Tima’s Tale: A Demon’s story

Most people would find it eerie to be in a Louisianan cemetery in the dead of night.

With the full moon bright and silvery, ghostly specters could almost be spotted, if not imagined by peripheral glances. The chill in the night was not caused by the wind.

Yes. Most people would be afraid, yet I found it somewhat comforting, in a macabre way.

Any suggestion of restless spirits made me feel like I was in good company.

An ankle deep fog rolled lazily across the expanse, blanketing the grass beneath my feet. The tombstones and mausoleums reminded me of petrified heads and fingers, clawing for release from their Earthly prison, yet locked forever in their morbid state. Obsidian markers of Death.

I was alone, and it felt good.

The ‘Orphanage was a harsh place, filled with anger, fear and despair. Every chance that presented itself was an invitation to freedom and everything that the orphanage was not.

When I thought that no one was looking after lock-down, I made my escape through the heating ductwork. I perfected my stealth techniques with ‘On-the-job-training’.

I remember when I had first slipped into the ducts. I was five at the time and some form of riot had broken out. Although I was in a wing separated from the main population, the shrill noises of otherworldly sounds reverberated through the halls and the smell of fear and chaos assaulted my young senses. Luckily, my sisters and I were away from the main turmoil, but the bloodlust from outside had caused us much agitation and fear. We could hear the slaughtering and knew instinctively that there was the applied rule of ‘Kill or be killed’ just beyond the walls. But then, what else did one expect from ‘Chaos demons’?

What prompted that incident still remains a mystery to this day.

We young females were terrified, yet even in the safety of our barracks, we still could tell that our appointed guards were feeling agitated, as if they were fighting their urges to join the melee.

There was a short blackout and our wing had lost power. In the dark, I found a grate in the wall and pulled it open while my sisters screamed and shrieked in panic. I hid in the dark recess as the noises resounded. As I tried to retreat away from the sounds, I began to familiarize myself with the labyrinth. I learned how to spy on others. At first, my attempts were clumsy and there were those who easily found me, but in time I perfected my stalking and stealth. But that was at a later time.

This first attempt was my first encounter with THEM.

After the frenzy had subsided, there were many wounded or killed. The acrid scent of demon blood and guts could hardly be contained, despite the hosing with sanitizer and water of the crimson walls. Then came the body count.

A strong chill suddenly manifested. I could see everyone’s breath, including my own. The Guards turned and faced the walls, immediately seeking something infinitely important to scrutinize. For a brief second, I wondered why, but within a split second I knew why.

Pinpoints of black pierced the darkness and seemed to swallow the ebon with a presence even deeper than pitch. And then they appeared.

The Bloodhounds.

They were like black sheets of gossamer, curling and furrowing in the wind, yet they were quite unsettling to watch. These things floated above the floor, having no discernable legs, or body parts for that matter. One of them out of the eight swirled around. I saw that he/it was hooded, but the bleached white skeletal face stood out like a death beacon. In the hollow sockets glowed yellow embers.

The amber flame shone brighter. Our eyes locked and a numbing coldness mingled with an indescribable fear held me in check. Within less than a second, we were face to face; it’s humorless, grinning countenance a mere foot from my face. Thee terror that transfixed me had allowed the Bloodhound to come upon me.

The Guards retrieved me, but the Bloodhounds stayed with me for years, in my nightmares. By the time they were a faded memory, the other females and I were placed in another wing. We were told that we were no longer girls. We were ready for the next stage, whatever that meant.

A few better-timed trips in the ducts helped me to understand. My sisters and I were coming of age. We had heard the whispers from before, that the group who were a few years older had been separated and taken to another section of the orphanage.

Although no one officially stated it, I heard that they were used as ‘Breeder Demons".

The shrieks and screams made it hard to discount those rumors. Dark images of rape and mutilation were exaggerated in our minds, as we had no clue as to what really occurred. As far as I was concerned, it was as if the riot that happened years ago was playing again on a smaller scale.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I’m not human?? Well, I’m not; sort of…I’m only one third human. The other two thirds are Demon hybrid.

The ‘Orphanage’ is a Demon sanctuary, although there is nothing sanctified about it. I tend to think of it as purgatory.

I too, am classified as a future ‘Breeder Demon’.

I happen to be one of the few who look more human than the general populace of she-demons. I was lumped together with others who shared said affliction and we were often the subjects of targeted attacks.