A room with four brick walls, and a single metal door to enter or exit. Four cameras situated on all the corners of the room focused on a single point. The room was dark, the only source of light coming from a ceiling fan. Light was swallowed up by darkness, unable to penetrate certain parts of the room. So thick was the darkness it was as if it had taken a solid form. A tense atmosphere clogged the room. Not only did it make the air heavy, it also gave the darkness weight. Permeating within the heavy air was a stench. It was a combination of several very foul smells. This environment was not a pleasant one, and had to be close to unbearable. Yet it was occupied.
Under the ceiling fan, where much of the light was located, sat a table. The long four-legged table was covered with stuff. Scattered across it was a badge, several folders, a few photographs stashed under papers, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, and a handgun. The table’s width put a fair amount of space between the chairs on each side. One side completely covered by darkness. A silhouette, barely visible as it merged with the darkness and deep breathes were the only proof someone was there. On the opposite side where more light was able to shine sat a man. Much of him wrapped up by the darkness, only his chest, arms, and shoulders could be seen. His shoulders slouched, as if burdened by an unseen force. His face partially hidden, but a mouth covered by a scraggily, un-kept, and graying beard managed to elude the darkness. A cloud of smoke travelled over the table. The man reached out, tapping a cigarette lightly onto the ashtray. With his other hand he opened a folder. Searching through a small stack of papers inside, he then began to spread out a series of pictures.
"The destruction left behind. This is only a tiny portion of the carnage," the man said. His tone grave, as he pushed a photograph toward the center of the table. A disturbing scene had been captured in the color photo, details brought out by high definition. Bodies completely ripped apart. There were so many different bodies it was hard to tell exactly where one began and the other ended. Heads, legs, arms, hands, intestines, hearts, eyes, and other body parts, organs lumped on top of each other by the dozens. The piles resembled a human garbage compost. "Misery, despair, suffering, chaos, all the many, many lives taken. Something of this nature hasn’t been seen for almost six years." More photographs were tossed to the center of the table. Each picture revealing a scene far more gruesome than the one before. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, the man emptied the ash of his cigarette. The smoke came with a deep sigh, an attempt to maintain composure as he trudged through these brutal scenes. He opened another folder, and pulled a photo from it. Raising the photo up, his lips pursed in disgust. After a few seconds, he sat the photo back down on the table. He filled his nose with air, taking a very deep and hearty breathe. His exhale was long, as if he was releasing pent up stress. Resting his hand on the table, he rhythmically tapped his fingers. Stopping right before he started to talk.
"New York. What a mess. I’ve seen a lot in my time. Things that would have scarred and haunted most people for years. Yet it had been about five years since I had a nightmare, I’d probably become numb to it all. But what I saw in that warehouse shook me. Wasn’t able to sleep, and even when I did sleep the images bombarded my mind. It was bad enough, to almost cause me to relapse. Sixty whole bodies were found and identified, mutilated in some of the most extreme ways. Ways that didn’t seem possible. Then, the back room. Two of my guys, ten year vets, true tough guys, one had been in the army, couldn’t stomach what they saw in that room. Not even two steps in they vomited. A few people fainted, we had a rookie pass out and he hasn’t been the same since. Our forensic specialists are still having trouble figuring exactly how many people you killed in that room. Walls splattered with what we can assume are human remains. It’s hard to tell because they’re having to inspect a mural of blood, bones, organs and who knows what else. Did you kill your victims, carve them up and then smear their remains against the walls? Or, maybe somehow you were able to smash their bodies into the wall with enough force to do this?" Rummaging through the many photographs sitting on the table, it didn’t take long to find what he wanted. First he studied it intensely, his lips curled like he would throw up, again his mouth showed his disgust. He sucked deep from his cigarette, shaking his head, squeezing the smoke out from his mouth and nose. Slowly he turned the picture around. A grizzly scene displayed. The walls in a room covered in lumpy red stains. A pair of ribs hung on the wall, glued there by a clot of blood. Plastered on the wall like a hunter’s trophy were several human faces. Crimson blood bloomed over them, resembling their brains exploding. Though he couldn’t have been holding the picture up for long, the man’s hand started to tremble. He put it down like it was a heavy dumbbell.
"Ten faces, ten of them alone in this one section. Pushed on top of each other. Appears you may have killed a few by decapitating them, then pulverizing that head with another one. A few of the faces had a face squashed underneath it. They’ll be in that warehouse for a few weeks trying to piece together how many bodies are in there. To go unnoticed and be able to do all this, you’re something, something indeed." The man took a moment to check the watch on his right arm with his left he rubbed his goatee. The big hand was seconds away from hitting ten. Most of the time spent in the room he had done the talking. He took a minute to listen, but nothing came from the darkness. Slightly horsed breathing was all there was coming through.
