The night demons
I sleep on a barren field, full of monsters that poke my back with blunt knives every day. My back cracks have now become louder and finally, I have learnt to concede defeat to comfort. There are things in life that you just can’t change. When you live with it long enough, it somehow feels like an innate part of you. I can’t just bid goodbye to this field where wars were won and lost. Deep below it, tears have seeped. On the surface, lays the wounded. It is tough masking the scars of a battle, when the dry flakes somehow become your outer shell, your shield. The intricacies of your memory of combat are erased when you are put to sleep. Not when you have surpassed that level of normalcy though. I, having survived the dark nights, get to recite the tales of the myth itself, the night demons.
Legends hint, the night demons wake up once a year.
When the sun is too scared to come out
And darkness takes over
On the windiest of nights
I shall take the long route
I shall visit you
Some people say, they rise through the futons, and entangle you with their protruding vines. Others tell you, they lead you to a dimension unknown. The truth was still a mystery and I was about to unveil it. I just didn’t know that yet.
It was the coldest night of December. Clinched by the warmth of blankets, pulled through strong forces of the sheets, I slumped on my bed, feeling serene (and clueless about the series of unfortunate events that were about to follow).
You see, I couldn’t care any less about the stupid prophecies and the “foreseen future” of half the humans disappearing into thin air. I mean, as if life wasn’t already stressful enough, now I have to worry about my legs being pulled by monsters under the bed? Save me my mental peace, I would rather not care. And that’s exactly where things went wrong.
When it began, it felt like my soul was being sucked by a dementor. Except remembering gleeful moments was of no help. My life flashed in front of my eyes like frames of a film roll and I was gasping, wondering if the world ran out of oxygen. I think I even lost my senses at that moment. And the next thing I know, I wasn’t in my room anymore. It was the darkest place I had ever been in, literally. Also, it was too noisy there, with all the whispers attacking my eardrums. I was hyper aware of even the void in my surrounding. It was surreal. When it ended, I mean. As if I was ready for death and finding tranquility in the emptiness.
Thud thud.
Wait, what is that?
I took small steps forward. Just like the stupid actors in horror movies. I finally understood them, how you can’t help it when loneliness speaks in volumes louder than your pounding heart. And you would rather risk being dismembered than be killed by what-ifs.
Then I see it. The silhouette of a hooded figure soaring alone in oblivion. His presence, intimidating. His appearance, nothing like what I imagined. Where are his elves and troops that attack you with a full frontal cavalry charge? Why isn’t he twitching and skittering around like the books said he would?
I can’t move. Did he just see through me? I was perplexed. The night demon has Medusa’s powers?
Time stood still. My teeth hurt from clenching it, to bear the pain from my idle body position. I see a vivid image of the floating figure moving in endless circles. The intense brightness emerging from him. I felt a sense of higher power feeding off people’s lives to fill the void in their hearts. And at that numbing moment, I knew it was over. I could hear the cries of help, haunting screeches and thuds. I could see the devastated faces, the agony. And I felt my insides being pulled, my skin being burnt and ripped, and everything till I couldn’t feel anything anymore.
It is summer now. I have returned back to life, and yet I am not alive. I survived those endless nights. And at what cost? I have vague memories of showering volleys of arrows and troops of elves. I have lived in every dimension where the myths are true. And now I lay on this field beside back-poking monsters. Waiting to finally feel full. Waiting for the curse of this memory to be lifted. There are too many wars to win. Too many routes to take. Too many empty people. But I shall sleep now and wait for the seasons to change to be full.
“
