Short Stories, Extracts & Poems

 By Asmodeus X


First published in 2007 by

Dark Impulse


Text © Peter Steele (Asmodeus X) 2001


The moral right of Peter Steele (Asmodeus X) to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance to the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.


All rights reserved.


This issue of APOSTATE OF HELL is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.


ISSUE 1 contains a collection of extracts from Asmodeus X’s three novels “Cloven Hoof Mark Of The Devil”, “A Cannibal Killer”, and “A Demon Slayer.” This issue also contains extracts from “24 Tales Of Darkness” and three collections of poems, “A Primeval Child”, “Anarchy In Hell”, and “A Thought From The Dead.” All of these books can be found on If you have difficulty finding them, simply type Asmodeus X into the search box to get a list of not only these books but all the other books he has written or click on the hyperlink at the end of each extract to be directed to the relevant book page on





Asmodeus X has had extracts from his novels, short stories and poems published in over 250 anthologies. He is the recipient of a Golden Academy Award and The ABI Gold Medal Of Honour. His biography has been featured in many biographical whose whos such as The International Authors & Writers Whose Who, Men Of Achievement, International Book Of Honour etc. He has been short-listed twice for a major literary prize. He also does the artwork on all of his book covers.




  1 Death By Fire

  2 Eyes Across The Grave

  3 Full Moon

  4 Violator

  5 The Secret Sanctuary Of Death

  6 The Prophecy

  7 Killing Sally

  8 The Devil’s Mark

  9 The Devil’s Pact

10 Human Stew

11 Drifting

12 Necrophilia

13 Cannibal Killer

14 Slashed & Dead

15 The Zombie And The Witch

16 Demoniser

17 Midnight Mania

18 Apostate Of Hell






Ivan had fallen asleep. Opening his eyes, he saw that Joshua Lewis; the executioner; his assistants, and a rather sinister looking priest were standing before him – all with sombre expressions on their faces.

   “It is time, Ivan,” continued Joshua, “the stake awaits you.”

   Ivan looked at the priest, curious to know why he was present. “Why have you brought a priest?”

   Joshua lifted a brow. “To pray for your soul.”

   Ivan lowered his eyes. “The Devil has my soul!”

   The priest gasped and crossed himself, refusing to listen to the condemned man’s blasphemous talk.

   Joshua sighed. “It is customary for a priest to be present at an execution, Ivan.”

   Ivan shrugged in a manner that suggested that he no longer cared. “To your custom – perhaps! He can pray all he wants to… His prayers will never be for me!”

   What the young warlock had said made Joshua very angry. “To the stake!” he roared, raising one hand aloft.

   The executioner’s assistants unlocked the manacles and tied Ivan’s hands behind his back, not caring if they hurt him in the process. They dragged him out of the damp, dinghy dungeon, up a flight of stone steps, and out into the street – Lewis, the executioner and the priest stepping out behind them.

   As soon as Ivan became exposed, the villagers, who lined the street by the hundreds, jeered and hurled both abuse and rotten vegetables in the direction of the accused. They also waved flaming torches and cried aloud: “Burn, burn, burn the heathen – through the guidance of the father, the son, and the Holy Ghost. Burn, burn, burn the heathen – let his unclean flesh roast!”

   One of the assistants, fully aware they might not even make it to the stake, covered Ivan’s head over with a blanket in a vain attempt to protect him from being hit by anymore flying objects.

   The journey to the designated spot was very frightening for Ivan. With his head covered, he could no longer see the maddening crowd. Each step he took seemed harder to take the further they moved on. All the while, he tried desperately to close his swirling mind to the jeering, and all the noise going on around him by thinking about his beautiful wife, Myotola. In his delirious head, he could see her face.

   All the time Ivan was being tortured in the dungeon, he secretly prayed that unlike him, Myotola had managed to escape. The thought of her skin being burned with red hot tongs and pricked with needles has had he been at the hands of Joshua Lewis, made his stomach churn. And the thought that he would never see her again filled his already broken heart with even more pain.

   The sinister procession reached a hill on the outskirts of the village.

   The executioner’s assistants removed the blanket and dragged Ivan up the verge towards the stake. Joshua, hungry to smell the odour of the warlock’s burning flesh, followed close behind. So too, did the priest.

   Ivan looked up at the stake, which loomed threateningly before him like the carrion of death. The very sight of it made him gasp with fear.

   There was a large beech pole standing ten feet into the air and it was surrounded by a cheaply constructed platform. Bundles of sticks and a heap of straw lay spread around the base of the pole.

   The villagers keen to see Ivan burn as much as the witch-hunter gathered in a circle around them. They jostled with each other, trying to get a clear view of what was going on up ahead.

   The assistants led Ivan up onto the platform, untied his hands and pushed him up against the stake. One of them placed the warlock’s hands behind his back and retied them so that he was fastened to the pole. His colleague produced a sack and pulled out a chain. Together they wound it around Ivan, checked it was tight enough to restrict any movement, and then secured it with a padlock.

   Finally, the assistants collected up some straw and placed it neatly around the condemned man’s feet. Totally satisfied that their work had been carried out with precision and to the best of their ability, they made their way off the platform and joined the executioner.

   The priest, standing close by, produced a book from his cassock and proceeded to recite a prayer.

   Lewis straightened his tunic and stood before the platform, facing the crowd. He raised his arm and motioned them to be quiet.

   “Members of this village,” he began loudly. “You are gathered here tonight to bare witness to the execution that is about to commence. Before you is Ivan Vaylox.” He pointed to him. “Today, he was tried for practising black magic and was found guilty! The punishment for his crime is death by fire!”

   The crowd erupted and started chanting once more.

   Realising that nothing he could say or do was going to calm them down, Joshua turned to the executioner and motioned him to proceed.

   The executioner stepped up to the platform and threw a flaming torch onto the stack – the branches and straw igniting in an instance. Within moments the stake was ablaze and vivid orange and yellow flames reached towards the sky like grasping hands.

   Ivan, overwhelmed with terror, winced when he felt the heat rising as the flames down below leapt hungrily towards him. Sweat appeared on his forehead as the heat steadily became more intense, and tears of pain filled his eyes when his skin started to blister. He screamed out in agony for all present to hear when his clothes ignited and squirmed frantically, aimlessly in a bid to escape the encroaching fire. In his last moment of desperation, fully aware that any moment he would be dead, he looked across at the witch-hunter, who, like everybody present, was enjoying the spectacle that lay before him.

   “Lewis!” he screamed.

   The crowd suddenly went still and listened.

   Joshua stopped laughing and was suddenly confused.

   “May the revenge of the Devil fall upon you,” snarled Ivan. “I will return to this world one day, and when I do…every mortal being will suffer! Everyone will be crushed by the mighty wrath of Hell! I lay this curse on you and I aim to fulfil it!”

   Joshua trembled with fear and beads of perspiration coated his face. He violently shook his head as if momentarily possessed by a demonic entity Ivan had invoked, and ran panic-stricken into the crowd.

   Ivan coughed continually as the smoke filtered into his throat. He uttered one last, desperate cry of agony, and was then mercilessly engulfed by a sheet of flames.


24 Tales of Darkness.





From within the dark corridors of my mind, I saw her eyes across the grave. Her face bore a pale, sad expression and she seemed lost like a celestial slave that hadn’t quite made it to the other side.

   I tasted her lips so cold and wet, and couldn’t help but notice the embalming fluid seeping from her nose. Her entire body stunk of pungent damp, and lots of squirming maggots tumbled from her torn dress.

   She cut open her belly with her long nails and I grimaced as a rotted foetus fell from within to the ground below. For what seemed like an eternity she screamed at me and gloated like a rancid demon. I could see the marks on her wrists where her hands had been tightly bound and also saw that her throat had been slit.

   Without saying a single word, she sank her dagger-like fangs into my neck and sucked popismically on the blood. Then, she cut open my chest with those same nails and tore out my still beating heat. The liquid of life spurted like a crimson fountain from my severed arteries and veins, splashing over her and me.

   And, as my life slowly drained away, I heard her softly whisper, “Goodbye!” It was then while I lay on the ground amidst the graveyard muck, that I realised her killer was I!


24 Tales of Darkness.





Farmer Jones stood in his field beneath the pale moonlight, staring in almost disbelief at the blooded remains of what, just hours before, was one of his sheep.

   He recalled that it all started three nights ago on the first night of the full moon, and every night since then, one of his sheep had been attacked, slaughtered, mutilated, and partially eaten by something that could only be described as a beast!

   He had been working the land now since he was a boy, and never in all his years as a farmer had he ever encountered anything quite as depraved and totally repulsive as this. And now that he had, he was at a total loss over what to do.

   Farmer Jones’s wife, Helen, stood beside him and looked for a few moments at the mangled mass of flesh, bones and viscera laying in the grass below. Then, she brought her hand up to her mouth and turned away, equally as sickened by the unspeakable act of cruelty she had seen.

   “Who would do such a thing?!” said Helen, a sudden churning sensation in her stomach. For a moment she felt she was going to be sick but somehow was able to keep it down.

   Farmer Jones, unable to take his eyes away from the sheep, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in answer to her question. “I don’t know,” he said, bleakly.

   “My god … it’s – it’s been torn to pieces!” retorted Helen, now overcome by emotion, and she dried her tears on the sleeve of her coat. “Do you think it could have been done by some sort of wild dog?”

   Farmer Jones shook his head, no. He sighed heavily, his revulsion now making way for his personal frustration and anger at the person or thing responsible for performing such a barbaric act. “No, Helen … I don’t think it was a wild dog.”

   She looked at him, confused. “What makes you so sure?”

   “Look at the size of those lacerations on the body,” he said, pointing to one of the many wounds. “The sheep’s throat has been completely torn out! Do you honestly think a dog could be capable of inflicting that kind of damage?!”

   “Then, what do you think it was?” she asked, but the expression on her husband’s face was a clear indication that he had no idea.

   “I don’t know,” he said, almost in a whisper.

   “What can we do?”

   Farmer Jones massaged his chin, thoughtfully. Then, a determined look slowly spread across his face. “Bait a trap and wait for whoever or whatever it is that’s been slaughtering our sheep to turn up!”

   Helen abruptly turned to him. “And then what?” she asked, an air of concern in her voice.

   Farmer Jones cradled the shotgun in his arms and looked at her seriously. “Then we get our revenge!”

