During my first reign as the Professor and king of the lost boys I felt an overwhelming desire to lead the masses. Having lost my disciples in the move to Trumpland I felt a tremendous need to find my own Zion and lead some of the promised people, the chosen many down a satisfying descent. I needed to rebuild my temple of followers and pursue a path of aggressive expansion to satisfy my urges. Like all social chameleons that possess my demonic brothers and sisters I needed to resemble a likeness to the people I planned to corrupt. Mr Davenport was a good canvass and I enjoyed dressing him up in a smart casual attire yet I felt my wardrobe sensibilities would be tested in the land of the rednecks. Flashes of all ridiculous caricatures passed within my mind and memory bank: wifebeater singlets, flannelette shirts, black jeans, denim jeans, jean jackets, cowboy boots and flip-flops – there would be no Julia Roberts in this fashion montage. I remembered however that these were the sort of costumes reality television would conjure up and that most god-fearing bible belters often dressed fairly well- albeit clad in plain pastels. I heard that everything was much bigger in Texas, certainly according to all the belt buckles and bumper stickers I viewed on my road trip through the deep South.
It so happened to be on a Sunday that I was to venture into Texas and like the fine upstanding antichrist I was, I thought it would be a great idea to attend church and receive the good gospel. You may think this to be completely ironic but there was definitely a method to my madness as per my discussion with the fallen one. People would assume that I would spontaneously combust upon entering sacred territory but this was hardly the case, nor would the light start frying my skin like a Vampire coming into contact with the sun. Sure the idea of church usually did not thrill me and it occasionally gave me a feeling that would probably be compared to as a mixture of gas and menstrual pain if I was a female human. Over a prolonged session in the church I would also get a skull shattering feeling of migraine headaches, especially when any latin was chanted or a recanting of the Lord's prayer was enacted, which to any good suffering Christian service was as routine as fireworks on the Fourth of July. To suffer this Sunday, I would need supplies.
****
I walked into the nearest Walgreen's and was amazed at the sheer range of overpriced drugs available in both over the counter and in prescription medication. I was soon interrupted by an overly eager pharmacist.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"I need some painkillers or a sedative." I stated in an almost maudlin tone.
"What sort of pain do you have?" he enquired.
"I need numbing. Migraine pain and it's only getting worse." I said.
"So you anticipate more pain?" he enquired further.
"Yes. I'm about to endure something truly terrible." I commented, in my most depressive tone.
Well that does not sound good. You need to take measures to avoid the pain if you can."
"Not this pain. It is completely unavoidable and very necessary to my plans I'm afraid."
He handed me some heavy painkillers, normally ones I would need a prescription for but I was able to 'glamour' him.
"Hope these help. Anything else?"
"I need some ear plugs. I need to drown out something else truly terrible."
"Sounds like a fun morning."
"Well it is church." He laughed, not sure if I was joking but I didn't really care.
"Well take care of yourself and god bless." He enthusiastically exclaimed.
"You need a new master." I said vaguely and wandered back to the cashier. The confused look on his face was worth it. I had all the sedation I needed for the morning I was soon to face.
YOU ARE READING
Resurrection
ParanormalIn the beginning there was Adam.... A world-weary global backpacker working as a bartender in Southern England; his life starts to take a series of downward turns and his thoughts start to become dark, very dark. Supernatural forces are circling Ada...