"I have a few theories on this whole thing. I’m positive a lot of the victims were homeless. Who knows exactly how many there are, it’s almost impossible to keep track of all of them. Promises of food, shelter, liquor or drugs may have enticed several to follow you. You probably ate them. With the other types of killings you’ve performed it makes sense. Did you eat them while they were alive? Tie other victims down to watch the fate awaiting them? Pretty horrible form of torture."
"Detective LeRoi, do you believe in God?" The question was sudden. Low and cold was the voice that had come out of the darkness. No immediate answer, just silence.
"What a strange question. Hm. Do I believe in God? There have been a few times when I believed and others when my faith faltered. All the terrible things I’ve witnessed often made me question, made me doubt. Asking myself and the greater powers why things happened the way they did. What would make you ask? You probably worship the devil or some other evil force." The man had placed an unlit cigarette between his lips, grinding his finished one into the ashtray. Not lighting the cigarette his fingers once again rapped the table as he waited for a response. Only a second of silence in the room, then it was filled with loud laughter. Just like the voice that spoke the laughter was cold, maniacal and sinister. A laugh of sheer insanity. The man cringed at the sound. From a laugh it transition into almost being a howl.
"The devil, worship him," the voice said, the laughter starting to calm. "Detective LeRoi I know several who refer or have referred to themselves as the devil. Some haven’t done even half of what I have, some with far less power than me. No way could I worship something that may not even be greater than myself detective." The man leaned forwarded much of his face still hidden, but he was eagerly and intently listening to the voice. "Now God, that is different, a lot different. Won’t say I worship but I do believe there is one. Would you like to know where my belief stems from detective LeRoi?" A deep sigh then the man leaned completely forward into the light. Detective LeRoi was a muscular but out of shape middle aged man who been beaten down by tough living. His skin weathered and wrinkled. Heavy dark bags sat under his eyes, making him look not just old but tired. Grey stubble speckled his face. He rested his arms on the table close to the gun. Blue eyes stared into the darkness, he hadn’t said anything in response to the question asked. Again the crazed laughing started up.
"It's pretty simple detective," the voice colder than before. "Adam and Eve were made in God's image, until they ate forbidden fruit and came to know of good and evil. Detective I believe that we were made in their image. A true image of humanity." From the darkness came two beastly hands. Though Detective LeRoi kept his eyes on the hands, he wasn’t shocked or surprised. The skin was gray scale, appearing more like steel or metallic armor. Several small spikes protruded from the knuckles, even smaller spikes lined each of the fingers on the hands. The hands were about three times bigger than a normal human's. At the wrist each hand was entrapped by a set of unique connected shackles. The shackles were made of a deep mahogany colored wood. An assortment of jewels and stones covered the shackles, with foreign symbols engraved into the wood. With the hands now resting on the table, Detective LeRoi’s hand inched closer to the gun.
"We are what you have the potential to become. Mirror images of the dark side of human nature. A physical manifestation of human sins. Created from your grimmest intents and your evil actions." Detective LeRoi listened, his eyes no longer focusing on the hands. They were now fixed on the darkness. His gaze searched for what he could not see, but he knew and felt was there. Something that concerned him.
"First time I’ve heard that. Always heard you guys existed, have always existed from the very beginning," Detective LeRoi said.
"Could be true," the voice responded.
"You speak as though God created you as more punishment for humanity. But you represent evil and darkness, wouldn’t that make you an enemy of God?"
"Human evil and darkness. We do not represent it, we are creations of it."
"So every time a human kills, steals or whatever one of you is born?"
"Not quite, if that was the case our numbers would be greater than humans. It takes a lot to create one of us. Or at least when it comes to a creature like myself. Why do you think humans throughout history have sacrificed other humans? They fear us but also desire the power that we have. What gives birth to us is also what strengthens us. The death, destruction, and chaos I was able to cause, was because of the death, destruction and chaos humans caused."
"Again, it’s strange to hear." Detective LeRoi’s eyes widened after they happened upon a photo. His expression turned grim, what he had seen did not sit well with him. Keeping one hand near the gun he reached down, grabbed a photo. In a swift motion he tossed the photo across the table. The photo was snatched out of the air, and clutched by two large fingers. It was kept in the light. "I know you remember that. Of everything you’ve done, what happened there is probably the worst. A lot of people were surprised you were able to do it. Many of us were under the assumption Churches weren’t a place your kind could easily enter. Sacred grounds should be unreachable to you. Stepping into a church for only a second should be able to destroy you. Heard several stories and reports of your kind exploding on the steps of churches."
"Maybe a lower class. Those of us with power can come and go within the walls of a church as we please. There are in fact places that hold sacred powers over us, places we cannot trespass upon. But it’s rare a church is such a place."
