Witching Hour

Do you ever lay awake at night?
Beyond the turn of midnight,
Wondering why you weren’t enough,
Or how you could have performed differently,
Your mind painting new timelines,
Wishes upon tired stars,

The devils hour is thought sinister,
But bad karma only comes to those deserving,
It has become a stage for the crestfallen,
The night breeze is a fitting backtrack,
A subtle chill to the bone,
Numbing the body,

The demons of the hour recognise heartbreak,
For even they are angels to some,
They shall not bring more torment upon you,
They know your heart is the prime malignant harrier,
They spy the anguish on your cheeks,
The inconsolable tears upon your pillow,

This is no nightmare,
No black magic at work tonight,
No witchcraft or demonology,
This is simply a soul breaking down,
Heartbreak in the twilight,
A melancholy man or woman watched over by the moon,

This is real.

In The Walls

There are things within these walls,
Things that follow room to room,
Things that slither and writhe,
Things that peek through cracks,
Things that chew on rats,
Souls not at rest,
The cavities,
These veins of this old house,
They squirm like black blood,
They thrash at the games of these devilkin,

I hear them,
Clawing and giggling and scratching,
Tittering and scraping and taunting,
Curses in a menagerie of voices,
They’re trying to get out,
You’ll hear them tap at night,
Searching for a chink in the houses armour,
They call out to me in frothy tongues,
They just want to play,
They only want to break another toy,

They say their last one fell apart.

Yokai

I kneel here out of the rain,
Beneath this temple canopy,
The walls wretch with the stink of an aramitama,
A structure corrupted in purpose,
The only soft light from rascal wisps amongst the bamboo,
Even the moon has forsaken this place,

The kami rise in angst,
They shriek to me in warning,
I hear it coming,
Heavy feet upon damp wood,
Demonic growls between drops of ichor,
The malevolent prescence of a yokai,

The dark sound is directionless,
A shroud approaching from all around,
Spiritual energy turned awry and malignant,
A hulk materialises,
An imposing figure with rage in its eyes three,
A dread oni,

My resolve is shattered at once,
I consider fleeing in to the rain,
Its stout feet impose closer,
The yokais horns shall feast well this night.

Grotesque

I am bound to this place,
This gothic mausoleum,
Of outdated thesis,
Warding off evil with monstrosity,
I was chiselled out of stone,
So I feel nothing,

I appear an abomination,
An amalgamation of goat and drake,
A chimera,
A terrible sculpture,
Defending this farcical place,
As if it held the grail,

An architectural guardian,
A gargoyle in the common parlance,
I look down at the ants below,
My granite heart feels nothing,
Yet I wonder what their lives are like,
Are they as cold as I?

I was once a very real dragon,
If not for this cement,
I would soar from this perch,
And wreathe the earth in flame once again,
But fear not child,
Those warm days are long dead,

For I am bound to this place.

Dissecting A Demon

I slew this demon,
By my own rageful hand,
Within the swamp of a stuporous night,
To study its vile anatomy,
Work out why devils play the way they do,

This scalpel shall cut hotter,
Than any inferno of hell,
Such is my conviction,
I feel the arcana swirl about this cadaver,
This is the one,

As I make my initial incision,
A cloying ooze of sins drips out,
Infantile shrieks as it hits the floor,
Why continue to bear such filth?
I bottle it up for further inquisition,

Prepare the rib-spreader,
Let’s see this things core,
Stinking heat emanates like breath,
Yet only a void hides behind ribs,
These beings have no heart,

Saw the skull past the jagged horns,
Expose the mind of evil,
How does devilry conduct its plans?
The neurons pass only sick ideas betwixt,
It holds naught but the stench of malice,

So what have we learned?
Devils will always be devils,
Evil will always be evil,
It is intrinsic to their souls being,
It is proven,
If you witness malevolence within a man,
Just remember it is root and stem.

Mr. Ash

He’s coming for me,
Even the storm outside does not cloak his steps,
Mr. Ash,
The frigid wind tries to hold him back in vain,
The rain whispers “flee”,
Each stroke of lightning is a plea of “run!”,

My attempts at going underground failed,
My thieving insult to him will be repaid in blood,
I glance out of the window fearfully,
I see him nearing even in the black,
It’s like staring into evil itself,
It’s like looking at the apocalypse in slow motion,

A demon,
A God,
Or something altogether more alien,
Long spindly limbs,
Pale and hairless,
He is dressed literally to kill,

His emaciated limbs bear barbarous claws,
Claws that have ended lives since time began,
And perhaps even before,
His mad eyes are wide open,
His grin filled with murderous intent,
He’s coming for me,

His form appeared at my door,
That grin still glistening,
Despite the horror that was about to ensue,
His rangy form must nearly crouch,
But I still feel like a frightened child,
The monster under the bed is real,

Even the bravest slink in terror,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even the maddest see reason,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even as my body is torn limb from limb,
The storm continues unabated.

Imp

Beware the fiendish imp,
Eyes burning with a devious glee,
Hell couldn’t possibly contain its mischief,
It’s been known to tamper with reality you know,
Now it’s coming to play a malicious prank on you,
Do you think you’ll survive?

You hear it giggling to itself in the dark,
Or is it creeping ever closer?
Under the bed or behind you perhaps?

Imp says read each first letter.

Train Of Thought

When the bitter times come,
Like a winter in your life,
You may retreat into your mind,
You may board a dark train of thought,
Its windows blackened,
And smokestack spouting your old secrets.

