The Demon Trap
Part 2
The first thing Kevin Weissner noticed when he entered the room was a statue of some hideous wolf-like creature. It was big — really big — with two massive heads. A very strange statue, he thought. Very strange. As he looked around the room, he noticed Persian carpets covering the floors. The furniture was Victorian, original Victorian. Victorian era wallpaper covered the walls, but unlike wallpaper elsewhere in the house, this wallpaper appeared new. The smell of decay seemed a little stronger.
Seconds after the stepped into the room, the door slammed behind him. The sound was almost deafening, like the heavy iron door of a dungeon closing. He turned, stepped back to the door, and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. Fear began to well up in Weissner. His prybar was in the hall. Breaking down the door was impossible. He was a small man and a weak man. What little muscle he had developed playing as a child atrophied as he gave up physical activity in high school. He turned to see if there was another way out of the room, his heart racing.
There were no windows or doors in the room and nothing that could be used to batter down the door, but Weissner did see something, or rather someone, that gave him hope.
A man of average build sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room watching him with piercing black eyes. His hair was pure white. He wore a starched shirt with a high collar, held tight by an ancient black puff tie. Over his shirt, he wore a back vest, and over the vest, he wore a black frock coat. His clothing was from days long past. His pants, at least, looked somewhat normal, although they too were black. A gold watch chain hung from one of the small pockets on his vest. He seemed to be fifty or maybe sixty years old, but he could have been older or younger. His pale face betrayed no emotion, and Weissner wondered for a moment, if this man might also be a statue.
Weissner began to address the older man. He almost used the term “Sir” but then realized who he was. He was Kevin Weissner, one of the richest men in the country and becoming richer all the time. He did not call anyone “Sir”.
“You,” Weissner began, “who are you, and what am I doing here?”
The older man just stared at him, as if he were oblivious to Kevin’s presence. Was it possible he was dead?
After a few moments passed, Kevin addressed the stranger again, this time in a louder voice. There was not an immediate response.
Finally, the older man spoke. “Why you are here? You will have to ask yourself. It was you who decided to come here, was it not? As far as I know, no one forced you. Did anyone force you to come here?” the older man asked.
Weissner ignored the question. “Let me out of here!” he demanded.
A mirthless smile crept across the older man’s alabaster face. “You want to leave so soon? I thought you had to see what was in the room.”
Weissner found he older man impudent. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you obviously don’t know who I am,” he began, “Now I demand you open the door?”
“Why don’t you open it yourself?” the older man asked.
The smell in the room was becoming stronger, making him want to vomit. It was a putrid smell, one of the worst smells he had ever experienced.
It was at that point that the statue of the two-headed wolf began to move. It raised up from its haunches and stood close to four feet tall at the shoulder. The two heads on the creature moved independently. One head sniffed the air with its hideous snout. The other head turned directly toward him and snarled, curling its lips, and showing long fangs. Saliva dripping from its teeth. Then the other head then turned toward him, and both heads began growling at him; low, menacing growls.
Weissner tried suppressing the panic he was feeling, but it was a losing battle. Suddenly, he turned and ran at the door mustering as much speed as he could in the short distance he had. At the last moment, he lowered his shoulder and slammed into the door with all of the force his weight and momentum could muster.
He hit the door hard, but there the door didn’t budge. It was as if someone had struck it with a feather duster. Kevin’s shoulder did not fare as well, however. He crumpled to the floor, pain radiating out from his shoulder. He could not move his arm.
“Entertaining,” the old man said. He remained immobile in his chair.
From his spot on the floor, Weissner again demanded the old man open the door.
“Demand?” the older man repeated.
The wolf-like creature began moving toward Weissner. It was far larger and wider than an ordinary wolf. It had layers of muscle under its thick, matted, black fur. Its red eyes fixed on Kevin as it moved slowly toward him. There was nothing beautiful or admiral about the creature; there was only fear and dread.
Weissner’s only way out was through the man who continued sitting in the chair. He needed to try a different tactic.
