Friday, March 7, 2008

Birth of the Devil-goat (the complet five part story)(reedited 3/2008)


Birth of the Devil-Goat
(A Five Part Story)




Part I
Chapter One: the Birth

It was in a little lot of a farm, a piece of land outside of Cairo, Egypt, in the year 1998 that this happening too place, that a voice of a demon, a figure of a devil appeared through the skin of a goat, upon its birth, the old man shuddered at its appearance, his niece, who farmed the land with him, remained still, paused impressively as the birth took place, the old man demanded she kill the freaked creature quickly if not instantly, crying, "Kill, kill, kill the freak...!"
If one could hear, he would hear inside the tiny head of the creature, its voice humming a death song for the old man, a chant, as it lay in an open shed, next to a large bull; a few cars drove by, a hundred-yards from the open shed, it was first light, the sun just appearing lighting up the small shack next to the shed, in the shack is where the two individuals lived.
The old man's hands stretched up to heaven, and he cried "Allah...!" and he fell to his knees, his niece still in amazement at this extraordinary birth, in this intriguing but not much more than a dirt farm batch.
For the rest of the brief five minutes, they witnessed from this little farm, as they remained in silent, the birth of a devil-goat, so the old man called it inside their minds, in lack of a better name.

Fatima was an orphan taken in by her uncle several years prior, her mother had died earlier because of her delicate health, she died on top of a Cairo bridge, that crosses the Nile River, under a cardboard box she had used for shelter, there Fatima remained until her uncle, Solomon, found her, and took the child to the rented out piece of land he now plowed and planted and harvested. The lonely stony plot spreading to the highway produced vegetable, and for the most part, the owner charged little for it, feeling it better to keep the price reduced and someone, thus, having someone to watch the land, and kill two birds with one stone. It really was just a large patch of land, being farmed, not a farm in the sense of those we have in the Midwest of Minnesota.
The road passed several small farms, and the edge of the lot crossed the road; it was all plateau here, and the great pyramids were not far away, a beautiful sight for the tourist driving by, should he not look at the dirt farm on the other side, a disenchanted side, and in front of the lot, was an old hinged fence, long was the fence and in front of the roadway, and tall was grass along side of it.
The old man's face twitched with his dull and dim dark eyes as he stared at the creation of this suddenly new birth of a creature, a voice that sounded like the beating of an old deep and rustic metal drum came from its frame. It leaped up and onto its hind hoofs, Solomon was saying at the time: "See I told you to kill it...!" (Just how to kill it he’d not mentioned.)
She left him presently, stepped a few feet closer to the creature, "You'll have a chance to live," she mumbled as she looked down upon the creature, the old man clutched his fists now.
The harsh throbbing voice, faint as it was, could somehow understood Fatima, it spoke in a foreign voice, foreign to any other language ever produced on earth, yet she could understand. She had many questions in her mind: such as, where did it come from, or you come from, for she was looking at the creature, and how did it get here, what exactly was it? She didn't ask those questions out loud, she just thought them.

(I can answer all these questions for you though, but she would never know it for herself, not exactly anyway. It was a tragic thing that took place, casual as it seemed in the sense, one day a person’s life is as it always was, and then an abrupt change takes place, but after a moments time, it all seems somewhat normal again, hence, the breath of life entering a young goat, life from another species, horrible looking, and shockingly creating a goat like demon, is not casual, but it seemingly became so in time, in a short period of time for Fatima anyhow. It came from a place called: "The Prison House for Angels", these angelic beings were fallen angels. You've never heard of it you say, well, if not, don't be incongruous, for there is and was a place called that, it was beyond Orion, created by God, long before the earth was created. It was needed more than ever back then, for when the angels rebelled, where would the damned go, God spread out a village for the damned in the dark hidden parts of the universe. Here no one could hear the faint, ghostly cries of the voices behind the invisible wall, like lions in cages they were. All floating in space and quivering in the darkness, dying in their silence from the rest of the universe, this was their abode, showered with streaks of crimson fires far beyond their reach. And then, Azaz'el was released, to be brought down to earth's hell, for what reason I do no know. And somehow he escaped and now he was being reborn in this goat, secretly you could say, for who beyond God Himself would realize such a birth was taking place, surprisingly on the very planet the two angelic beings were to bring Azaz'el, but of course to the lower chambers of the earth.)

Terror had swamped Solomon, yes that is what the goat-devil saw in his eyes, as it stretched out its new body to several feet; now a hoofed beast, with three horns, naked with wet hair from foot to crown. Solomon now showed more poignant terror than anyone could imagine. But the adolescent feared not, actually she started to laugh lugubriously. (The creature lost something in its birth process, something it had when in the "Prison House for Angels," it lost its matured mind, it was now deformed, defected, reduced to a lower capacity; it knew, but didn't know-you could say, it heard the voice of the girl, fragmented, and it stared blankly at her, he called out: 'Mother!' The creature was a child beast, a devil-goat, so it looked. It may have escaped one destiny, only to find a dreary new one.)
It noticed a faint skeptical smile on the girl, heard her humming softly, "You are right, uncle, I should have killed the creature, but I can't." she said.
The uncle tried to brush away her crazy talk, her new obsessed caring for the creature, as the creature now was all of eight feet tall, broad at the shoulders, the Uncle horrible tense, standing by that open shad, the bull uneasy, brooding about the hay.


Chapter Two: The Light

It was early morning, and light starting to stretch out over the land, the struggling birth was over; the goat's mother had died giving birth to the creature. And Fatima was now its new mother, or so the creature thought. Fog was disappearing from the roadway, and the old man was done with his quivering, all sat back against the wooden wall of the shed, seemingly like ghosts. The foreign language of the creature seemed to adjust to Fatima's mind, although to the uncle it seemed to be nothing more than grunts and groans. The ghostly death of the mother goat, in the early silence of the morning was no more than a blur now. The old man had buried the goat, in fear if he ate it, or cut it opened, it might trigger a new development, one he didn't want. Thus, he took the goat behind the shed and buried it. Perhaps that sounds foolish, I know, but I can only tell you how it was, foolish or not. Now flashing lights from the roadway appeared. "Damn it," the old man said as he walked around the shed and the shanty house, looking at the fog lift, the car lights, "Damn it, you can't live with this thing, it's deadly, and it will murder us in the middle of the night." Then as he became visible to the creature and Fatima, he went blank, showing no emotion in his face, as if not to show any signs of complaint, said nothing distinguishable, only mumbles as came out of his mouth as often an old man does. He went over to the two, pushed the dark black huge bull to the side, it moved quickly, then the old man said to Fatima, "You thought you heard a dead mans cry earlier within the birth of this creature, I do believe it was his mind changing, agonizing in the process, it went like a leap, from what it was to a child, look at it, it seems to be bloodthirsty and at the same time, excited over you looking at it, as a child to a mother. It's a real thing for sure, but who owns it, is a different story."