   The following night, farmer Jones made sure that all his sheep were safely looked up in the barn. That is, all but for the one he intended to use as bait. That particular lamb was led into the middle of the field and tied to a post.

   With the bait secured and in place, farmer Jones took to hiding behind some bushes. From there, he had a clear view of the field and everything in it.

   For what seemed like hours, he crouched in the long grass. His eyes scanned the blackness that lay all around, fully alert, and he held the loaded shotgun close to his chest in readiness for the first sign of trouble.

   Shortly before 4am in the morning, farmer Jones noticed that the lamb had become increasingly restless and agitated. It nervously moved around the pole and started to look around, almost as if it sensed some form of impending danger.

   Then, farmer Jones noticed what appeared to be a large black shape moving stealthily through the grass towards the lamb. At first, he thought the night was playing tricks with his eyes but no. Looking evening harder into the darkness, he could make out the creature’s shape and it seemed to have the appearance of a wolf!

   “A wolf?!” he thought to himself, briefly stunned by his own disbelief. “It’s too big to be a wolf?!”

   Farmer Jones watched through fascinated eyes while the wolf or whatever it was, moved slowly towards its prey. His heart started to beat much faster when the creature drew within striking range of the lamb.

   The werewolf struck with lightening speed, taking the lamb completely by surprised. The ungodly creature gave out a blood-curdling half-animal, half-human howl and severed the terrified animal’s head from its neck with one well-executed swipe of its dagger-like claws. Then, it proceeded to gorge itself on the freshly spilled blood and viscera.

   Farmer Jones found it hard to believe what his own eyes were showing him, and he felt equally as sickened. He was sweating scared, and almost too afraid to move in case the creature heard or saw him. He felt the overwhelming urge to pick up his feet and make a run for it while he still could but he was momentarily frozen to the spot.

   “Come on,” he told himself, clutching the shotgun tightly. “You can do this!” Overcoming his fear, he raised himself up out of the grass on legs that felt like rubber, and pointed the shotgun in the direction of the creature.

   The werewolf suddenly became aware of the farmer’s presence and slowly turned towards him. Its eyes glowed red in the dark and it curled back its lips, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It snarled as if preparing to attack and moved towards him menacingly.

   Farmer Jones swallowed hard. He started to tremble all over as if a voltage were passing through his entire body as the werewolf drew within striking range. Summoning his courage, he took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger, unloading both barrels point blank into its chest.

   The werewolf uttered an agonising roar and collapsed to the ground in a heap. For a while, it whimpered in pain and convulsed. But then, its eyes slowly closed for the very last time. Moments later, it was dead.

   Farmer Jones sighed with relief and lowered the shotgun, totally drained from his ordeal. Then, to his total astonishment, the werewolf started to change before his very eyes into something else. When the metamorphosis was complete, he was horrified to see that it had become the naked body of a woman … his wife!


24 Tales of Darkness.





Deborah curled up on the comfortable sofa and watched television. The dark-haired hero on the screen took the attractive woman into his strong arms, pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately on the lips.

   Deborah sighed warmed-heartedly, wishing it was she in his arms; she he was kissing; she he was about to make love to. But since Dave – her boyfriend – had jilted her a couple of days ago for the buxom brunette who pulled pints at the Crown & Thistle pub on a Saturday night, all she had to embrace and keep her warm was the cushion she was then clinging to.

   Deborah had not wanted her relationship to end, but Dave had felt she was becoming too possessive, too demanding and totally over-baring. He had felt that such an approach was doomed to disaster. He had always preferred to be the driving force in their relationship, but with Deborah being so independent and in control of her own life, this was impossible.

   The telephone started to ring, momentarily breaking Deborah’s line of thought. She immediately presumed that maybe it was Dave calling to tell her that he had dropped the barmaid and was on his way over to patch up their relationship and also to make amends.

   Worried he might suddenly hang up at any moment Deborah threw the cushion aside, reached over the arm of the sofa, grabbed the receiver and jammed it against her ear. “Hello?” she said excitedly. She was expecting to hear her ex-boyfriend’s voice but instead was greeted with silence.

   Deborah frowned. “Hello?” she repeated, puzzled.

   Still silence.

   Deborah anxiously bit on her bottom lip, wondering if Dave was teasing her. “Dave … is that you?”

   There was still no reply. Then, Deborah heard it. At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her but no. On the other end of the line she could hear breathing, deep, hollow breathing!

   A chill has cold as ice ran down Deborah’s spine. Her heart skipped a beat, then picked up pace and started to thump more rapidly when the nature and purpose of the anonymous call started to dawn on her.

   “I don’t know who you are,” she said sternly, trying not to give anything away, “but I can quite assure you I don’t find this in the least bit amusing!”

   No reply – just breathing!

   Deborah sighed heavily. “Who is it?” she snapped, both fear and anger starting to take a hold of her.

   The breathing was replaced by a rapid tone as who ever it was on the other end of the line put down the receiver.

   Deborah also put down her receiver and stared blankly into space, trying to make some sense out of what had just transpired. Unable to do so, she picked up the cushion and hugged it close to her chest. “It must have been Dave trying to put the frighteners on me,” she told herself. “And I’ll bet that bitch he’s with now put him up to it!”

   The thought that the barmaid from the Crown & Thistle may be responsible for this moment of sick humour filled Deborah with anger. She felt the strong urge to march down to the pub right at that moment, grab a hold of her by her hair and drive a fist right through her face! Not content to steal her boyfriend – she had to stick the knife in and twist it, too!

   Then, a frightening thought suddenly engulfed her. What if it wasn’t Dave or his girlfriend who had made that call? What if it was a genuine obscene caller? What if, in some phone box a couple of streets down, there was real life pervert laughing to him self at that very moment over the fear he has caused her? And what if he was going to come round to her house, break in and…

   Deborah had decided she wasn’t going to let it upset her. She had considered phoning the police but figured that would be a waste of time. Instead, she pushed the whole incident to the back of her mind and re-directed her line of thought back onto the movie.

   Between the time she had received the wordless call and had put down the receiver, the dark-haired hero had undressed the voluptuous woman and the pair of them was in bed together, making love.

   Deborah tried once more to imagine it was her he was making love to, but no matter how hard she concentrated, her mind was completely empty of any form of sexual pleasure. Instead, it was filled with breathing; deep, slow breathing.

   Deborah kept trying to convince herself that the phone call had had no effect on her whatsoever, but she knew that was lying. Subconsciously, the breathing was tattooed on her mind.

   Then, when she least expected it, the telephone started ringing once more. Deborah almost jumped out of her skin as the sound it made cut through her heart almost like a bolt of lightening. Somehow, the ringing seemed louder. She decided that this time she wasn’t going to answer. Instead, she would stay put and simply let it ring, hoping that maybe who ever was on the other end of the line would become bored and give up.

   Five nail-biting minutes went by, seeming to Deborah like all eternity and still the phone was ringing – the damned phone just kept ringing! The pervert on the other end of the line was not going to give up!

   Every alarm in Deborah’s head was sounding, telling her, begging her not to answer the phone. But somehow, it seemed as if she was no longer in control. It seemed almost as if the person on the other end of the cursed line had hypnotised her with his breathing, seized control of her mind and was manipulating the functions of her body.

   Despite her determined resistance and the over-whelming urge to rip the phone out of the wall, Deborah could not stop herself from lifting the receiver and putting it once more to her ear. Having done so, she did not say anything – she just listened.

   Her ears were greeted with the same breathing just like before, only this time it seemed more pronounced. It was almost as if a sixth sense in Deborah’s mind had opened up and was allowing the ghastly sound to flow freely into her brain.

   Then, she heard a man’s voice.

   “Deborah!” he said, in a low, rasping hiss.

   “Y-Yes,” she found herself saying, despite the fact she wasn’t consciously aware she had spoken. “W-Who is it?”

   Breathing again!

   Deborah was about to put the receiver down for the second time that evening, when the man suddenly said: “Don’t hang up!” She was lost beneath an avalanche of confusion. It was almost as if he had read her mind and knew exactly what she was going to do; how she was would react, what she was thinking and feeling.

   “What do you want?” she asked, nervously and he uttered a sick chuckle.


   Deborah went as pale as a sheet and her blood ran cold, rendering her momentarily speechless. Then, she heard that familiar tone as the receiver was put down on the other end of the line and she put her receiver down also.

   “I want to kill you!” was what he had said and those very words chilled Deborah to the bone. They rang in her ears like a bell and bounced around inside her brain like dodgem cars at the fairground. Was it just a practical joke? Or was it a serious threat against her life?

   Deborah briefly glanced over at the television. The dark-haired hero and the woman had finished making love and were in the process of putting their clothes on. She no longer wished to be the one he was making to. Now, in spite of everything that had happened, she was feeling decidedly frigid. All the sexual vibes and impulses in her sensual, well-formed body had been severed from the neck down.

   For the rest of that night Deborah sat rigid on the sofa staring blankly into space; not thinking about the dark-haired hero in the movie; not even thinking about her ex-boyfriend or the bitch from the Crown & Thistle who he was probably screwing at that very moment! Instead, she was waiting patiently, fearfully for the dreaded phone to ring.

   Deborah glanced across at the clock on the shelf: midnight. Three hours had passed since he last called. Feeling decidedly tired and figuring her mysterious caller had found better things to do with his time, she decided to go to bed.

   Deborah checked thoroughly that all the windows were locked and both the front and back door were securely bolted. Then, she switched off the lounge light and wandered wearily upstairs into the bedroom. She did not bother putting on the light – she had always preferred to undress in the dark.

   Pulling back the quilt, Deborah leapt into bed and breathed a huge sigh of relief as her head slowly sank into the pillow. Without giving her mysterious caller or his threat another thought, she closed her eyes and went slowly to sleep.

   From midnight right through into 3am in the morning, Deborah’s sleep was relaxing and trouble free. But then she started to toss and turn agitatedly as the nightmare she was experiencing took a full hold and engulfed her dormant mind with an overwhelming sense of fear.

   “No … no!” Deborah cried out as they mysterious attacker’s hands ripped open her blouse and groped her. She abruptly awoke in a cold sweat and sat up in bed. The man in the dream had been breathing in a similar manner to the mysterious caller earlier in the evening!

