The Midnight Hour by Neil Davies Read Free Book Online Page B

happy one, sometimes a painful one, but receding further and further each time. He had all but forgotten about the shadow in his eye. That was part of the madness, the depression that had taken hold after Lisa had left.
    He was happy.
     
    The second morning back in his flat he woke to the noise of traffic outside, of distant police sirens, of people.
    He opened his eyes.
    A cold fist of fear clenched in his chest. His stomach churned. He shook. He felt a need to urinate.
    He screamed.
    The shadow was back, bigger, darker, blacker than before.
    He was completely blind in his left eye!
    “NO!” he cried out, pushing himself out of bed, stumbling against the bedside cabinet. The lamp crashed to the floor, the bulb popping.
    He staggered towards the mirror, the sight in his right eye misty, distorted. He could see himself only as a blurred shape in the darkness of the room.
    His knee hit the dressing table and he stepped backwards onto a shoe he had carelessly thrown to the floor the night before. He fell, his back hitting the floor hard, his head jarring, his breath forced out of him as hard as if he had been punched in the stomach.
    He rolled, groaning, gasping.
    The darkness in his left eye moved, swirled, writhed .
    He no longer felt blind but rather that something was covering his eye, preventing him from seeing.
    The something took on the consistency of oil, dripping and oozing, reminding him of his hand in his dream, his nightmare.
    He raised a hand to his eye and tried to scream but was still struggling to find enough air.
    He could feel it, welling up around his eyeball, oozing out of the socket through his fingers. It felt as if it was trying to suck his eye out of his head.
    Then it was gone.
    His fingers were dry. The only thing he felt on his face was his hand. Cautiously he withdrew it, opened his eyes, looked into the darkness of the room and saw it!
    A figure, constantly shifting its shape, liquid in its movement, solid as it stood before him. As tall as a man. As broad as a man. Vaguely following the shape of a man. But not a man.
    The shadow!
    Richard could not move as he watched the blades slip from the ends of its arms. He could only watch open-mouthed as the thing moved towards him, each step splashing as though through puddles.
    He couldn’t even scream as the blades buried themselves deep into his eyes.
     

WHEN THE FIRES DIE
     
     
    Liquid fire dripped from the walls of the inner sanctum in viscous drops that rolled and spread but did not burn the black flooring. Tongues of flame flicked at the ceiling but no smoke billowed from the conflagration. A smokeless, eternal fire that lined the way to the throne room, that boiled the blood of those who stepped too close, but did not scorch the flesh.
    Satan sat on the ornate throne, his foot tapping impatiently, his fingers drumming on the carved head of a demon. He scratched at the small horns that broke the skin of his forehead.
    Hargot, one of his many advisors, was approaching between the walls of fire.
    “Well?” Satan did not wait until the advisor had stopped walking.
    Hargot hesitated, knowing his master would not like the news.
    “They would not listen, Lord Satan.”
    Satan closed his eyes and sighed. This was not meant to happen to him. Trusted with one of the most important realities of the metaphysical universe he was meant to be feared, reviled and, most importantly, obeyed!
    Hargot cleared his throat, waited for a moment for his master to respond and then, seeing Satan close his eyes, continued.
    “If their demands are not met in full, as of tomorrow morning the Stokers of Hell will be on strike.”
     
    Baphomet gazed across the gathered assembly of demons, astrals and entities. Most were significantly less human than he was in form and manner. He, indeed, had been human once, long ago, although he had been called a name he could no longer remember. His face was grim, determined, but there was a smile behind his dark, mesmeric eyes. These