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Written by Dante Crossroad
I have had a rather long, prosperous career as an actress, longer than most believe an African-American woman can have even in this day and age. I have been in films since I was a girl of seven; of course, I was starring in family friendly features at that time, such as Darlene Goes to Summer Camp and Mercury's Grand Adventure (Mercury was the name of an elf girl from the land of Veris; not a relevant detail to you, perhaps, but it means the world to me, especially now). Somehow I managed to avoid the curse of the child star and went on to star in movies that spanned every genre known to man, from the period drama On the Outskirts of Time to the horror film that even gave me nightmares for a month solid, The Preacher's Daughter.
Now, I'd be lying were I to say that everything I have done was a hit, for every star has at least one film of which they cannot be proud, and I dare not mention mine, on account of it being that damn shameful to me. I can, however, say that people's faces would light up with excitement whenever they saw "starring Shiela Kincade..." on their television screens. They just knew they were in for a spectacular treat. Some actors seem to be the same person from one film to the next, but many a critic has stated that I am never the same woman twice in film, even when I am, for all intents and purposes. For fifty-three years I graced the silver screen with my presence, and I loved every minute of it. I so wish that I could go back to such a time; I was never happier than I was then. I chose to retire, though. At the age of sixty, just a couple of years ago, I began to feel my age—arthritis began to kick in, my knee surgery was beginning to get in my way...suffice it to say that doing my own stunts in my action films didn't do me any favors.
The news of my retirement saddened my fans, both old and new, but they celebrated my career with movie marathons running on a few different channels on television, by streaming my movies from the internet, and of course with good, old fashioned sleepovers with extensive DVD collections. I could not have been happier. Who wouldn't be happy being so loved and adored?
As a gift to myself, I decided to purchase a house somewhere much away from the public eye. Do not misunderstand me, I love and adore my fans just as they do me, but I have had more than my share of experiences with crazed fans, stalkers, and nearly being torn limb from limb by gangs of men who wanted to get in my pants. It was a much safer and saner option for certain. The house was situated off of a dirt backroad about an hour's drive away from central Serifell, a suburbian West Virginia town to which I recently relocated from Hollywood, in an area where, lo and behold, old folks go when they just want to be left alone to live out their remaining years in peace. It was a quaint little place, a Victorian two-story a darling shade of purple that wasn't overwhelming to look at, but was enough to grab one's attention.
It was a sunny autumn afternoon when I finally moved into my new home. When my driver turned down Charlotte Avenue, the backroad off of which my new home was located, I could see a few of the town denizens crossing themselves and shaking their heads at me. I thought it peculiar and unsettling to say the least. Did they not want a black person in their cozy little neighborhood? No, that could not have been it, for there were blacks who did the same thing upon seeing my car turn down Charlotte. Sorry, but I did grow up in such an era that that attitude was common; sometimes I forget that even though there are battles still to be fought, we have come a long way. But I digress.
"Friendly crowd, huh?" my driver said.
"They don't bother me any," I chuckled at him. I wasn't being completely truthful, of course, but I didn't want him to worry. Sammy had been so good to me since I decided to retire, taking me wherever I wanted or needed to go, listening to me moan and complain about things he probably deemed trivial, flying out here with me for one last drive, and just being an all around great young man. Now, I say "young," but he's only about twenty or so years my junior. I swear he thought of me as the mother he never had; he certainly took care of me like I were, and I regret that I can never repay his kindness. It would not have been good of me to make him worry with my slight discomfort.
"You sure you don't want me to stick around, Ms. Kincade?" he asked in a tone that told me he would miss me greatly.
"I'm sure, baby. And I told you it's okay to call me Shiela," I replied.
"I know. But if this is the last day I get to drive for you, I want to leave a good, professional impression."
"Well, bless your heart. I don't think I have a tip big enough for you." I smiled, beginning to tear up. I was going to miss him, too.
When we arrived, he parallel parked to stay out of the way of the U-Haul trucks, which were open and had men going in and out of them unloading boxes and furniture. The house was lovelier now than it was a few weeks prior when I had walked through and purchased it. The trees surrounding it, their orange, gold, and brown leaves swaying on the gentle breeze, gave the house an air of peace and warmth despite the chill in the air. Sammy opened the door for me for what would be the last time ever and walked me inside. He offered to assist the movers with unloading the trucks and furnishing my new home. Oh, such a sweet young man he was. Oh, how I miss him terribly. But I must continue while I can still recall the events that led me to my current predicament.
