The Devil's Demeanor Read online

  The Devil’s Demeanor

  Jerry Hart

  Copyright © 2013 by Jerry Hart

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover artwork by Wil Whalen

  Kindle Edition: June 2013

  Table of Contents:

  Book 1

  Part 1: 1966-1985

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part 2: 1987-1998

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part 3: 2007-2009

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Book 2

  Prologue

  Part 1: 2013

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Part 2: Ten Years Later

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Author’s Note

  Book 1

  Part 1: 1966-1985

  Chapter 1

  Stephen White had to be dreaming. He was in some kind of tunnel barely big enough to fit his large frame, wearing his favorite pajamas. This place stank of decay. He could see his way through easily enough because there was a light coming from up ahead. An opening, hopefully.

  He didn’t remember how he got here. He just was, all of a sudden. Either someone had knocked him out and put him in this tunnel, or he was dreaming. He prayed for the latter.

  Continuing down the tunnel, Stephen couldn’t help remembering the thing that had bitten him the week before. Is it even possible to remember something in a dream that had happened to you in your waking life? He’d been out with a group of friends, looking for evidence of the supernatural in the woods of Destin, Florida.

  He had found something all right, but still wasn’t sure if it had been supernatural.

  He’d been drawn to a cave by a seductive voice. He had become separated from the others when he discovered the cave at the bottom of a hill, and therefore, no one had heard the voice for themselves.

  “Are you an alien?” Stephen had asked the large, dark figure in the cave.

  “Come closer and find out,” it replied in a guttural voice that had a hint of an English accent.

  Stephen figured there and then it was not a creature but a man, maybe homeless. “Sorry, sir. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Nonsense. Come closer. You may be surprised what you find.”

  Against his better judgment, Stephen had stepped closer. The figure backed farther into the cave. Stephen had been too overcome with curiosity to walk away from this thing without finding out what it was.

  He was a big teenager, not athletic but still strong and stocky, and he figured he could handle whatever waited for him. Oh, how wrong he turned out to be.

  His friends had seen the bite marks. The creature disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Stephen hadn’t even seen it when it attacked. One second it was there, and the next it was gone. Deeper into the cave, Stephen assumed. A lightning storm had appeared the instant he’d felt the pain.

  The Great Northeast Blackout had been only two months before, and a lot of people, Stephen included, thought it had been caused by extra-terrestrials. UFOs had been spotted up there before the blackout. Stephen’s friend, Larry, thought it would be a great idea to look for a reported “portal to hell” here in Destin. Why? Well, because his sister’s best friend’s cousin had heard of the portal in this area, that’s why.

  It was 1966, and Stephen was in his senior year of high school. He would be going to college in the fall, and wouldn’t it be a gas if he, Larry, and some friends went out looking for strange activity before Stephen shipped off?

  Stephen hadn’t been too into the paranormal or extra-terrestrial until Larry had put the idea into his head. He hadn’t believed in ghosts, demons or aliens until that thing bit him and disappeared. He wished it was a wolf or a crazy hillbilly living in the woods, but he would come to know it was neither.

  He crept through the dream-tunnel that so resembled the real Destin tunnel until he saw the end up ahead. He stepped out and found himself in a large cavern. Stalactites pointed down from the ceiling, which stretched from right to left as far as the eye could see. He appeared to be on the edge of a large cliff. He looked down and saw nothing but darkness. The light he’d followed came from both sides of the cavern, around large corners, so Stephen couldn’t see the sources.

  He wanted to yell to see if anyone else was here, but feared he would alert something unpleasant to his presence. The cavern gave him a bad feeling, and it wasn’t just because of the awful smell.

  He looked to his left and saw a single stalagmite sticking up from the ground. It looked phallic and repulsive, and he wanted to stay away from it. He walked up to it anyway, placing his left hand on the tip, where it glowed from within.

  Almost immediately, Stephen wanted to let it go. Images flashed into his brain. They had been so brief he could barely remember what they’d been. He let go, his hand hovering over the tip. He took a deep breath and touched it again.

  The images returned, slower this time. He saw hideous beasts that looked like giant bats rampaging across a vast land. The gray sky was full of lightning, which struck down upon the creatures. Some died, while others managed to dodge the strikes and continue on.

  They appeared to be headed toward something, but Stephen couldn’t tell what at first. He continued watching the horrifying scene. He realized he was floating over it, the lightning missing him completely. He could smell burned flesh, however, and the thunder nearly deafened him.

  As he continued to watch, he saw the bat-creatures dive into a hole in the middle of the field. They piled in like water down a drain. Two of them tried to get in at the same time but only managed to bump into each other. They pushed, looking ready to fight, when a lightning bolt struck one of them dead. The other dove into the hole, and the scene was over.