(What was going through his mind perhaps was: could he be so lucky as to try to control this freak of nature, and make money off it in the near future-like 'King Kong'? I mean, was this a chance in a life time, or was this strange creature indeed too dangerous to play such a game with, for the old man said to Fatima: "Strangeness nowadays, people pay to see that!" It was more of a question-statement, but Fatima did not answer, and the creature simply looked at Solomon when he spoke, then looked at Fatima, somehow feeling if she looked decrepit because of his voice or words, he was dead, or soon could be. But she held her facial features, likened to flat. At this point the old man looked confused, an echo went back and forth in his brain; again he stood clutching his fists, almost fearful, but now with more force, and with anger...he shrugged his shoulders, started to walk out of the shed, and with a leap the creature grabbed him by throat, lifted him up above the ground, his feet dangling, Fatima just looked, and looked and looked, and his mouth opened, and its teeth showed and it was hungry, and Fatima looked, and looked and looked again, and the creature's teeth were sharp like the fangs of a huge dogs, and it seemed like he wanted to swallow a good portion of the old man's right limb, it was dangling in front of his eyes, and he was hungry, and his limbs were just dangling helplessly, a rip, a quick rip is all it would take, then the creature smiled as it looked at Fatima, as if awaiting for permission to eat, and he'd be fed, and she smiled...!)


Part Three: The Harm

"Let me go," yelled the old man. But as the Azaz'el looked at Fatima, her face suggested with some bitterness, not to, as she held a cold look, reprovingly saying 'no' and quicker than the sheering of sheep's wool, the creature had in its mouth a limb, the right arm of the old man, and you could hear the crunching of the bones, and in his throat, which was now lumped with the limb (likened to a large snake swallowing a dog whole), the creature tried to swallow...it came to look again upon its mother, Fatima. He dropped the old man to the ground, her eyes widened, "Why," cried the old man, "I took you in as a child, why did you not stop the creature, he is some sort of devil beast and animal?"
The beast crawled now on its knees, rampaging around the shed like a devil-dog. The old man stayed put, not wanting to get near him Then Fatima assured him, that the creature would not harm him again, that it was a example for him, a terrible one yes, but nonetheless a lesson for him not to decide to do her child harm, and the saber tooth creature now clasped her hands, and kissed them.
"Oh Uncle Solomon why? Why do you think such things of Azaz, he is just born and you want to harm him, he came alone into this empty hearted world; this is a warning for you."
She was irritated with him; she glanced at him with a look of pleading almost, yet visibly wilted.
"You mean to tell me," said the old man, bleeding from his shoulder, "a girl like you is the mother of this creature like man, or devil, and it fails me?"
"Certainly I am," she said abruptly.
"Well, I'll be-" said the old man as he began to fall into a bewilderment, drift off to sleep, the pain was too much, and there was no relief, and when he woke up, several hours later, his wound had been attended to, one arm less of courses.

Belphegor, Demon King (Parts 2 and 3)



Part II
Chapter Four: Azaz'el's Thoughts (The Sixth Day)

He had awoke two days later, in the gray cold light of the morning, he felt condemned, his executioner was not far away from him in the shed like house, Fatima was not in the room ... he could hear her voice outside talking to the bull though...

It was the sixth day; the creature sat his back against the outside shanty, a mountain of tall grass around him, the grass slightly wet, his forehead damp, he touches the earth, rumples his shoulders, over lapping his hands (at the same time), one over the other, a few birds sit peeking over the edge of the wooden roof of the shanty (hut) like house. He would like to cry, but he had never done such a thing, he didn't know how, and his feelings were more like thoughts, than emotions. He spots a lizard, it runs, and he finds out his reflexes are faster than the lizards, and Azaz grabs him by the tail, or what seems to be the extended backend of the foot long creature, drops him into his mouth, like a raindrop falling into a bucket, swallows the lizard complete, that was his breakfast.
Along the roadside, dust is raised in spires. He hears thunder, sees water but is having a hard time reasoning the two out, how do they fit together, he comes to the conclusion, thunder is produced when it is close to water.
He has not looked into a mirror but he knows his face is different than his mother’s, I mean his human mother, he has seen in a mud puddle, his face is more like a goat, but goats cannot reason like him, they go to the slaughter, he tells himself, he will not allow that. Yet his mind is not stretched out as far as it should be, but he knows at one time it was, and perhaps in time to come it will again be more knowledgeable.
The old man is feeding the bull now, he, Azaz, can hear him talking to himself, he doesn't like him all that much, but he is his mother's, something or another; his arm was more tasty than the lizard he concludes. Fatima is planting something afar by the roadway. He pulls at his face, trying to figure out if he is inside a disguise, "Where is the practical part of me," he asks himself. The bold grass still is hiding him, his eyes closed, and "Who is this inside of me?" he asks. All rhetorical questions for the most part.


Chapter Five: Twilight (the Fourteenth Day)


Azaz's attention was caught by a movement in the shadows of the grass, he had not seen twilight before either, it was emerging, day and night were closing in on one another, and forming dusk. Something huge was in the tall grass, bulky. He was fascinated with the movement, not scared, but enthralled. He saw yellow eyes in the shadows of the grass. With a shout of brutal yelps, the thing with excessive agility and with speed, and after a moment, plainly showed himself, big as an ox. Azaz, moving swiftly he leaped toward what he figured would be his first victim. The monster raged with ferocity. In an instant both were fighting, and the black hairy beast with horrible looking eyes, almost next to one another (dry blood on its fury like body from a previous kill) crushed Azaz to his knees, but Azaz simply caught his breath, never got tired, he just didn't know how to fight, he tried to rip the torso off is legs of this dark beast, and stuff gushed out of it. But still the beast was not exhausted; it picked him up, and cast him aside like a staggering drunkard.
Now the beast's yellowish eyes glittered hellishly, and came back for a second strike. No word had passed between the two warriors, and when Fatima came out of the shed to see what was happening, she merely fainted on the spot, as she looked at the horror taking place. Uncle Solomon gazed from the window, helplessly, but hoping wherever the beast was from, it would kill Azaz, but it couldn't.
"Don't be afraid," said Azaz, to his mother, his voice sounded strange, but he had picked up a vocabulary in just fourteen days, one that matched her language.
As she tried to get up, her eyes flared with terror, and she cried, and the wild fluttering of her heart could not stop, and somehow it could be felt by Azaz, and thus, resuming his attack on the beast once he knew his mother was safe, but the frightened, thing ran away.
"Are you hurt?" she exclaimed quickly to Azaz.
"Don't worry about these scratches," he answered, though his wounds privately hurt. (The creature like him, had fangs and it seemed they were venomous.)
She stopped her sobs, and dried her eyes with her forearm. They were hungry and although Azaz was somewhat like a cannibal, he simply muttered "Me too..." looking at Solomon looking out of the window as if he would be a good dinner.
"Was that a devil," she asked her uncle, as they sat on the porch eating chicken?
"I did not see it all that clear, it was bigger than a jackal, smaller than a giant bear, perhaps this creature of yours has brought up from the bowels of hell, devils to bring him back where he belongs, I hope we do not get infested with them now."
In stead of answering her Uncle, she clenched her fists as if to say: I will not even let hell have him, he is mine. Her eyes lighted up, "You will not hurt him, right?" she asked her uncle.
The absurdity of the question left him speechless, yet he found the words to say,
"How can I hurt him, his muscles are like knotted iron, and his fists like mallets."



