Lost To The Devil

Chapter 3: seduction

Two weeks after the Tommy incident, something changed; I dreamt something new. This night I wasn’t in fire or chains or darkness. I was in a forest. It was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears until it almost hurt. Pale light filtered through dark, towering trees, their branches twisted and unnatural, casting long, claw-like shadows across the ground. The air smelt damp, earthy, and ancient. And he was there. At first I thought he was just a man, but he wasn’t.

He stood a few feet away from me, impossibly still, as if he had been waiting. Massive wings spread behind him, golden, radiant, catching the faint light and reflecting it like molten metal. They didn’t feel holy; they felt powerful, overwhelming.

He was beautiful in a way that didn’t feel real; he was too perfect, his skin flawless and pale like porcelain. His bright-green eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, watching me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. His lips were soft and red, curved in the slightest smile, and his hair, short, thick platinum curls, falling effortlessly around his face. I couldn’t look away.

At first I thought it might be my guardian angel but his voice was full of a dangerous seduction.

“Who are you?” I asked shyly, my voice small and uncertain. In my dreams I was always me again, my old self.

He stepped closer. “My name is Belial.” His voice wrapped around me, almost…intoxicating. There was something wrong about it, something that slipped beneath my skin and settled there.

“And if you would allow me,” he continued softly, “I will protect your body from lustful men.” A cold flicker of recognition came over me. “You’re the one who interrupted me and Tommy?” I asked.

He nodded once, slowly. “You deserve love, Grace,” he said, his gaze softening, but not kindly; it wasn’t something I could quite decipher; it was almost like he was imitating kindness, but it lacked truth.

“For all of you, not just your body.” He stepped closer again. Too close. “I can give you that love.” The air around us felt heavier now, thicker, harder to breathe.

“I can promise you that I will never leave you,” he whispered. “I know how lonely you are, because I am too.” His hand lifted, hovering just beside my face but never quite touching it.

“But together we don't need to feel alone.”

My heart pounded; part of me wanted to run away even if I wasn’t quite sure why, but I didn’t.

“I will love you,” he murmured. “And you will love me.” His lips curved slightly. “Would you like that?”

Without thinking, without questioning, I whispered, “yes, I would like that very much.”

I saw him smirk before waking up to a pillow full of my own drool.

Morning light spilled weakly through my curtains, pale and grey. I wiped my mouth in embarrassment and slowly sat up, but the feeling didn’t leave; the dream clung to me, heavy and real, and yet somehow I knew, I just knew instinctively, that thing in my house, the presence, the whispers, it was him. Belial.

My stomach twisted as I grabbed my laptop and searched his name, even though I had no last name, my fingers trembled against the keyboard. At first I found nothing, then, shock came over me when I did; the more I read, the colder I felt. Belial. Beliar. A name tied into darkness itself. It wasn't a human name at all.

This is what I found:

Belial, also known as Beliar. A fallen angel. A demon. One of Satan's most important and evil generals. Beautiful and deceptive in appearance, and has a soft voice but is full of treachery, recklessness, and lies. He is a corrupter.

My eyes skimmed over the words, my breath becoming more shallow.

Creator of wickedness and guilt in mankind.

Associated with lust, temptation, and corruption.

My hands started to shake.

The ancient Hebrews believed that Belial was the next angel created after Lucifer and was evil from the start, being one of the first to rebel against God. After his fall from heaven, he became the personification of evil. St. Paul considered him to be the chief of demons. According to lore, Belial danced before King Solomon, and was among the demons who worked under the king's command, ruled by Solomon's magical ring. He breaks promises, rewards those who serve him.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.” I slammed the laptop shut

I was having an almost full blown panic attack by the end; the air felt thick and suffocating, like something was in the room with me. Watching. After calming down, I forced myself to stand, grabbing my jacket in a rush. I couldn’t stay here; I wouldn’t stay here. I practically ran out of the house, the cold air hitting my lungs like a shock. I didn’t stop until I reached the town centre, surrounded by people, noise, movement, anything that made me feel less alone.

I spent the whole day there just so I didn't have to be alone in the house. By the time evening came, I headed back home; exhaustion had dulled the sharp edge of my fear.

“It was just a dream,” I muttered under my breath, “just a stupid dream.” He had seemed far too nice and pleasant; I hadn't felt any evil from him at all, just intense. Convincing.

That night I fell asleep with a book still open in my hands. I was in the forest again. He was already there waiting. This time I wasn't afraid as he smiled and made his way over to me. That should have terrified me, but it didn’t.

He smiled as he approached me, something softer in his expression, something almost gentle. “I love you so much, Grace,” he said quietly. His voice wrapped around me again, warm and dangerous.

“Please… don't be afraid of me when you wake up.” He stepped closer, lifting his hand to brush lightly against my cheek. His touch was cool, not cold, just…not human.

“I only want to keep you safe,” he whispered. “And loved.” Then he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were impossibly soft, like rose petals and silk. The world around us seemed to blur, dissolve. Time didn’t exist here. Nothing did. Just him.

We were already naked whenever I dreamt of him, so lying me down onto the floor of the woods, the forest faded into nothing but sensation and warmth, and something deeper, heavier pulling me under as he took me deep and hard, moving rhythmically inside of me, huge and hard, until I was panting and then screaming his name out in ecstasy.

I woke up as I came, panting and sweating. Sweat clung to my skin, my heart racing wildly in my chest. For a moment I just lay there trying to steady my breathing.

“What a weird erotic dream,” I sighed to myself, but lying back in bed again, something felt…wrong. I shifted slightly and froze; the sheets beneath me were damp underneath me, too damp.

A cold wave of dread came over me as I pushed myself up and turned the light on. The room flooded with a harsh yellow glow from my ceiling light, and I saw it, a dark spreading stain across the bed. My breath caught. It was blood.

I slowly looked down to see a thin trail of blood trickling down between my legs and screamed.

I wasn't due my period for another three weeks, there was a dull, aching soreness between my thighs. My hands trembled as panic set in.

The only conclusion I could come up with was that it wasn't a dream at all. Impossible, but what else would it be? I stripped the sheets quickly, my fingers clumsy and shaking. I wiped my legs with the fabric before shoving it into a black bin bag and carrying it outside, dumping it into the bin in our front garden like I could get rid of it, erase it.

But the feeling stayed. Clinging. Lingering. I was shaking while I ran a bath for myself. Hot water filled the tub, steam rising thick and curling in the air. I stepped in slowly, the heat wrapping around me, easing the tension in my muscles until I slowly stopped shaking.

I sank down into it, letting the water cover me. For a moment, just a moment, I relaxed, my eyes grew heavy with sleep, the world softened. I was almost falling asleep when I suddenly felt that feeling come back. I felt a pair of eyes on me. I sat up and looked around, but of course no one was there. The bathroom was empty, but I could still feel it. The same presence. Watching. From somewhere I couldn’t see. My heart began to pound again, louder, faster, echoing in my ears.

“Hello?” I whispered.

No answer.

But the feeling didn’t go away; if anything, it grew stronger.

I shot up out of the bath, water spilling over the sides, breathing heavily. I grabbed a towel, drying myself as fast as I could, my eyes darting around the room like I expected something to appear. Nothing did.

I dressed as fast as I could into my pyjamas, my hands shaking, and fled back to my room. The house was silent, too silent. I grabbed a book and forced myself to read, clinging to the words, to something normal, something real. Eventually exhaustion pulled me under, and that night, for the first time in weeks, there were no dreams.