In a town called Creole on the Louisiana coast, two men lived in a small house. One of the men was old. The other was blind and insane. When asked about where they came from, the old man would change the subject. He preferred to talk of the weather and other mundane things. The old man would claim he was only thirty five, a difficult assertion to belive when looking at his haggard face and white hair. When people did look into his eyes, though, a few believed him for a moment or two. The two men regularly attended mass at St. Rose of Lima. They did not miss a single service, and the blind man often visited throughout the week. Beyond that, they kept to themselves. Rumors abounded that the old man drank and that the blind man was possessed. Children avoided their small home. Adults who crossed their path were polite, but wary.
Once, three years after the two arrived in Creole, the priest of St. Rose ventured out to visit their home. The priest had grown to appreciate the two strange men and in turn, the men had come to trust the priest. He brought a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of wine with him, both of which the old man gladly accepted. While the priest and the old man drank, the blind man sat in his room either meditating or praying or sleeping. The evening moved on, and the wine bottle emptied. When the taste of whiskey seared the back of his throat, the priest asked the question that had been on his lips since the day he met the strange pair. "Where did you come from?"
The old man had a small debate with himself which ended in a shrug. "Cedar Pines."
"Where is that?"
"No where," the old man answered. "It was a small town, bigger than here, but smaller than most. I don't know what's there now."
"Did something happen? A fire?"
"No," the old man sighed and took another drink. "What do you believe, father? Do you believe that demons are real? That the devil is tangible?"
The priest shifted as though a cold draft had entered the room. "Yes, I think so."
"Then you'd be right. I've seen them. Demons. Walking the streets of Cedar Pines. I don't know what happened to most of them, the people. Some left before it started. Maybe a few others got out like us. I think this may be the first time anyone has spoken about that place."
A burning curiosity welled in the priest's chest. How much of the two men's mystery he believed could be figured out later. For the moment, with half a bottle of wine swirling his head, he leaned into the story, eager to hear any scrap of the tale. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I don't know how it started or when or why. But my home and my neighbors were pulled down to hell. We all felt it for weeks. Like seeing a shadow out of the corner of your eye and knowing it's out of place. You don't want to look at it because you know that whatever is casting that shadow intends you harm. We waited too long and slipped out by Grace. Both of us paid dearly. I got caught. I can still see her when I close my eyes. You're celibate?"
"Yes," the priest answered solemnly.
"One look at her, and you wouldn't have been. And there were hundreds like her. Big and...red and sinful. Made to give comfort to the mortal soul. I was weak, and she started to take me. I can still feel her skin against mine, those black claws raking at my back. I felt the pull of damnation at my soul, and I wanted it to go. I wanted to become like them."
The priest had heard many strange tales in his days. He heard no hint of lie or deception in the old man's voice. Even if it weren't true, the old man believed it to be. "A demon had you? What stopped it?"
The old man jerked his head towards the bedroom. "He did. Knocked her off me with a two by four or something. She hissed, and I thought we'd be torn to shreds. I thought I'd tear him to shreds myself. He poured something in my eyes and said some words over me. The hate went out me like that." He snapped his fingers. "I saw the world for what it had become. We ran. At the edge of town, with all those things behind us, all I wanted to do was keep running. My friend back there couldn't leave without looking one last time. I got a car ready and told him not to look, but after that I heard screaming. Not just his, but all of them. Torment beyond torment. Like a great wail rising out of every window and door in the whole city. And chief among them, a hiss of pure hatred and glee coming from somewhere very far away. I shielded my eyes, but he couldn't stop looking. By the time I pulled him away, his eyes were white. I think he looked right into Hell. Maybe even saw the devil himself."
The priest believed him. He did not know how or why, but the words from the old man's lips landed with the weight of a pure truth. "How do you live with it?"
"He prays. Must work for him. Haven't heard him complain. As for me," he poured another shot into his glass. "I pray too. Not sure it helps. Maybe God or whoever helps when you ask for it. I haven't seen that yet. What I have seen is that the other guy does. He comes when you call, like a hungry lawyer looking for a case. You look spooked. Don't worry, it's only the moody night. I think they follow us, maybe our whole lives. Waiting for a chance to slip in." He drained his glass and filled it again. In the other room, they heard the blind man praying. The priest joined him.
In the murk beyond the light of the small home, demons prowled.
***
Cedar Pines looked like a modern ghost town. Businesses had closed or been bought up by the Myers family. Many had moved away over the course of the summer. Some left for practical reasons such as losing a job. Others, the majority of those who left, did so based on nothing more than a feeling. The impish man who worked for Greg Myers happily bought any piece of property. The families who left did so with a good windfall to carry them as far from Cedar Pines as they could go. None of them discussed why they were leaving. And once they were gone, they would not discuss why they left. Though they all remembered the place where they lived and worked, some of them for their whole lives, none of them would discuss it.
Others stayed. They too felt the nagging shadow at the corner of their hearts, but did not heed the feeling of dread.
Greg Myers could feel the souls of those who remained. He salivated like a drunk staring at a fresh bottle of liquor. Some of them had been lured to the club and waited on the other side of the wall to be welcomed into the fold. First, a bit of unpleasant business had to be done. Greg's time as a demon had come with different revelations. His power had grown considerably, but his final act in Cedar Pines would take him to a new level. Normally, the interior office of the club was a private sanctum for his debauchery. In the past weeks, he'd brought woman after woman into his lair to deflower. He never tired of watching the women rise anew as harlots in his growing army. On any other day, he would be flanked by two of them, each jockeying with the other to ride the demon's massive cock or to simply lick it clean of its corrupting ichor. On this day, Greg was busy with darker work. The symbols he'd drawn made no sense to him. They were dictation. Each of them glowed as he finished, each taking him one step closer to victory.
She has arrived.
The harsh voice of his master split through his skull.