   Despite the fact she was awake now, Deborah could still hear the breathing! It wasn’t in her mind – the breathing was actually with her in the room! The more she listened to that constant, evil rasping of breath, the louder it seemed to become! As her eyes dilated to allow in more light, she could see that standing at the end of the bed was the dark shape of a man!

   “Deborah!” he hoarsely whispered.

   In the darkness of the room, an evil grin Deborah could not see spread across the intruder’s demented face!


24 Tales of Darkness.






Sigmus gazed headlong into the secret sanctuary of death. Nothing was familiar or like anything he had once known on the mortal world. All he could see was a vast frontier of emptiness that seemed to stretch on for infinity. All he could feel was the shroud that covered his body like a second skin. All he could taste was the fetid breath of death that had left his throat so dry and sore. All he could remember was the soft thud his body had made landing on the ground before the poison had fulfilled its intended purpose.

   For a moment Sigmus paused and stared in awe at the grotesque landscape that lay ahead. All around him, wherever he looked, were strange images of cities ancient and new that had risen and died throughout the course of time, the peoples who once lived in those cities and the vegetation and wildlife that had once fulfilled their need for nourishment.

   But the picture Sigmus’s mind had painted was as morbid as the cracked, crumbling walls of the cities; or the decayed, translucent flesh that hung like wafer thin paper from the sad, tortured faces of the people; or the trees, gnarled and shrivelled, dried out like prunes beneath the cruel heat of damnation’s eternal sun.

   The people from the cities became aware of Sigmus’s presence and gathered into a crowd. They talked boisterously with one another, pointing and staring at the new arrival with the deepest of interest.

   Sigmus had become nervous – the sight of so many dead people overwhelmed him with fear! “W-Who are y-you?” he asked without realising he had spoken, and the people went quiet. A puzzled expression appeared on each and every face.

   A tall, thin man stepped out from the crowd and moved towards him. “Who are you?” was his demanding reply.

   “I … I am Sigmus.”

   The man raised a brow and smiled. “So … you too have fallen victim to fate?” He put it across more as a statement than a question.

   Sigmus frowned. “You have not answered my question!”

   “Names are not important here … we have none!” said the man. “We simply exist as spirits of misfortune trapped like you, on the other side.”

   “What is this place?”

   “You mean, you do not know!” he asked, amazed by his ignorance. “This is Hades Sigmus … the dimension of the dead!”

   “Life after death! But how is that possible?”

   The man shrugged. “Who can say, Sigmus?” he sighed. “Many times that question has been asked before but no one yet has provided an answer.”

   “But you are cadaverous while I …”

   The man interrupted. “Look like you did on the mortal world?” He smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. Several squirming maggots rolled off his decayed tongue and dropped down onto the infertile soil below. “Everyone here have been dead for a very long time, so, naturally, our material bodies have been ravaged. You died quite recently and for a while you will remain as you are … that is, until the insects break through the wooden walls of your coffin and feast hungrily on your dead flesh!”

   Sigmus received a frightening vision in his mind of himself cadaverous like the people and the pain of becoming like one of them filled his eyes with tears of regret for the life he had so foolishly wasted.

   “Feel free to cry, Sigmus – we all have! We never realise our mistakes until it is too late to do anything about them. Suicide, wasn’t it?”

   Sigmus looked at him bewilderedly. “How do you know?”

   The man smiled, knowingly and held up his hands. “We receive so many!” he answered and chuckled.

   “So, this is my new home?” he assumed, looking around dismally and the man smiled again.

   “That depends on you, young man,” he said, extending a stabbing bony finger.

   “What do you mean?”

   “It is not for me to say. You’ll learn!”

   Sigmus frowned. “What is there to learn?”

   “Plenty! When you were alive, you must have heard of Lucifur, the king of Hell? Do you believe in his existence?”

   Sigmus shrugged, unsure. “I have never really given it much thought.”

   “Lucifur is real, Sigmus,” he went on excitedly. “We have all seen him. Hell also exists and it is a vast empire like nothing you have ever seen!”

   “What about Heaven?”

   The man clasped his hands together. “Heaven, glorious Heaven!” he went on melodramatically. “How I have always longed to enter through the gates and gaze upon the vast sanctuary of paradise. The angels’ beauty is so spectacular and their existence is one of peace, love and freedom … unlike the haven of misery within which we dwell! Yes, Sigmus … Heaven exists!”

   “But why can’t you go to Heaven?”

   He sighed sadly and slumped his head. “Because like you, we all committed suicide. We all renounced our birth-rights and ended life – the most precious and valuable gift ever to be given!”

   “Supposing I wanted to get to Heaven … how would I do it?”

   The man shook his head, unsure and sighed again. “I am sorry, Sigmus – I do not know. Then, I am weak and always have been. But if you are strong and determined enough, you might be able to find the answer. That is … if there is an answer to be found!”

   While Sigmus and the man talked, the people around them had become increasingly restless. An expression of uncertain fear enveloped each and every face, and cries of terror started to ring out all around.

   Sigmus became aware of the commotion and looked about bewilderedly. “What is wrong?” he asked, turning, and the man shrugged.

   “I do not know.”

   One by one the people fled in a blind panic. Sigmus reached out blindly and grabbed a woman by the arm as she ran close by. “Why are you running?” he asked.

   “P-Please l-let me g-go,” she begged. Her eyes darted wildly from side to side as if searching for a terror that could only be felt but not seen!

   “Answer him, woman!” demanded the man, angrily.

   “N-Nebiros!!!” She pulled her arm free from Sigmus’s hold and ran away as fast as she could.

   Sigmus turned to the man, puzzled and asked, “What is Nebiros?” Before he could get an answer the man fled in a blind panic along with all the rest.

   “Run, Sigmus – run!!!” he yelled while he went.

   “Why?” Sigmus called after him, shaking his head.

   The vast gathering of people rapidly dispersed. The few left behind tried desperately to find a place within which to hide from whatever it was that had scared them so much. Soon, Sigmus remained alone.

   “Sigmus!” roared Nebiros in a deep, rasping tone.

   Sigmus spun around but there was no one there. “W-Who is there?” he asked with apprehension and a loud, mocking laugh filled the air.

   “Welcome to Hades!”

   “Show yourself to me.” Sigmus cautiously moved around as he spoke and remained fully on alert for the unexpected.

   “And spoil my fun?”

   Sigmus spun around. The voice had moved behind him. A look of realisation entered his face. “Nebiros!”

   “Aaaah, you know my name!”

   Sigmus fell to the ground after having been shoved by something invisible. “Damn you!” he retorted angrily and got up. “What do you want?”

   “I want you to be my slave.”


   “If I so wish, I can have you,” teased Nebiros.

   “Not without a fight!”

   He laughed again. “Do you think you are strong enough?”

   “Show yourself to me, damn you!”

   “But, Sigmus … it is more fun this way!”

   Nebiros, you are a coward!”

   “Watch your mouth, boy,” retorted Nebiros angrily, “or I will be forced to punish you for being so impertinent to one so mighty!”

   “One so mighty? Paaah!” Sigmus gingerly walked towards the voice. “I will not be your slave.”

   “There is only one way out of it, Sigmus.”

   “And what is that?”

   “You must face me in a dual!” he hissed. “If you beat me, you are free. But if you lose … then, you will be mine and shall serve me for all eternity.”

   “Then, I challenge you, Nebiros, to become visible and face me in battle!”

   Nebiros materialised from out of nowhere and revealed himself in all his ugliness to Sigmus. His body was like that of a toad, the skin very dry, leathery and partly concealed by the gaudy uniform that is worn by all the mighty demon legionnaires in Hell’s might regime. Bat-like wings loomed from his back and they cast a phenomenal shadow of threat across the ground. His face was like that of a wart hog, only much more grotesque. He held a sword proudly in his reptilian hand that had been given to him by Lucifur when he was promoted from being a mere legionnaire to a guardian. Strapped across his broad shoulders was a large round shield dented in places as a result of many bloody battles. The shield carried the image of the severed head of a harpy that acted as Nebiros’s personal coat of arms.

   “Well, Sigmus … do you still up-hold your challenge now that you have seen me, or do you submit to defeat and be my slave?”

   “Nebiros … you are a cheat!”

   Sigmus and Nebiros both turned in the direction from where the voice had came. There, standing alone amidst the rubble of the ancient cities was the man who greeted Sigmus on his entry into Hades.

   “A cheat you say … and what authority do you have to pass judgement on one as mighty as I?”

   “What gives you the authority to enslave people from the cities?” was the man’s reply.

   “It was an authority given to me by Lucifur, the king of Hell,” Nebiros proudly answered.

   “And what authority has he?” put in Sigmus.

   Nebiros turned to the man. “Which kingdom is the mightier, mine or yours?” He was becoming impatient.

   The man sighed, defeated. “Yours,” he solemnly answered and Nebiros grinned triumphantly.

   “Then, I have the authority!”

   “But you have weapons, where Sigmus has none!”

   Nebiros frowned. “So?”

   “He has a right to a fair fight!”

   “Since when has fighting been fair?”

   The man did not answer. Instead, he produced a sword. It was nothing special, dented in places, rusty in others, but perfectly suitable for its intended purpose. “Sigmus, I want you to have this sword.”

   “If you give him that sword, I will cut you down where you stand, old man!” roared Nebiros furiously.

   “Take it, Sigmus!” The man threw the sword into the air. Then, watched while it travelled swiftly through the air, landing upright in the ground before the young warrior.

   Nebiros scowled. He removed his shield from off his shoulders and threw it. The shield whistled loudly as it spun through the air on its flight. It struck the man in the belly and cut him cleanly in half before returning to the hand of its thrower.

   A look of horror spread across Sigmus’s face. “You killed him!”

   “He was nothing, Sigmus. They are all nothing, including you, you insolent, young oath!” was the demon legionnaire’s stone cold reply.

   Sigmus stooped and pulled the sword out of the ground. He looked across at Nebiros, roared furiously and rushed to meet him. Drawing near, he raised the sword high and struck an awesome killing blow which, to his total amazement, the mighty demon successfully deflected with his shield.

   “Nice try, Sigmus … but you will have to do better than that if you are going to beat me!”

   Nebiros lashed out wildly with his sword and a loud metallic clang ripped the air as their mighty weapons met halfway. In fact, the strike had carried so much force that the vibrations from the contact sent Sigmus sprawling.

