The Dark Spirits: The Demon Within

Prologue

The night was warm, with a slight breeze rustling the branches of nearby trees, and whistling through the quiet village. Suddenly, footsteps sounded along the path coming into the village, the sound of a man wheezing and huffing filled the thick misty air, his eyes full of worry and concern. He stopped in the middle of the street and announced loudly and rather quickly,

“Peasants, serfs, and towns people of Volcan. I am Gregory, a servant of Elder Rowan, Lord Arthur’s most trusted Priest, and have been sent to retrieve a newborn girl-” he got cut off from a shrill scream coming from one of the houses at the end of the street.

Curiously and cautiously he walked to the small hut and rapped on the door quietly.

“Hello? Is everything all right in there? Is anyone hurt? Hello?” he called quietly.

Loud moans and a child’s cry from inside answered, and he slowly pushed the door ajar. The house was very large compared to most serf house’s, a small hearth on one end of the house, while the sleeping spaces were on the other, with a small crib made out of an animal feeder stood close to the beds of the serfs.

The whole room looked like it was wrecked by a tornado; with a large hole in the wall where the hearth used to be, and everything the family owned scattered on the floor in pieces, or splattered with blood from the parents that lay with blood stains on their poor clothing. The cry of the child became louder and louder until it was a wail and the Father looked up at Gregory that stood perplexed in the doorway.

“Please… Save our… Newborn daughter…” he finally choked out and went into a fit of coughs, until they came to a stop at once and the Father lay still.

The woman looked at Gregory with sad, forlorn eyes.

“Who did this? What happened here? Tell me! What is the child’s name?” Gregory demanded, bending down on his knee to look at the woman’s injuries.

She had a large blood soaked stain right next to her heart, and she was struggling for air, and trying to say something.

“Lup-” she attempted, but her last breath escaped from her lips, making a whispered aaah sound.

Gregory touched the woman’s face. It was still warm, but was slowly fading to a stone cold temperature.

“Luppa? Who’s Luppa? What does it mean? Is that your daughter’s name?”

 But he knew it was too late. The woman was already gone to respond to his questions.

“Somebody help!! Please help!” he cried desperately, but the sight of the dead parents overwhelmed him with sadness that they could not be saved.

“Please help…” He stood, a tear rolling down his cheek and he looked inside the small make-shift crib, his lips trembling.

In it lay a small baby girl, tucked neatly into the thin blankets that covered her, and she wore an insubstantial dress of rags, screaming her head off and flailing her tiny arms in the air.

She grasped onto Gregory’s outstretched finger, clamping it tightly in her small fist, and she settled down instantly looking up at Gregory’s sad but compassionate face. Gregory stroked the child’s head with his other hand, crying softly. Her ingrowing hair was a black color, her cheeks red from crying, and her eyes were a deep sea blue color, gazing curiously up at Gregory.

“I’m sorry, little Luppa. I could not save your parents.” He whispered softly, picking her up into his arms.

Luppa reached for his face and smiled and laughed happily as she grasped his long, pointed nose in her fingers.

“Come with me little one. You will be cared for and taken to parents that will raise and take care of you.” He said, walking out the door of the house and swiftly walking towards the large castle.

“It was fortunate for her parents to die so that we could take the child. Such a tragic event that happened with the princess.” He muttered solemnly to himself.

Large dark grey clouds rolled overhead and rain started pouring down, causing Gregory to pull his hood over his head and hold Luppa closer to him so she wouldn’t get wet.

Suddenly, Luppa’s eyes flashed and a wolf’s silhouette howling at the moon took shape in her pupils, and she stopped laughing. Gregory took no notice and rushed through the gates of the castle and up the West Tower winding stairs as fast as he could without tripping.

He flung open the wooden door at the top and burst through. The room was dimly illuminated by four torches in the room, with a cheery fire dancing within the fireplace, while lightning flashed outside.

Two elderly men stood with their hands behind their backs, pacing the floor nervously, with their white robes gently brushing the ground, and their long white capes floating behind them from pivoting too often.

They looked up suddenly when Gregory entered the room with Luppa, (who was still reaching up and grasping his nose as if it were a game), and strolled in.

“Gregory.” One of the men said warmly, nodding to him in a welcome.

“Elder Rowan.” Gregory said addressing him respectfully.

“Elder Henry.” He said quickly to the other man.

“Here is the child. Her name that her former parents gave to her is Luppa. They died mysteriously, but the child was spared. Their last dying breath was her name.” He said placing it in the hands of the man called Elder Rowan. Elder Rowan carefully took the child into his hands and Elder Henry approached them both.

              “Let us begin and finish this quickly.”