Part III
Chapter Six: The Bear Demon (21st Day)
Belphegor, Demon King


The Bear-demon returned the following week, commanded one of them, from a distance that he, Azaz to relinquish his life to them (inferring it was either now or later, and if it was later there would be a lot of suffering on his part for eons). Should he do so now as he was told or being asked, he would place him in the heartland of the lower world and in charge of several legions?
"I am called, who brings me tidings in the skins of bears?" asked Azaz'el.
One of the two great bears answered, "I am Agaliarept, the Henchman of Hell, who asks for thee, and my assistant is Gusoyn, a great guard of the towers over Hades, the great sea of the Netherworld. And we were sent by the King of Demons, no other than Belphegor, whom takes orders from the Ten-winged Archangel, known as Lucifer-thus we must and will deliver you to the lower world."
-Now standing side be side, and Azaz'el standing by the shed all within a swings distance, the two great bear-demon, as they are disguised, stand erect and firm, sternness in their faces, as Azaz grips an axe resting against the side of the abode, raises it and with the swiftness of an eagle a blow with the blade severs through the naked neck of Agaliarept, the blade sinks clean through, and his head falls to the ground, rolls off his shoulder like a egg, as Azaz kicks it with his heal, blood bursts from the cavity of the body of Agaliarept, dark blood, yet the bear figure remains strong on his shanks; Gusoyn, reaches down picks up the head, gives it back to Agaliarept, as it turns about on its own, eyes staring at Azaz. The head then rests on Agaliarept’s forearm, and against his chest.
It would seem to an on looker he was unharmed that only a mishap too place; his gruesome trunk continues to bleed like a waterfalls, and his head mumbles as they part, it twists to see Azaz's eyelids looking wide open, and unblinking, brooding at him.

Agaliarept, Satan's Henchman

Agaliarept's voice echoed back to Azaz, "See that you get ready, you will go as Hell has demanded, this is a promise, for I charge thee with assault unto your brethren."
A rude roar came from Azaz'el, as Fatima and Solomon, became almost breathless, and hiding beyond the arch of the doorway, halfway inside the abode, letting out a sigh of relief, unbelievable liberation from a world they know little about.

Interlude

Life with a Surrogate Mother

(About three months into Fatima's surrogating, Azaz'el.) Inside the dwelling were two wooden chairs, a chimney where charcoal was burning, there were many cushions on the floor, an old cloak hung on a nail by one of the two windows in the shack. The wooden floor cracked as you walked from one side to the other. Solomon had sat on those two chairs seemly and noble for many years, but not any longer, his woes were yet to be mended.
On a small table, was a clay basin to wash up with, a water pump outside alongside of the shack.
Solomon always ate double helpings of food at his dinner table, but since Azaz'el had arrived, and grown to a large size, that was for the meantime history. He enjoyed an assortment of fish, but it seemed chicken was cheaper, and so were the vegetables he grew on his farm land.
The table in the center of the shack, stood on trestles, was raised a few inches when Azaz'el sat at it, his knees doing the lifting. They had spoons, forks and knives to eat with, but Fatima had to teach Azaz, as she called him, how to use them. Azaz especially liked baked bread and spices on his food.

During the meals, Azaz watched Fatima and Solomon pray before they ate, but never did he inquire on this matter, only gave weird head movements.
Surrogating was new for Fatima; she had never been a mother of any kind, although she perhaps tried to at times with the bull in the shed. Azaz came to realize Fatima for as young as she was, she was not his real mother; on the other hand he found she was fairer in face than any woman he had thus far put eyes on, smooth flesh to her skin, and her proportions were better than most others he felt. Her complexion was lovely, and had she not been her surrogate mother, who knows what would have taken place.
On the other side of the coin, was Solomon, he was quite thin, with wrinkled cheeks, his throat was also wrinkled, although a beard covered most of it, and his waist was thin, with a sunken in buttocks.
Solomon had come to think these passing days, it was either bad luck or ones lot in life, for him to have met Azaz'el, but during this period of three months, once, and only once, did Azaz'el say "Good-day," to Solomon, and in return gracefully Solomon bowed as if to obey, but Azaz took little head in it, he was perhaps fighting his nature, it took a lot for him to say that.


Chapter Seven: the Young Year
Azaz'el (before Earth Time)


The young year-began, thus Azaz remained watchful for the return of the demonic bears, or whatever new disguise they may have grown into, for he yearned for life on earth more everyday, and everyday was special, and everyday his mind matured ten-times faster than a normal mind would, thus remembering bits and pieces of his long incarceration in "The Prison House for Angels." That is to say, he was now remembering who he was, and what he was, and what he looked like before earth was created, and during and when he was sent to earth to look over ancient man, and from the clouds he did so, but he was one of the Old Ones, that guarded those who took human flesh, and cohabitated with them. His sins were not as severe as those of his brethren, so he recalled, but nonetheless he was sent to the prison house, and he also remembered his time was up, and was to be brought to the lower world, and somewhere in-between, this journey, he found a porthole in space, so it seemed, and escaped, and found himself being cast into an animal, and being of no human origin, he was reborn, but disfigured.
During the early part of the evenings, to late dark, he helped Solomon and Fatima with the small farm work, doing chores, etcetera, that needed to be done, mending of the fences also, and feeding and settling of the bull, and so forth and on...he didn't care to be seen by the public lest he be put into a freak show, and lose his freedom, and consequently be hurtle from, and out of his earthly existence, by what now he considered the enemy, that's why he wanted to grab the moment, it was, he figured, was his only treasure left for him.
Many nights he got drunk, being introduced to the alcoholic spirits of mankind-and as months slipped by quickly, he was merry with even Solomon, whom he had at one time a rather harsh liking for. Perhaps all this counterbalanced what he felt would be his ending. And so again I say, the months past to June, the 6th month of the year, and to the 6th day of the month and to the 6th hour, in the PM, and on this day, all hell broke loose.
-On this little lot of land, this farm blemish in the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt, off the side road, the earth became cold, clouds uplifted, producing harsh hail dropping to the ground, making it hard, as a hundred beings (demonic beasts), a horde from hell, stomped the ground with blows from their feet, shaking the earth, and the abode, and all the structures on the farm. They came out of the long grass, and bushes, and came out of nowhere (so it seemed), dark it was over the farm, as if twilight had been subdued. Two hundred yellow eyes glistening, approaching. A drought filled the throats of Fatima and Solomon.