I felt bad that I couldn't help those boys out aside from saying "A smidge to the left" here and there, so I offered to make them dinner. They said it wasn't necessary, but I insisted. In my family, it was customary to feed those who assist you in your home, even if they are being paid to be there, because you never know when that bit of kindness, that show of gratitude, could be the thing that gets them through the rest of their day or week or whatever have you. And so it was that I shared with all five of those boys a hearty meal of baked chicken smothered in cream of mushroom soup, three-cheese macaroni, steamed broccoli, and buttered rolls. We stuffed ourselves silly, talked, and laughed until night fell, at which point everyone needed to leave. I thanked them all as they left and hugged Sammy tightly.
"You have my number any time you wanna talk, baby," I said to him. "Feel free to come see me any time you like."
"I will, mama," he said. I think he called me mama by accident, but it didn't matter. It was most endearing to hear. He went to his rental car to head back to his hotel room from which he would depart to the airport first thing in the morning.
That first night in my new home was quiet and peaceful, not lonely at all like so many might think. I sat with the radio on, sipping a cup of hot tea, reading my favorite book, perfectly content with the way of things. Once I'd had my fill of words, which wasn't until I had finished the book, I took a nice hot bath and went off to bed. As I lay down, wrapping the sheets around myself and placing an arm under my pillow, I looked up at the crucifix above my bed.
"Thank you, Jesus," I said with a smile. "Thank you for everything." I shut my eyes and was out like a light almost instantly. I didn't know it then, but my first night in my new home would be my last peaceful night.
I awoke the next morning to an odd sight: my crucifix had been turned upside-down. I figured the nail it hung on might have been weak. That, or the hole where the nail fit into the back of the crucifix had eroded over the years. I didn't think much of it, though. I just turned it rightside-up and put it back. The day played out just as any other day would. I had breakfast, watched my soap operas, and spoke on the phone with good friends and family; I even indulged in a few hobbies such as yoga, crocheting, and of course reading. Throughout the day I did hear some creaking in the walls and floorboards, but that's to be expected from such an old house. That night, however, was another matter. That night was when things took a disturbing turn.
As I was bathing that night, I heard the television as plain as day. This could not have been possible because I always turn the television off before a bath, and I never have it loud enough to be heard in any other room, except the kitchen, no matter where I live. Fortunately, I was finished with my bath, so it was nothing for me to put my robe on and make my way back to the living room. What I saw on the TV was nothing short of unnerving. It was an old, decrepit man, stark naked, skin as white as the driven snow, practically a skeleton he was so skinny, muttering, "Do you believe in monsters? You will soon. He comes for you. He comes for all who dwell here."
I had the eerie feeling that he was talking to me. But that could not have been, right? It's just late night cable programming on a TV set that is faulty enough to pop back on of its own accord. That was what I had settled on when I moved for the remote.
"I am talking to you, Shiela," the old man said. I swear my heart stopped beating for a few seconds. I slowly looked back to the TV. The screen flickered and the man's face filled the screen, giving me quite the start. "He comes for you, Shiela. He comes...for..." he trailed off, his head lolling to one side. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and the whites were slowly glazed over by what looked like black ink until there was no white left. Then the screen flicked off. Odd programming, I thought to myself. How did they do it? Maybe someone hacked into my TV system to pull a prank. All I knew was I was thoroughly unnerved when I went to bed that night. It took me a bit to doze off, thinking about the old man's words. Did I really see that? Or am I just going senile in my old age? I couldn't know. Sleep and I finally found and embraced one another, though.
The next morning was even more peculiar than the last. Whereas the previous day my crucifix was upside-down, that morning it had fallen to the floor some time in the night, and had broken in two. I got out of bed and picked up the two pieces to examine them: the break hadn't been caused by the fall, for it was far too solid for that to have been the case; looking at how the wood of the cross and the bronze of the Jesus figure had been bent, it was clear that it was snapped in half. But how? There was nobody in the house all night, save for me! My doors and windows were all locked. Even if someone had broken in, who around here could have such strength and why would they do this? My mind went back to the old man's words. He'd said that someone was coming for me. Could this have been the work of...no, it couldn't be. There are those who say that if you believe in God, you must believe in Satan, the devil, demons. Well, in my mind, the minions of Hell were merely metaphors for those things that torment us daily: our nine-to-fives, alcohol, drugs, etc. There was no way some foul, non-physical creature was haunting me. How preposterous!
