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Hidden behind dark clouds, a wholesome moon failed to illuminate the twisted, gnarled form of a demon that watched over a child. The old one knew the human’s sleep was wrapped in a thin mist of incoherent images that would be forgotten after the first wash of sunlight culled the child into his first waking moments. Noting the gentle rising and falling chest of the boy, Satan arched an eyebrow and let his thoughts run with anticipation.

Anticipation that Heaven's end would begin here amid this stillness where innocence would be corrupted in such a way that his Ascension upon the throne of Heaven could not be denied.

Under the warmth of a thick comforter, the child shuddered against a chill.

Satan smiled, understanding the boy would never lose the cold. No matter how hard the child might fight for his life, no matter in what direction this child turned, he would always carry the cold harsh thoughts of his master, even when under the guise of warmth and well being.

Cradling his fourth or fifth Whisky and Water, Jonathan hung his head and stared at both his hands. Consciously flexing the fingers of his right hand, he smiled when there was no pain. Several nights earlier he had woke in a cold sweat and vigorously tore the bandages off. As far as he remembered, they still lay on the floor next to his couch. Since Tim's death he had not slept in his own bed. He had slept in it after Catherine's death, but never, ever felt comfortable doing so.

Feeling the cool night air sweep into the meager space of the bar with an opened door, Jonathan glanced up at the mirror which hung on the wall behind the bar.

Seeing the grotesque figure outlined in the doorway, Jonathan gripped his water spotted glass tighter. In the space of a blink, he refocused his eyes to clarify what he had seen.

Only a women. Jonathan allowed a slight grin for his own fears as he watched the women's reflection.

God I’m going crazy.

Jonathan watched the women find a bar stool next to his, than turned his attention.

Finishing the last of his drink, Jonathan stared at the countless bottles that were stacked behind the bar when her perfume caught him off guard. He recognized the fragrance as Catherine's favorite. The scent bought a memory of a hot summer evening when he had dabbed a bit on a forefinger and then traced his finger around the curvature of her breast.

Fall was coming early, already the trees were turning and the smell of cool weather was in the air. Overhead, the sky was a graying landscape of coagulating clouds. If the temperature dropped, it'd snow, and he wondered if the caretakers would remember to clear off Timothy’s small delicate plaque.

Kneeling, brushing aside dead grass and crisp twigs encroaching upon his son's marker, there was a feeling of disgust that the bright copper had already started to tarnish. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. And after I'm gone, who will come to mourn? Nobody!

Overwhelmingly, the guilt flowed. Guilt which cried out that he had wanted so much more and now had nothing. That somehow, in someway, all this was his fault.

Jonathan studied his son's marker and found no proof of a spent life. There was nothing here to say who Tim was, who he wanted to be, or could've been. Only his memories provided those, and they were not enough. Wiping away a leaf which had stuck to his knee, he looked over at Catherine's stone.

"I'm sorry honey, I'm really sorry." was from his heart, and then he added some vague comment about the uselessness, and stupidity of it all, knowing those words were meant to sooth his own soul. A gust cropped his hair, carrying a sharp coldness, it dug in-between his shoulders. Shoving his hands into his light jacket, he wrapped a hand around the Rosary.

Know that in all the different realms of Hell, among all the legions of Satan's demons, there are only two. They who are old and wise of their master's ways and the young who are brash, unsure of their master's might.

Those who count their age along side Satan are those who fell from Heaven's grace, imprisoned in the beginning time along with their rebellious leader. These that are old are not tempters of human souls, rather they are possessors who come in the night to steal away one's humanity.

Below these elders, there stands those who are less, not true demons in Heaven nor Hell's sight. They are those who were once human, their souls perverted by Satan and Hell's elders. Their fall was from our human race, where in their souls are carried perverse, twisted remains of what was once a human being. These lessers are tempters, they cannot possess, yet they walk our world in human shape, bringing temptation to others to walk their path.

Stepping into the front doorway, the foyer light switched on, burned bright for about ten seconds, then dimmed. In the same instant, a lamp came to life in the living room casting a round circle over plush grey carpet. Shadows, darkness and punctuations of light guided Ken as he climbed the oak stairs, a hand firmly gripping the wood banister.