   For a moment, Sigmus lay on the ground, recovering his senses. While he did so, Nebiros’s bulky mass towered over him, casting a phenomenal shadow of threat. The demon raised his sword above his head and brought it down with devastating force towards him. But Sigmus was blessed with sharp reflexes. He had already anticipated Nebiros’s move and rolled out of the way, relieved to see that the blade had cut only the infertile soil below and not him.

   “Damn you, Sigmus!” roared Nebiros, frustrated by his opponent’s sharpness. “I’ll taste your blood yet! I have toyed with you long enough and now it is time for you to sample spiritual death!” He pulled his sword out of the ground as he spoke and lashed out again.

   This time, Sigmus dropped to his knees, successfully evading the intended head strike. Getting up, he struck hard beneath the demon’s shield, feeling a great sense of both satisfaction and relief when the blade sank with relative ease into his mighty opponent’s lower abdomen.

   Nebiros cried out in pain and grimaced. He dropped to his knees, the sword and shield slipping out of his hands while he did so, and cradled the wound. “Damned you, Sigmus!” he whispered, his face contorted with pain. “You have all the luck in Hell!” He looked up at him with some difficulty. “Well … don’t just stand there. Finish it, while you have the chance!”

   Sigmus was filled with remorse. “My aim is not to slay you, Nebiros … merely to secure my freedom.”

   “But you have disgraced me!” he continued. “I am no longer worthy to be a legionnaire in Lucifur’s mighty army. You must slay me, if only to preserve my honour!”

   Sigmus fought back the tears. “I – I can’t!”

   “You cannot let me suffer a slow death!”

   Sigmus picked up the mighty demon’s sword and carefully slipped it back into his hand. “If you wish to be spared the suffering … then, you must finish it yourself!” he said. “As for me, I must go now. I do not know where or why, but there is nothing for me here!”

   “Sigmus! Ahead of you await many dangers! Take my shield,” he urged. “It will help to protect you!”

   Sigmus picked up Nebiros’s shield and strapped it onto his shoulder. He looked down at him in pity. Then, the young warrior turned and walked off into the beckoning mist of the spiritual plane.

   When he had gone, the people from the cities emerged from their hiding places and gathered around Nebiros’s motionless body.

   “Is he dead?” asked a scrawny Victorian woman curiously.

   The Napoleonic soldier with one arm stood beside her nodded, yes. “Soon, we will all be dead when word of this filters back to Lucifur!”

   “Why did Sigmus go?”

   “He has gone in search of his destiny!”


A Demon Slayer (Chapter 1)




“Sin on the mortal world appears to be making a steady rise.” Beelzebub picked up a chalice filled with human blood as he spoke and consumed its entire contents in one gluttonous gulp. “This decade alone has resulted in the admittance into Hell of over 600,000 corrupted souls!”

   Lucifur lifted his brows to him and grinned. “Excellent. I am pleased to hear our mortal confederates are spreading corruption far and wide.” He crossed the room and sat down on the imperial throne of Hell. “How many were suitable for entry into our mighty legions?”

   The mighty demon shook his head doubtfully. “Not many, has it happens – only about 200,000. The others have become slaves and some wasn’t even suitable for that!”

   “It is imperative we increase our forces if we are to compete in strength with Heaven, Beelzebub!”

   The door opened and Lieutenant-General Bathim entered the throne room. He approached Lucifur and saluted. “My lord, I have received news that Nebiros has not returned from the cities.”

   Lucifur frowned and sat up. “When did he go?”

   “Three mortal years ago,” Bathim replied. “It’s rumoured that he was slain.”

   “What!” Lucifur abruptly stood up, his eyes blazing with fury. “Where did this rumour originate?”

   “A group from the cities were captured by one of our demon legionnaire patrols quite recently. As they were taken to the dungeons one of them went on continually about how one of their own had cut down Nebiros.”

   “Bring that soul to me at once,” demanded Lucifur angrily. “I wish to question his story.”

   “As you wish, my lord.” Bathim bowed respectfully. He turned and promptly left the room.

   “Nebiros was a mighty warrior, my lord, but who in the cities could be strong enough or even courageous enough to challenge him, let alone defeat him?” Beelzebub shook his head, finding what Bathim had told them hard to believe. He crossed from the window and stood facing Lucifur.

   “I don’t know, Beelzebub, but whoever it was, he must be found and destroyed immediately!”

   “But surly, my lord, someone like that could be useful to us in our quest to conquer Heaven?”

   Lucifur nodded his head in agreement. “True, my friend. Then again … someone like that could also become a serious threat!”

   Bathim returned from the dungeons bringing the soul he had spoken of earlier with him. He dragged the whimpering wretch before Lucifur and threw him down at his feet.

   “Bathim has informed me that you made some sort of ludicrous claim Nebiros had been slain,” said Lucifur, with an air of humorous disbelief in the tone of his voice.

   “I s-saw it w-with my own e-eyes, my lord,” the terrified man stammered.

   Lucifur sat up and looked down on him. “Tell me what you saw.”

   Bathim kicked the man in the back. “Tell him, scum,” he bellowed, “or I’ll feed your rancid remains to the hydra!”

   The man winced in pain. “Nebiros ch-challenged o-one of our people to a dual, m-my lord.”

   Lucifur frowned. “Which one?”

   “S-Sigmus, my lord.”

   “I do not know of anyone in the cities who goes by that name,” puzzled Lucifur. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” he asked, with an air of threat and the man frantically shook his head.

   “N-No, m-my lord. He is a n-new a-arrival w-who ended his l-life quite recently!”

   “Go on!”

   “It was a f-fair fight in w-which Ne-Nebiros lost.”

   “Will that be all, my lord?” asked Bathim, bored    “Yes, Bathim. Take him away and feed him to the hydra.”

   “The h-hydra!” The man went down at Lucifur’s feet and begged for mercy. “Please spare me!”

   Lucifur sighed, deeply angered by the weakling, and he gestured for him to be taken away.

   “Come on you, on your feet!” Bathim took the whimpering soul by his hair and dragged him screaming out of the throne room to meet his doom.

   “You are in a strange mood!” noted Beelzebub. “What hails you?”

   “How do you mean?”

   “This is the first time in over a week you have sentenced someone to face the hydra!”

   Lucifur lifted his brow to him. “Well, being as you are my guest, I thought you would enjoy some entertainment. Have you ever seen the hydra?”

   Beelzebub shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

   Lucifur joined him. He clamped his hand on the mighty demon’s shoulder and grinned. “Well, my fellow Hellonion, now is your chance!”

   They stepped out of the throne room onto adjoining balcony and took up their seats. Beyond the balcony lay an enclosure, either side of which stood two pairs of large gates. One pair of gates led to the dungeons, while the other lead into a network of vaults and tunnels which ran beneath the palace of Hell, up into the nearby mountains, deep into the domain of the hydra.

   “From here we will be able to see everything.” Lucifur looked into the arena, proud of his personal means of entertainment.

   “When does it begin?” asked Beelzebub eagerly.

   “When I give the signal.” Lucifur attracted the guard’s attention and raised his hand, gesturing him to summon the hydra.

   The guard stepped down from his post and moved across to the edge of the arena. He placed a horn to his lips and blew through it three times. No sooner had he, the gates on the far side of the arena swung open on hinges older than time itself. An inhuman roar bellowed ferociously from within the darkness of the tunnel and the hydra slowly crawled towards the arena.

   Meanwhile, in the dungeon, Bathim approached the soul from the cities and gave him a firm shove on the shoulder. “All right, wretch,” he barked. “It is time for you to face the hydra!” He gazed along the torch lit tunnel and waited while the gates at the other end slowly opened with a tortured squeal like the jaws of Cerberus, the three-headed dog of Hades, revealing the theatre of death that lay beyond.

   Bathim turned to the soul and gestured him to get up. When he had, the Lieutenant picked up a rusted sword and dented shield and threw them at his feet. “Pick them up!” he ordered threateningly and the man did as he had requested.

   “P-Please, master Bathim,” the soul tearfully pleaded, “h-have mer-mercy on me!”

    “Have mercy on you! He laughed. “Now, get out there and fight!”

   The soul nervously made his way along the tunnel and entered the arena to be greeted by the jubilant cheer of the crowd. No sooner had he, the gates slammed shut behind him, sealing his fate. He looked up at Lucifur and Beelzebub on the balcony and they gloated hungrily, eager like the crowd for the spilling of his blood! Then, he heard an almighty roar and spun around. He stared in horror towards the other end of the arena, fearing the worse and there in the darkness of the tunnel glowed seven pairs of the evilest, ghoulish eyes he had ever seen…


When the entertainment was over and the hydra had returned to its domain in the mountain, Lucifur and Beelzebub left the arena and returned to the throne room.

   “So, Beelzebub … what do you think of the hydra?”

Lucifur filled two chalices with human blood as he spoke. He gave one of the drinks to his noble Prime Minister and kept the other for himself.

   Beelzebub momentarily became overwhelmed with thought, recalling how helpless the soul from the cities was against the king of Hell’s magnificent pet. Watching the hydra tear apart flesh and bones like they were nothing was a spectacle he found both greatly enjoyable and vastly entertaining!

   “It is truly a wondrous creature, my lord … I envy you!” he replied. “I would sacrifice all of my slaves just to possess something as magnificent as the hydra. Where did you get it?”

   “I will tell you.” Lucifur offered him a seat. Then, he sat on the throne. “Many mortal centuries ago while scouring Hades for new territory to conquer, I came across the river Styx. Far out in its centre stood a small island no bigger than a mountain, and on that island dwelled a sorceress who went by the name of Sylex.”

   “Sylex!” exclaimed Beelzebub. “The legendary sorceress of Yazmir?”

   Lucifur nodded, yes. “I tried to conquer her and become the ruler of her island,” he continued, “but no matter how hard I tried, even with a legion of my mightiest warriors, I was unable to do so.”

   Beelzebub raised a brow to him, surprised.

   “Sylex’s sorcery is like nothing I have ever known. Every time we attacked, she conjured and invoked abominable creatures like the hydra to fend us off which, I might add they did without too much trouble. Even though I could not conquer Sylex, I was determined to take a small piece of her back with me to Hell.”

   “And, what did you do?”

   “We captured the hydra under the shield of the spiritual night, and were gone before Sylex even knew what had happened!” he grinned “Of course, she sent a fleet of harpies after us, hoping they would retrieve her creature, but they were no match for the accuracy of my bowed legionnaires!”

