Chapter 8 — Arthur | Into the Dark.
1015 Words
Chapter 8 — Arthur | Into the Dark.
We enter through the door she told us about. Elidja is behind me, his breathing rising.
Once inside, we saw that the cellar smells like death and sulfur.
Not figuratively. Literally — something died here recently and nobody cleaned it up. I hold my breath as I go down the three stone steps. Behind me, Elidja does the same.
The creature was right about the door. Old, rotting, the lock rusted through. Elidja opened it in forty seconds with his knife. No symbols. No protection. Strange, I think to myself. Why is it so easy?
Either they thought no one would be crazy enough to enter this way.
Or it's a trap they've set for us and we're about to walk right into it.
I keep that thought to myself.
The cellar is long and narrow. Empty shelves on both sides. A dirt floor. At the far end — a sturdier wooden door, with light bleeding underneath it.
And voices on the other side.
We approach slowly. I press my ear against the door.
Two voices. Male. Speaking low. Too low to make out words, but the tone is clear — bored guards killing time.
I hold up two fingers toward Elidja.
He nods. He pulls the bottle of holy water from his pocket. I draw my gun.
We look at each other for a second.
We open the door.
Both men turn around at the same time.
They look normal. Mid-forties, ordinary clothes, unremarkable faces. The kind of men you'd pass in any small town without a second glance.
But their eyes were different from ours.
Their eyes are black. Completely black. Not just the pupils — the entire eye.
The possessed.
Elidja moves before I do. He throws the holy water on the first one. The reaction is immediate — the creature inside the body recoils with a piercing shriek, a sound nothing like human, and coils of black smoke pour from its mouth.
I slam the second one against the wall. He's strong — far stronger than a normal human — but Elidja's holy water reaches him too. He twists, snarls, the black eyes flickering.
"The exorcism," Elidja says quickly.
"Not now—"
"We can't let them scream, Arthur, they'll alert the others. We didn't come all this way just to get caught now," he says.
He's right.
I clamp my hand over the second one's mouth and recite from memory. The Latin words Dad taught us at seven years old around the kitchen table like they were multiplication tables.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus..."
The body under my hands convulses. The black eyes turn white then return to their normal color — brown, human, terrified.
The man collapses.
Elidja finishes the first one the same way. The black smoke tears out of the body shrieking and vanishes into the ceiling.
Both men are unconscious on the floor. Alive. Just humans now.
"We tie them up," says Elidja.
"With what?" I ask him.
He pulls zip ties from his bag without answering. Always prepared, my brother.
While he secures them, I look around the room for the first time.
And I stop.
The walls.
The walls are covered in symbols. Carved directly into the stone, traced in red paint, in blood maybe — I'd rather not know. Hundreds of symbols packed tight against each other from floor to ceiling.
"Elidja. You're not done."
He looks up. Sees what I see.
He moves slowly toward one wall. His fingers graze the symbols without touching them. His face shifts.
"It's ancient Hebrew mixed with something else," he says. His voice is different. Calmer, colder. "Enochian."
"What's Enochian?"
"The language of angels." He turns to face me. "Dad mentioned it once. Symbols of protection — or invocation, depending on how they're used." He looks at the wall again. "This isn't protection."
"So angels exist," I ask him.
"Yes, I think so. But no one's ever seen one," says Arthur.
"It's invocation."
"Yeah." He steps back. "They're preparing something, Arthur. Something much bigger than we thought."
Silence falls between us.
"Where's Dad?" I say finally.
Elidja looks toward the corridor stretching into the back of the building.
"That way."
We move forward slowly. The others are already tied up for their own safety.
---
The corridor is long. Three doors on each side — locked. Behind some of them, I can hear breathing. Prisoners.
We stop in front of the last door at the end.
No lock. Just an iron latch.
I place my hand on it.
I pause.
Three weeks. Dad has been in there for three weeks, I say.
I open the door.
The room is small. Damp. A tiny window high up lets in a sliver of moonlight. On the floor — a cot. And on it —
A man...
Tall. In his fifties. A torn brown jacket. Hands bound in front of him. Face gaunt, covered in bruises.
But alive.
His eyes open when we enter. He looks at us. A second of confusion. Then he recognizes us.
His voice is hoarse. Exhausted. But clear.
"Took you long enough," says Dad.
"Something died here recently. We were about to find out if something else was still alive..."
"I'm happy to see you, Dad," says Elidja.
"Stay still, we're going to try to untie you. Elidja."
"My son, you came. Thank you for being here," says Dad.
I tell him we saw demons on our way here.
"Yes, yes, they're here to watch over us. I hope you were able to save the hostages."
"Yes, Dad. They're tied up for their own safety."
"Let's hurry. He could come back any minute," says Dad.
I ask him,
"Who are you talking about?"
He goes quiet. I try to untie him.
———
The first one lunged toward...
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