Then there came three loud bangs on the walls of my bedroom. I jumped back onto my bed with a yelp, looking frantically around my room to see if someone were there. How foolish of me. Of course no one was there. I was alone...until the old man appeared in my mirror. He slapped his right palm against the glass and ran his brittle, yellowed nails down it as he stared at me.
"He comes for you, Shiela," he said. "Azatoth comes. Soon, you will be his if you do nooot..." he trailed off again, this time vanishing like smoke being carried on a breeze. Who was this old man and what did he want with me? Who or what was this Azatoth? I had to have been losing my mind. Once again, the rest of the day was perfectly normal. Well, as normal as things can be when one becomes paranoid. Night eventually came, as night so does, and I went through my usual routine of sipping hot tea while reading a book. It was quiet. Too quiet. Unsettlingly quiet. I could scarcely keep my eyes on the page because I was listening so intently for anything that sounded out of place. I decided to retire to bed after half an hour of trying to read. I found no peace in sleep, however.
Once I managed to doze off, I immediately fell into what I am still uncertain was just a nightmare. I sat bolt upright shortly after lying down, freezing. My God, it was so cold in my room, I'm surprised I didn't catch frostbite. I moved to get out of bed and pulled my feet away from the floor the moment they touched it. It was ice. My floor was frozen solid. I slipped into my night slippers and walked into the hallway, rubbing my arms to keep them warm, my breath forming thick white clouds with every exhalation. I looked at the thermostat, which had icicles dangling from it: ten degrees Fahrenheit, it read; then nine; five; negative six. The temperature was dropping lower and lower every second. I could feel my fingertips and toes getting numb. Autumn is a chilly time of year, but this was absurd! What was happening? I feared I would freeze to death if I didn't get out right then and there, so I turned to continue down the hallway. My heart and lungs seemed to freeze and my eyes bugged with fright. My feet were rooted to the spot. I could make nary a sound although I wanted to scream at what I saw.
The old man had appeared to me yet again, naked, but this time he was chained to a wall of ice that wrapped around his lower half with particular emphasis on his genitals. He looked every bit as terrified as I was, shivering, paler than he was the last couple of times I'd seen him, saliva frozen to his lower lip and jaw, his breathing so shallow that it could hardly be called breathing.
"H-h-he w-w-wwants you...Shiela..." he sputtered. "Get...get ooouuutt-t-t...aw-w-way...from Az-z-zat-toth." The ice crept over his face as he spoke and finally silenced him. He had said that name twice now, but what could he mean? Was there truly something evil after me? If so, why me? These questions reverberated in my head over and over again. I wanted to run somewhere, ANYWHERE, but I could not. When I tried to run I found my feet had gone so numb I couldn't even tell if they were still there. So had my hands. My face had soon to follow. I soon realized that I was freezing all over- ice was creeping over my form. I was to be a prisoner in my own house. And then I felt long, bony fingers crawl onto my shoulders, their sharp claws digging into my flesh. I felt something breathing down my neck. I could not turn to look at it—my neck was frozen. It whispered something into my ear: "You'll be the best I've ever had." The words slithered into my ear canal, dug into my eardrum, stabbed at my brain. I finally screamed. And with that scream I sat up in my bed. Everything looked normal. There was no ice anywhere; there was no cold; there was no old man in chains.
I fell backwards, letting my head sink back into my pillow. I'm too old for this, I thought to myself. What's going on in my house? What is this creature and why did it want me? I didn't sleep the remainder of that night. I simply stared at my crucifix, which I had taped together and laid on my nightstand. Jesus...please help me, for I am frightened beyond words.
