Evil Walks Ch. 6: Self-Destruction

Evil Walks
Chapter Six: Self-Destruction

"End of passion play, crumbling away
I'm your source of self-destruction
Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear
Leading on your death's construction

Taste me you will see
More is all you need
You're dedicated to
How I'm killing you..."
-- "Master of Puppets" by Metallica

Deanna awoke with a strangled sob. The same nightmare, the flashback to when she was five, plagued her nearly every night. The nightmares had gotten more and more vivid since she had turned seventeen the previous month. It was more than just remembering or dreaming. She was reliving it, watching her mother die again each night.

And just like in the past, Johnny did absolutely nothing to save them. Nothing! He didn't even try. It was like he'd just given up once his wife became possessed.

Well, he had. He gave up on raising his kids after that night. He still wasn't doing anything to save their souls.

Deanna sat up in bed and ran a hand through her sweat-soaked hair. She inhaled deeply and then sighed. A big part of her just wanted everything to be over with, to just end it all. What exactly did she have to live for, after all? Definitely not Johnny. Not Jared, either, because even though she was his caretaker, when her soul got dragged to Hell, so would his. Not her string of one night stands. She didn't even talk to most of them. So then what? The next issue of Hellblazer? Some deep, meaningful life.

And that was what drove her toward self-destruction. The cigarettes, the drinking, the few times trying harder drugs, sure, a lot of it was an attempt to blur or forget what happened the night her mother died, but a big part of it was to bring on the end. Hell, no, she didn't want to die, but she didn't have anything worth fighting for.

Except maybe Jared, but then again, she was the one destroying Jared's life.

Deanna was the one to bring him down to the basement that fateful night, so it was her fault that he'd been damned too. She was also the one to introduce him to alcohol and cigarettes. And she first got him to try heroin. Now he was developing a full-blown addiction. All thanks to her and her major fuck-ups. 

The sooner she was dead, the better, and yet...

She really, really, really didn't want to go to Hell. Plus the demons fucking terrified her.

And Johnny still didn't give a shit. Deanna fucking hated him for it. He had the protection of archangels, damn it! The demons couldn't even touch him! So why didn't he do anything? It wasn't her fault they were claimed for Hell; it was Johnny's fucking fault! But of course he couldn't man up enough to clean up this mess and protect his own damn children!

Calm the hell down, Deanna, she told herself with a groan. God, she needed a cigarette. Rooting through the pockets for the leather jacket draped over the foot of her bed, Deanna pulled out an almost empty pack, her lighter, and a deck of tarot cards. Not her Lovers deck that she'd painstakingly crafted as a way to pick up girls, but her actual Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot deck. After a momentary pause, she lit the pillar candle on her nightstand (and a cigarette, naturally) and used the soft light to set the mood as she shuffled the deck and dealt a three card spread.

Death. The Two of Swords. The Devil.

Deanna stared at the cards on her lap as she inhaled her sweet cigarette pain. Damn, she thought. That was certainly an apt summary of her situation. No way out. The cards never gave her an answer of how to escape, no matter how many times she'd asked. A bit of ash fell onto the middle card, and she studied the figure in the picture as she wiped away the ash. An androgynous, blindfolded brunette girl carefully balancing a pair of swords, she looked infinitely more serene than D felt. She didn't even want to look at the other two cards and definitely didn't want to think about what they meant.

Leaning back, Deanna blew out a slow puff of smoke. For a moment, the smoke seemed to turn from grey to black, and she glimpsed a pair of eyes in the apparition. A shriek left her mouth before she could help herself. The eyes were glaring right at her while the black smoke turned into the shape of a man with shadowy wings stretching from his back and a hand reaching out toward her. There were shadow claws on that incorporeal hand. Deanna screamed involuntarily as it moved toward her.

Footsteps clattered in the hallway. Her door flew open, and Jared scrambled to turn on the light switch. His eyes were wide with alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked fearfully.