  Stephen let go of the stalagmite, his ears ringing.

  That’s when he heard the noise. It sounded like flapping wings. Bat wings? He looked to both ends of the long cavern and saw shadows dancing on the walls. Something—a whole lot of something—was coming his way from both directions. He turned back to the tunnel and ran. He ran for his life, even though he didn’t know where this tunnel led. He did know hell lay behind him.

  * * *

  Stephen woke up to the sound of his heart hammering in his ears. He was breathing so fast he thought he would pass out, but he managed to slow it down a bit. He was in his room, in Pensacola, not Destin. The covers were now beneath him, though he’d fallen asleep with them on top. He was an hour away from that cave where he’d been bitten.

  Why did he dream about it, then? He figured if he’d gone farther inside the cave that night, he would’ve encountered the hole in the gro
und, the one the creatures poured themselves down, and found himself in that narrow tunnel. But that area wasn’t a vast landscape like the one in the vision. Maybe he saw the past when he touched that stalagmite.

  Or maybe none of it was real.

  Though he hadn’t seen the creature the night of the attack, he saw the others fairly well in the vision. They had looked like man-sized bats. That couldn’t have been what had bitten him; he wouldn’t have survived an attack from a monster like that.

  He got up from the bed and headed to the kitchen. The nightmare left him ravenous. He grabbed some ham from the fridge, some bread from the pantry, and made a sandwich that consisted of way too much mayo. He was about to take a bite when he noticed someone standing in the adjoining living room, staring at him.

  “Dad!” he yelled in shock.

  “What are you doing up so late?” Dad asked, stepping into the kitchen. Willem White was forty going on ninety. Stephen couldn’t understand why his father aged so badly and hoped it wasn’t genetic. Stephen prayed to God to never let him get as old as his father.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Stephen replied. “Nervous about school.”

  “I’m the one who should be losing sleep; I’m paying for it.” Dad grabbed a jar of pickles from the fridge and joined Stephen at the island. “I hope I raised you well enough to know how to act while in college. No hard partying, alcohol or girls.”

  “No girls at all?”

  “Well.... Just be careful with the girls.”

  Stephen laughed. Then he winced at the bite on his shoulder.

  “What did you say you were doing when that animal attacked you?” Dad asked.

  Stephen grew nervous. He’d lied about the circumstances; the last thing he wanted was for his dad to know he’d been walking through the woods with a bunch of kids, looking for aliens. “I was walking with Larry in his neighborhood and some dog ran up to us.”

  “And Larry’s parents weren’t home?”

  “No, but he took me to the hospital.”

  That last part was true. Stephen hadn’t said anything about the bite when he got home, though. Dad had found out purely by accident when the marks bled through his T-shirt the next day.

  “If you survived a dog attack, I guess you can survive college,” Dad said, grinning.

  “I am a grown man.”

  “Not yet, son. Not yet.”

  He finished his pickle, told his son goodnight, and left the kitchen. Stephen threw the rest of his sandwich away, his appetite completely lost. He loved his father, but the man rarely had an encouraging word to say. At seventeen, Stephen wasn’t thinking about having kids, but he figured when he did have them he wouldn’t be as cruel.

  He went back to bed, but just before his head hit the pillow, he noticed something on his right hand. It was slightly red, with indentations around the palm. He was reminded of the stalagmite he’d grabbed.

  But that had just been a dream....

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Stephen’s nightmares grew worse. He didn’t dream about the cavern very often, but he did dream about killing and raping. He was pretty sure he’d never done either in his life, so why dream about such things? He didn’t recognize his victims, but he did recognize what he was doing to them. In one dream, he was holding a woman down by the throat, punching her in the face. They were both naked. In another, he was stabbing a man in the back, over and over. He could smell the blood. In each dream, he always said to the victims, “One less of you to worry about. One less.”

  He pondered this while standing in line at the local movie theater. He was waiting for Larry and two girls—this was supposed to be a blind double date—and wasn’t looking forward to the night. Larry didn’t have the greatest taste in women, and Stephen feared what he would end up with.

  “Hey!” a voice screeched next to him.

  Stephen jumped and turned to see Larry standing there. The first thing anyone noticed about Larry were his coke-bottle glasses with their big, black frames. He was five-foot-five and skinny as a broom. Ladies seemed to like him, however.

  Speaking of ladies, the two with him were quite stunning. One was a brunette, the other a redhead.

  “Larry,” Stephen greeted. “Ladies.”

  The girls laughed.

  “Oh, where are my manners?” Larry asked. “Steve, the lovely brunette is Anna, and the redhead is Lucy.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Stephen said, remembering what his dad taught him about formality.

  “Am I not a lovely redhead?” Lucy asked Larry.

