Stalker Demon by FPesantez

There are howls in the darkness of the night that no one hears.They roam the forest and cover its trees with burning desires of hope and passion in the fading attempt of being heard by somebody.  The wild beasts are coming out and the clarity of the moon slowly starts fading.

It’s another cloudy night, with icy wind blowing and impregnating the air with a negative charge. There’s something hiding in the darkness, moving calmly, barely making any noise.The silence is mortuary, but the beasts are waiting for the signal to attack and shatter the demon that’s haunting around. The demon is cunning and moves swiftly, leaving no traces of its presence and the beasts can’t come out. It’s a malicious foreplay, a taunting invite to war. There’s stalling and pushing forward, there’s fire and explosions, there’s gunpowder and ache. 

Nothing really happened. The illusion of movement is designed in the thickness of the fog, combining art with majesty, hypocrisy with evil, blood with love, sins with pleasures. The beasts are baffled by the brilliance with which the demon has worked its way around the forest, how it twilled frames of memories and events, curled veins of feelings filled with truth and misleads. 

The tension has been building up for some time and the forest has gotten used to it. It seemed almost impossible for it to remain sustainable and the forest had left it grow slowly and uncontrollable. However, the demon knew that its artful way of building tension will be successful in the forest for the beasts were dormant and quiet, without a single care of the changing world. 

The demon is ready. Ready to unleash its untangled arms over the innocuously of the forest takes the first step and whips the branches violently, waiting for them to bleed uncontrollably to death.

To be continued…


Lost in the moment

While the rain was washing the city from sins and dirt, heavy clouds covered the sky, combining light with darkness and emitting a strange wave of grey to emphasise the dullness that was already a part of the motion. Cold was slowly setting in, breaking in between warm temperatures and fuzzy winds, trying to cover the great majority of Paris’s soul in a contemplating manner. Storms were battling in the sky to come over, but the atmosphere just wouldn’t allow it.

And there she was, in the middle of all this ravaging set, standing beautiful and harmless. Dressed in a violet dress and a dark coat, holding a closed dotted umbrella under her arms, waiting for a taxi. Her wait seemed endless and a few cars stopped and horned in a failing attempt of taking her to a safe and dry place.  But she didn’t want that. Waiting for a taxi was just an excuse she used for everyone who asked her.

Her world was falling to pieces and she was afraid to let those pieces fade in the darkness of the moment. Although the cold was making her skin ivory and purple at the same time, her boiling blood and racing heart couldn’t sense the iciness of the instant.

I should carry on. My eyes are the window to my soul and I must not let it be corrupt, she thought.

For the first time in a long time, S. knew that things are going to change and adjust accordingly, she just needed time and space. But then, she remembered she had everything she needed, and yet, everything was out of ordinary. All her plans were going to waste, all her years spent for nothing.


The clouds were rolling above the mansion with high speed, predicting the storm that was soon to cover the town.  It was late autumn so the temperature was quite low, so the windows became all foggy.  The fire was already set, sending small sparkles of light as the wood was burning through.

Ivette was alone, sewing meticulously a new pattern onto her handkerchief while taking deep breaths. Cold sweat was trickling on her forehead and her hair was getting in the way of her vision. She wiped her forehead many times but the sweat just wouldn’t stop. She felt like being too close to the fire, so she moved her chair further closer to the window, thinking about the storm that was about to come.  Suddenly, a loud noise came from the fireplace, scaring Ivette and making her jump out of her seat.

It’s just a cracking branch, she thought to herself.

The fire intensified slowly and as she continued sewing the handkerchief, sweat kept coming down her forehead.

I can’t do this! She shouted.

By the time she took her hands away from the handkerchief she realised that it was full of blood and that her fingers were bleeding.  The weight of her dress made her stumble, almost falling to the ground.  She needed to clean herself up, but that meant she had to go through to the kitchen to get to the lavatory and she didn’t want that. A trail of blood started flowing from her fingers and the pain grew uncontrollably. Maybe it was the stings that hurt her or maybe the approaching storm was making her feel anxious.

But then, a lightning struck in the distance, lighting up the entire lounge. And there it was,  a blue-cold body with blooded scars all over it.  The clothes on the body were torn apart and the waistcoat’s buttons ripped from their places; one of them replacing an eye. The image was terrifying and Ivette couldn’t handle the reality and she fell on her knees.

I need to fix this. Maureen will be soon home from her trip and I need to clean up this mess. She can’t know this.

She stood up and wiped her face once again. She rushed to the kitchen to wash her hands and get the tools she needed to clean up her lounge before someone else saw what happened. Her mind was a ribbon of words and images that overtook her. She couldn’t see clearly anymore and everything seemed blurred by blood. She  turned on the cold water trying to get rid of the stains from her fingers, shaking her hands over and over again. She took out a few tablecloths from the cupboard and hurried back to the lounge.

Matthew was laying facing up with his mouth half-opened. There was still some blood left in its corner so Ivette took her handkerchief and wiped it. She laid a white cloth under Mathew’s head and brought a small porcelain hand basin filled with water and sanitiser. Slowly, she cleaned up Matthew’s face from dirt and blood and, where a button replaced an eye, she placed another cloth, so that later she could close the eyelid.

Everything started to fall back in place. Ivette cleaned Matthew’s entire body and brought him clean clothes. The struggle was terrible. She lifted and dragged the body into the clothes and tried to fit everything perfectly. But nothing could be the same…

Although Matthew’s clothes were in place, rigor mortis gave away the advancement of decomposition and the air was impregnated with a dull smell of sanitizer and mould.

Ivette stood up and went out to burn the dirty fabrics,her dress almost dancing behind her. As she opened the back door,she heard a carriage approaching and her heart nearly stopped.


photo by Piarvi Recherren