The wind is at the peak of its powers, noticeably more intense than the first two days and nights.
The cold. It's so unbearably cold now. I can see my breath, what little vapor I'm able to push out. The chill covers me, snuffing out the remaining burning, embers of heat from my body.
I can feel him approaching. I can hear him singing, the intro to his final arrival. The violent wind delivers his evilly melodious voice through the Victorian's crevices to my ears.
Whaaaat a friend we have in Jeeesus, alllll our sins and griefs to bearrrr...Whaaaat a privilege to carrrrrry...Evvvverything to God in prayerrrr.
Chaos's shrill bark mingles off tune with his master's cadence. The hellhound is going to devour my soul, have his chance as his master had told him he would. The morbid visual sends a shudder down my spine.
Angelos's words form in my head.
You must first save yourself.
As I look through the blur at the bottle of liquor that Deacon Ash left for me, it isn't until now that I understand. I understand that I once swam in the luxury of light and am now drowning in the cesspool of darkness. It isn't until this moment that I see the demon that has always been with me. I feel guilty, worthless, betraying, selfish, and worst of all lonely.
Deacon Ash has gotten closer. His voice is clear and strong as belts his tune. The wind screams, the lights flicker, and Chaos rips a long wail. I attempt to block all of these hideous distractions out as I deliberate on Angelos's words further. I interlock my fingers and close my eyes, blocking out the prison around me.
I hear fire paws falling on the wind. I expect a billow of smoke to come sailing under the door but instead, Chaos rams it repetitively until he busts through it sending wood splinter missiles flying from the foyer into the kitchen. I cannot see him clearly but I know his red eyes immediately find me. I could hear the slimy liquid drip steadily from his muzzle to the hardwood floor and fizzle.
"His flesh is primed and ready, master," Chaos says.
A shadowy Deacon Ash, the demon manifested in a dead man's body moves toward me. Through photographic memory, I could see his gray suit, white shirt, and red tie walking past what remains of the front door. He speaks the verse of his favorite song, articulating every word, every syllable to perfection.
"What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what privilege to carry everything to God in prayer," he says.
His terrible odor is magnified ten-fold as he approaches me.
The mass that is Chaos moves alongside him at first and then slinks past him. "Is now the time, master?" he asks.
"Not yet," Deacon Ash tells the hellhound.
The mass stops.
"I understand what you are now," I say.
"That's all fine and dandy but I suppose it's too late to do anything about that now," Deacon Ash says.
"Too late," Chaos says.
Chaos growled, as if echoing his master's sentiments. The winds press down on the house and the foundation itself creaks.
"Enough talk," Deacon Ash says, his voice hellish and authoritative. "You remember the rules."
I nod.
"Recite," Deacon Ash says as he creeps closer with his mascot following him.
The hellhound crouches, readying himself to pounce on me.
"Time to go bye-bye," Chaos says.
"Recite," Deacon Ash says again.
Having no choice and with aching lungs I say, "The days are mine and the nights are yours. Every night that I have not found a way to beat you, you will take a piece."
"Well spoken," Chaos says.
"Good," Deacon Ash says. "It's the third night and I am here to claim my last piece of Seth Jennings. Your flesh...and your family...are all mine."
My pulse quickens. I breathe what feels will be my last few breaths ever.
YOU ARE READING
"Deacon Ash"
ParanormalSeth is the consummate alcoholic, a slave to his vice, and his family's constant plea for him to kick the habit has fallen on deaf ears. He escapes to his inherited Victorian in the dead town of Blackwood, Mississippi on a three day hiatus to escap...