When morning broke, I decided to do a bit of research after having my breakfast of cheese grits, scrambled eggs, and sausage. It was a wonder I could even eat after such a horrific night. I felt nauseated to the point that food of any sort was repulsive. I had to eat, though. I set my laptop on the table and brought up Google. I typed in the name the old man told me: a-z-a-t-o-t-h. Upon hitting Enter, I was made aware that there was a great deal of information on it, too much for me to be able to sift through in a single day or even a week, so I clicked on the first link I saw: Devilpedia—The Most Complete Compendium of Devils on the Net. What came up was a ghastly image by one Markus DelaCroix. The creature had ash grey skin, its face bore no eyes, no nose, no lips, but a horrid set of teeth that were more like spikes than any pearly whites I'd seen on even the most vicious of beasts; on its chest was a pair of perky breasts, nipples erect and looking like needles, which betrayed its mostly masculine appearance; its hands only had three fingers and a thumb, all of which had vile black claws extending from them; it stood on cloven hooves like a goat, but had no fur, and it had a slimy reptilian tail; what frightened me the most about its appearance, however, was the single eye on what should have been its sternum, a pitch black ball whose pupil was circumscribed with a blazing, ruby red iris that threatened to burn a hole through my very core were I to stare too deeply into it.
I was transfixed by this image; so much so that I almost neglected the text next to it. It read as follows:
Azatoth the Soul Eater, Arcdevil
One of the lesser known of all of Hell's entities, it is among the most sinister. It is called the Soul Eater because it has an unrivaled appetite for human souls, flavored, of course, by fear. It is said that when it steals and feeds on a human soul, the soul begins to lose its memories, starting with the most pleasant, leaving everything traumatic and scarring for last to increase the despair felt by the soul, until all that is left is a ghost without an identity. One popular story has it that it was once exorcised by a coven of thirteen Witches in 1775AD and sent back to Hell, but not without a high price: seven of the Witches died in a gruesome manner that is yet unexplainable, five lost their minds and were committed to an asylum, and the last one simply vanished without a trace. This is merely speculation, though, and is the subject of much debate among occult scholars. Other than this, very little is known about Azatoth regarding its origins. All that is certain is that it once walked the human plane; some say it is still among us, stalking its prey, looking for a most favorable soul to snatch. If you should encounter this demon, your fate might well be sealed.
I trembled with every word. A tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't believe in demons, but that was certainly starting to change. I looked back over to the image to find it had subtly shifted: before, it's face was in the 3/4 view; once I looked back at it...it was staring directly at me. I was frozen, paralyzed by fear. The image moved again, this time leaning ever so slightly toward me. It shrieked, a shrill, deafening sound, and I covered my ears, jumping out of my chair and away from my laptop. The screen shattered, sparked, and smoked. My laptop was officially out of commission. And I had wet myself. Dear God, what was I to do?
The rest of the day was pretty quiet, as had been the case the last couple of days, although I went through it completely on edge. Every time a bird chirped, every time a floor board creaked, every time I closed a cabinet door too hard, I was startled. I tried my damnedest to convince myself that it was all in my head; I tried, but I failed. How could I ignore what I had seen with my own two eyes? I was not losing it, but I certainly would if I did not take a proactive approach to this thing. I called a cab for myself and had the driver take me to the church. It was time to call upon my savior; only He could rid me of this creature, this Azatoth.
The church was a small one, as expected for this part of town. It was empty except for one priest, a very handsome man with greying hair showing his years of service to the Lord. Father Edward Jacobson was his name. I approached him humbly, sat him down to talk about my troubles. I told him of the crucifix above my bed, of the old man who appeared on my TV, then in my mirror, of my laptop exploding while doing research. Every word I said to him made his eyes wider and wider. I couldn't tell if he was as scared as I, or if he just thought I was some lunatic. Ironically, not all holy men believe in the supernatural. Well, neither did I until I moved to Charlotte Ave in Serifell.
"What do you say, Father?" I asked once my story was told. "Can you help me?"
He sighed a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Kincade," he replied. "But there is nothing that can be done for you."
"But you're a priest!" I shouted. "Surely, you can help me. You can say a few prayers, sprinkle some holy water, 'The power of Christ compels you,' SOMETHING!"
"No, you do not understand, Ms. Kincade-"
"No, YOU do not understand!" I stood up and got in his face. "This thing is tormenting me. I have never been so scared in my life. You MUST do SOMETHING!" That was when he stood up to back me out of his face. I backed off.