Chapter Eight: The Sting-tailed Mantic ores
The Sting-tailed Mantic ores and Gusoyn


Sting-tailed Mantic ores, that is what appeared on the premises of Solomon's and Fatima's farm, in demonic form. They had stingers on the ends of their tails, as if to sting the life out of Azaz'el, and bring him willing or unwillingly to the lower world.
Azaz'el knew it was war, and the six months he had on earth, ended up being only yesterdays, as this day was to be his reckoning.
All the beasts stood in a horseshoe fashion kind of formation, in front of the shack that the three inhabitants had lived in, Fatima and Solomon, hiding behind the door, and Azaz'el in front of the shack.
There were no more bears, only mantic ores, and Agaliarept, with Belphegor, who were in their natural skins, Agaliarept with human features from his neck to his feet, which were wide with long nails, and his head was more like a horse. Belphegor, was naked as was Agaliarept, but had wings on, Agaliarept did not. He had a long face; both were of a cunning design. Gusoyn, was also present, and had a crazy look on his face, he was jumping up and down, with a kind of dagger in his hand-crazily jumping, the rest were calmly waiting for someone to give an order, the rest being the Sting-tailed Mantic ores, except for Buer the Savage Eater (which I will explain to you, as well as introduce you to him, in the next chapter).
And there outside, right in front of the shack, a feast began, a kind of royal revelry, before the slaughter you might say. Dancing and singing, provoking Azaz to strike the first blow, yet knowing, when he did, it was all over. (Demons are powerful, yet not as powerful as angelic beings, and arch angels, are even more superior, and this occurred to Azaz'el. Also what came to mind, was Lucifer, he, was watching from the gray and dark clouds above, pacing like a hungry lion; would he come to the rescue if indeed Azaz'el an archangel could subdue these demons. There was no way to win; this is what really circled in his mind.

Light laughter began-.

You do know the quest at hand, that is to say, Hell's quest, and Azaz'el wishing to remain on earth, so I care not to trouble you with the tale of it, save, a miner point, Lucifer was watching from the moon most of the time, up to this evening, now near the clouds he paced, thus, Buer the Savage Eater as he is known, was contemplating to spark the first blow, to get the show on the road, perhaps that is why the King of Demons wished him present. The question at hand also was (and that is perhaps the reason Lucifer kept his distance), why did God allow this to go to this point, when it was ordained Azaz'el be brought to the lower world, brought by angelic beings, to a point in space, the winged demons were to take over, but never hand the chance to, for Azaz'el was said to have escaped, or fell into a hole in space. Oh well, we may never know, and as for God, who knows His reasons.


Part IV
Chapter Nine: Buer the Savage Eater
Buer Demonic Savage Eater


Before man was man, and demons were demons, Buer was among a group of souls, that ruled the earth, with other souls and angelic beings, he was the first to go against the will of God, and join Lucifer in rounding up support by his kind (Lucifer being the leader of his kind at this time), and thus, a trader to God, and to his kind to win the favor of Lucifer, which he did, and now we can call early man, and thus his kind turned into what now is known as the demonic forces of Hell and Earth, but he was turned into a demon eater a beast of a rat, a savage among savages, and he was waiting to eat Azaz'el if indeed he could grab such a moment.
Buer the Savage Eater (so he was know to be), stepped out of the crowed of demonic forces now surrounding Solomon's farm, he was-if anything-unpredictable and shrewd. He was all demonic, and wanted to be of a high command in hell, among demons, "Why should you rule seven legends in hell, when I have myself been waiting for such a promotion (for hell does have its hierarchy, and Azaz’el was to hold such a position, and there was, as we can see, envy growing).”
He was in rat form, which was his real form. He had a wide mouth, dripping slim constantly from it; long thin, limps, and a skeleton tight skinned body, that showed his ribs. He was vicious, if anything, and could, and would, and did eat or bully demons, but to this angelic being, could he do such a thing, he thought so, but it remained questionable. He had been perhaps in hell too long, not knowing the powers of angelic beings, but he was about to find out (for even Agaliarept, Satan's Henchman brought assistance when he sought out Azaz'el, thus, trying to talk, and perhaps subdue him that way, not really wanting an out and out battle with him, and hoping he did not realize his strength.
Thick was the saber teeth of the rat like Buer, Agaliarept went to stop Buer saying, "We are not breed like him, do not overextend yourself."
But Buer just laughed, "He is nothing but a goat, and a tall thin goat at that, and I shall shred him like I have to so many in the pits of hell..." and he leaped on Azaz'el, and his fangs dug deep into his armpits of what he referred to as the devil-goat, and his body folded up like a cocoon, then he fell to his knees; all the demonic warriors unlocked their eyelids, felt Buer was for the moment their hero, he was beating an angelic being (unheard of, and never seen before), but Agaliarept just shook his head, he knew better.
"What is your name rat?" asked Azaz'el "I have never seen eyes like yours, a cold blue flame dances in them, I shall remove them in a moment." And he stood up, as Buer got into some kind of a stance to attack.
"I am one of the Old Ones, have you forgot?" Said Azaz'el to Buer; now the horde of demonic beasts turned their alliance, to bewilderment, and watched and waited the command to attack, for it had to come from either the King of Demons, or Lucifer Himself, not even Agaliarept had that power. Buer was simply out of place.
Buer had primitive passions you could say, violence, traditional for hell, warlike; battle was Buer's custom and contest to life. Primitive and gusty was his temper also, but courage, he may have had, although inferior to Azaz'el, perhaps he could scare him to death or to submission he figured. He did not know him in the old days; as did Semyas or Lucifer- nor did legend follow him as did it for Lucifer.
Azaz'el was no fool, and with a crimson haze of fury, and a glare of battle ready, vengeance, his every muscle seemed to be filled with iron revenge. He tried to warn the rat beast, as he called him; in the old days he would not have done so. Swift and brief he would have made this battle.
Arrogant eyes roved contemptuously over the frame of Azaz'el, with unbearable scorn. With an act of distinctiveness, he attacked Azaz'el again, and with bestial rage Azaz'el sprang up and rushed at Buer, both colliding, both roaring, breast to breast, the rat reckless, Azaz'el, with full strength, clutching this creature like a rag, and throwing him about, a being stronger than he had ever endured. This he, Buer, came to realize quickly, for the impact of his efforts were nothing to Azaz'el, and his crushing embrace, broke all the ribs in Buer's body, and he lay on the ground no longer an antagonist. Still with clenched fists, Azaz'el mauled his way back to the rat beast, several demons tried to hold him back, but could not, and thus, Azaz'el snapped the spine of Buer before he stopped his attack. Lucifer was laughing overhead, and Semyas was gushing with smiles, it was his old friend at his best. Buer tried to get up, with a sagging broken jaw, but fell back down, blood spreading out over the ground: it was fiesta time thought Semyas.


Chapter Ten: The Offering
Lucifer
The Ten-winged Beast


On a pyre Semyas the Seer and astrologer of the ancient renegade angles was on hand to nail Azaz'el (for only another angelic being could hold another in check, thus, two supernatural beings), thus, he drove nails through his palms to the rock, the flat part of the alter and through, and into the granite nailed him at all four points, through all four limbs, as the Ten-winged Beast flew to and from the gate to the pyre then over the shack, over a large treetop then high above all that, as the surrender was taking place.
He was like a camel in heat, as if he was trying to get his high or getting his high at that very moment, but wanting to be safe, or perhaps too arrogant to join the rest of the horde in their appointed task.
Then he, Semyas kissed the hand of Azaz'el, after that he laid a kerchief over his eyes, as if he was subdued and could do nothing, and at this point it looked so. He was a brother to him at one time (that was the kiss); both had walked the earth and were among the leaders of two-hundred other angelic renegades—of five-thousand years ago. But there was no mercy in Semyas' eyes, for he had been buried under tons of rocks for millenniums. Now, seemingly he had either escaped, or was set free, he didn't say, and I don't know, but he was assigned this duty by none other than the Beast, and the kiss and the subduing, along with blinding of the eyes was part of the ritual.

