A Haunted House Tale by Anthony Renfro

Author:Anthony Renfro [Renfro, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Anthony Renfro
Published: 2014-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

THE END

Bonus Short Story: Demon Energy

1

A man lay on a bed.

His dreams were vivid and strong–evil things done by evil beings haunted those dreams.

His soul felt lost, departed.

He wasn’t himself.

How long had he been this way?

How long had he suffered in this torment of a hellish nightmare?

He wasn’t sure.

A distant knock on the door.

No, it wasn’t a knock. It was pounding. It was the sound of breaking. The door shattered inward. He managed to turn his sweaty head, brown hair matted to his skin, face covered in a thick sweat, body covered in cuts and bruises–all self-inflicted by his fingernails and his own fists.

He felt his soul losing again. The demons were crawling around inside of him, pushing his soul back to the shadows. He had no choice but to watch. He was a passenger inside his own body.

The demons raised him into the air, levitated him for all to see. Then his small skinny frame started to spin like a pig in a roast. Spinning violently around and around and around and around, and then he stopped. He was now sideways, and looking at the crowd who had come to take him away. He hung there like a limp rag doll. His blue eyes were not his eyes. Those two orbs now belonged to the thousand demons who tormented him.

“We are legion!”–their voices screamed through this man’s bloody and bruised mouth. He flipped end over end and dropped back onto the bed, bouncing a couple of times on his back before coming to rest. He then shook violently up and down, spasms erupting across his body like an earthquake.

He managed to scream–“Help me!”-while shaking.

The crowd who had come to take him away (some had torches, some had swords, some had guns) removed the people who had been praying beside the man’s bed. He felt hands on him–rough hands. They grabbed him as he fought and struggled, but he wasn’t doing the fighting. Someone else was using his hands and fists to fend them off. It was no use. The crowd was just too strong.

The man felt shackles placed on his ankles and on his wrists.

The struggling started to cease.

The demons inside of him were going away. They were allowing him to be lifted up off the bed. They were allowing him to be led out of the room and into the street.

The moon was high in the cool autumn night.

A truck sat idling.

The man was forced into the back of the truck, as men gathered around him, chained him to hooks placed in the metal frame of the bed.

Doors opened.

Slammed closed.

Out of the village, the truck started to move. Past small homes and tiny shops this man had loved all his life. He was heading towards the mountains. He could see the now snow-covered peaks, white in the distance, bathed in the light of the full moon, as the truck drew closer to them.

The truck moved onto a small, two-lane highway.

The road was smooth.

The ride was easy.

After many miles of traveling, the truck turned off onto a dirt road.

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