Okay, so here I am branching out again with another dark short. It’s X-Files. If you don’t know the backstory to X-Files, which so few truly understand, then I doubt you’ll get this. Hopefully, you might enjoy it anyway.
Liar
Johnson could remember the first time he had seen the demon, late one fall night when the wind was crisp and the leaves rustled across the chilly ground in a erratic breeze.
He had seen what the demon could do, the screaming faces of its victims ran in and out of its visage like water in a stream.
It cast a shadow against the window some nights, long and alien.
It often left for long periods of time.
It was evil.
And it had to be destroyed.
He could tell no one. The police wouldn’t come, the government would never help him. Everyone had heard the whispers of conspiracies, the soft mumbling of a million voices denouncing the system. He knew all about it. The knowledge was burned into his brain as if engraved with a smoking brand.
The Angels didn’t talk to him as much anymore. And maybe if he did what they wanted, they would come back. He was so lonely since they had left him. He missed the comforting sounds that only he could hear. They had told him of the demon. And he knew he had to kill it like the Angels wanted him too.
The fear of the thing dark and hideous stalking in its dark kitchen send shivers down his spine. The forces of Hell were arrayed against him. He had to stand strong. The deed would be finished, and the demon would be sent back to the pits from which it had emerged.
The gun was cold and hard in his hand, biting into the soft flesh of his palm, insistent in its power. This was his instrument of justice, his tool of sacrifice. The moon illuminated the demon’s front yard with its pale light. The leaves crunched beneath his booted feet. The quickening beat of his heart lent urgency to his stride, his breathing became harsh and heavy. Tonight, the demon would die. Tonight.
The doorbell rang out a single note. The muffled thump of something being set down on a table could be heard. The footsteps drew closer and louder, and then the inner door opened. A man stood there. He was plain and unremarkable, brown hair, green eyes, around six feet tall. His face held a look of mild curiosity at the visitation. Johnson looked at that man, and knew it was a lie.
The screen door was opened and the man stepped forward. The lying mouth opened.
“Can I help you?”
“I know.”
Confusion crossed the human facade.
“Excuse me?”
The hatred blossomed in Johnson. Even now the demon would not admit what it was, would not stand for itself and face him. How he hated, hated this beast before him. This wolf in sheep’s clothing. This predator amongst the innocent.
“Demon.”
Then there was nothing but the motion of raising the gun. Time seemed to slow, then almost freeze as the pistol was brought level with the demon’s head. The false eyes of the monster widened in surprise, and Johnson experienced a surge of victory. Oh, how he had won.
“Never return!”
The shot was incredibly loud in the silence, a blast of noise and a flash of light. The beast was struck once in the base of the neck, the bullet cleanly passing through the tissue. In the moment of its death, the creature released a piercing inhuman shriek, then began its fall towards the ground.
Johnson exulted as the bright blood of the monster covered him, the liquid of his victory running down his face. He didn’t care that it hurt. He didn’t notice the blood burning deep holes in his skin, the darkness descending over his vision as the blood melted his eyes. Soon, he would be with the Angels again, like he had used to. To have killed that which was evil was worth the price to his own body.
The pain became overwhelming and Johnson slumped to the ground. With a shaking arm, he raised the gun to his own head to deny the creature its kill. No, he would not die by the monsters machinations. Better by his own hand.
A sudden doubt stuck him before he pulled the trigger. Would the Angels come and take him back? What if they didn’t want him anymore? …No, he had to have faith. He had to believe.
A small smile crossed his lips, and a last whisper escaped him.
“I want to believe.”
The second shot of the night echoed across the street, then faded into silence.
