The Demon by Tim Baker

The Demon by Tim Baker

The darkness was complete, relieved only by intermittent flashes of white brilliance followed by thunder claps that would silence a freight train. The rain threatened to tear the skin from my bones.
I couldn’t run anymore. I couldn’t imagine an agony worse than my own heart exploding from a combination of terror and exhaustion.
Perhaps in an attempt to satisfy my desire for death my foot found an immovable object hurtling me through an eternal void until my head struck the tombstone of somebody whom I had never met.
Rolling onto my back I decided to face the demon that pursued me.
There was no silver bullet to save me and no wooden stake to drive through its heart.
I was my only weapon and I had nothing left to fight with.
The voice came through the black void and drowned out the thunder.
“It’s time.”
Part of me tried to fight the bony fingers that gripped my shoulder.
I heard myself scream an incomprehensible protest.
The skeletal vise tightened on my shoulder as I tried to retreat into the tombstone behind me.
“It’s time,” the voice from beyond the grave said.
Thunder roared as the rain pelted me.
Somewhere in the distance voices cried for mercy as the demon reached for other souls.
Mine was the loudest.
Somehow my arm came up to shield my face from the bright light emanating from the demon’s fingertips.
“It’s time,” my mother said. “Come on, it’s time to wake up.”