Creeptober Horror Spree: Volume One

Demons Aren't The Worst Thing

I belong to what you'd probably call a cult. It's not quite right, but we don't have time to argue semantics. I and eight others delved into the occult at young ages, enthralled with the unknown, urged onward by the thrill of doing something forbidden. I can't say I never doubted. As a teenager, my dabblings were more an act of rebellion than real devotion. But as I aged, it grew until I found a like-minded group and set to practice our own brand of religion in private for years. Who we are is not important; it's what we've done that requires attention.

A few of us hail from obscenely wealthy families that would likely kill us should we reveal our names. We consider ourselves a secret society if not just for the sake of our continued survival. Money can move the heavens and earth, but it cannot scrub clean a tarnished image, so in the shadows, we stay. Thanks to our many connections throughout the world, we came into possession of a most curious book. Bound in the material we can't identify, written in Sumerian, the seller claimed it was the first Bible. According to them, it told the real story. The version we have all come to know and kill for, the seller claimed, was the third draft, fine-tuned to flex control over the uneducated masses.

It all made sense to me, but above all else, we were scientists of a sort. We accepted the book, seeking to confirm or disprove the claim of its origins. Although Sumerian is a dead language, there are scholars around the world that can translate it. We did not have to risk the world finding out we had such a priceless artifact by seeking one; there was already a Sumerian expert in our midst. We let him alone to do his work uninterrupted, eagerly waiting for the verdict. I admit I was giddy, like a child on their way to a theme park. Unraveling the mysteries and truths of one of our most prominent religions was a once in a lifetime accomplishment.

After some time, he called a meeting to discuss his findings. The man looked disheveled, almost haunted, as he sat at the head seat of our round table. Like Knights of a darker purpose, we watched him curiously as he gathered his papers and thoughts.

"Everything has changed," He said, smiling softly. "The common God and his 'Angels' existed, and likely, still exist."

We marinated in stunned silence.

"But not as we perceive them." He continued. "The Sumerians didn't have words for these things. Demons, Angels; they simply named them. Now, their culture had Seven Gods, so I can only assume what that means." Our expert shrugged.

"The God that most people worship is only one of seven?" I inquired. Curiously, he shook his head.

"It's far more likely that they mistook his envoys as Gods. As in, what we call Angels, they thought to be Gods. Christianity's God had seven angels serving him primarily. It makes sense in this context."

We all exchanged excited looks.

"The thing about this book..." He shuffled his notes, smirking. "I am fairly certain it speaks of Lucifer and his fall. Incredibly, it details how to free him."

Hushed whispers filled the room as we debated the implications. "Wouldn't that be a bad idea?" The member to the left of me asked, worry spreading across her face.

Our expert shrugged. "Lucifer's crime was disagreeing with God. Throughout all versions of the Bible we have scoured, he did not exactly wreak the havoc modern Christianity blames him for. He tricked Eve, made a bet with God, and tried to tempt Christ." Murmurs followed. "Compared to the destruction God rained down on man, these are petty things, are they not?"

We cautiously agreed, nodding, searching our minds for any other instances of Lucifer in the old texts. Even if we had forgotten some details, our expert was right: Lucifer's biggest sin was going against the grain. Everything else was pop culture and folklore.

With the ritual translated and the location pinned down, we set out to do the unspeakable: free Lucifer Morningstar, or whatever his name was.

We suspended the idea that God and his Angels were supernatural beings. It was far more likely they were organic, but not of our plane. The Bible speaks on several occasions that beholding an Angel is traumatic and maddening. One was described as being a flaming wheel covered in eyes. It seemed that the Angels learned humans couldn't comprehend their bodies and began to appear to us as our kind.

The astrophysicist in our group hypothesized that, perhaps, they were 4th-dimensional beings. Maybe what we understood to be Heaven and Hell were nothing more than planes of these beings' existence.

We successfully opened something. I will not divulge the location of the Door to Hell. It does not matter at this point, but it would be best if the secret dies with us on the off chance we fix this. Reality tore apart when the stones aligned correctly, and using his name, we were able to pull Lucifer out. I cannot describe what he looked like at first. Most of us had to look away; one of us went mad on the spot. He regarded us with vague familiarity before reshaping his body to suit our fragile minds better.

He was gaunt and sickly. Once beautiful, as the stories say, but time had not been kind to him. He hunched before us, naked, scanning us with fierce eyes. "What have you done?" He boomed, glancing at the rip behind him. "Close it!"

Alas, the book did not tell us how to close the door, just how to open it. We told Lucifer as much, and the rage on his face turned to primal fear. "Have you no senses? After all the warnings?"

"What warnings?" Something shifted within the rift, casting a dark shadow onto the sands.

"The scrolls! Bound in gold, written in blood?" Lucifer's eyes darted from person to person, curling his fingers into fists as he stalked forward.

"No such things have ever been found, I'm afraid." Our expert spoke quietly, quaking with fear.

Lucifer offered us an exasperated sigh, crying out. He fell to his knees, laughing sadly. "You're all doomed."

Something incomprehensible stretched out from the rift, groaning so loud the earth around us quaked. It would serve no one to describe it, but I also cannot find the words. The being was vast and unspeakable. Terror clouds my memory, but I do know one truth of it: what stood before us was an entity strong enough to keep even an Archangel in chains.

As misfortune would have it, boasting sharp minds and bottomless wells of intelligence, we overlooked the smallest of details. Lucifer had never been the ruler or king of what we call Hell. He had been a prisoner.