"How is that possible? Churches are supposed to be Houses of God. Places with light and goodness." The cold maniacal laughter filled the room. A shiver travelled from Detective LeRoi’s head, through his spine. Boisterous cackling bounced off the walls bombarding LeRoi’s ears.
"Houses of God? Some of them can be. Others are merely houses of men. I’ll tell you exactly why I was able to wreak complete havoc in that church. This may not be something you were privy to detective, or maybe it hadn’t reached you yet. This wasn’t the first time, there have been many others. There will be more to come as well." A pause. Detective LeRoi’s hand now rested on the handle of the gun. Fingers inching towards the trigger. Only a little poised, with tremble, he would have been ready to pick up the gun at any moment. As much as he tried to steady himself, he couldn’t focus on the darkness. "Power. Inside of churches, so much power is at my disposal. Remember when I told you what gave birth to us, is what gives us strength. Whenever I set foot into a church, the feeling I get is like no other. A rush of bloodlust. My senses heighten, the sweet smell of blood that is about to be spilled. Being home for us, nothing can compare to it."
"Wait, being home? You’re talking about a Church." His immediate skepticism caused LeRoi to ease up on the gun. However his hand remained close to its handle.
"I’ve told you, we’re at our strongest when we’re at the place or places like where we were born. Don’t forget human thoughts, intentions, and actions shape our form. Churches can be strange places. So many different feelings and beliefs are found. Beliefs and feelings that would be considered wrong by humans outside of the church. Self appointed Prophet claiming to deliver the words of God, while only bringing their own false words. The corruption of minds through teachings of greedy men, rather than the lessons of God. Prayers for the destructions of others. Harboring feelings of hatred. One of the easiest places to hide hatred is inside the walls of a church. People within the church either fear or glorify the power of their pastor. These pastors, preachers or bishops turn into the false idols they are supposed to keep people away from. Humans willing to do anything to get in the good graces of their pastor and the pastor accepting what they’re being offered. All this swirls and comes together after being contained in one area for so long. Energy builds up, no one notices the darkness that gathers and hovers around. Humans turn a blind eye to the negative energy they’re constantly releasing in Churches. It’s like kudzu grass, only when it has outgrown you do you realize it’s there. Luckily I was born in a church filled with hatred, violent thoughts, murderous intent, and greed for quite some time. It only took fifty years for this physical form of mine to come into existence. Creatures weaker than me may take up to one hundred years just to gain the ability to maintain a physical shape. But when an abundance of bad energy clumps together in a church, it’s power doubles or triples. Becoming much greater than it would have been elsewhere. Even a small amount of hatred or greed can unconsciously seep out of human and start to fill a church. That small amount of energy can amplify my power. Feeding off of it is an exhilarating experience."
"So you go to churches to feed on negative energy and kill?" LeRoi asked when there was a pause. No immediate answer came, which made Detective LeRoi nervous, as he sat staring into the dark. The mere seconds he waited for a response seemed to last for hours.
"A reminder."
"What?" Detective LeRoi had not been expecting the answer he got.
"Feeding on negative energy, then killing humans to build more negative energy is part of it. It also serves as a reminder to what humans could be." Detective LeRoi’s face twisted into a confused yet intrigued expression. "No," the voice said slightly laughing. "You’re monsters. More dangerous than something like me. Creatures who have no problem destroying the most sacred aspects of life. Being capable of committing the most heinous acts in places of good. As much havoc I have caused, I will never be your greatest threat. You are your own. This is beneficial to me. A twenty second human interaction can give me all the energy I need to kill more than twenty of you. Monsters that harm and destroy their own kind, help create other monsters, and give those monsters great power. Amazingly frightening, once you think about it. Huh, detective LeRoi?" The sinister tone of the voice made Detective LeRoi’s skin crawl and his heart beat faster. The situation had gotten much tenser in a matter of moments. Having remained relatively calm, there was something in the tone of the voices last statement/question. Even in simple words there had been severe and intense murderous intent. The cigarette he had never lit fell out of his mouth. Intuition and a bad feeling made Detective LeRoi rise to his feet, snatching the gun off the table. Aiming the gun, he had become involved in a standoff with the darkness ahead of him. Hard as he tried he could not keep the gun steady. Large beads of sweat started to form at the top of his hand. Nothing but dark. Subtle creaks, squeaks, breaths and other small noises didn’t help give him a single idea of where he would shoot.
"Don’t do anything or make any sudden moves," Detective LeRoi said, his voice cracking.