(Ah, one could hear the crickets in the background, the wings of the Beast flopping back and forth as he flew by, the sound of the gate's metal clasps moving back and forth, the wind picking up.)

I intend now to tell you what took place on that pyre, though it may seem strange to the story, but it was as it was.
In everyway, Azaz'el could not escape, the forces were too strong, the winds from the wings of the Beast, and Semyas' nails were made out of some evil force from another sphere, and the demonic forces behind and around the pyre, added to the physical if not mental forces at hand, all restraining.
It is fare to say, I do believe, endless thoughts invaded his being, Azaz'el's brain. He was acknowledged as a gift to hell, from the "Prison House of Angels." And why was he working so hard to defy all the shadowy evils above and below the earth? Perhaps a question everyone was asking, even Solomon and Fatima, save the Beast and his demonic and angelic forces were dumfounded to say the least.
"Here is a fragment of your creed, brethren," said Semyas, "say it after me!" he commanded in a harsh voice: "That ever from the fire, evil's all of my velour, be it gained that to Hell, and all spheres of the Beast I shall be courteous, that I give up all piety of thought, friendliness, chastity and chivalry, and change thy heart for deception, and perfect evil...I shall be close as the demonic forces need me, I shall lead in Hell, that being: without mercy, indifference to human life..."
Semyas carved into his chest a pentangle, and imprinted within that the given name of Satan, 'Lucifer'; next, he was set free, arrayed by all those around him (that was the kiss), good tidings, then Semyas commanded he kill Fatima and Solomon, to show his new devotion; to eat their flesh, as he had done before; to prove to the High Prince of Darkness, his honorable heart.


Part V
Chapter Eleven
Concluding Chapter


So what took place that evening, on the 6th month, 6th day of the month, at the 6th hour, was this: Azaz'el was to be considered the host of the demons, to be a leader in hell, to have several legends at his fingertips. And he was to kill, eat the flesh of his mother, Fatima, to show his honorable heart to the horde, and Lucifer, whom was watching from the edge now, the edge of the top of a tree, and his mind was of this same anticipation.
As he walked toward Fatima, he stopped in front of Solomon, her uncle, feeling he would have the answer (an answer) to a sudden question he was seeking, and he whispered something in his ear, and Solomon whispered something back. And they both stood looking at one another oddly; Fatima confused, and standing by the archway of her door, fearfully tense, and as confused as any of the onlookers. Then out of nowhere, or so it seemed, Azaz said to Fatima, "Climb on my back mother!"
Fatima, unprepared, gladly did, as did Solomon. Next, Azaz'el did another odd thing, like a prince, proudly, and tauntingly, he started walking down the pathway to the front gate of the farm, through the horde of demons; just like that, with almost a luminous hue around him, when he walked to the gate, haughtily strode, many of the demon (fierce looking in all respects) fell flat on their faces on the field, onto and over one another. They all looked dumbfounded at this happening, confused, what he up was up to, and what was happening to them.
At the gate he lowered his huge back, his face was grim, with all the power in his limbs aloft he heaved the two on his back over it, and over the gate so both Fatima and Solomon could roll off, and over his head, and both did, and he told them to stand near the roadway, that this field of land was fated for the moment; and as the horde grabbed him, to take him to the lower world, they could not pull his soul from his body, it was what they were after. They shredded his body like macaroni. And there he died, and the only thing that could be seen was a white mist coming from his inner being, and carried upward by one female angelic being.

The Angel Lailis

"What did he whisper to you?" asked Fatima to Solomon.
"He asked me if there ever was a demonic creature, or angelic being ever forgiven by God—given a second chance? And if so whom? And I said to him, there was perhaps two to my understanding, Gilgamesh of Sumer was a giant and demigod, who on his death bed, accepted the one and only true God, he had found his faith I do believe by listening to Noah. And there was a man called Christopher, whom had the seed of those lost angelic renegades, as Azaz'el has, so I told him, and he was saved, after helping Christ across the river. That is when he turned to you and asked you to get on his back, like St. Christopher would have done, and did do, and thus, he walked us down and through the demonic path, Lucifer and his horde created, but for some reason, perhaps God, shifted their minds for a moment, to save us, and it seems, to save him, even though he was executed, but then, so was Christopher."
Said Fatima, in a light hearted but confused way, "I don't quite see it that way."
"Well," added Solomon, "We got work to do in the morning, some hoeing and some weeding and...oh well, you know."
And the two walked back to their shack, the demonic forces had disappeared, and the body of a goat lay on the ground, where once was, Azaz'el.


From a Dream, Witten in Huancayo, Peru, 10-24 & 26-2007, the author spent time in Egypt (1998), and the farm he is talking about, exists, as do all the folks and animals around this farm, in the story, and even the names are the same, the only thing fiction is this story is the devil-goat, which is the dream part. Reedited 3/2008

A Blue Night, in: Gruta de Huagapo (a short story)


A Blue Night, in:
Gruta de Huagapo

I admit, at hearing her voice, and the few words she said, made me shudder as she came closer to me. There was a thrill in my stomach, I could not feel my legs, neck, arms, and I had fallen deeply into a hole in the cave called Gruta de Huagapo (in the Andes of Peru). When I fell deep into it, excitement came over everybody, everyone’s eyes, as they looked down upon me, were hard, with a dry glitter to them, seriously interested in what to do with me, for the roof of the cave was opening up, and dirt falling on everyone, it was just a matter of time before my wife, Delilah, our guide Steven, and the taxi driver, and his wife, the one I paid to take us here, and the one I paid their way into the cave to help me as we journeyed to and fro.
There was a shade of blue it seemed in the cave, from the light that reflected into on the walls of the cave, through its entrance it was almost mystical, yet I felt entrenched.
“Delilah, you must go back, out of this cave: bring her with you Steve, please, when you go!” So I said in fear knowing the ceiling would yield at any moment. I couldn’t move, and couldn’t afford to keep four people in harms way.
“As clearly as I see you, I will not leave you,” responded my wife.
“Steve” I said, “…take her forcefully.”
“What is the use she wants to stay, but we cannot carry you out of here, you most likely broke every bone in your body.”
“How was it that none of us saw him slip and caught him before he fell?” asked Delilah (feeling somehow, someway there had to be an escape route, as she looked at her husband, broken, bones split right through his skin, eyes staring as if paralyzed, he was all but dead).
“Do not think I’d not have stopped this tragedy should I have known this part of the cave better.” Said the Guide, Steve (Delilah just looked, as if there were no words left to describe his incompetence, and it wouldn’t do any good anyhow, plus escape for her and her husband preoccupied her mind at the moment, above reprimanding him).
“You say the cave will cave in soon,” asked the male Taxi driver, looking at Steve, then his wife.
“I expect so!” replied Steve with a worrisome voice.
“No!” said Delilah, “I am staying.”

I thought as I looked up at everyone trying to figure out what to do, what a nice blue darkness befalling me I thought, along with the damp and raw looking walls that surrounded me; I could even hear the running water, a stream not far away.
“What is the pain like?” asked Steve to me.
“There is no pain; I feel nothing, not a thing at all.” I answered with almost paralyzing lips.

