The demon named black


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For a long time after the death of my friends, I thought there were no more real demons anywhere in the world. I thought that, in fact, they were no more real than trolls or dragons. I had been wrong about the existence of the House, and the existence of a real demon, a real God.

But I was wrong about their being gone.

One bitter winter's day, a day when the roads were sheets of ice and the temperature plunged below freezing, a man came to my door. I had been living in the house all alone for a year then, not really sure what I was living for, but anyway, I was alone. That day, the wind howled and the air began to crystallize, and I saw a man walking up the perfectly white road.

He was black, black as night, covered in a black overcoat that appeared to absorb the light, and huge eyes that radiated a sudden and terrifying darkness. All that was visible were his eyes and the shaking of his hands.

"Hello, sonny," he stuttered, at the door.

"Wh-what is it?" I asked timidly, not wanting to invite a demon in.

"Oh," he replied jovially, his words ice cold, "I'm a friend of your father's. He told me to come here if I got setbacks."

"Ai!" I cried, and ran upstairs. I opened the door to my bedroom and stood in shock, taking in the scene before me.

My father sat alone in a crazy, jitter crazy bed, the sheets dirty and unmade. His face was scratched and dirty and his eyes were closed. He looked like a corkscrew and honestly, he smelled like a corkscrew and spoke like a corkscrew. He whispered: "Help me."

"Help you what?" I yelled at him, but he did not seem to hear me. His eyes were closed and his movements were very slight and sporadic.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw what was in his lap. It was a book, the kind of a book that was in a million libraries in a million times in a million different realities. It was a book in a very specific reality, a world in a very specific time. The title was written in giant letters across the cover in shining gold: 'Starlight Cures Everything.'

"How-How?" I yelled, and went to the bed and was very careful not to touch him.

"He said to get you. He said you would help me!" he said again, and then his eyes opened, and oh, did they ever look mad. His eyes were not mad, though. They were the eyes of a corkscrew. "Do something," he whisper-shouted.

I went to the book and opened it. The first entry was a series of letters, but I was able to understand them easily. The entry read: 'Don't walk on the road. There's a Deimos standing there under a black overcoat, asking for the son of William.'

"I knew it," I said.

My father began to cry.

"If you knew, why didn't you run?" I asked him.

"I couldn't," he replied.

"What else does it say?"

"Do something," he cried.

"I have to do something," I replied.

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