Imagining System operator, EKG monitor, staff resource manager, data analyst, etc)?

Yes_X

No_

Department Title: Technology

Employee Occupation: IIS Monitor

Does the patient oversee transfer of biopsy and blood samples?

Yes_

No_X

Shift:

CLINICAL INFORMATION

Date Of Symptom Onset: 11/04/2020

OR Asymptomatic: N/A

Is Patient Admitted: Y_X N_

Is Patient Pregnant: Y_ N_X

Is Patient Deceased: Y_ N_X

Admittance Date: 11/16/2020

Discharge Date: TBD

Date Of Death: N/A

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evanthenerd83 · 10 months

Text

“Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Team”

“What’s a kid doing here?”

And at those words, spoken quickly and harshly, she paled. The girl’s eyes went wide.

Then they were clenched shut.

Feelings swarmed her exposed nerves. Hands wrought knots. Legs shook, strummed by unreleased tension.

Tears slid down cheeks like burning embers.

“Don’t be so rude. She’s a guest.”

A comforting weight on her shoulder. It was warm. Soft but… warm.

Unlike Grandma. Grandma wasn’t warm. Was never warm whenever she would grab her hand, so gray and cold. And rough from age.

The act nearly caused her to shudder.

“Aw,” Amber pulled her close. “Don’t be so rude, Manny.”

She rubbed her face against the girl’s.

Affection. Friendship. Company. This other act meant different things.

The girl blushed.

“Why,” Manny rolled her eyes. They were a light brown, almost like tree bark or mud. Or peanut butter.

Like the brand Grandma would buy. Jugs of the stuff sat in her pantry, different kinds; creamy, chunky, included beside jelly.

She would buy them for sandwiches.

Dinner had always been peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sometimes just peanut butter sandwiches if Grandma was too tired. Effort caused her a great deal of stress.

And pain.

“Because,” Somebody squeaked. “That’s not nice.”

Somebody else simply flipped a page.

“Why would I care? It’s the truth.”

The girl blinked.

She hated it. Pain.

She despised it with a passion. Nothing else, not even her own pain, could compare.

If she could, she’d rid the world of it. Exorcise it from humanity’s flesh and blood. Tear it apart as a concept.

Until nothing was left.

“So what if it’s the truth? You shouldn’t say stuff like that!”

Somebody scoffed. “If you think—”

Nothing.

“Amber? Manny?”

Manny’s mouth clamped shut. A page slipped from between two fingers.

Amber lifted her head. Her warmth suddenly vanished, replaced with a familiar type of chill, long adapted to.

She looked at the doorway.

“Christine!”

At those words, the girl screwed her eyes shut.

For she knew it would happen. It always did whenever she tried to break through the wall.

Rejection.

Of course. This had been a mistake. Taking Amber up on her offer after being saved. Agreeing to meet the other members of her team.

Why had she? Who did she think she was, interrupting a magical girl’s business? As if she belonged anywhere near them.

Her lips trembled.

The truth of the matter was… She was nothing like them. She was cowardly and pitiful. More of a mouse than a lion.

No. Not even a mouse.

A fly.

She was interrupting.

“H-hey,” someone didn’t say.

Intruding.

“Huh,” someone else didn’t point out.

Defiling.

“Amber,” nobody stated.

Her mere presence disturbed them, no doubt.

The girl knelt down.

She should just leave. This thought came quickly, without a hint of resentment. Nothing would change here.

“Hey,” someone wasn’t whispering. “Are you okay?”

Nothing would ever change.

She’d never make any friends. Who’d want to be friends with her?

“Sweetie,” someone wasn’t rubbing her shoulders.

Nobody did.

Nobody would.

Nobody could.

“Sweetie,” someone wasn’t squeezing her shoulders.

Only the cold could.

“Sweetie?”

Only the cold—

“Sweetie.”

The girl’s eyes flew open.

Tears obscured four faces gone pale. They were all peering down at her.

Staring at her with mouths agape. But not in disgust. None of them wore the slightest grimace.

None of…

She blinked away the monsoon.

“Sweetie,” Amber pulled her in, warm embrace. “Oh, sweetie.”

Manny made eye contact. For just a split second, they dived into each other, saw what their windows held.

There was fire inside the redhead.

Strength. Bravery.

Strength…

Then Manny realized what they were doing.

A blush crept up her cheeks. Her bottom lip began to tremble.

She looked away, instead focusing on the table. The girl did too. They’d shared something deeply personal.

“Here,” a new voice.

A stranger gestured with a coffee mug.

Steam wafted from the surface, warming the air in the process. Its contents were a dark brown color. Fluid.

Indistinct globs of white bobbed up and down.

The girl licked her lips.

It’d been so long since she last drank cocoa. Longing roared within her stomach. Nostalgia having grown rabid.

Amber momentarily let go. “Thanks.”

The stranger handed it over, nodding.

Bags underlined her hazel eyes. A nimble finger slipped strands of moonlight-white hair behind an ear.

She noticed the girl’s gaze.

“I’m Tiffany. Nice to meet you.”

It would have been cordial to tell Tiffany her name. At this point, she still remembered what it was.

Nobody had said it in quite some time. Nor had she herself recited it. There was no use wasting the effort when nobody could hear her.

Introductions were important.

She opened her mouth.

Weakened vocal cords rubbed together.

The effort brought fresh tears. She wiped these off on her sleeve, then took a deep breath, inhaling the dry air. Words flittered to the tip of her prehensile tongue.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #magical apocalypse #magical girl #consumption #microfiction #sci fi and fantasy #psychological fiction #june 2023 #creative writing #original writing

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