(The ceiling was starting crackle, open wider, and more dust fell upon all of us. Steve and the Taxi driver grabbed Delilah, and forced her up to the main floor of the huge cave, as I remained where I was. And the cave ceiling particles fell again, and not just over me, over them, and other parts of the cave, I could hear the rumble by the entrance; they grabbed Delilah again, and they ran out of the cave. I tried to feel my knees but I couldn’t reach them, my wrists were broken. I think if I was moved, it would present immense pain. Now the walls caved in under the weight of this event, and I started to pray, and pray, I knew I was next to death, one knows such things, and if helpless to turn the tides, only God can.)

As I was saying a moment ago: I admit, at hearing her voice, and the few words she said, made me shudder as she came closer to me, but could it really be her, I mean, here I am dying, and the cave entrance has almost collapsed I expect and to get to me now, one has to crawl under debris, but the voice I hear is saying, “I’m coming, don’t die yet!”
I cannot positively say it is my wife’s voice, I am half in a daze, but it looks like here looking over me, and it sounds like her when she spoke.
“I can see, my husband, you have as usual gone over everything in your mind, so now we need only to hold one another’s hands, and die together, as I said I would umpteen time throughout our marriage, and prayed many a time this be true, that God take us together.”
I looked up again, it was her, her in the flesh, yes really, she must have snuck out of the grips of those two men, I can’t remember their names any more.
“Tell me Delilah, in the same breath, is it really you?”
“Don’t be so silly, of course.”

It was true, Delilah did escape from the grips of Steve, and the Taxi man, she couldn’t help it, but she never made it back to her husband, she died, like him in seclusion and solitude, she died several feet from the entrance of the cave, as she had tried to get back to him; or at least physically tried (spiritually she may have done just that).
I do not know how to present alternative theories to balance this story out, between one against the other, but according to Lee, she was there, right there by him, every minute of the way (once she arrived that is), just the way they had lived all through their marriage, side by side, as sidekicks.


Note: From a daydream, walking through “Wang’s” grocery store in Circle (looking for cream, in the Cream isle), Lima, Peru, 4:30 PM, 3-7-2008; the author had visited the giant cave, in this story called Gruta de Huagapo, in November, of 2007; and was actually in the hole he was talking about, but did not of course break any bones, but came close to it; dedicated to my wife; dedicated to Rosa.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Sapphire writes: (a poem on a decaying world)

Sapphire
writes:

“…What’s happening to the world?
Why are people being so
mean and ungrateful?”

Perhaps Sapphire, they
have a hole in their hearts
where God is suppose to be.
Or possibly the world was
always like this, and we were
too blind to see (that I don’t
want to believe). Whatever,
when we were young, or at
least me, the world you
talk about, seemed more
pleasant, less surreal;
now all I can say,
Sapphire is, welcome,
to the reptile
family).


#2305 3-3-2008 Sapphire, was is a person whom asked
me a questionBy writing a comment to me in July, 2007,
I believe the date is correct, and this is my response.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

"However Strange" ((The Complete short supernatural story)(Chapters 1 thru 6))

However Strange
(In the Mist of the Beast)

Part I


Chapter One

A Call for Aid

Life has its way of making a person dizzy, or perhaps it is the people in one’s life; nonetheless, life and its happenings is not always a logical expected, episode, be it good or evil, ill or ailing that takes place, wisdom or foolishness that surrounds him, pleasure or pain he or she endures. I do hope memory serve me well, if so, this account will be better-sweet, as life really is, on its most trotted paths.
I walked up to my library in Miraflores, Lima, Peru, turned on the light in the haunting January night heat, into the somewhat of a cool library, its fan already on, --I stood still in the quiet center of the library, it was a tinge past midnight. The purple drapes, swayed a bit with the fans rotation, resilience, I loved the library, its ceiling was like a canopy over my head, the rugs, a number of them, one Persian, another from Afghanistan, and still another from Pakistan, and the center one, Peruvian, all of high quality engulfed me. I sat in my big sofa chair, there was two in the library, and another wooden onet sat drowsily next to the other sofa chair, the whole library merging into my corner; there in my corner, the sufficing world, its whole environment all the words man has developed, created in the past, merged blissfully to my side, as I sat in solitude, as I opened up a book of Longfellow’s.
Young Dona Florencia Wilder called me on the phone, I set the book aside, the phone being to my left, answered it, her voice was dreamy, in a restless way. And with an undertone of unhappiness, she commenced to tell me how she felt estranged in her big home, it was hard to give her sympathy, she was rich, so I just gave her my ear without comment, perhaps my chivalry was in full manhood.
Minutes flew by, that became hours, and I found myself wanting to fall to sleep, the gates of my mind were closing, as was my eyes. I heard noises next door, in this neighborhood it is not unusual to hear such at 2:00 AM, but it became a ceaseless sound, and between Dona Florencia and the knocking, it became a little stressful. As I asked Dona Florencia to call back, I went to the downstairs widow in the parlor, looked out it to see who was doing the knocking. It was a young bruit of a man (broad, short in figure, perhaps five foot five inches in height) robust, shirt off, muscles glowing from the reflections produced by an arch light several feet away from him.
I opened my door, said (with inquisitiveness):
“They’re probably sleeping, why not try back in the morning, you are waking everyone up, or at lese me for the time being!” It was more a statement than a question. I then switched my outside electric light on, over my doorsteps.
The brute came to me, looked me in the eyes (not a bit of fear in his bones I told myself), and had a note in his hands, he gave it to me, almost as if it didn’t matter what house he was really at, or whom got the note, only that he gave it to a living and breathing, and reasoning creature, I took it and started to read it (as he walked away):
“Whomever you are, I need your help, please attempt to help me after you read this note, and if you do not, give it to someone that will, my mother has just been murdered, you can call me at 4550882? The person whom gave you this letter is a little slow, his name is Carlos, and was instructed to leave as soon as he a person accepted the note.”


Chapter Two

The Investigation


Doña Florencia Wilder, opened the door quietly for Denis Medina; Sergeant Ricardo Leoncio and and his boss, the Inspector Silvestre were already sorting out the affairs of the murder, trying anyhow to understand it. Dr. Gomez was present, and the maid, Maria.
“I came at once, miss, the moment I got your note, but it seems you got everything under control, where you lack confidence, you have wisdom, and coordination abilities I see.” Then without hesitation, or a word said, she grabbed my hand, pulled me completely into the hallway, the Sergeant threw some swift glances her way, as he was paced from one room, through the hallway to the next room, where the deceased, widow, Mrs. Wilder, Florencia’s mother lay dead on a sofa coach. Here, the Detective started a conversation with a person, unseen; it was Inspector Silvestre, whom he was explaining the situation to:
“Senseless,” was his word.
Here, Doña Florencia whispered, “Under you, I hope to find out the truth sir. Right now the doctor is writing out a full report, he will give it to the Sergeant, whom is in charge, and the inspector, he said he will leave all the matters of this case in his hands. You and I can work together.”
“Alas!” I said, wondering what I had gotten myself into. “Ma’am,” I said, “You must be content with the officials, and their examination, I am not needed here.”
“Oh, but indeed you are sir, you see the door was locked, and the murderer could not have gotten in another way, except for him or her being here when I got here, so he must be here now. I cannot stay here tonight by myself; I will pay you well, if we can get to the bottom of this matter. The officials are simply going to investigate this half interrogatively, then leave and throw the case into the bust basket.
“True,” I said, adding passively, “I am only a writer of short fiction and poetry, what can I do?”
“I had Carlos knock on your neighbor’s door, thinking it was you, I have read a lot about you, a man of details, a great gift, to see things others do not. Most folks need a magnifying-glass to see the simplest of things, avoiding, if not overlooking the real things. I shall ask my maid, Maria to show you my mother’s blood stained coach, her skin had been pierced by what looks like deep scratches from teeth or long nails.”