   Beelzebub nodded his head, impressed. “Now that you have told me that, my lord … I think we should turn our attention to the matter at hand!”

   Lucifur drank some blood and put the chalice down on the arm of the throne. “Matter?”

   “What do you propose we do about Sigmus?”

   Lucifur lifted his brows and blew. “We kill him … but first, we must find him!”

   “Where do you think he could be?”

   Lucifur shrugged. “In the cities?”

   “I am inclined to agree, my lord.”

   Lucifur abruptly sat up with an inspired look upon his face. “Beelzebub, I want you to assemble your forces and launch a full-scale attack on the cities!”

   He grinned, pleased. “Are we to take any prisoners?”

   “No,” answered Lucifur, coldly. “I want them all dead!”

   Beelzebub frowned at him in uncertainty. “You seem incredibly determined to get Sigmus, my lord. I some how get the impression you know of this stranger?”

   Lucifur turned to him and gazed penetratingly into his eyes. “No … but I have heard of him.”

   Beelzebub swallowed hard, becoming more and more unnerved as his staring continued. “W-Who is he?”

   “He has come to fulfil the prophecy!”

   A look of shock spread across Beelzebub’s face.


A Demon Slayer (Chapter 2)





The next morning, I got up early again, just like I had Wednesday. I made sure that everything I would need that day was loaded into my van.

   I pulled up outside Sally’s flat at 6.45am and waited patiently.

   At 7.05am the milkman turned up and placed a single carton of milk on her doorstep, just like he had done the other day.

   I checked thoroughly that no one was about and climbed out of my van. I hurried across the road to Sally’s flat and swapped her carton of milk with the one I had spiked the other day with the sedative.

   Returning to my van, I waited patiently once more.


7.32am:  Sally opened the curtains.

7.37am:  The postman walked by her flat.

7.52am: Sally opened the door in her dressing gown and took in the milk.

   I thought: “so far, so good!”

   I realised that there was a vague possibility that Sally still had some milk left over from yesterday and may decide to use it instead of today’s milk. That was a chance I would have to take.

   Yesterday, Sally had left for work at 8.30am. 8.30am came and went and there was no sign of her. 9am came and went and still she hadn’t left for work.

   I was beginning to suspect that maybe she had used the milk in her tea or possibly on her breakfast cereals and had already succumbed to the effects of the sedative. Being the cautious type, I had also considered the possibility that maybe she wasn’t feeling well and had decided to take the day off work.

   I decided to check and find out.

   I made my way to the phone box around the corner and called her number. Ten minutes passed and still the phone was ringing!

   Clearly my plan had worked!

   Getting out of my van for the third time, I checked for potential witnesses and went across to Sally’s flat. Taking a nail bar from inside my coat, I wedged it into the frame and forced the door opened, at the same time trying to make as little noise as was humanly possible!

   My heart was beating incredibly fast and the adrenalin was flowing just like it was on the night I murdered John. The sheer thrill of what I was doing excited me and gave me a rush far in excess of any high I could ever possibly achieve from taking drugs!

   Moving both cautiously and quietly into the lounge, I could see right through into the kitchen. Sally lay sprawled out across the floor over by the sink unit.

   Entering the kitchen, I went down on my knees beside her, checking to make sure she was unconscious. To my sheer ecstasy, the sedative had put her out like a light!

   Anticipating Jarvis might become concerned when Sally doesn’t turn up for work, I phoned up the personnel department. I disguised my voice and told whomever it was I was talking to, that Sally was sick and would more than likely be off work all week.

   I also anticipated that Kirsten might equally become concerned for Sally. I figured she would either telephone or call around in person. To this end, I unplugged the telephone and drew the front curtains. If Kirsten did call around, not getting a reply, hopefully she would assume Sally was either sleeping or too unwell to come to the door, and would then go away.

   The main question burning away in the forefront of my mind was: Now that I have Sally at my disposal, what was I going to do with her?

   I figured that whatever it was, I could not do it in her flat – it was too risky! I decided that I would have to take Sally back to my place. I quickly realised that I couldn’t do it at that exact moment because for one thing, it was light! Also, by then, there were too many people about and I would have almost certainly been seen carrying a rather odd and suspicious looking bundle to my van!

   I soon came to realise that I would have to remain with Sally all day at her flat until nightfall. Only then would it be safe to move her.

   Sally had no boyfriend and her parents lived 300 miles away, which were two more things I didn’t have to worry about.

   Removing the dressing gown, I could see that Sally was dressed in just her bra and knickers – the very sight of which sent a sweet shiver of lust through my entire body.

   Thinking about all the pain and misery Sally had unwittingly caused me, I wanted to rape the bitch right then and there as a form of retribution, but somehow, I managed to resist the overwhelming urge!

   “Wait until later!” I kept telling myself. “Then, you will be able to pleasure yourself on your helpless victim to your heart’s content!”

   Even so, I gave her breasts a quick fondle and also slipped my hands into her knickers just for the sheer hell of it!

   Raising Sally into a sitting position, I handcuffed her hands behind her back. Laying her back down, I handcuffed her ankles as well. Finally, I put masking tape over her mouth to stop her from screaming if and when she recovered.

   At 10am, I fetched some tools from my van and repaired the damage I had done to Sally’s door earlier, when I originally broke into her flat. I did this so that if someone called they would go away without suspecting that anything remotely unusual was at hand.

   I kept my gloves on all the time except of course, when I gave Sally a sly fondle – so that I didn’t leave any fingerprints that could easily incriminate me much later when she is finally reported missing.

   I turned the television on but was careful to make sure the volume was way down low so as not to alert her neighbours upstairs. Then, I made myself comfortable in an armchair and spent the rest of the morning watching programmes.

   At twelve, I checked on Sally to see how she was doing and discovered that she was still out cold. I guess the sedative I had given her must be incredibly potent stuff when used in the correct quantity! It would seem that the dose I had administered in her milk was a lot stronger and longer lasting than I had previously anticipated!

   By the time 12.30pm had arrived, I was beginning to feel hungry. It would appear that what I was doing certainly helped to build up an appetite!

   I raided Sally’s fridge and made myself a cheese and ham sandwich. I also made myself a cup of coffee. I drank the coffee and ate the food while sitting in front of the television.

   I watched over Sally all afternoon.

   I checked the time again at 5.43pm.

   The trouble with June is that it doesn’t get dark until late at night. That is great if you are on holiday, but it’s not much help when you’re trying to smuggle the unconscious body of a woman in her early twenties into a waiting van!

   At about 5.50pm, I was suddenly startled by the sound of a ringing doorbell. Sally, where she lay, was out of view of the front door, but I quickly ducked down behind the sofa. I went quite still, and dared not make the slightest sound.

   The doorbell rang again, only this time for a bit longer. Then, I heard the flap on the letterbox lift and two curiously concerned blue eyes gazed into the semi-dark room.

   I heard a voice call: “Sally!” And it was then that I realised it was Kirsten who was outside the door.

   The adrenalin started to flow again and my heart started beating much faster. The sheer excitement and suspense was unbearable. As a matter of fact, I could feel myself going hard! The tone of Kirsten’s concerned voice had given me an erection!

   “Sally, are you in there?” Kirsten called. Then, I heard the sound made by the letterbox closing and her footsteps retreating down the path.

   I breathed a huge sigh of relief – that was a close one! I was extremely thankful that Sally hadn’t given her friend a key! Before, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I guess I must be blessed with uncommon luck or something!

   Then, a frightening thought suddenly engulfed me. What would happen if Kirsten decided to come back tomorrow, or maybe the next day? I figured that pretty soon she would know something was wrong and it would only be a matter of time before the police were involved!

   This had made me realise that I would have to find a way to put her mind at rest, if only for the time being. This was something I would clearly have to give a lot of serious thought to!

   To try and relax myself and put my mind at ease, I sat down and watched a film. The film, which I found extremely boring, finished just before 11pm.

   I pulled back the curtain and peered outside relieved to see it was dark enough for me to leave.

   I pulled out a syringe and gave Sally another sedative injection. I checked she was still unconscious before I opened the front door, and then stepped outside.

   I checked all around and made sure that none of Sally’s neighbours were looking out of their windows. I also looked up and down the street.

   Satisfied that it was safe, I crossed the road to my van and backed it up to the front door. Getting out, I opened the rear doors and then moved quickly back inside the flat.

   I grabbed a sheet from a drawer in the bedroom and wrapped Sally in it. Then, raising her up over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift, I carried my unconscious victim out of the flat. I put her into the back of my van, quickly checked no one had seen me do it, and then closed the doors.

   Before locking up the flat, I checked around and made  certain that I hadn’t left anything behind which could incriminate me later on, and took Sally’s front door key from her hand bag.

   Arriving back at my place at 11.30pm, I reversed my van into the garage. Opening the rear doors, I pulled Sally out, carried her with some difficulty into the house and took her upstairs into the back room.

   I lay her down to the centre of the floor and paused for a moment to recover my breath. Then, having rested, I unwrapped her from the sheet.

   I slowly removed her bra and knickers, relishing and savouring every second of this long awaited moment. Then, I proceeded to explore her naked body with my hands and also fondled her breasts. I sucked her nipples and went down on her, enjoying it all the more because Sally, in her present state, hadn’t the slightest idea what was happening. It was then, in a full state of sexual arousal, that I penetrated her and enjoyed a well-deserved fuck!

   The sheer hopelessness of Sally’s inescapable predicament excited me all the more. She was helpless and totally at my mercy. I found it to be a big turn on. It gave me an overwhelming feeling of power. I was the master and she was now my slave!

   Whether or not Sally survived was my choice, my decision. Whether she lived or died was down to me. I could do whatever I wanted to her and no one in this world could stop me! I had already raped her!

   With the memory of all the trouble and pain she had caused still burning away like sulphuric acid in my mind, I pulled the strait-razor from my pocket. For a moment, I held the cruel implement in my hand, enjoying both its look and feel.

   Strange thoughts momentarily bombarded my brain, becoming flesh and blood. Then, the feelings and fantasies I had buried for so long spilled over into the real world filling me with an unnatural almost uncontrollable inhuman rage!

   I went down on my knees beside Sally. Then, I reached inside my helpless victim’s mouth and cut her tongue off, eating it raw that very moment!

   To render my revenge complete, I slit her throat from ear to ear and gloated while the bitch drowned in her own blood!

