Demons – Epilogue


Demons – Exposure

Demons – Enveloped

Demons – Ensnared

Demons – Endure  


I’ll leave a note, to explain and hope that when they see the footage, in the daylight hours, they would understand.  Eric won’t understand, how could he?  I’d rather they survive, than to have to suffer trough the rest of the losses that are inevitable.  I left the letter on the desk top !!PLEASE READ!!, and put a sticky note with the password on my closed laptop. It will have to do.  I kissed him goodbye, heard him whisper my name as he rolled over. I’ll regret that sound but I’m desperate to escape this Hell I’ve been put in, and I pray to the Above that they would forgive me.


Excerpt from Time Does Not Rest

Author: Moira Tavist

Genre: Non Fiction

With my decision made, I cross quickly to the door, and ease it open to peer out into the hallway, my mind’s eye scanning for any movement, though its sight had been taken from me.  I hear nothing more than a light hissing, like air being drawn through clenched teeth and yet I sense no one about, and so I creep from my room, leaving the door ajar so as not to make any sound to alert my friends. I was determined to end it and even one misstep would wake them. No one had been sleeping well in the wake of so much death, and I’d chosen tonight to use the barbiturates habitually carried with me.  I slipped them into their tea, and watched as the Sandman lead them off to their dreams.  So much the better.

The stone was cold on my bare feet, the soles recoiling and causing my calves to cramp. A groan forcibly escaped my lips, nearly inaudible not enough to cause me to hesitate as I listened for stirrings.  “Moira?”  a breathless voice whispered from nearby.   I knew it was too good to be true, and I glance back down the hall to see Jodee standing in the shadows of her doorway.  “I didn’t mean to Moira. I didn’t. I couldn’t help it!” the high-pitched hysterical tone, weak and breathy,  rasps off the walls in the mostly empty building, echoing in the halls of the dead.

“What  Jodee?  What didn’t you mean to do,” not coming any closer and it crosses my mind to go running back into my room and lock it behind me, instead I stand and watch her step from the darkness in her old-fashioned white nightgown, its front nearly glowing red with gore.  “Jodee.  Oh my god.”  I run to her, mindful of the serrated blade she still holds in her lax grip, the blood still wet as new paint.  “Jodee..Jodee, What the hell?!”  It was meant to be a scream, it felt like a scream, but it didn’t roar.  It only turned into a harsh croak as it escaped my lips. My stomach threatened empty itself, as she coughed, spraying my face with blood and gasped as a wet splattering sound  invaded the silence and the thick smell of feces and copper made me gag.

I looked down to see a spill of thick ropy tubes laying on her bare feet, the glow-in-the-dark nail polish on her toes gleamed nauseatingly in the dim light. “She told me to. She… she made me and I didn’t believe you and I’m sorry.”  “Where did you get the knife?” I ask as gently as I am able, horrified to see the colour draining from her face so quickly.  “She brought the knife, she held my hand and she made me do this.  I couldn’t even scream.  She took that too.  Moira…” Jodee rasped, placing her cold hand on my cheek, and the other on my shoulder,  I could feel the chill from her dying body through my nightgown and it made me want to cry.  “Moira,  you can’t stop her. Stop trying, Oh..” She hunches over, gagging then coughing up a mouthful of blood and loose tissue with a liquidy ratcheting sound  before craning her neck at an impossible angle, and smiles up at me.  I felt myself recoil, disgusted by the blood in her teeth as much as the helpless rictus of that smile. Nearly mechanically she stands upright again, shoves me away.  I watch as her hand lifts, the blade’s point glistening with her ebbing life pointed at my heart.