  “Of course you are, my dear.” He kissed her hand, and then offered hers to Stephen. “She’s for you.”

  “Smooth, Larry.” He took her hand anyway and kissed it as well.

  Stephen and Larry bought tickets for themselves and their dates, walked inside the theater and got their seats. The auditorium was small, the seats uncomfortable. A monster movie played for them, something about a creature from a dark, stinky cave. Anna watched through her fingers the entire time, but Lucy seemed to enjoy the movie. A lot more than Stephen, anyway.

  The movie brought back too many memories. It had only been a couple of weeks since he was attacked, but watching this movie made his shoulder ache. He scratched at it absently.

  “Are you okay?” Lucy asked him.

  “I’m fine. This movie is really scary.”

  Before he knew it, her hand was on top of his. She squeezed it. He squeezed back.

  * * *

  Stephen and Lucy saw more of each other over the next month. Things didn’t go as well for Larry and Anna, however. She told Lucy, who told Stephen, that Larry was crude, rude, and smelly. Stephen wondered if Anna found out the hard way that Larry didn’t like using toilet paper.

  Dad eventually met Lucy and found her lovely, though he constantly kept an eye on them whenever she came over. Stephen couldn’t help but wonder if Dad was really keeping an eye on him personally. His nightmares had gotten worse and he would often wake up screaming, scaring the hell out of his father.

  Seemingly out of the blue, Dad suggested they start going to church. Stephen was wary, considering they’d never once attended church before.

  “Why now?” he asked his father.

  “Because I think you need some religion in your life. Your nightmares are getting worse. I can’t remember the last time either of us got a good night’s sleep.”

  Stephen felt bad about what he was doing to his father. When he’d asked Stephen what the dreams were about, Stephen lied and said he could never remember.

  He almost always dreamed about that cavern, and those creatures. The last dream, however, involved him walking through his neighborhood surrounded by people he knew. They all stood on their lawns, staring at him as he walked by. No one had said a word to him, just watched. Stephen felt some other presence behind their eyes, though, and knew they weren’t staring at him; something else was.

  All of his neighbors had been possessed. He’d known it in his gut.

  One neighbor at the end of the street, Mr. Miedzianowski, did walk up to Stephen and hug him before saying in a voice that wasn’t his, “Thank you for helping us walk on the land above, brother.”

  The voice had been so cold, yet so seductive, that it had forced Stephen awake, screaming. It had been like the voice that lured him to the cave that night.

  Things got so much weirder after that dream.

  One night, while watching TV with Lucy, Stephen noticed everyone in the show staring at the camera and not saying a word. At first he thought it was funny until it lasted a whole minute, and then two, and then three. Lucy had laughed a few times at the TV during this silent moment.

  “What’s going on?” he wondered out loud.

  “What do you mean?” she asked him, tearing her eyes away from the TV.

  They were sitting on the floor, between the couch and coffee table. Dad was in his recliner, smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper. He’d lowered the paper at that point a
nd stared at his son; Stephen could feel his gaze but didn’t look away from those staring TV faces.

  “Everyone is staring at me,” he whispered to Lucy. “Can’t you see it?”

  “Don’t let the monsters kill them,” one of the male actors said. “If they die, the monsters win.”

  The actors suddenly went back to what they were supposed to be doing: acting.

  “Are you all right, sweetie?” Lucy asked. “You look sick.”

  Stephen realized he was sweating and panting heavily. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, so he pushed them back. “I’m fine. I am feeling a little sick. I think I’m going to go to bed, if that’s all right.”

  “Alone,” Dad muttered behind his paper.

  “Alone, of course,” Stephen agreed. He and Lucy were still virgins at this point and old Willem White meant to keep it that way for as long as he could, Stephen didn’t doubt.

  Stephen drove Lucy home. When he pulled up in front of her house, she sat there with him, watching and waiting.

  When he said nothing, she finally asked, “What happened back there?”

  “I don’t know. I was watching the show, and everyone in it just stopped talking and stared right at me.”

  “I was there too, and I didn’t see that. The show didn’t stop.”

  “I know, but it felt so real. One of the actors said something to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I don’t remember,” he lied.

  Lucy touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re ice cold. Be sure to bundle up when you get home.”

  “It’s only March,” he joked. “It’s getting warmer outside. I shouldn’t be getting sick.”

  “Maybe you’re just crazy.”

  He laughed along with her, though that last word struck a chord in him. Crazy.

  When he returned home, Dad was standing in the living room, his paper discarded. “Go to church with me, son.”

  “I’m losing my mind, Dad. Prayer isn’t going to help with that.” He grinned at his father, and though he’d been joking, Dad didn’t seem to find it funny.

  “You won’t know until you try. Just once, at least.”