   Killing Sally was a big turn on, well worth the long wait. I found the whole procedure most stimulating and extremely fulfilling. Even more so than when I had killed John! As a matter of fact, my heart was beating so fast and so hard inside my chest that I thought it was going to explode!

   Dropping the bloodstained razor, I stripped off my blood-spattered clothes and put them into a pile in the corner of the room. Then, I went into the bathroom, swilled my face with cold water and generally cleaned myself up.

   I went downstairs to the kitchen and fetched the sharpest knives I could find, a load of freezer bags and some black bin liners.

   Returning to the back bedroom, I put everything I had brought with me on the floor and then went down on my knees once more.

   Picking up a knife, I proceeded to cut Sally open from her chest, right down to her groin. I removed the viscera and put it into a black bin liner. The heart, the kidneys, and liver – the organs I wanted to eat, I sealed in plastic bags and put them in the fridge to keep them nice and fresh!

   I had not intended things to happen this way. My initial plan was to keep Sally here as my prisoner for several weeks and turn her into my own, personal sex slave. I was going to return to her flat later, pack up some of her clothes and make it look as if she had up and left out of the blue for no apparent reason.

   Now, there didn’t seem much point!

   Having removed the viscera, I picked up the biggest and sharpest knife I could find and cut off Sally’s head. I also cut off her legs from below the knees, and cut her body completely in half at the waist! I found the smell over-powering! In fact, what I was doing affected me so much I had to stop several times to vomit!

   When the unpleasant job had been completed, I sealed all the dismembered pieces of my victim into bin liners. Now that I had bagged Sally’s remains up, I wondered: “What am I going to do with them, or the bedroom carpet soaked in her blood?”

   There was only one thing I could do. I slipped into some old clothes and made my way outside. I took a spade from the shed and dug a large hole in the garden. I wasn’t worried about being seen by my neighbours because the rear of my house was shielded from view by a high fence and some trees.

   Returning to the back bedroom, I picked up the black bags and carried them downstairs. I made my way out into the garden and dropped them into the hole. The same went for the carpet covered in Sally’s blood.

   By the time I had filled in the makeshift grave, I was extremely exhausted and soaking wet with sweat. I had no idea that disposing of a dismembered corpse could be such hard and tiring work!

   Returning to the house, I put my bloodstained clothes into a black bin liner and put them outside to be taken with the rubbish.

   I had a bath shortly after and washed the smell of my second victim off my body. While I lay there, soaking in the suds and bubble bath, I ran the events of the day through my mind.

   Why had I killed Sally so suddenly? It was almost as if something inside my mind had taken charge of the situation without my knowledge and had done the evil deed for me! It was as if some dark impulse I had previously repressed had suddenly surfaced at that optimum moment in time and had gone on an orgy of violence and bloodshed!

   After my bath, I went to bed.


A Cannibal Killer




Ivan Vaylox looked across the study at the portrait of the Devil hanging above the cobweb-draped fireplace, and became overwhelmed with thought. He drifted back to a time long since gone, when he was a mortal being and not the paranormal re-animation he had now become. He remembered the night he sold his soul to the Devil, and once again those moments were so clear in his mind…

   He remembered that on a certain day in the year 1666, he was given a guided tour of Barron Ruffus’s castle and was introduced to all of the disciples who made up the Temple of Baphomet.

   Later on, he was escorted to the great hall.

   Ivan recalled that the great hall was very large. In fact, it was the largest room in the castle. Along the walls on ledges stood several decorative candlesticks made of brass. A large oak table stood to the centre with a seating capacity for twenty-four people. Beside the table lay two rows of chairs. At each end stood two more chairs that was larger than the others and had been carved by the areas finest craftsmen.

   Seated on one of those chairs was Syrian, Barron Ruffus’s beautiful wife. Sitting on the other chair directly opposite her, was Ruffus himself. They were both dressed in full-length black robes decorated all over with symbols of the zodiac and black magic.

   The table had been set for three people but there was enough food laid out to feed a small army.

   Ruffus clapped his hands. The servant who had set Ivan’s place bowed and moved away. Ruffus urged the young wretch to come across, and he joined them at the table.

   “Welcome to your new home, Ivan.” Syrian lifted a goblet filled with red wine in a gesture of good will and drank.

   “My new home?” he puzzled.

   “Please,” Ruffus interrupted. “Before we talk, you must 

eat, you look so frail and thin!”

   Ivan looked hesitantly at the vast array of different food on the table before him. Never before had he seen so much. He hacked ravenously into a boar’s leg, enjoying the taste of the cooked meat. He feasted undisturbed for sometime, stopping only when he was convinced he had consumed all he could contain in his stomach. Then, he rested sluggishly in the chair and sighed with satisfaction.

   “Why am I here?” he finally asked.

   Ruffus raised a brow to him. “You are the chosen one.”

   Ivan frowned. “Chosen by whom?”

   “By me.”

   “Why have I been chosen and for what?”

   Ruffus pointed. “The mark on your neck.”

   “You mean, this birth mark?” he said, bringing his hand up to his neck, and Ruffus nodded.

   “That is the mark I refer to…but it certainly isn’t a birth mark, Ivan.”

   “Then, what is it?”

   Ruffus looked at him seriously. “It is a cloven hoof – the mark of the Devil!”

   Ivan gawped at him.

   “Your skin has been blemished by the branding iron of Hell!” Ruffus picked up a goblet and drank some wine. “I am very old, Ivan,” he continued. “When my moment of departure arrives, you will take my place and become High Priest of the Temple of Baphomet. To become acceptable for this great honour, you must first sell your soul to the Devil!”

   “Why must I sell my soul?”

   “It will serve as proof of your faith and loyalty.”

   “How will it be done?”

   “Your pact will commence tonight. At midnight, you will be subjected to a ritual which Syrian and I shall perform.”

   Ivan nodded understandingly. “What is to happen to me after I have pledged myself to the Devil?”

   “Syrian will teach you everything you will need to know to perform your work here.”

   Ivan sighed. “Why me?”

   “Do not ask why, Ivan,” he smiled. “Accept it!”


Cloven Hoof Mark of the Devil Chapter 1




When they had finished dinner Ivan was taken to a room by a servant, where he was to remain for the rest of that day. Eventually, night arrived and the preparations for his initiation had begun.

   The great hall was slowly transformed into the Devil’s temple. All the necessary equipment for the ritual were brought in and placed in or around the satanic pentagram drawn in paint on the centre of the floor.

   A while later, Ivan was taken by a servant to another room. There, he was dressed in a full-length black robe similar to the ones Ruffus and his wife had worn at dinner, which had been specially made that same day for his initiation.

   When Ivan was ready, the servant led him out of the room, along a balcony, and down a flight of stone steps into the great hall.

   Ivan looked around. Before him stood a shrine covered over with a piece of black cloth. On top rested a pot of blood ink, a quill, and a piece of virgin parchment. Standing proudly behind the shrine in priestly robes and ceremonial regalia was Barron Ruffus and Syrian.

   The disciples, all twenty-two of them, were seated around the satanic pentagram. They held lighted candles made of human fat, rocked to and fro, and mumbled almost unheard, a chant.

   Ruffus beckoned Ivan over to the shrine and motioned him to kneel. “Welcome to the Temple of Baphomet,” he said proudly. He picked up an athame and devotedly kissed the blade. He then handed the occult implement to his wife, who placed it down beside the blood ink.

   Syrian stepped out from behind the shrine and slowly approached Ivan. Standing before him with a proud look on her face, she removed his robe, allowing it to slip down onto the floor. Ivan’s slight embarrassment amused her. She then removed her own robe and they stood before each other, naked.

   “I welcome thee, Ivan,” she whispered meaningfully and kissed him on the mouth. She then proceeded to kiss each of his nipples, causing him to shiver and come out in goose bumps! She then went down on her knees and kissed his navel. Finally, she kissed his genitals, making him gasp, and stood up straight again.

   “Now it is your turn,” she said.

   Syrian moaned and gasped in ecstasy when Ivan kissed her in the same manner and places as she had kissed him. She parted her legs so that he could taste her pleasure on his lips.

   After, Syrian urged Ivan to put his robe on and gestured him to step behind the shrine. When he had, Ruffus produced a large, hand-written book. He opened it with great respect to one black magic ritual in particular, and placed it down carefully on the shrine before the initiate.

   “This is the pact Ivan,” he said, quietly. “The Devil has been summoned and his spirit is present.”

   Ivan studied the words of the book and proceeded to recite out loud what was written in human blood on the pages before him: “Lord Satan, master of the world…I beseech thee, and ask you to be favourable to me in the calling I make on you. I beseech thee and ask you to appear in whatever shape or form you so choose. Appear before me, great demon, and grant me all the riches of which I have need. I beseech thee to leave your dwelling in whatever part of the spiritual world it may be, and urge you to enter into our world!”

   No sooner had Ivan finished speaking, when there was a mighty rumble of thunder. A hostile force became present in the hall, and it lashed out wildly at everyone and everything, sending many objects crashing about. When the sudden paranormal temperance had subsided, Ivan fixed his gaze on the satanic pentagram. To his uttermost horror, sat amidst fire from Hell, clouds of smoke, and sitting on top of a mound of rotted, rancid corpses…was the Devil!

   The Devil’s voice sounded like the roar of one hundred mighty warrior lions. “Who has summoned me?” he bellowed from the centre of the hall.

   Ivan found it hard to believe and accept what his own eyes had shown him to be true. “I – I have summoned you,” he nervously stammered. “I wish to make a pact!”

   The Devil folded his arms and looked at the young warlock coldly. “Very well. Your wish, whatever it may be, will be granted on the submittal of your pact!”

   Ivan picked up the quill, dipped the nib in human blood and wrote the pact, which read:

   “I promise, Satan, to repay you with my soul for all you shall give me. In witness where I have signed, Ivan Vaylox.”

   Ivan put down the quill. He rolled up the pact and held it up at arms length making sure it could be seen by everyone present. “Here is my pact!” he shouted and threw the parchment over the heads of the congregation into the satanic pentagram.

   The Devil picked up the pact and grinned, pleased he would soon be receiving yet another soul. There was a flash of brilliant light, followed by a mighty clap of thunder, and the beast was gone – back to Hell from whence he came!