Vigilate, et discere filia


That unholy bitch, Satan’s Whore, she stands just behind Jodee, holding the hand of my friend,  her bony fingers so tight it turns Jodee’s skin white.  “Stop it!  Leave her alone. She’s dead already, Can’t you let her die in peace!!!” I scream at her, watching in horror as she turns the blade so that it stares Jodee straight in the face.  “Moira,” Jodee moans, “Please..” I had no time to breathe before the blade was driven straight into her eye, skewering the brain beyond. This time her screams were not taken.  Shriek after shriek tears from her throat as her fist twists the blade deeper.  I could hear the metal against the bone grinding, scraping under the endless peels of her agony, and was unable to look away.  “STOP!!! Please stop….”  My voice cracks, unable to watch the uncontrolled jittering of Jodee’s body, her feet tapping on the floor and fingers le clenching, relaxing, clenching on and on while the sound of that incessant maddening laughter fills my ears. Eric bolts into the hallway, slamming into me and knocking me to the floor, before standing with his mouth agape at Jodee as her arm pulls forward, and removes the blade from the now spurting hole where her eye once lived.  Her remaining eye rolls inward, and her body crumbles bonelessly, dead, to the floor.

The Lackey leans across the hall, in the doorway to the stairs I had intended to use to end this insanity, his smile boils and bubbles with maggots, what flesh remains causing a miasma I can nearly see.   The “Lady” of the house crouches in front of me, her madness capering in her eyes.  Elinor, her mind gloats, I am Elinor, Queen.  She touches me, her fingernails dragging against my cheek.  My skin crawls, and howls, sobbing from the newly dug furrows caused by her nails, and I snarl at her before she gives me a coldly cursory glance. She regards her bony fingers with interest, then attempts to wipe the crimson fluid on Eric’s lips. I close my lids, trying to block her from my sight but she is inside my head, painting my mind with my own blood. The pictures she paints are against my very nature and I rebel against it, forcibly pushing back from her. 

Vnicum superset

Her cackle hurts my ears and sends rage hurtling through my veins, forcing me to stand, clenching my fists at my sides.  She’d taken him further into the shadows, further from me, into her putrescent embrace, and was attempting to lick his cheek with her blackened tongue.  “Get away from him you corrupt cunt.  He’s mine and I’ve had quite enough of you.” Her head whips around, and for a moment I see her as she truly is, her airy scent a mask for the cloud of rot and decay that followed her, a wet and putrid fragrance that made my stomach turn in defense. 

Stat in via tua fata docebo

“Your glamour won’t work on me Lady Elinor.”  She bares her teeth at me, holding Eric closer.   “That’s right, I know your name, witch.   He does not stand in my way, only you do. To be less than eloquent, fuck off,”  I spit at her through clenched teeth.  Lackey gasps at my words,  his rotted corpse appearing at his Mistress’s feet, now little more than a spoiled fleshsuit and skitters away from the kick leveled at him from her pointed slipper.   He stares at her resentfully as she opens her mouth to speak, and I find myself unwilling to hear a single word of her lies.  Without a hesitation, I stride forward and clasp Eric’s hand in mine, pulling him to the stairwell that leads to the stone walk above, and begin climbing. The spirits are back, each one a glow in the dimness, each smile and caress of otherworldly gentleness a salve on my aching body.  Hurry, they urge us, it’s coming, and we quicken our steps.  

Yell Saccani
Yell Saccani

The world shudders as her screams assault my senses.  They are the wail of a million lost souls in an onslaught of high-pitched screeches and lugubrious tones.  Eric’s  warm hand is on my shoulder, and I glance over my shoulder to see his  lips moving, and not a word could I hear. Only the rushing of the wind, and the inaudible humming as my third eye vibrates in my mind.  I can See again, my abilities have come rushing back, hitting me like a freight train.  I teeter on the edge, my balance thrown off by the onslaught and feel Eric’s warm arms catch me as I falter. 