I was about to look at Mrs. Wilder, now in the room with the Sergeant and Inspector, along with the maid, and Florencia, I was about to interpret what I saw, but suspended it for a moment, when Florencia shook her head ‘no’, and cleverly whispered, “Wait a moment, the inspector will leave with the sergeant,” and she had the maid offer them coffee and doughnuts, in the kitchen as they talked over the case, along with the doctor.
“Now, Mr. Medina, you were about to say?”
“She was attacked, and frightened to death, so it would seem.”
“Attacked by whom, and frightened to death you say…”
I then looked over the sofa coach again, carefully, and asked, “Who has touched her since you discovered her, besides the doctor?”
“No one to my knowledge,” said Miss Wilder, “at least not by me, or the maid, I only had Carlos, our gardener run to find you, after he discovered her, and told me, and I told the maid, and the maid called the police, and I sent for you.”
I had gotten down on my knees to see her wrists; they were cut, bleeding drops of blood into an already made pool on the floor. With a motion of my hands I had Miss Florencia walk around the sofa as to not leave a shadow in my way, so I could see closer, and clearer. Inch by inch I went over her body, legs, arms, neck, scratch marks here and there, it went for a radius of her whole body, I did it in a casual way as not to alarm anyone, the doctor had suggested the culprit, the murderer had simply scratched her to death, and left it at that, and with a sharp instrument. Myself, I suggested the victim was somehow under hypnotic influence, she did not struggle through her ordeal, or so it seemed, and there were blood-marks over blood-marks, as if they were specifically gone over willingly, and not in a besieged manner.. The doors I suggested were opened by her, for her assailant, again there really as nothing out of place. Next, I suggested she had used her fingernail file, after finding blood on it, in her jewelrykbox; she had even put it back into its place, after she had her panic attack—or whatever, it all made more sense than the argument the doctor and two detectives conjured up, so I thought, as well as for Miss Florencia.

Chapter Three

However Strange

I found a letter under Florencia’s mothers’ elbow, it must had fallen as she was attacked, odd though—I thought—it had fallen in such a place, almost as if it was tucked and kept hidden until someone like me came along and found it, would have found it no matter what, found it sooner or later. I couldn’t find the red ink pen though. The paper was thin rice paper, the letter read:

“If I am taken ill or even look dead, a simple judgement calls that in either case, or if I cannot speak for myself, you must speak for me, Florencia, for I am simply unconscious, even if the doctor says otherwise. Guard me well, night and day until I come to my senses again. Denis Medina, Ph.D., is a sensible man, seeks him out for advice. Do not in any way, try to bury me, god for bid, I should wake up in a grave, I don’t like the dark all that well. Now go and be a good girl and do as I have told you.” (Signed) Sophia Maria Wielder

At that moment, Carlos came back into the house, and brought a nurse, in all white clothing, Nurse Sara Palma into the living room. Florencia looked dumbfounded that Carlos seemed to know something she didn’t, simply by bringing the nurse was enough information to convince her of that. Her eyes seemed suffused with some kind of haunting hope that her mother might rejoin the living now. An afterthought perhaps, she then commented:
“You must allow me hope Mr. Medina, especially now after reading the letter, and Carlos bringing in the nurse.”
“Indeed I expect some hope is rushing right now into her bloodstream, hoping she does not wake up in a grave, I do wish to follow this case to its bitter-sweet end, in truth, Miss Florencia, I’d not trade places with the president at this curious moment.”

Dona Florencia Wielder, a young woman, fine featured, of good looks, good Peruvian stock, velvet dark hair, eyes a mysterious deep brown, slanted somewhat, as if she had mixed blood, Asian and Peruvian, not wide at all. As I found myself, time and again staring into those deep eyes, they almost put me into a trance, above those were lavishing eyebrows, and behind, long black wavy hair down to her shoulders as it overlapped. Her architecture was curvy, right where it belonged, balanced as if on top of a pin. Her white teeth gleamed when she smiled, you couldn’t miss them, somehow her hands moved without her wrist, her fingers without her hands—unless I was under an illusion, and her charm was mixed with her beauty, and movements.
The nurse was more on the wide side of the scale. A tall German looking gal, youthful and strong with broad shoulders and a ski type nose.

Chapter Four

Hypnotic Sleep and the Cat

Physically she was inured badly—or so it looked with all its bleeding, yet all her vital organs seemed unimpaired, deep, and internally that is, as Nurse Sara Palma carefully searched her body for bruises, deep puncture marks and so forth, which there were none to speak of.
Then suddenly, just like nothing, her breathing started back up again, it was almost shocking, as the nurse fell backwards, turning pale, dry throat, her daughter put her hand over her mouth as if to scream, and I, I just stood in amazement. This made Florencia double-think, ‘Was Denis right, and was she in some hypnotic sleep…?’
As to her wounds, Sara Palma had placed some bandages on them, hoping to stop some of the bleeding, and that was to some degree successful.
I scanned my mind, looking about, something had caught my eye—during this dramatic happening, at this point I asked the host, “Did your mother, or does she have any pets?” I had not seen any, so I refrained from digging into this question, and Florencia simply shook her head ‘no,’ as she continued to watch her mother’s chest go up and down again (slowly she crept up to the side of her mother, as if to hug her, but she stood stone still, short of that, and just watched her intake of air.

Now I looked about again, wondering what provoked the question in the first place, whereupon I noticed a mummy cat, wildcat that is on the wall, it was killed by her late grandfather, Anton, so I found out. It was a large and seemingly wild and ugly looking thing. The longer I looked at this beast on the wall, a trophy of sorts, the haughtier the creature became, almost submerging its dead personification into me.
“Oivlis,” was its name, said Florencia with a half smile, looking out of the side of her eye, watching me looking at the cat.
I felt the cat purring inside my head; almost instinctively I wanted to talk to the cat, its eyes like razors cutting into mine.
“Eh!” said Florencia, “are you ok?”
I could hear the cat’s heart beating, “Pardon me!” I said to Florencia, adding, “I think I’m daydreaming.”
“My grandfather mounted that cat on the wall, fifty-years ago. Mother liked it, her and I never did share the same feelings on that cat, and she left it in the same spot grandfather put it in—all these years.” ((The nurse was now caring for Mrs. Sophia Maria Wilder.)(You could see the red blood lines through the bandages; the wounds were healing fast, and the bandages were now like blotting paper.)