   Ivan was now a fully initiated servant of the king of Hell. He experienced no great feeling of pride or any real sense of personal achievement. What he did feel was a force inside taking control of who he was and gradually turning him into what he was destined to become – the Devil’s minister! From that moment on, Ivan would be driven by one single desire… To conquer the Holy and to replace the cross of Christ with the symbol of the satanic pentagram!

   Ruffus stepped forward and placed his hand firmly on Ivan’s shoulder. “Well done, Ivan,” he said proudly. “Now you are one of us!”

   No sooner had the Devil vanished in the same abrupt manner in which he had originally appeared the disciples all proceeded to chant verse in Latin in honour of the beast. All twenty of them discarded their robes, joined hands and danced naked around the satanic pentagram chanting both Ivan’s and the Devil’s names.

   Ruffus and Syrian watched on proudly. Then, like the disciples, they also discarded their robes and stood before each other, naked. Ruffus lifted his wife onto the altar and gently lay her down. He climbed on top of her and together they made love.

   Myotola, Barron Ruffus’s beautiful young daughter, went across and joined Ivan.

   “Follow me,” she whispered, taking his hand.

   Myotola looked longingly into Ivan’s eyes and led him from behind the shrine, over to the congregation. As they drew near to the gathering, two disciples broke their hold and left a gap for the young couple to enter the satanic pentagram. When they had, the disciples held hands again, rendering the circle complete.

   Myotola removed Ivan’s robe for him and let it slip down onto the floor. He, in return, removed hers. For a moment that seemed to last for all eternity, they stood before each other, gazing at each other longingly. It was almost as if a magical fire had suddenly been ignited in their hearts.

   “Make love to me, Ivan,” she whispered urgently, and placed his hand on her breast.

   Ivan, mildly surprised by Myotola’s request, took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. He looked into her eyes desirably, and she, into his. Then, he proceeded to kiss her long, slender neck, causing her to sigh and dig her nails into his back.

   “Take me!” she pleaded, sexually aroused by all that was going on around them, desperate to feel his warm body pressing against hers. Myotola’s lips were flush and her nipples had grown hard. She was damp down below and both ready to satisfy and to be satisfied.

   Slipping to the floor, Myotola prepared herself for Ivan’s inevitable advance. He moved between her thighs and slipped gently inside her. She gasped out loud on feeling his full penetration and dug her nails into his back once more, drawing blood. She sighed and moaned in ecstasy when Ivan started to thrust over and over, enjoying each thrust and she squirmed beneath him when his pelvic action became more frantic, more violent. Moments later, Myotola began to lose all control of her inner-emotions, and grimaced in pleasure. Every muscle in her tender young body tensed and she cried out on reaching the climax of an orgasm.

   Ivan reached orgasm shortly after and he had enjoyed that brief moment of spontaneous pleasure as much as Myotola had. He sighed with satisfaction and lowered his head contentedly onto her shoulder.

   The disciples, greatly excited by Ivan and Myotola’s love making, let go of each others hands and split into couples. Soon after, the great hall echoed throughout with screams of passion and sighs of ecstasy as they all became possessed with lust and copulated with the opposite sex in a wild, satanic orgy!


Cloven Hoof Mark of the Devil Chapter 2





The sweet little child

Climbed into my car.

My house was close –

It wasn’t far.


Her name was Susan.

She was so sweet.

The sort of child

I love to eat.


Her dolly’s name was Ema.

The plastic, I discard!

Just thinking about her

Sweet cunt sent me hard!


I coaxed her upstairs

And took her into the bedroom.

It looked quite attractive

For a secretive tomb.


I peeled off her clothes,

She did not disapprove.

Her sweet young buttocks

Was so soft and smooth.


She became decidedly restless

When I licked her skin,

And cried for her mother

When I broke her in.


It felt so wonderful.

Her hairless pussy was so tight.

On her sweet, young flesh,

I bite & bite & bite!


When I had had my fill,

With my teeth, her throat, I tore out.

Like a crimson fountain

Her blood did spout.


I carried her down to the cellar

And lay her corpse on the floor.

Looking at her dead sent me hard again,

And so I fucked her once more!


When I was totally satisfied,

I gutted her like a fish.

It was my secret fantasy,

My lifelong wish.


I sealed her organs in plastic bags

And deposited them in the chiller.

A fresh supply of raw meat

For the cannibalistic serial killer.


I put her head into a pot of water

And boiled it for an hour or two.

Her eyes tasted so wonderful,

Her liver and heart did, too!


I buried the bits I didn’t want

In the cabbage patch out the back.

Fully sexed, fed and satisfied,

I hit the sack.


I lay there on my back

Staring up at the ceiling.

I felt no remorse for what I’d done.

No guilty feeling!


Instead, I felt the insatiable urge

To do what I’d done once more.

Killing a young child is more

Fulfilling than slaughtering a whore!


After awhile it becomes so addictive,

No feelings ever remain.

Doing what I do so well

Releases my inner pain.


Society would brand me a madman

But that’s better than being sane,

Living like an android

In the oppressed realm of the vain!


No one knows when next I’ll strike,

No one ever will.

No one truly understands me,

Or the urge I have to kill.


No one knows the recipe

To the dish called Human Stew.

I know the recipe and pretty soon…



A Primeval Child





Just one more pint to make

Sure I am good & pissed.

Then, I drag the sharp razor

Across my wrist.


A jet of blood so warm,

Yet inside, I feel so cold.

I know I am only young,

But why do I feel so old?


I only remember my victims’ faces –

I was never any good with names!

I gave my heart & love to them

And indulged in illegal sex games.


It shouldn’t be long now.

I watch my failed life flow away.

My heart feels like a shattered mirror,

And my mind…a cloud of grey.


I feel a tingle in my body,

Like a thousand maggots rifting.

As more and more blood pours from my wrist,

I feel myself drifting…





A Primeval Child





Crashing around through the bushes I go,

Every hungry for young blood to flow.

I’d like to stop but I love it oh so much.

Finding a victim, alone and afraid.

In the dark bushes the poor bitch is laid,

Screaming in pain as my knife goes up her crotch.


My heart is racing

And my hands are sweaty.

Happiness is a

Blood-soaked machete.

I am on the prowl

For young flesh tonight.

My mind is twisted.

My soul lost to Hell.

The sight of dead flesh

Puts me into a spell.

Like a dog I’ll growl

And lust in death’s sight.


And when I am finished, I chop her to bits.

I eat her intestines and play with her tits.

I like to dress myself in her skin.

I like to bathe in her sweet virgin blood.

The ecstasy ejaculates in a flood.

The devil would be proud of my sin.


My heart is racing

And my hands are sweaty.

Happiness is a

Blood-soaked machete.

I am on the prowl

For young flesh tonight.

My mind is twisted.

My soul lost to Hell.

The sight of dead flesh

Puts me into a spell.

Like a dog I’ll growl

And lust in death’s sight.


A Primeval Child





I sharpen my knife

On tears from your eyes.

I get my pleasure

From between your thighs.


To rape and to kill

Releases my pain,

Just like the knife

Cutting into your brain.


I love to kill.

Such a thrill

I get to watch you die.

I love to kill.

Such a thrill

To watch your blood run dry.


You look so sexy

All cut up & bled.

A dozen severed pieces

In a pool of crimson red.


Just looking at you

All cut up and dead,

Drives me into a frenzy

And gives me “good head!”


I love to kill.

Such a thrill

To cut your flesh apart.

I love to kill.

Such a thrill

To cook and eat your heart.


A Primeval Child





Little child

Slashed & dead.

In a pot of water

I boiled her head.


Her sweet body was

A wonderful sight.

Her tender cooked flesh

Satisfied my appetite.


Up came the floorboards

One more time,

To conceal the remains

Of my latest crime!


A Primeval Child





It was a cold and lonely night

And the moon shimmered brightly in the sky.

It had just reached midnight

When the wolves began to cry.


In a old and gloomy place

Which stood on top of a hill,

Lived a witch with a ugly face

And devil worship was her thrill.


Many nights she cast her spell

And performed her repulsive evil

In honour of the spawn from Hell,

In love of the Devil.


But the evil witch lived alone

And there were no men about, to be so true.

All she had was a shaped bone

With which to give herself a screw!


But the bone was often rejected

Because it could not give her breast a suck.

No, the bone was not respected.

She wanted a real cock for a real fuck!


So, she went into her personal room

And hunted down her spell book.

Then, she sat down on a tomb,

Opened up the pages and had a look.


For hours through the night she read

But her old cataract eyes never tired at all.

She read about the dead

And how to make them crawl.


In inspiration she cheered so much.

She had discovered what to do:

Raise a zombie using her magic touch

And get it to give her a screw!


So the following night

Her spells did fluently flow.

She started to recite

And waited for the zombie to show.


A cloud of smoke bellowed out the fire

And it transformed into an ugly zombie.

It was the witches wanted desire,

Her ticket to ecstasy.


The witch’s eyes glowed so much

As the zombie went hard and arose.

The witch sighed and submitted to its touch,

Purring when it removed her clothes.


The zombie spread-eagled her on the altar

And ran its tongue all over her skin.

When it went in for the slaughter,

The satanic lust began to sink in.


The zombie climbed onto the altar

And stuffed its decaying cock up her hole,

And the Devil’s daughter

Was drained of her soul.


The witch she twisted and turned her thighs

And like a brooding hen she clucked.

She could see the desire in the zombie’s eyes

As it satanically fucked.


And the witch cried:


“Screw me, you zombie bastard.

Screw me because I am your master.

Screw me! In “come” I want to be plastered.

Screw me, but go a little faster!


Screw me, you gruesome creep,

Screw me until I can’t take anymore.

Screw me – thrust your cock in deep

And stretch me until I am sore!”


The zombie’s rigid body supplied its worth

And fulfilled the witch’s quest for ecstasy

And from the moment she gave the foul creature its birth,

She secured her thrills for eternity!


Anarchy In Hell





In the clouded sky

Lightning flashed.

A raging green torrent

On jagged rocks, crashed.


The hysterical wind

Screamed shrill notes.

They were screams of hunger

In agonised bloats.


Along the rim

Of the mangled crag,

Lay embedded a pole

On which hung a blood-drenched flag.


The flag was ragged and torn,

Hanging by loose thread.

Depicted on its crest

Was the soul of the dead.


Up a hand-carved stairwell,

High above the waves,

Was a congregation of zombies -

The Demoniser’s slaves.


