The Devil’s Minions

During the night on Monday, something strange happened.

Sutton woke up covered in black crow feathers. That could only mean the Devil’s Minions came to visit, but for what? There was no note, or other means of communication.

Or, that’s what we thought.

When we started looking at the camera footage of that night, we saw the feathers fall…

It’s a little hard to see with the feathers being black and the room being dark, but the real shocker happened when we went back even further that night.

It’s a bit creepy to watch her do all this without any recollection of it happening. We weren’t sure what it was until we checked her phone, and found the recordings.

What follows is a transcript of what the recordings say. (If you want to hear the actual recordings, listen to our podcast in your favorite podcast app, or at the website.

The Devil’s Dance

He stood two legged, as a man would, in the center of it all. His eyes contracted and receded as they soaked in the dry crumbly mortar. Ancient bricks shifted with no concern to the splitting and cracking they created. Ants marching as soldiers had more quiet footfalls compared to the decaying walls. His ears twitched as the weeds gasped for air propelling themselves up through the soil. The pollution of noise never stopped. He feared the stirring of the living and the inanimate would surpass his reign.

He taught himself the dance. Swaying to the howl, taking two steps back, and then side stepping the living. Before he learned to alleviate the distractions, madness threatened to overtake him.

The world could not survive an insane Devil.

With some effort he blocked out the hustle of humans parading around on the other side of the four story Roman Colosseum. They traveled like cattle, grazing here, roaming there, creating racket of unbelievable proportions and the fumes coming from them was a whole other matter.

God created man in his image, though from his view the Devil was unsure how much the creator still adored his playthings.

In front of him stood the elite boxes placed both on the north and south ends of the structure. He felt a sort of kinship with those Emperor’s and Vestal Virgins who at one time occupied such places of power. The dust, which settled so readily on the seats, wiped off easy enough with a linen handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket, and only then did he settle in for his meeting.

The moon glowed down on the arena making a spotlight and he inhaled the ancient fragrances of fires along with the stench of animals, moldy straw and feces. The Devil squinted, bringing life to the empty space by conjuring up a scene of citizens in the stands, all greedy with lust radiating from every part of their bodies.

He blamed his affection to this setting on the necromancers who centuries ago practiced their magic here. Now the structure stood as a tourist trap and his memories distressed him to the point of raw anger.

One, two, three, one, two, three, he imagined his feet shuffling through the dance steps. The tide of anger drifting back out to sea with each movement.

He heard them before they showed themselves. With a raised hand and one long bent finger he summoned them forward. Before the meeting could take place, he bowed to his imaginary partner in his mind, thus ending the dance and looked down to his newest creations. His minions. Small and as agile as monkeys, they held some human features with their gnome-like faces. He created them for hunting. Their powers of deduction and their determination made them the essential hunter for the kind of prey he sent them after.

The Devil learned long ago humans could be seductive in their own ways, and one should never send something which may fall victim to them. So the minions had no hearts and eyes which could not see. The hunters did possess a couple of weapons; spiked teeth packed their mouths and thick, curved, black nails hung from their toes waiting to rip the skin off an enemy. The little creatures communicate telepathically and could do this with demon or human alike.

Century after century Satan made and remade his perfect hunters. And every time he came up with a new breed he laughed at how God never made improvements upon humans. Satan knew, for his own existence, the importance of moving forward and the need to evolve his homemade species. He learned his lesson well after being kicked out of the Kingdom of God and now used his hate to propel him to his destiny.

God’s punishment of Satan had kept him as a glorified warden of demonic souls. Soon after his banishment he saw for himself how evil humans could be; not only to each other but to defenseless animals as well. Torture, beatings, kidnapping, assaults were all normal to the human race, whereas he had never been so evil, he was now guilty by association.

Satan caught the trash God threw down and used boundless energy to extract power from the stench of rotten souls. This one single goal thrust him forward, for one day, the heaps of garbage would help him win the war against the Almighty.

His baritone voice bounced off the stones and slammed into the minions standing before their maker. The instructions precise; they must find Surath and bring him back home. The demon had had his fun by skipping away with a soul he should have deposited with Satan. This game of hide-n-seek had gone on long enough. Once the minions brought Surath back, the boys soul would be squeezed out from his hold, and the devil would punish him for an eternity.

The minions bowed deep and before any of them lifted upright again they vanished to start their quest.

Within a blink of an eye the minions found themselves where their master had sent them to start their journey. Despair hung in the air with a rich odor of metallic blood mixed with human tears. Like any good hunter they started where the prey last showed himself. Surath had grabbed the soul of Christian in this cell. The boy had been his mother’s captive, and with his suicide, caused not only his own death, but his mother’s as well.

They did not need eyesight to see the stale pools of blood left behind. The home stood empty, for no human wanted to go near the dwelling much less clean up after such a grisly scene. The house would remain barren for years while stories of death and child abuse would grow into tales larger than life. Every town had a haunted house and for this little town in Idaho, they could now claim theirs.

The huntsmen glided into corners, sniffing and moving the air currents around, finding traces of the demon. Little time had passed since he had gone rogue. The minions had not been created to care why the demon had taken off with the soul. They were of one mind, to locate and drag him back to their maker.

The final day, when the small cell sat cramped with humans, gave the minions many ways to track their prey. One of the most strong scents drifted from the girl whom the boy had loved. The minions trudged through the bent air particles of heartache looking for more clues.

As one, they inhaled, each picking out a small piece of emotion which they used to track their prey. The unique scent left drifting around the scene would stew for years but the minions sifted and extracted the most important tidbits.

All four stood still, concentrating on Ariel, causing a vibration to roll off them and spill through the room. The cot, desk, and chair all jumped up and down dancing around as the minions formed dust particles into shapes, replaying the fateful night.

By now each had Ariel’s unique aroma covering them. They saw in their mind’s eye Surath. He clutched the boy’s soul and watched as Ariel cried over her lost love. The demon, euphoric on the emotions falling off the girl, realized he could not live without this new feeling of power.

The minions immersed themselves in the exotic sensations which Surath had felt when he saw the pain he inflicted on Ariel and Christian. The demon’s plan had come quick to his mind. Once he saw how he could play puppet master with the tortured soul and the human he knew he could not give it up. He vanished. Christian’s soul now belonged to him.