“Look,” he began, “I believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry if I offended you, but I need to leave. I’ll pay you whatever you want. Just please stop your dog and open the door.” It was the first-time words like “I’m sorry” or “please” had crossed Weissner’s lips in years, but he was becoming desperate.
The older man continued sitting in his chair, the mirthless smile still carved into his alabaster face.
“You have nothing I need. Besides, the ‘dog’ as you call it, is not mine,” the older man said.
“I can make you richer than you can imagine,” the younger man replied.
“You have nothing I need,” the older man repeated.
With that, the older man stood and walked to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, and Kevin watched as he slowly turned it.
“Thank you,” Weissner said. It was another phrase he was unaccustomed to saying.
“Oh, there is no need for that,” the older man responded. “The room will only let one of us leave, and it’s my time. I’ve waited for this moment for nearly a century. You are staying.”
“I don’t understand,” Kevin responded.
“I suppose you don’t. This room was constructed to hold a demon. You have now freed me, but you will die here.”
With that, the older man stepped through the door slamming it shut behind him.
Kevin stood and grabbed the doorknob with his good hand, but it was once again locked. He struggled with the door, but it was no use. As he pushed and pulled and twisted the doorknob with all of the force he could muster, the light began to dim, and heard the low growls of the hellhound as it moved ever closer. He screamed and then screamed again, but no one heard. No one came.
He waited for the creature to attack and braced himself, his eyes closed, awaiting his end. In his mind’s eye, he could see its long fangs tear through his flesh and feel its powerful jaws crushing his bones. He was powerless. All he could do was wait for the end to come. He began to cry.
It was pitch black now. The putrid smell of the room had become intense, mingling now with the smell of the excrement which had soiled his pants. There was no food, no water, but worse was the utter darkness and complete loneliness. Worst of all was the fear.
Time lost its meaning. He did not know when night ended, or day began. To him it was all utter darkness. In that darkness, he would hear only the occasional low growl of his companion.
In a moment of hope, he heard people in the hall outside as they walked by, mere feet away. As he stood to pound on the door and alert his would-be rescuers, he heard the low growls of the beast move closer to him. He remained motionless. He had no other choice. The voices move away until he had difficulty hearing them. And then the sound faded away to nothing. No one noticed the prybar lying on the floor outside.
As time passed, Kevin began to grow accustomed to his surroundings, and he even thought that as one of the most brilliant men of his generation, he might be able to find a way out of this captivity. The creature would walk up to him occasionally and sniff him with one of both of its heads. It would snarl but never bite. Even Kevin’s fear of the creature began to subside as he turned his attention to escaping.
At first, the stench of the creature’s breath and its unworldly growls caused him to recoil whenever it came close. But he realized that if he were going to escape, he would first have to befriend this creature. He, therefore, over the next couple of days, forced down the fear that naturally arose whenever the creature drew close. Then, when he thought that enough time had passed to allow the creature to become accustomed to him, Weissner reached out and slowly laid a hand on one of the creature’s broad heads.
The animal’s response was instantaneous. He felt the creature’s head instantly pull away as the other head sank its fangs into the soft tissue of his stomach. It an instant, his intestines were torn from him and thrown across the room, viscera flying everywhere. The beast had bitten into his liver and his kidneys, and they too were destroyed in an instance. The pain was intense.
As Kevin tried to make sense of what was happening, the beast’s other head seized his entire face in his mouth and began slowly crushing the bones in his skull. Sharp pain shot through his brain, as he asked himself why and how this had happened.
His skull collapsed like a cardboard box run over by a car. His ribs popped like twigs as the creature tore out this heart and threw it across the room. The Persian carpet and rich Victoria wallpaper he had once admired was now blood red.
No one would ever know what happened to Kevin Weissner, and his disappearance became one of the region’s great mysteries. What of the room’s original occupant, the one who escaped? Well, that’s another story, but Apollyon, the name of the creature who escaped, had much to accomplish in the world.
