Friend of the Devil, Ch 9

I was in the Army fighting Satan on a religious crusade.   We had driven the Devil's minions out of Palestine--or so we thought.  One of my comrades was having a difficult time fighting of one of the demons. The demon (it didn't really look like a demon) had the face of normal middle aged man.  Maybe an accountant.   But the body was something entirely differed.  Like a hideously long slug.  

Comrade H was being visibly worn down trying to keep the demon slug at bay.   He asked me for help.  I stepped in and started banging the blade of my broad sword against the thick neck of the demon.  The blade merely bounced off without inflicting any damage.   Now the demon turned its attention on me.  It kept slithering up to me trying to knock me off my feet with the side of its head.  At first I thought the demon wasn't much of a threat,  it had a bland expression on its face.  Like it was apologizing each time it ran into me.   But as time wore on, I was also having a difficult time keeping the demon slug off me.  It kept coming at me, mindless, incessant and indefatigable--all the time emitting a constant noise that sounded like the drum beat from the Fleetwood Mac song "Tusk."   The part of the song that keeps repeating the vocals "Don't say that you love me."

My battle with the demon lasted what seemed like hours.  Over and over the same repetitive actions.   I couldn't seem to damage it.   The same drum beat over and over.  Then it dawned at me that I was dreaming.   I knew I had to wake up and open my eyes to stop the dream. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the basement room with the early morning light starting to be visible in the small window overhead.   But as soon as I began to wake my body was filled with an intense heaviness as if I were being suffocated.  The drumbeats continued, even louder: "Don't say that you love me"

I found that  I was back with the demon.   I saw Comrade H curled up in what looked like a giants birds nest.   Then I realized that H must have submitted to the demon because his eyes were lifeless and his face was locked in a horrific smile that looked like rigormortis had set in.

Over and over the drum beats continued "Don't say that you love me"

I began to panic:   to wake was painful.   My heart was racing and I longed to relax and go back to sleep. I thought that the way to beat the demon was to give into it and relax back to sleep.   I started to relax.   Then I thought:  what if giving into the dream means death?  I didn't want to die.  I had to keep moving.  I resolved to get up and run around the room to shake off the sleep.   Maybe use the treadmill.  I  tried to run around the room.  But the heaviness followed me, growing in strength.    My body grew more tight as if my efforts at resistance were feeding the panic.  Then I tried to relax my body and let the anxiety dissipate.

I heard a scratching sound at the screen in the window overhead.   Something was trying to get inside the room with me.   I peered up and looked face to face with the largest rat I have ever seen.   It must have been as big as a dog.  I slammed the glass window shut and tried to scare the rat away.

Then the room began to get hotter.   The panic returned.   Don't say that you love me.  Just tell me that you love me.

I saw the mangled body of Comrade H.  His face was no longer visible. His body now had feathers on it and was grotesquely bloated.

I turned away--and found I was in another room!

"Well Mr. K, what do you have to say for yourself.   You know the priest is innocent.  They all are."   It was Satan again, speaking to me from the Judge's bench.  I was back in the trial.   Satan was the Judge.   I looked across the room and saw the jury.   They were looking at me.   Waiting for me to say something.  Their mouths were slightly smiling, nodding at me as if they would agree with what I would say.   But I couldn't say anything.   Words and thoughts became jumbled.   I couldn't think of the words I was supposed to say.   And across the other side of the courtroom, the priest was laughing and shaking the hands with his attorney, thinking he had won by my own impotence.

Outside the court room I head a scraping sound on the door.  The rat dog had returned and was now trying to get back into the courtroom. 

Don't tell me that you love me.

 I've gotta stop and wake up--do you know how to?

 

when you have everything, including boredom, what must be done?