((Part II/Chapter Five)(conclusion))

Nowhere in Particular


—recovering from my day-dreaming, I heard my name, “Dr. Denis Medina Gomez” my nerves were not quite as they should have been, the door behind me closed automatically, and a white object (thick mist) revealed itself, emanating from the stuffed, wildcat on the wall—it was indescribably streaked murkiness of an unknown sort, and it emerged around me, starting from my face downward. I looked at it closely, tentatively unrecognizable, but it reeked with a death secretion, and muck (sewage). I tried to get the pocket knife out of my hip pocket, a three inch knife, I was at this point in disbelief, and almost frozen in my stance, trying to pull that knife out, as if it was going to be my savior, it dawned on me, in all this effort, what was a knife going to do for me, and here I was losing all my energy in its process.
Florenca was watching, and the old lady (Mrs. Sophia Maria Wilder) lay where we found her, on the sofa, her father (Anton Wilder) had mounted Oivlis, over fifty-years ago on the wall. Cain Wilder, the husband to Sophia Maria wanted to take it done, but Sophia Maria, never would allow it.
As Dr. Denis Medina stood where he was he noticed behind some curtains, several times during his stay in this large room, that looked more like a library, or sportsman’s room, combined, a head peering out from behind the curtain, then vanishing, with its dark-rimmed eyes. It was quick and sudden, and Dr. Gomez thought who could it be, the face even looked familiar. He thought, then visualized the inspector’s face, Silvestre, but no it was a female’s face, maybe Miss Maria Tapi (the maid), but no, it was a more broad face. He looked down at Florencia, then at Sophia Maria Wilder, her mother, it looked familiar, they all looked proverbial, but how could that be, perhaps it was a sister of Florenica’s hiding behind the curtains.
Manual now became numb, slowly becoming more paralyzed as the mist trailed and fell below his shoulders; he even started to choke from its fumes now.

The door opened. The inspector looked through the crack of the door, perhaps a foot wide (he was aware of peculiar things happening in this house, from tales of other officers, and moved with caution), his hair-line stood out, his cheekbones turned white, his eyes bulged from its sockets, highlighting his face, what was he witnessing, his subconscious whispered to his mind’s eye—something dreadfully ominous. His eyelids didn’t even blink, the Medina looked like a fished-out towel ready to drop on the floor, and Florencia stood next to him, calm, yet a tinge bewildered, or perhaps it was a bit intrigued (it was hard for the doctor to make out).
Denis , was aware of what was going on, to a certain degree, trying to hold onto his balance, trying to look behind him and ask for help from the police officer, but the officer quietly shut the door, after saying “I just looked in to say good night!”
The room was turning colder, the longer they remained in it. It occurred to Manual, Florencia was standing idly by, witnessing all this, as he lost the ability for constructive thought, he was feeling like a python was squeezing his head, his body, but it was that haze, vapor. ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘she was in the same situation as he,’ but she didn’t look it; then appeared that face again, behind the curtains, caught with a blink of an eye.
In essence, Denis was losing his vital signs for life, dying slowly: his life’s essence being squeezed out of him, inch by inch—as the haze descended.
A voice said, “If you’re not pleased with me tonight, you ought to be.”
Manual wanted to cry for help, but could only mumble, “Florencia, you’ve no idea how it is to try and get out of these hands.”
Manual put out his hands, they extended through the mist, which now was a configuration of the wildcat on the wall: “Pull me out,” he cried to Florencia, “please…” he added.

Under the sketchiest pretense, she said, “I was going to try,” (then she hesitated with a casualness), “but the cat has what it wants, why irritate it, and to be honest, I want to be able to breath, this is nothing I had really expected, it is my first observation of death in the making.”
He drew his last swift breath, that priceless, impetuous speech he tried to get out at the last second, never came. Florencia remained silent. For her this was too good to be true; for he now was dead, and she did not want to ponder on the subject any longer, and said, “That’s a relief.”


((Part III/Chapter Six) (conclusion))

Who is watching?


Florencia’s mind felt heavy and dull. She could see, visually see, Dr. Denis Medina, standing in the back of the glass window, looking in from outside it. (This was of course two weeks after his death.) It was dusk, and she quickly went to her mother’s bedroom, sat down on a chair, and they exchanged a few words, they both rattled on, until Florencia said abruptly,
“I kind of was fond of him mother.”
“No,” said Sophia Maria Wilder, “he just kind of messed up your program, he was handsome, and the evening got long, and you got a bit love sick, it happens to us all.”
“Oh, yes—I suppose it’s just bad luck I liked him?” said Florencia.
She was acting a bit treasonous, in her manner of speech, thought her mother, indeed she was trying to avoid her comments, and said with hopes she’d drop the subject, “A silly vision,” then the nurse Sara came in and rolled down her bed.
I suppose Inspector Silvestre will want to know what we did with the body.” commented, the mother, “I shall ring him tomorrow, if his corpse has not been eaten up by the scavengers of the area, I heard some hungry dogs and wild birds out there the past few days, and we only buried him a few feet down in the garden, not much work to dig or brush the soil off him. But the dead don’t really care how they get buried, do they?”
“I’ve never been dead, I don’t know,” answered Florencia, her mind preoccupied with her prior vision of Denis Medina.
As Florencia walked down the steps to the main dinning area, near the library, she noticed Mr. Tipi cleaning up, and ready to go home. The candles lit in the library left a dazzling stretch of light out into the hallway, the moon could be seen through the window. It turned a bit chilly as she walked slowly by the open library door. Her eyes moved into the library, one particular corner, near where the trophy cat was mounted on the wall. She stopped abruptly, wiped her eyes, two thin arms shown. She looked at the cat on the wall again, still and silent, she told herself, ‘it is still and silent.’ Then a voice said, “Pull your…self together (slowly, the words slurred).” She looked back at the cat, behind her, she knew the voice, and it was her grandfather’s.
“Because of you, I now have a voice,” it was her grandfather’s voice talking to her, for sure, she reconfirmed her intuition.
“No, no. Grandpa, grandpa, is it definitely you?” She whispered, knowing it was.
“Well, yes, who else.” He responded. “I can use a dead man’s corpse for a while, his vocal cords, if you know how to manipulate them, and I know his voice pattern by now I heard him grunt enough, do get on with what you were going to say?”
She said nervously, “I’m a bit fretted,” and she ran from the room faster than a cat.


Index of Names

Denis Medina, Ph.D.

Sergeant Ricardo Leoncio (Detective)
Inspector Silvestre

Dr. Manual Gomez

Carlos (the brute)
Miss Maria Tapi (maid)
Dona Florencia Wilder
Sophia Maria Wilder (mother)
Grandpa Anton Wilder
Cain Wielder (father)
Nurse Sara Palma
The Cat: Oivlis

Chapters one and two, written 1-9-2008, at home; Chapters three and four, written at the café, EP, 1-10-2008; written in Lima, Peru. Chapter five was written at Starbucks, in the afternoon, of March 1, 2008, in Circle, Lima, Peru. Part Three, “Who is Watching,” written on the roof under my umbrella, on a hot afternoon in March, 2008, in Lima, Peru.