It’s a runaway train,
Soaring along serpentine rails,
Built upon things you did and didn’t do,
Promises kept and promises broken,
Ideas fair and ideas forbidden,
It runs unabated despite your protests.

You descend further,
Your thoughts contort as if alive,
You travel further down the carriages,
Its booths full of lost souls,
You watch as your hope and optimism hurtle past,
Like stations bypassed.

Your train of thought surges forth,
Bleak and pitiful,
There is no getting off.

The Hellraisers

If you ever travel along highway 666,
And night comes,
Beware the screech of tires,
Unholy calls and mad incantations,
And the smell of sulfur,
The Hellraisers may be near.

Where they ride,
The damned rise from the depths,
And pillars of flame tower up,
To an orchestra of demon cries,
Where they ride,
The very world reels in fear.

Riding out from a hellhole of a bar,
Riding atop scorching metal steeds,
They claw streaks of flame,
Into hallowed ground,
They laugh in the face of the heavens,
Drunk on mayhem and whiskey.

Leather-clad and riddled with tattoos,
Black sunglasses and infernal grins,
And boots that reek of oil and gore,
They curb-stomped the angels,
And kneecapped your Savior,
The heavens went up in a sawnoff blast.

They are chaos incarnate,
They ride to an apocalypse,
That only they can see.

The Thirsters

It has been quite some time since I wrote about Ryan Sargent. Far too long in my opinion. Ryan has been hunting demons recently, or more specifically, a particular kind of demon.

“Demons are one of the most fascinating beings I’ve ever hunted. Demons are one of the most mysterious beings I’ve ever hunted. Demons are one of the most dangerous beings I’ve ever hunted. I could never claim to enjoy doing what i do, indeed it feels more like a duty to humanity, but i can’t help but find these evil, savage creatures very intriguing. During my career (if it can be called as such) i have followed in the wake of 4 demons. Each one was as unique as a us humans can be. Each one totally different from the next, their powers, their appearances, their dispositions, even down to the reasons that it came to our world.

Picture the archetypal demon from lore. Picture the red skin, bestial features, ram-like horns and affinity for fire. Well, throw that image out of your head. These things are nothing like that. I tell you, the church couldn’t be more wrong. The fantasy writers couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve seen a demon that resembled a swirling mass of cogs with red blazing eyes. I’ve faced a demon that looked more akin to a fish than a devil, though just as cruel. I’ve myself banished a demon that resembled a mouse with a snake for a tail. You see, they are as varied as they are dangerous.

They are all certainly evil, there’s no doubting that. Few denizens of the supernatural have quite the same body count as these monsters. They kill for pride, they kill for greed, they most certainly kill for wrath. They are pure-bred killing machines, from what I’ve seen. Some are more subtle perhaps, but they are all capable of horrendous slaughter.

But how do they come to our world?

That varies really. They claw their way from Hell to our world and then either possess a human or travel through some kind of occult portal. The second option there obviously requires inside help, so to speak. Well, demons are able to travel around our world in some kind of spirit form. Like a ghost, you know. But there is another way. A lesser known method to enter the mortal world. They still use humans, but in a far more hideous manner.

The demons that adopt this method are possibly the worst of the worst. The damned among the damned. I call them the “Thirsters”.

Unlike ‘normal’ demons, these fiends are more animalistic. They don’t think like a sentient being, they are beasts. Nothing more. So how do these things get into our world? Surely they would too primitive to possess someone. They’re certainly not subtle enough to trick someone into building them a gateway. No, the actual method Thirsters use is far more primitive and violent. It still curdles my blood to this day.

Bob told me it was actually some kind of curse. The idea of a cursed demon is bizarre really. I thought they were already supposed to be cursed, hence why they were in Hell. Probably Bob being a trickster again, trying to scare me.

They simply tear their way into our world. They too, travel to our world from Hell and then slink around our atmosphere in some kind of spirit form. They then identify a worthy “host”. Now from what i can tell, this host has to be someone who is either very agitated at a given moment or is naturally hot-blooded. The demon then spiritually enters the hosts body and quite literally rips itself out, in a physical form. You see, they use human bodies and blood as their portals. I think an obsession with pain and blood is what has driven them to this depraved method. It’s the only reason that makes sense.

I have witnessed it myself unfortunately. Quite recently, in fact. I had tracked down a depraved cultist that was trying to grow his flock to a warehouse down in the grey district. He had been grooming local tramps and hobos. Truly, the depths this freak would plumb were unknowable. Once inside the warehouse he began some kind of disgusting ritual, involving copious amounts of blood and a goat. I’d rather not repeat how it went. The cultist repeated what i assume was a name: Rigtos. He must of repeated the name at least 30 times before something began to happen. The man began to convulse horribly, blood streaming from his nose and eyes. Then in a sickeningly display, a crimson bladed fist burst forth from the mans chest. Followed by more claws, pulling the chest opening further apart. Then suddenly the body was ripped clean in two, a monstrous dog-like beast crawled forth. It let out a bestial roar and leaped clear out of the roof. This was an archetypal Thirster. A true monster.

For the record, that thing did get away. It was long gone before i could even get out of my hiding spot.

So there you have it. My very simple account of a class of demon that poses a very true threat to society. A very real threat to our families, our friends and our homes. These creatures are true monsters, completely devoid of anything even remotely reminiscent of feelings or remorse. One has to wonder what Hell could of created such an abomination.”

From the desk of Ryan Sargent.