Deanna found herself watching normal cigarette smoke dissipating, and another chunk of ash tumbled from the cigarette in her quivering fingers. The ash landed on the picture of the chains binding the Devil's captives on the tarot card. Her cheeks reddening, Deanna instinctively retreated behind her tough, bitchy demeanor. "What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch?" she snapped as she stamped out the cigarette in her ashtray. "You can't just bust into my room like that."

"I heard you scream," said Jared, confusion bleeding into his concerned voice. "I thought..."

"Fuck off! I didn't scream. Get out of my room!"

His eyes cold, Jared flicked the light switch back off and left. He shut the door, leaving Deanna alone in the dark.

Her chest tightened, and she glanced about wildly, waiting for the smokey apparition to reappear, but it didn't.

Those eyes...

They were different from the black eyes that haunted her dreams. These eyes were golden-yellow, and they gleamed in the candlelight like an animal's.

Had the Devil come for her at last?

Though her pulse was drumming a beat she could feel and hear in her ears, Deanna forced her expression not to reveal any fear. "I'm not afraid!" she called out, hoping that hearing the lie would convince herself. She relit the black candle that had extinguished itself -- or had the thing put it out?

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Deanna drifted back off to sleep, but as her kohl-smeared eyelids slid closed, she could feel yellow eyes watching her in the dark.

Evil Walks: Prologue: Sad But True

Evil Walks
Prologue: Sad But True

"I'm your dream, make you real
I'm your eyes when you must steal
I'm your pain when you can't feel
Sad but true
I'm your truth, telling lies
I'm your reason, alibis
I'm inside, open your eyes
I'm you"
-- "Sad But True" by Metallica

April 2008

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Ugh, that makes me sound like an angst-ridden, whiny teenager. I don't mean in an emo "my life is a dark pit and nobody understands me" bullshit kind of way. I just mean that death is inevitable, and someday very soon I'm going to die. 

When I was a little kid, a demon made my brother and me a promise. One day before we're both adults the Devil will come for our souls. This isn't some fucking metaphor; it's a basic fact. My kid brother and I are damned, and that demon's gonna kill us. End of fucking story. 

Damn, I sound like a cowardly little bitch when I say it like that. There's just no escape when Satan's claimed your fucking soul, so what the hell am I to do? I'm gonna live my life while I can, and then bam! Down in flames. 

OK, yeah, I admit it. It's fucking depressing. "Sad but true," to quote Metallica. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is that demon laughing at me with those damn black eyes... It's all I can think about, when I'm sober, I mean, which is a bloody good reason not to be sober most of the fucking time. 

I don't want to die. I don't want to go to Hell. I don't want my brother to burn either. I wish I could fucking fight this. At least then I'd die with some dignity. 

Sometimes when Johnny gets drunk he says that the angels are gonna save us, but honestly, I don't believe the angels give a shit. And if there really is a God in Heaven, I'm not convinced He cares either. Where the hell have the angels been all the times the demon's come and taunted me? Where were the angels the time I almost OD'd? Where the fuck were the angels when Mom died? Not fucking saving us, that's for sure!

I'm seventeen now. Almost an adult. Time's running out. 

So yeah, I've been thinking a lot about death lately. I'm gonna die, and that's just... That's it. That all, folks. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. It's almost enough to just make me give up. Almost. I've still got a couple of things left to hold on to. 

Want to help me fuck the pain away? 

Song of the Week: Call of Ktulu

So my best friend's fiance apparently did not believe me when I told him that Call of Ktulu (from Metallica's Ride The Lightning album) is the most beautiful heavy-metal song of the mid-eighties. Well, it is. Just because I was drunk when I told him so does not mean that I was not sincere. Call of Ktulu is fucking beautiful. Just listen to it. It is an amazing and powerful song and definitely a track I  put on repeat a lot.



Seriously, I love that song. I love a bunch of Metallica songs, but Call of Ktulu is definitely in my top ten.

What song is in your head this week?

XOXO
Gossip Ghoul