The Dawn of Evil

Chapter 1.1

The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of a distant street light. A gnarled tree, naked and exposed to the cold, shuddered outside the window. Its branches cast shadows - dancing like eerie phantoms- across the tall bookcases that lined the back wall. The room was suddenly cast in a brilliant white light as lightning streaked across the sky. Just as quickly, it was plunged back into the suffocating darkness. The powerful rumble of thunder followed, encouraging a few drops of rain to delicately fall against the leaded window.

The fireplace was illuminated as another strike of lightning flared. The masterfully carved, gilded mantle gleamed in the light. Framed awards and diplomas sat proudly upon it, the glass glinting into the night. In front of the hearth, a dark, inky pool of shadowy liquid formed. Droplets of the liquid crawled upwards, combining for height. Two animal-like hoofed legs emerged from the viscous goo, darker than even the deepest cavern. Its muscular torso flexed as the rain began to beat against the house in a fury. Hands pushed through the sides of the torso, extending into long arms that hung by its sides. The elongated fingers were clenched into fists. Its head manifested last. The sharp angular features seemed human, but the illusion vanished instantly as two curled horns developed, flanking its face. The figure's eyes opened, revealing red, glowing embers that looked as though they had been stoked in the fires of hell.

Silently, it glided across the room and settled into the oversized leather arm chair, resting in front of an ostentatious desk. Turning to look at the fireplace, the figure nodded and a fire erupted within it. The flames roared and crackled. Satisfied, the entity let out a sigh. The sound was grotesque, a combination of a throaty growl and the death rattle of morbid decay. It sat patiently waiting for something - or someone, absent-mindedly running its deformed fingers across its protruding cheek bones.

The sound of the garage door opening caught the creature's attention. It sat up in the chair and listened intently to the familiar mechanized sound of the garage door as it was lowered, panel by panel. Someone entered the house. Footsteps moved down the hallway. The old floorboards creaked and popped with each nearing step. They stopped in front of the closed study door and the brass doorknob rattled. Shrouded in darkness, broken only by the soft glow of the flickering fire, the creature sat on the edge of its seat. Its palpable excitement filled the room as its lips curled into a disturbing smile.

The door opened to reveal a man. Engrossed in his phone, he typed furiously as he entered the room. His attractive features were lit by the bright blue glow of the small, hand-held screen, as he conveyed his message. Bringing one hand down to his waist, he unbuttoned his immaculately fitted suit coat as he hit send with the other.

The creature tensed up, seemingly ready to pounce on the man. It was caught off guard as the man glanced up, catching its nightmarish visage briefly in his gaze. The man turned his attention back to his phone, scrolling through his inbox.

"Hi, Bartholomew," he said, emotionlessly. "I see that you couldn't be bothered to make yourself more presentable this evening."

The creature sighed again, a sound that would have put shivers down anyone's spine, but the man didn't react.

Bartholomew spoke, his voice deep and guttural. "I have a long night ahead of me. At the very least, I want to be comfortable. Masquerading as a human is an itchy, confining process. Plus, you are all hideous," he asserted, letting out a gruff chuckle.

"No matter," the man said dryly as he took a seat across from Bartholomew. He finally disengaged himself from his phone and set it aside. "Why are you here?" He managed to keep his voice steady, but struggled to fully hide the disdain he felt toward the entity.

"It's quite simple," Bartholomew explained, as his red eyes flickered with excitement. "It is time."

"Already?" The man asked, sitting back in his chair. "I clearly remember that the arrangement granted me -".

Bartholomew, stood up angrily, toppling the chair over in his rage. He loomed over the man and slammed his hands against the desk. The entire room shook from the impact. "You serve Him!" He snarled. "When you are called, you go! No questions and no arguments. You are nothing more than a petulant servant." Lowering his voice, he spat, "don't forget yourself, Chris."

The man kept his eyes locked on Bartholomew, an unwavering demonstration of strength. Gathering himself, Chris said flatly, "I understand, Bartholomew. When are we meeting?"

Contented with Chris' show of subservience, Bartholomew took a seat on the edge of the desk, kicking his hooves up on top of the upset chair.

"The meeting is this Saturday. Make the necessary arrangements as attendance is not optional."

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but quickly stifled the question that was spinning around in his mind. Bartholomew immediately picked up on Chris' reservations.

"What is it? Spit it out," the demon demanded.

"I was just wondering if the Master would be there." Chris fidgeted, picking at his nails.

"What do you think?'

"No. He won't be."

"Very good," Bartholomew said patronizingly. "Now, I have other calls to make. We'll see you on Saturday."

"I will be there." Chris got to his feet and placed his hand over his heart. Bowing, he said, "May the Master bring you into the light." Bartholomew nodded and returned the bow, finishing the ancient liturgical exchange, "and may you find the knowledge to guide you to power."

Licking his lips with his narrow, leathery tongue, Bartholomew turned as if to walk out of the study door. Before he reached it, the creature's form began to take on an amorphous shape, rapidly melting down into a puddle on the floor. Wordlessly watching the prosaic scene, Chris waited until the creature had fully evanesced.

He stood behind the desk and took in a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he moved over to the far side of the room with his confident and powerful gait unshaken by the turn the evening had taken.

An antique Victrola stood in the corner; a glass decanter set was carefully arranged on top of it. Chris reached for the cut crystal bottle and poured himself two fingers of scotch in a matching tumbler. Intending to place the decanter back down, he thought better of it and filled his glass nearly to the brim. He moved slowly so as not to spill as he returned to his leather, wingback chair and sat down.

He brought the glass to his nose, the cut crystal sparkling softly as It caught the light from the fireplace. Breathing in the aroma of the strong-smelling liquid, he allowed himself to relax knowing that soon his tumultuous thoughts would be numbed. Chris took four long pulls on the scotch, feeling slightly guilty that he was consuming it like common swill and not the 30-year-old fine liquor that it was.

He placed his half empty glass down and pulled open the main desk drawer, removing a hand rolled cigarette, a metal lighter and an ashtray. Clutching the cigarette between his lips, he lit it and breathed in the nicotine filled smoke. Chris closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the scotch beginning to take its effect.

He sat up suddenly and reached for his phone. Chris dialed Maria with urgency as he took another long drag from his cigarette. The line rang repeatedly as he drummed his fingers on the desk in anxious anticipation.

Just as he was about to give up, a woman's voice finally answered.

"Hello? Sir?" She muttered; her voice dazed from being shaken out of a deep sleep. Realizing that he had woken her up, he quickly glanced at the time. It was past midnight.

"Hi, Maria. I know it's late," he apologized, "but I need you to make travel arrangements for me. I'm flying out to Salt Lake City tomorrow night." Chris paused, waiting for her to give some sign of confirmation.

Groggily, she agreed, "Uh, of course, Sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, Maria. Please have everything ready by tomorrow morning."

"I will, Sir. Good night." Chris hung up on her and, leaned back into his chair. Letting out an audible sigh, he tried to mentally prepare himself for the arduous and unprecedented times that lay ahead.