“Lets go back to the room,” Eric says, brushing the stray lock of hair that had fallen across my face away with his hand, and I stiffen in his arms. The lesser of the two evils is to continue with my plan, through it grieves my heart to do so, and so much less suffering  for both of us than what I know will happen if I don’t.  “Hurry Eric, let’s get out of this place,” I whisper with my forehead against his chest, lingering in the safety that I’d come to desire in such a short time, feeling my eyes burn with unfallen tears.  Pulling back and placing my hand on his cheek, I turn and begin to climb the never-ending sequence of steps that would take me to the point of no return. And there would be none, for either of us if I had my way. “Where are we going Moira?  I thought we were leaving?” Eric’s voice reverberates on the stone walls, interrupting the encouraging song of those that had come to see us off, those that had been taken, and lost here due to their innocence.  The early morning sun shines through the cracks around the wooden door at the top of the stairwell, making it seem the entrance to the Above and I hear Eric gasp behind me.  My mind’s eye wanders around corners, prepared to scream the alarm should my plan be uncovered.  So far, my returned abilities have not been gleaned, much to my pleasure.

I push the door open and feel the rising sun’s rays on my skin, like a warm kiss, the heaviness in my heart easing slightly as I walk to the edge of the walkway where I first glimpsed that raving lunatic.  Was it only days ago? So much pain and suffering had occurred here since the King’s death, and all at the hands of Lady Elinor.   My friends lost to her insanity.  Eric’s hand is on my shoulder and I turn, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace, loathe to let him go.  “There’s been some damage up here.  Look, some of the stones have fallen from the wall,” Eric points to the hole in the ancient stone, a gap sitting at knee height, and let him go to peer over the edge.  It was perfect, almost as though it were planned, and step away from the edge slightly, smiling as he moves for his own look.  “Eric, Shut up and kiss me.”  He smiles and pulls me tighter, kissing me soundly a I take a step forwards, forcing him backwards. “Moira, what are you doing?!”  His voice is frantic, far away and faint in my ears.  “I’m ending this mess.  I love you.”


He looks at me in horror and disbelieve, as I kiss him lightly, and place my hand in the middle of his chest.  “It’s the only way. I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.” My tears come then, through a sob in my own chest, and I push him hard.  Eric’s arms pin wheel for balance, his feet shuffling in the gritty floor for purchase and then he is gone.  I hear him scream my name, full of anguish and betrayal, and my heart screams too.  His cry is cut off abruptly and I lean my weight on my hands to peer over the ledge.  His body quivers, legs dancing and arms flailing from the top of the spiked fence that surrounds the tiny graveyard that sits beside the castle gardens. His blood covers the gravestones, and splatters the well maintained lawn under him.  I turned to run, fly a fast as my feet would carry me, desperate to reach him so that he wouldnt’ have to die alone, and She is there.  Her image flashes, fashes my eyes, beauty and bones, rot and roses, over and over.

 Beatus, solitis filiam
“Never in life will I call this home.  You lose, witch. ”  I climb onto the ledge, the very same I’d pushed Eric from, and turn to smile into the sad creature she really was.  I’d seen what will happen, and I know I win. “Go to Hell. You’ve taken your last life,” I laugh, showing her both my middle fingers as I step backwards and fall.  I see her, hear her, feel her enormous shriek of rage and feel some small victory.  “Eric, I’m coming,” I whisper, closing my eyes and preparing for the punctures my body was about to endure.  Death, is truly only the start.  I am ready.
A Parting Word:
The story above is a work of fiction and fact.  For the sake of my own sanity, I prefer to think it fiction and have strived to hold this belief through the past year when I was at my lowest.  It happened, surely the photos* prove the extent of my injuries. Did I survive?  It depends on your definition of survival.  I am alive, my body functions as does my mind, I can walk short distances now, alone instead of with any number of chatty chaperones.  I speak to people, socialize and smile, and am often drawn back to that moment on the ledge, worrying about whether the slight push I gave as I began my descent was the difference between me being a mouldering corpse six feet down, or stuck in this seemingly endless waking Hell.   I’m haunted by the last visions of my friends and loved ones, each has their own stolen moment carved into my memory that torments my e every conscious moment.  I lived, but survived.  This isn’t survival.  It’s merely existence

Marcus MinionTTPG edited-1

The Orphan Killer 2 Bound x Blood Created by Matt Farnsworth ©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
The Orphan Killer 2
Bound x Blood
Created by Matt Farnsworth
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
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