Chapter 28: Demons Among Us

Our last three blog posts have concerned real life, the truly dark horror living here with us but mostly unknown. Some of you have found these true story posts very disturbing.


Perhaps there is nothing more truly disturbing, more horrifying, than that dark soul next to you. Too many of you know what I am talking about. That person, somehow in your life, infinitely self-absorbed, capable of great cruelty, but somehow contained, at least for the moment. It could be an abusive or manipulative parent or spouse, a bully, an aggressive bigot, hater, religious intolerant, or just a bad drunk. Sometimes these petty tormentors transform into real demons, possessed of great hatred and rage, and therefore self-possessed power. Vindictive. Jealous. Lusting for your suffering.


They are demons among us. Walking by on the sidewalk. Sitting in the car next to you at the traffic light. You may not be the object of their transformation, but true demons don’t care. They just need to strike.

You can see people becoming demons. They yell, hit, scream, complain, belittle, lie, cheat, steal, generally living unhappy lives, making man and beast near them unhappy as well. Only a very few actually cross over, and become real life demons. But they are real.


Are they, those that cross over, are they possessed by demons? In the biblical sense? Or any other? Does evil exist apart from man? Perhaps man is only the partner in evil, a willing or unwilling accomplice who perpetrates unspeakable terror on their fellow man and woman. Or maybe demons exist apart from us. They come from us? We become such? It is the exploration of horror, terror, in its many forms that seeks to answer this question. Endlessly writing, conceiving, one explanation or another, for the horror of man upon man. But in the end, are we making it up, imagining it? Or recalling it in some primal memory not clouded by our rational modernity?


I’ll keep looking.


And my partner in horror, Ariadna, will continue to search the archives for what man has wrought.


Sleep tight.



Page 439, Braile House.


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