The Ashes of Demons

The savior of these strange lands spotted the message: Run, they're going to betray you next.

Donovan frowned, and a chill possessed his body as he stood among the humid, oppressive air. Time had come to a crawl. Before he could fully ponder the message, the scuffle of feet against dirt snagged his attention. The people of the land came out of hiding, and they approached. One person rubbed their neck and another twisted their shirt button. This was a cold reception to the news that they had been saved.

A fat, White man broke through the crowd wearing a navy blue pantsuit, his hair neatly combed, cheekbones sharp. He smiled widely below a bushy mustache and extended a meaty handshake. He was a short man, but he had a charismatic voice and a charming presence “Hi there, my name is William, and I would like to offer a sincere thank you on behalf of our little village you just saved.”

“I’m happy I could help, Donovan by the way,” Donovan said, relieved to talk with someone. He had been blown off course and wound up in a village where he stumbled upon children forced to have sex with each other inscribed with symbols on their skin while the parents worked the fields, picking harvests. Their cheeks were hollow and their eyes downcast.. Whenever Donovan witnessed injustice, he liked to jump right in�"he liked to help. He couldn’t stand to see people suffering. His gaze drifted back over to the sinister words painted in red. “What’s with that?”

William glanced at the message and patted Donovan on the back. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said and then shrugged. “Probably some kind of prank or maybe the demon trying to mess with your head.”

The people all nodded in sync as if they were just a large mass but with different parts acting as one. An unshakable feeling of wrong prickled his scalp and made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. However, the sun beamed down, and Donovan was eager to retire his armor. “Is there lodging here?”

“Of course, lemme round up some people to help get you settled.” William showed him to the local inn that from the outside looked like a two story cottage, but inside there was a bar, a stage, a place to rest. “Why don’t you come on down at say eight and I’ll treat you to some good food, good drinks, how about it?”

“You don’t have to go through so much trouble,” Donovan started to say.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“Well, okay,” he replied, all tension and unease melting away under William’s cheer. He gave Donovan a key that read forty-one.

Donovan trudged upstairs, exhaustion plaguing his limbs. He found the room and was met with a warm bath waiting for him and a comfy bed. He washed and changed into a brown tunic and pants. When he laid down to rest his eyes, time slipped away. Soon, it was eight. As he went downstairs, music and lively chatter greeted him. When he first came to the village, the people looked hopeless, pallid, and depressed. However, in this light, they had come alive. The inn smelled of whiskey and wood smoke. Someone hit the piano keys and someone else wasn’t hitting any of the notes. Truly, he felt like a hero.

William greeted him and bought him an old fashioned. “Donovan you said that was your name?”

Donovan nodded taking a sip. “That’s right.”

“I was just telling some folks about how you fought that demon lord,” he said. “Go on that stage and tell us the story from your point of view.”

“Oh, I’m sure everyone saw.”

“Go on reenact it,” he said. “Georgette here will be the demon lord.”

A beautiful White woman with long, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes revealed herself, and Donovan acquiesced. “Sapphire they call me.”

“Donovan.”

“Pleasure to meet a hero,” she said offering her arm.

He set the glass down and took her arm. They marched up to the stage. Every single neck craned to watch. Donovan’s stomach roiled, the chill returning with a strong force. For a moment, an instinct warned him to flee. However, he was propelled forward by alcohol and good feelings (his dick too). When they got on the stage, he began telling the story about how he was led here by a terrible storm. He spoke about battling the demon lord.

Sapphire placed her index fingers on opposite sides of her head to mimic horns. She smiled as she pretended to pose a challenge. “Was the demon lord powerful?” she said. “Was he mean?”

Donovan laughed. “Oh he definitely was fierce.”

“Did he do anything like this?” She stepped up Donovan, grabbed his face�"there was a red flicker in her eyes, but she kissed him, making his cheeks flush. The crowd cheered and whistled. And then, her lips traveled to his cheek where he felt a sharp pain slice into his flesh. He screamed. The crowd continued to cheer. He shoved her away. She stepped back, smiling with skin and blood drenching her lips.

Donovan’s chest tightened so much, breath had a hard time getting out. He glanced at the crowd, but no one was moving to help. Their eyes all had these specks of red. His fingers were coated with blood as speck of flesh hung off his face. He bolted. But as he stepped off the stage, he tripped. “William, help!”

“Sorry son,” William said. “You should’ve taken the warning.”

“But I helped you!” he said.

“An invasion was prevented yes, but influence is a little harder to kill.” William lit a cigar and stepped outside, leaving Donovan screaming for help that would never come.

Author's Note

trying my hand at surrealism in horror again.

Reviews

[Carrie]

Whoo spooky, scary, nice plot twist. Enjoyed reading this story.

[RKB]

thank you!