"How much of what I’ve told you have been listening to and thought about enough to understand." Hearing each word Detective LeRoi tried to follow the voice so he could have somewhere to fire if he needed. "Obviously, no. Churches do give me a great deal of power but the same negative energy exists everywhere. I have been brought to the perfect place, almost as good as a church. Feelings that cannot be contained and are travelling in strong surges. Try as they might they aren’t suppressing them. Cops who want to kill the criminals they have captured and criminals who want to kill their captors. Not many but it’s enough. And then detective LeRoi, there is you." Detective LeRoi flinched, pointing his gun at a single spot of darkness. Still extremely uncertain his eyes searched through what he could not see.
"Shut up. Don’t even start," he shouted angrily. Now he was visibly shaking, and could not calm his nerves.
"Afraid I am trying to get in your head?"
"Shut up. You’re not," Detective LeRoi stated firmly.
"Exactly because there is no need." The sound of a metal chair scratching the floor startled Detective LeRoi. "I could try to get into your head by saying I let you capture me or I wanted to come. None of that is true. I was overpowered. Took a lot for them to bring me down, alive, but they were able to. But thankfully I was brought here and I’m glad you are the one sitting across from me."
"Shut up. Shut up. Sit down, shut up. Sit….." Detective LeRoi waved his gun up and down.
"You see detective LeRoi." There was a hint of anger in the voice this time, it sounded commanding and ominous. Detective LeRoi was shaking so violently he could barely hold his gun. Sweat drenched his forehead and slowly buttered his palms, making his grip dangerously loose. "Detective LeRoi there is no need for me to get inside your heard. There never was. You had already been betrayed. It was your own human nature that betrayed you. Fear and survival instincts that have been in place for thousands of years. Instincts only few can control, unfortunately detective LeRoi consider yourself not to be one of them. Doomed as soon you were put in this room with me."
"Now you’re going to tell me you could’ve killed me at any time, huh," Detective LeRoi said. He tried to sound amused, but it was a poor attempt to disguise his trepidation and growing concern. Each passing moment doubled the weight of the gun in his hand. He thought he could make out shapes in the darkness, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t fire recklessly.
"The pictures before you are proof of what I am capable of. I enjoy a good conversation, but it has run its course." There was a loud snap and cracking noise. Detective LeRoi believed he had been struck or his neck had been broken. Realizing he was unharmed and semi ok, he tried to muster up and regain the little composure he had. Speaking again the voice was low, almost a whisper. "Useless instruments, with useless words and charms."
"You…you….yu…realize..we are on camera and there are about twenty five armed, armed officers on this floor alone," Detective LeRoi said. Almost every word was stuttered and he could barely get them off his tongue. The table before him was thrown to the side. An echo banged through the room, several items crashed to the floor. The sound of something moving towards him, made Detective LeRoi take a cautious step back.
"True. I am outnumbered in this situation. But why has no one stepped in yet? You’ve been in danger ever since you picked the gun up. Shouldn’t they have stormed the room to back you up, once I broke free of my shackles. Those cameras still watching us?" Skeptically Detective LeRoi turned his head around. Nothing. Where there had once been a door and a wall was pitch-blackness. He searched for the cameras that had been in the corners of the room. Nothing. He was surrounded. Confined. Trapped in the darkness and his despair. "As your desire to kill me grew, so did my strength and the darkness around you." The voice much closer to Detective LeRoi, could’ve been a whisper in his ear. Twisting back around there was nothing in front of him. The light coming from the ceiling fan was being engulfed, barely any remained. No longer thinking clearly, he fired one shot wildly. He heard it blast into a wall. Sounds of a footstep followed. Another wild shot was fired. Then again. Two more. This time he didn’t even hear the bullet connect with anything. It was as if the bullets had been sucked into the darkness. Detective LeRoi could hardly breathe, each one a labored pant. His heart racing, his lungs trying to catch air as panic and madness set in. He felt weak and limp. There was a presence all around, an attack could come from anywhere, at any time. No "Fight or Flight" adrenaline kicked in to give super human strength, vision, or speed. Only fear.
The hand closed around his neck before he could think to react. Lifting him easily off the ground. The massive hand around his neck squeezed with enough force to make him lose feeling in most of his lower body. The gun smacking against the floor was his only indication he had dropped it. Veins rippled and beat in his forehead and his eyes bulged from lack of oxygen. These were slowly becoming his last moments. No images of his rough childhood, the hard work he did as a teenager and young adult, failed relationships and marriages, time he should’ve spent with his children, or the people he had saved flashed before his eyes. Instead Detective LeRoi thought of what had been said to him. About the close relationship between humans and demons. About the demon he could’ve been or the ones he may have created. His face deformed from a mixture of sorrow, fear, and being choked.
"Finally." The voice strangely reassuring. Detective LeRoi was hoisted a little higher, and then with a tug he was pulled into the darkness, disappearing