They possessed aged, gnarled bodies

And their eyes were decayed and bloodless.

Working as ever for the Demoniser;

Totally mindless.


A metal railing surrounds the ground,

Warped and extremely old.

Beyond the railing stood a citadel,

Its moon lit silhouette standing bold.


A demonic head carved in wood

Lay above the dreaded door.

An icy membrane so dark and hostile,

Lay wrapped around the citadel’s core.


The citadel was a satanic phenomenon,

Stretching so very high.

Up and up its brickwork travelled

Until it almost reached the sky.


Faded tombstones lay basking

Throughout the stagnant ground.

Cranium-less skulls lay stacked

In an untidy mound.


They were the remains of the unfortunate victims

Foolish enough to stay on the unholy isle.

Their ridiculous lives - held in contempt -

Were ended by the Devil’s fixed trial.


The mesmerising moon appeared

From behind a virgin cloud.

Out of the citadel entrance appeared

A necromancer in a black shroud.


At that precise moment, a sombre

Black shape floated across the sky.

It rapidly descended without a sound

And on the ground did lie.


Before him appeared a nebulous body;

Huge; evil, and full of paranormal strength.

Two mountainous wings loomed from its back

And they were of an unbelievable length.


Two silver horns protruded boldly

From its giant, malformed head.

Two sharp, dagger teeth protruded from a

Swollen mouth - the eyes were red.


Thick tan hairs stood

Erect on its leathery palm.

The midnight madness

Went unnaturally calm.


The Demoniser’s lower half was like

That of a mountain goat.

All it did was piercingly stare,

And insanely gloat.


The necromancer raised

High a mystical charm.

The Demoniser mentioned to him

Of a holy man who meant it harm.


It told the necromancer that the holy man

Wanted to lock it up in a desolate cellar.

It also said that the holy man had

Discovered a weakness in its power.


It said that the holy man intended to

Exorcise the dark spirit that dwelled within.

It said that it needed the necromancer to destroy

The holy man so righteous would not win.


At that very moment, all powerful words

Shattered the desolate air.

The power of the holy man

Was suddenly there.


The holy man was attempting to en-trance the evil

And capture the Demoniser’s power over fate.

In a brief moment of bewilderment

The lord of darkness started to disintegrate.


Its pallid flesh peeled off

Of its bones and fell.

The blood in its veins

Seeped out and formed a rippling well.


The Demoniser’s mighty wings

Slowly crumbled to dust.

Its nebulous body dissolved

And was sucked beneath the earth’s crust.


The necromancer knelt down

And collected the death coloured powder.

The lightning suddenly exploded

And the rain sounded louder.


A cold sweat coated

His ancient brow.

The time of reckoning

Was almost certainly now.


The necromancer ran into the citadel,

Tired and distraught.

He was completely lost within a realm

Of bewildered thought.


Thoughts of devastation

Entered into his swimming head.

Volumes of ancient rituals

He devotedly read.


Madness crept in

And blackened his desperate stare.

He refused to accept

The Demoniser was no longer there.


Like mental waves

The lightning cascaded.

From age old pockets

Drifting ghosts faded.


Above the necromancer

The old citadel pillars rumbled.

Stone by stone

The evil black palace crumbled.


The floor gave way

And the roof started to fall.

Large gaping cracks

Appeared on each and every wall.


Rain tore in

Through a hell-fire hole.

Demons and the damned took

Charge of his deranged soul.


The melancholic moon

Melted slowly into the beckoning background.

It was the end of the night

For a blood-beast hound.


A Thought From The Dead





I slowly walked into

The desolate waiting room.

A dozen pairs of marble-white eyes

Fixed their hypnotic stare on me.

I could see deep-rooted pain in those eyes,

And yet got a feeling that those eyes could not see.


I sat down on the

Only vacant chair.

I looked at the dusty clock

Above the boarded-up fireplace: “Midnight!”

I could still feel

The coldness from those vacant stares.

Outside, the storm screamed madly

Has it journeyed throughout the dark night,


Whining for mercy in its

Last strangled hope of despair.

The faces looked so cold.

I detected a slight phosphorescent glow, so pale.

I broke contact and listened.

Outside, I could hear the hale.


They just sat there.

The room was cold but no breath arose.

It was almost as if they weren’t breathing!

I noticed that there wasn’t even

A slight reflex


Of an aged or living muscle.

Outside, I heard quite clearly,

A distinct rustle.

The waiting room door


Suddenly swung open

And collided with the wall with a splintering crash!

A maniacal wind blew into the room.

A person was silhouetted in the doorway

By a lightning flash.


A haunting element

Suddenly strangled the air.

I noticed the other people in the room

Had shifted their stare.

I felt a disturbing awareness of something evil,

And it lay trapped inside the sweat on my forehead.

I felt a chill run down my spine

When I finally realised the other people in

                                  the room were dead!


I trembled at the thought

And averted my swimming

Gaze to the doorway.

The person stood there advanced into the room.

He was tall, thin and yet seemed quite strong.

He was clad in a long coat, the colour of which was grey.


A large hat hung

Limp over his head.

He raised a finger

And beckoned to the dead.

All at once, they stood.

They were rigid and skeleton thin.

They slowly stepped through the doorway

And quite clearly I heard them say, “Please forgive my sin!”


They repeated the same line over and over again,

And yet, their mouth did not move!

Their lips appeared to be sealed by time.

Out of curiosity, I followed them.

I listened, and still they asked

To be forgiven for their crime.


We walked for what seemed like miles

And eventually a tunnel appeared from within the fog.

Two large gates swung open

And just inside them stood an ugly, three-headed dog.

One by one the dead moved through the gates,

And I followed on.

The man at the front raised his hand as a sign

And Cerberus let us carry on.


Down a tunnel we all went.

My God, it was so dark!

No light shone.

Along the way my ears were filled

With screams of mercy

And cries for Zion.


One by one we stepped out

Of what seemed like an infinite tunnel.

Intense heat suddenly engulfed my entire body,

And the repugnant smell of burning

                    flesh entered my nose.

A demon approached and stood before the dead.

The demon’s face reminded me of a lion.

One by one it burned the dead on the arm

With a white-hot branding iron.


But still the dead looked the same.

One by one they were dragged away

By foul smelling demons across Hades.

As they went, the demons beat the dead

And heartlessly whipped them

Until each brain became as one with

                        the mad masquerade.


One by one they were thrown

Into a giant furnace which contained hellfire.

The murderer; the cheat,

The thief and the liar.

For a moment, there was silence in Hell

While the demons noticed me!

I looked across to the fire of horror

And one by one the demons beckoned me!


They approached and took me by the arms.

God, I struggled so much!

Escape? Oh, if only I could!

Before they burned me, I demanded to see the

               leader – if I could.

The leader, clad in a long black robe, approached.

He uttered a shrill sounding laugh and to

               my horror,

I saw my own face gloating at me from

               beneath his hood!


Anarchy In Hell





Staring into the wilderness

Were the red eyes of a pitiful soul.

A disturbed attitude of longing stress

Came deep from Hell’s hungry hole,

Infinite stress!


He lay upon grey stones

And thought of sleep.

How the cold cut into his bones.

He puffed a cigarette

And thoughts of the damned, seeped.


He thought to smile

But paused a while,

And drank hard his whisky.

He grinned like a reptile

And had the teeth of a crocodile.


He laughed at the insane

Because it was him

Who had given them their pain.

It was him who forced them into a cell,

A mortal version of Hell!


The unlocking of Hell’s gate

Is something that will not wait.

Soon, the demons will walk again,

And they will perform the ultimate pain.


He fell from the sky

Like a lightning bolt

But he didn’t die.

His feet were like those

Of a fiery colt.


He claimed to be a king

And once had the power of flight,

But in a battle across the sky,

He received an injury to his wing,

And this was how he fell.


Night slowly passed by

And the sun shone on his brow.

It was an autumn day

When he went away

Up into the mountain.


The unlocking of Hell’s gate

Is written on the scroll of fate.

Soon, the damned will crawl again.

Their quest is no longer in vain.

The evil beings without a mind,

Will try to conquer mankind.

Their thoughts are well fed

On scriptures of the dead.


Dreams can no longer wait.

They are a game played by fate.

In the ground was a giant hole

But it had been telepathically filled in

So as to prevent the release of those within.


His eyes said it all,

Whilst on the hole,

He began to claw.

Years slowly passed away

Until gone was the stone of grey.


He smiled to himself

As he thought of earthly wealth.

Soon he will have it all

And he will be king.

He shouts out loud, “I am king!”


The unlocking of Hell’s gate

Is done out of hate.

Soon, the dead will walk again

From off the spiritual plane.

The minds of the righteous will be fought

Until they have all been caught.

Six, six, six is the number on his head.

Also, two horns of dread.


From the fury of Hell’s dark pit

Emerged ugly demons in rage and a fit.

Each one of them kissed the Devil

For being so kind,

And also, for giving them a mind.


Throughout the human villages the demons did run,

Tearing down houses just for fun.

They gorged intently on a baby’s blood,

And went whoring through the night.

They were sacred in the Devil’s sight.


The demons overwhelmed women with various sins,

And they violently raped all the virgins.

They left each one, an emotional ruin.

They lusted through the night and constantly fed

On the raw flesh of the dead.


The unlocking of Hell’s gate

Has reached the chosen date.

The demons walk again

And execute mortal pain.

The minds of evil have been deployed

And the love of the good has been destroyed.

Six, six, six is the number on Satan’s head.

It has also been placed on the eyes of the dead.


The number was placed on each of the virgin’s bust,

And represents the demons perverted lust.

Elements of time are now thoughts, so cold,

And the word of truth has since been sold.


The sick laughter of the demons fun

Was all that could be heard beneath the sun.

The eyes of lust

Became eyes of fright,

As the demons saw a Heavenly light.

Before them stood a figure in purist white.

He was the guardian of the right.

He had a serious look on his face.

In his hand was a cross, the symbol of God’s love.

And his eyes were windows to the Heaven above.


The demons, they growled

And spat out cold frost,

But it was known to them that they had lost.

Satan had betrayed the demons infertile goal,

And he ran off with each and every soul.


The demons quest was now so vain,

And the love of God returned to the world again.

Heaven’s love will always remain.

And the demons were returned to the spiritual plane,

Never to bother human beings every again.


Anarchy In Hell