The chanting!
My God, the chanting!
It started as a soft hum, but as dusk turned to darkness, it intensified, drowning the rustling chatter of leaves, the tired moaning of colossal branches swaying in the salty wind.
Above all else …
The chanting!
My God, the chanting!
Shrouded forms surrounded an open fire. Black robes encased their prostrated bodies. One among them rose slowly from the dust, climbing to his feet like a phoenix emerging from ashes. He raised his hands, palms outward. Metallic eyes reflected ochre beneath a shadowy hood. “Oh, Crooked Serpent!” the Dark Priest wailed above the low drone of his disciples, “The time has come to fulfil your prophecy! Send us your slithering hordes so that we may do your–”
Blinding shards of blue light erupted from the bonfire, the smell of ozone filling the air.
The chanting faltered.
The bonfire swelled.
Flames clawed their way toward the treetops like pale, fleshy hands bursting from the grave. High up, an owl gave a startled hoot, taking flight as the bonfire’s long tongue tasted its feathered underbelly.
Spectral forms emerged from the embers, shapeless, merging, coming apart then together again, and all at once they solidified into crouching, translucent beasts. Blood-orange flames danced on their lucid pelts; pure hell-fire burned in the pits of their malevolent eyes.
The chanting resumed with passion.
The Dark Priest, frozen in mid-liturgy, gaped in terror at the demonic vision. “What have we done?” the old cleric breathed through his sharp, grey beard.
One of the horrid, squatting things cocked what may have been its head directly at him and tensed its oral cavity into a grisly smirk. “You know full well what you have done, old man.” The creature spoke as though it were forcing the words through a mouth full of custard. “But do they?” the thing said, jerking its head at the awestruck followers.
The High Priest stumbled backward.
If only there were some way to harness their unearthly power, no human would be capable of impeding his designs: he could succeed, ascend to where the likes of Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein had not dared to tread.
But he was an old fool to think that he could exercise any form of restraint over these eternal beasts once they had been summoned.
Part of him had known that all along.
Whoever had said that politics and religion don’t mix was right.
Their very sight beckoned lunacy.
He had to banish them before their hold on this plane grew any stronger.
A disciple broke rank and darted for the forest, screaming madly. Yet others stood up and looked about indecisively.
“Back to Hell with you!” bellowed the Priest, waiving the apparitions back into the fire.
A guttural laugh spilled out from the Beast’s maw. “I don’t think so, Cleric. I haven’t been out for such a long time. Think my pals and I might take a bit of a look around first. Know where we can get a warm meal?”
“Be gone, you–” The High Priest paused in mid sentence, as he caught sight of his blazing sleeve.
He was on fire!
He drew his hood back, looking about in disbelief.
They were all ablaze!
Sinking to his knees, the Priest resigned himself to his awaiting fate. Closing his eyes, he listened to the symphony of howls and unearthly hoots emanating from the Devil’s lapdogs, tittering on the threshold of insanity, as he prepared to meet their unholy master.
When it was over, the Beast surveyed the charred bodies strewn across the clearing. Some still writhed in the dust like blistering worms. It cast a contented glare at eager cohorts and tossed a hideous head forward. One by one, they stood up on hunched legs and scampered into the woods, headed for the neighbouring cluster of suburban lights.
For a while there was no sound at all except the odd prattle of nocturnal fauna. Then…
The screams!
My God, the screams!
- Copyright: © 2007 Eugene Gramelis
