The Devil's Doorstep

The Proctor tossed their rain-soaked coat on the cobblestone floor. Lightning broke the pressing darkness and streaked across the demon’s flesh. It writhed on the bed, locked in the chains of its torture.

The Proctor’s shiny black shoes thudded across the cold stones. They echoed lowly in the creeping cold. Water slicked down the Proctor’s back as their tie slid from its collar. The demon’s head snapped to the Proctor, eyes bright in the lightning strikes. Its eyes sunken in red flesh, bone, and maw gaping wide in the storm’s light. Its belly full of man’s sins. Distended like a tick waiting to pop.

The demon snapped and gnashed, revealing needles of glass spread throughout its mouth. The Proctor wrapped their tie hand over hand tight around their fist. Then, quickly, fast as a lightning strike, the Proctor shoved the stretched tie into the demon’s maw. Teeth shattering and snapping from the attack.

The Proctor moved again like lightning, straddling the demon upon the tired, sagging bed. The demon writhed beneath the Proctor, clawing the air desperately.

The Proctor smiled, teeth straight as a raisers edge. They nestled the demon’s belly snuggly between their thighs. They pulled a gleaming kris from its sheath upon their belt.

The glint of the blade refracted the lightning strike. The demon moved franticly at the sight of the edge. The Proctor pressed the tip of their knife into the dip in the demon’s abdomen.

“I release you from this bag of sins. Return to the hallows whence you came. Eat no more as you’ve had your fill. Fly back to the void.” The words hiss from their teeth like smoke.

The Proctor slowly pushed their blade into the belly of the beast. Blood sprayed like milk from a teat. The demon screamed and writhed as its putrid blood spilled from its belly. Each force of the blade opened more meat.

The Proctor’s grin spoke of dissidents and pure unadulterated pleasure. They cut the demon’s sternum to slit, freeing its bowels to breathe earth’s fresh air. With each slice, increasingly more of the demon’s life broke free, returning to the source of the scrounged energy. The time passed as the demon’s life was snuffed out under a watchful Proctor’s blade.

Once the Proctor was sure the light was snuffed, they collected their things only then. Flinging free the viscera and gore from their kris. The Proctor pulled on their coat. Turning slowly, looking back on the body of ilk left in the place of a wicked beast.

The frail, broken form lay empty of any trace of light. Then, finally, the thunder rumbled, casting light once more over the body, finally free of its demon.

The Proctor left their tie, a fulfillment of a contract to free one more soul from torture. Leaving, they locked the door and tossed away the key.