The Demon's Den

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Chapter 1

Chapter One

I can't remember much. At all. I'm not even sure how long I was there, because time is different there. As the time passes where I was, time on earth barely moves at all. I was missing for four months, seventeen days, two hours, and twenty-three minutes. But I know, I know, I was there for years. My face never aged, but I felt myself maturing, thinking thoughts and revelations only a fully developed human could understand. Things that once made me laugh ceased to do so and only bring back a taste of bitterness and sorrow. In fact, I still don’t know where I was. But I have come to the conclusion that these dreams I am getting, they mean something. They are too familiar to be mere dreams that my brain created. No, these are nightmares, real nightmares that I have experienced before. And if I don't start writing them down as soon as I wake up, they will fade from my mind, no matter how hard I try to recall the quick flashes of picture I see.

Tonight I had a dream. Right now, it is three fifty seven in the morning, and I have just saw the night that it happened; the beginning.


I was just getting ready to bed, somewhere around eleven. I had just finished typing up my essay for world history about the possible revolutions in the Middle East. It was a great essay; I had spent at least ten hours of time on it. The feeling you get after finishing an essay that has been on your mind for days, which had been slowly eating up your sanity until you sat yourself down and started it, is completely priceless. It is like when you are really, really thirsty and then you drink ice cold water.

In the bathroom right next to my room, I stood brushing my teeth, observing the walls of the room in the mirror that faced me above the sink. They were a lovely color of blue, like the kind of blue you imagine the ocean to look in the Caribbean. My eyes wandered towards the seashells hanging above the door in the mirror as I fiercely brushed my molars. Then I saw it. My heart stopped beating, leaving me with such an overwhelming feeling of panic that I choked on the minty toothpaste foam in my mouth. My eyes pinched closed while I gagged on the foam, but I saw it. I saw a face in the darkness of the hallway through the door's opening. The face, only a small boy's, but so pale and foggy and sad that I knew he was not my brother from that single glance.

I promptly turned around to face whatever this deathly beast wished of me, but only darkness stared at me through the doorway. Scary movies, which were a specialty of mine, usually included that one character who acted as if they had not seen anything, and continued on with their normal acts only to be slaughtered later on. But, no, no, that was not going to be me. I chucked my toothbrush into the toothbrush drawer above the towel cabinet without rinsing it, swallowed all of the toothpaste foam without even thinking about taking to time to spit it out into the sink, and then hauled out of the bathroom. I ran through the dark hallway and then burst into my room. Slamming the door behind me, thinking that this would perhaps help, I ran towards my bed and jumped towards it a few feet before I had reached it so nothing could ambush me from underneath it.

The dim light from my nightstand cast shadows everywhere, and made my pink and green walls glow in a manner I had never thought to be unsettling until then. My blankets were wrapped tightly around me as my eyes darted around the room searching for whatever it was wishing to disturb my peace of mind. I sat, and I sat, for almost four hours with a determined expression on my face that would let anything, or one, understand that I would not fall prey so easily.

But of course, even with a sharp mind, I knew that if something wanted to harm me it could, still, with unwavering effortlessness. I knew of no weapon forged by man that could cause harm to this, this thing. I still didn't know what it was. A pocket knife laid beside me on my nightstand, and I had gripped it in my hands for all of that time. But as four hours of paranoia neared, the pocketknife fell from my hands. I didn't open my hands, but yet they had both opened. I stared at my hands, wide open and palm down. I certainly did not do that.

Alas, my eyes had moved from the room to my hands, and panic struck me again as I realized my fault. I swung my head back up to survey the room. Nothing. I felt the same look of resistance appear on my face, my eyebrows nearing each other, my jaw set steadily. But I felt something else. I felt something trickling down my face, from my eyes down my cheeks.

My hand flew to my face and then pulled away. Blood was smeared all over my hand. Blood was streaming down my face, like tears. My eyes became obscured from all of the blood mixing with the saline resulting in a red film all over my eyes. Everything was blurry. I couldn't see. And then, suddenly, I was willed to sleep. Something, someone, willed me to shut my eyes and fall asleep right there and then.

And I swear I heard the faintest velvety voice in my head, of a man, whispering to me, "Sleep."

I slept.


I woke. I woke, and I felt cold and limp. My eyes were still closed, but I was awake. I felt comfortable, in fact, I felt extremely comfortable. I was lying in perfect sleeping form on some sort of God-made bed. It was so soft and warm, but I was cold. The blankets covering me must have been of down feather wrapped in the finest silk. For some reason I cannot explain, I felt that I was wrapped in dark red. But that is just mindless, for touch cannot tell color. Yet, I did. I felt the red.


That's all I remember. But I know the next chapter of my forgotten life will come to me soon. And I shall write, and write with as much detail as I can recall until I can piece everything together, and that is a promise I swear to keep to myself.


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