"I literally cannot help you, Ms. Kincade!" he screamed. "Nobody can. You think we don't know what goes on in that house?" I froze. My jaw gaped. He continued, "You think we do not know or care that that devil is there? Of course we do, but we can do nothing as per...as per our contract with it." He turned around and took a few steps away from me, hanging his head. "Azatoth came here to Serifell some sixty years ago, terrorizing those in this part of town. It stole souls left and right for a good ten years. People would disappear, some would be found dead. Oh, we tried our damnedest to get rid of it—we called in priests directly from Vatican City and even went as far as hiring Witches who specialized in the dark arts or demonic magick. Everyone who challenged Azatoth failed miserably; some were even made into grisly examples of what would happen if we continued to trifle with it.
"Nothing could put it down. Then the day came when it made a deal with us. It told us that if we lured 'delicious souls' into a particular house for it to feed on, it would keep its antics relegated to that house. That house..." he turned to look at me, a solemn expression on his face, and continued, "is the one you just bought: 428 Charlotte Ave. You, Ms. Kincade, are the latest sacrifice."
I was horrified at his words. How could a man of God make a deal with the devil, and in the most literal sense, no less? I mean, I suppose I can understand. The need of the many weighed against the need of the one.
"I will not be a sacrifice," I asserted. "I will leave town."
"Not possible. Everyone tries to leave." He turned around full body to face me, to look me in the eye. "The roads out of this part of town are all blocked off as it has commanded. It told us before you even arrived to close down the roads by the third day. You would only be escorted back to your home by local law enforcement."
"Y-you're bluffing."
"How I wish I were. What's truly troubling is that it is moving much faster than normal. It usually takes its time with its victims, a couple of weeks."
Naturally that is what troubles you, I thought. "Why is it moving so fast, Father?" I asked, choking up.
"Because," he sighed deeply, "it really likes you. Azatoth quickens the process of wearing down its victim's mind when it finds someone it deems quite, um...delectable. But this is the quickest anything has happened. It wants to waste no time because of your age."
I was speechless. I just stared at him as though this were all his fault, though I knew that wasn't quite true.
"Please, just go back home. I know it isn't fair, but we all want to live our lives in peace, and we can do that as long as Azatoth is satisfied. I...I am truly sorry. I have prayed every day since that wretched deal was made that God forgives me. He will not, though. I cannot even forgive myself." He broke down and cried. In that moment, I knew he was telling the truth. I left without another word. The cab was still outside where it had dropped me off. The driver had the same look on his face as the priest. How many times had he made this trip, seen someone run to the church out of desperation? My heart was breaking for this town. I looked around. All eyes were on me. Eyes filled with fear. Eyes filled with sorrow. Eyes filled with regret. Everyone knew the deal. I finally understood why people crossed themselves and shook their heads upon seeing me enter this town. I think I briefly felt more sympathy for them than fear for myself. It was quite brief, though. As sorry as I felt for them, I was angry that they would keep me here, that I had no hope of escaping. I broke down in the back of that cab. As I wept into my hands, I could sense that the cabbie wanted to give me an apology. He didn't, though because he knew that no apology in the world could make up for what was being done to me. Here I was, retired and ready to relax for the rest of my days. It was a beautiful dream while it lasted.
I looked up from my hands just as the cab had pulled up to the curb of my abhorrent house. It was surrounded by squad cars with flashing lights. Officers stood about, their hands ready to draw and open fire on me. I would have so welcomed that at this point. I exited the cab and stormed over to the sheriff, a man of about fifty, still very physically fit.
"So, what, are you gonna shoot me if I try to leave?" I demanded. He shook his head.
"My men have their hands on their tasers, Ms. Kincade," he replied gently. "We could not risk fatally wounding you, but we are obligated to stop you should you try to run."
"How can you-"
"Because he took my wife and daughter from me." Tears welled in his eyes. "It was twenty years back. Someone we lured here managed to escape this house by taking off through the woods. That lady was about your age, and I am still surprised that she managed such a feat in her condition. I can't say whether or not she made it very far. We just never saw her again after that, and Azatoth was furious, pissed beyond all recognition! He told me I would pay for my failure to keep her here." His tears rolled down his cheeks. "He possessed my then-deputy, and murdered my wife and daughter. To make sure I'd learned my lesson, he told me I was not to relocate, or else I could expect the same scenario to play out with another family. I can still smell their blood on the carpet sometimes in the living room. My deputy wasn't right after that and killed himself."