Reaching the upper landing, lights faded as if on queue, and total darkness fell. Waiting, hoping they'd come on, Ken heard a chorus of voices crawl through the darkness. At first, unsure in what direction they were coming from, a light seeped out from under a closed door down the hall dimly illuminating a portion of the hall floor.

Then to his left, an overhead light burst out of an open door and Ken was able to see the group of men standing in a disorganized semi circle. Moving with a certain quickness before he lost lights again, Ken entered the room, pushing himself pass a middle aged man who was balding and whose breath was rank with liquor.

Ken came to an immediate halt one step pass the man. His mouth hung open and he stared in disbelief at five lifeless bodies, heaped one on top of each other, piled about the center of a large water bed.

Immaculately made, the bed was ruffled by the strewn bodies while a slight rolling wave carried the family buoyant. Seconds before the group would be plunged into darkness, Ken noticed the room, like the bed, was clean, organized, and he wondered why this thought had stayed with him over the years.

Always, even when angered, he controlled his words, never choosing to utter a curse unless making a conscience decision to do so. Now, all he could find to say was a simple drawn out 'shiiit' that was hidden in a long breath as the lights went out.

A recessed light in the head stand flickered several times, pasting an eerie glow to the bodies. It was enough that Ken saw the father lying on the bottom of the pile, atop him, Linda his wife. Their three children, on top of her. Not a neat and clean pile, but a ragged heap. Each appeared to be fully dressed and their bodies were at angles. Larry McConnel's feet were draped across the bed sideways, his wife's rested, crossed between two pillows.

The recessed light went off, replaced by an overhead light above the bed. A strange thought, that there was no blood...anywhere, struck Ken as he looked around the room, searching for signs of ...something? A struggle, a weapon? As far as he could tell, there was none.

Doctor Mato sat in his spacious new office with plush carpeting and furniture yet to taste a coffee spill or hide a fallen donut crumb. Leaning back in his chair, slightly rocking, he watched a young girl from across his desk.

Short black cropped hair sprung from her head as if a thicket of weeds were growing unchecked. Her complexion was soft with a pinkish glow which highlighted her dark eyes. At sixteen, she was on the verge of womanhood and if she had not been retarded, Dr. Mato would have had fantasies of taking her to his bed.

But as she sat there, hands clasped tightly together in a manner amplified by bare white knuckles, she relentlessly ground her teeth together and rocked back and forth in her chair in an agitative motion. If not for this irrational behavior and her sporadic attempts at bashing her head against a wall, Dr. Mato could have easily fantasized about her.

Letting this possibility disappear, he started to look over her file when he was caught off guard by her standing in front of his desk, no longer grinding her teeth. Arching both eyebrows, he asked "Is there anything wrong, Susie?".
Not expecting a sensible reply, he was startled by her clear, concise answer which came out in a deep rich tone, drenched in her own sexuality. "You know Dr. Mato... I can be like this when you want me to be. All you have to do is ask."

Dumbfounded, not even beginning to know what to say to a girl who seconds before hardly ever spoke, much less with conscious, sentient words, Adam Mato fought to keep his silence.

"Know that I have been commanded to come unto you as a double edged sword to smite those who are not of our faith." his words bounded full out among those who sat in silent disarray, watching.

A man with his wife and small girl at his side sat down in the first pew and Steven smiled as the husband reached for his neck and tried to loosen his Sunday tie. "That those who reveal in sins against our Father will be put forth for all to judge." was ringing in the man's ears as he fought body fluids which were backing up into his throat. "Seek no answers from your fellow man, only those answers which come from the mouth of our God" were the last words the man heard as his child started to wail.

Only in a passing sense was he aware his wife had been joined by Father Jeffries as he fell to his knees, both working diligently to loosen his tie and render aid.

A great number fell upon their knees in their Lord's prayer, their repetitive echoes filling the church, hanging dense and heavy, reflecting off modern red brick and tuck pointed mortar. Steven stood before this flock, thinking how foolish these mortals had been in placing their faith in a God who would not protect them, even as they dwelled in his house.

Steven's mind found a thought of Satan and knew he must truly be pleased. All was as the great beast had planned. From this small church, word would spread as floodwaters. People from all corners would gather to hear him speak, to witness his miracles. And when most believed Steven to be their savior, he would turn their faith against them, in bloodshed, summoning demons to once again walk the earth.

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