Hearing his trembling voice, seeing the anguish in his eyes, woke me up to the level of evil with which I was dealing. I felt my last bit of hope drain from me. God, I didn't want to be food for that horrible monster, but I could not put these people's lives in danger by leaving.
"I'm so sorry, Ms. Kincade," the sheriff said wiping way his tears. "You've been my favorite actress since I was a child, I have all of your movies on DVD. I regret so much that I met you under these circumstances. I wish things could be different."
Without another word, I sauntered up to my house, having resigned myself to my fate, through the door, locking it behind myself, and went up to my bedroom. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I was utterly alone. I had been abandoned by God, whom I had loved so much and worshipped so devoutly. I cursed his name. How could he forsake me? Why did he allow me to come here? They say God has a plan for us all. Was this his for me? I sat on my bed and wept for hours; even when my eyes were red and puffy, and the tears had dried up, I continued to cry. The police officers held their positions until well after night had fallen.
The lights began to flicker and the floor boards rattled. I jumped, my weeping instantly being silenced. The temperature dropped dramatically. My body gradually went numb, starting at my toes and finger tips, until I slumped backwards onto the bed. I didn't even have the energy to scream anymore, shallow breathing or not. My heartrate slowed. Fear choked me; I didn't know what would become of me. I could feel it approaching. I could hear it hissing like a thousand snakes slithering through my ears. Its aura penetrated every fiber of my being, tingling me in the most unpleasant way despite having lost all feeling in my body. Those same bony, clawed fingers clasped my head. Its putrid breath seeped into my nostrils. I felt its weight press down on me. Azatoth, although I could not see it, was certainly here. This was no trick of the mind. I was not losing it. It was real...and I was doomed. My back arched as it inhaled deeply. My consciousness faded into darkness and that was that.
I awoke hours later, lightheaded, confused. I found myself in a misty, black void with only a curious pane of glass before me. I got to my feet and went over to the glass. I gasped upon seeing my bedroom through that glass. It was my mirror. I gazed through my mirror at my bedroom. How could this be?! My question was answered in the next instance and I despaired. I saw myself enter the bedroom with an insidious grin on my face. I made eye contact with myself. My eyes flashed red irises against black sclera for a moment. Azatoth had taken my body. I wailed.
"Sorry, Shiela," it hissed at me in my own voice. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to become rich and famous. You're my favorite actress, after all, not to mention the first person I have liked enough in a long, long time to possess their body instead of just dropping it somewhere to see if the locals will find it or not." It chuckled and approached the mirror. "Your arthritis, your knee, and all other ailments will be healed within a couple of weeks. Then...'you'll' return to the screen, a brand new 'you'. And as I feed on you, you will eventually be reduced to a mere wandering spirit, although you won't wander too far; you'll be trapped in this house until I decide to release you."
I turned around slowly to gaze upon the void I had to look forward to living in and saw precisely what Azatoth meant. There were numerous other souls here who'd been drained dry and were now prisoners of this hellish dimension, including the old man who had tried to warn me, but was silenced each time. I could see in their eyes that they'd all forgotten who they were entirely. They simply existed here as ghosts, if not something lesser, just as Devilpedia had described. My despair peaked. I begged and pleaded with Azatoth to release me, but to no avail. It just laughed me off, enjoying my suffering. It would never release me. It had never released anyone. I cursed God once more. I renounced my faith. What reason had I to believe in a being who is supposed to be loving and merciful when that very being could allow so terrible a fate to befall his children? I crumbled to my knees. Azatoth continued laughing as it walked it away.
So now you know my tale of woe, which I have etched into the spectral glass pane in hopes that someone may come along, someone to whom I can tell this story, someone who will free us all of this beast. It has been a week since my imprisonment, and Azatoth has begun feeding on me, having drained the old man. I can feel my memories fading. I no longer remember the names of my parents. I can hardly remember their faces. Nor do I remember my sib...wait. Do I have siblings? Oh, God, if you truly did love us, you would have set us free of this wretched place, of this dreadful creature. Please, someone...anyone...help me. Help us.