Iblis (sample) by Raven Jennifer Demers

IBLIS

(Sample Text)

by Raven Jennifer Demers

   Angelo’s stomach growled again. Nausea overcoming him, he raced for the toilet, only to find he could not bring anything up. This episode had lasted three weeks, and the churning in his belly only confirmed his dreams—something inside him prevented him from moving forward in life. After washing his face, and clutching his middle, he sluggishly walked to the bed, pulling himself onto the mattress and falling forward. For the first time since his eighth birthday, he prayed—a soft quiet prayer—into the muffling of his pillow. Some surcease from the pain, some direction, something to come and wrench this vile knot in his gut from him in the most sacrosanct ways. His teeth sank into the cotton and he bit hard, an animal snarling and wanting to gnaw into itself to end the illness.
   Giving up hoping for a God or savior to come for him, he calmed down, breathing hopeless air into his lungs through the foam of his pillow. A warm sensation of peace spread over him, and he lay on his belly thinking about the few treasures he had in his life. Rolling onto his back, he covered his eyes with his arm, and allowed the relaxation to fill his muscles, ebbing away his consciousness.
   As he drifted into sleep, a light sparked in the darkness of his room. The light from the bathroom streamed in from down the hall, and he could make out the edge of a figure standing in the corner of his room—a lit stick hung from his mouth, Angelo guessed from its position it was a cigarette, but it seemed strange.
   “You want peace?” the voice asked.
   This startled Angelo, and suddenly the shock that delayed his reactions, now sped them up. He jumped to his feet, reaching for the gun under his mattress, and shot into the corner where the man had stood. He could see nothing for certain, but he shot four times into the wall. His bedside lamp turned on behind him, and he whirled to stare directly into the black eyes of a demon. “Madre de Dios.”
   “Do not speak of God to me,” said the burnt man, and Angelo could see clearly the brand in his mouth was not a cigarette, but a sliver of metal lit at the end. It glowed ominously before his face, and he took a step back, only to trip on a discarded gun. Angelo’s hand fumbled for it beneath him, but already another hand gripped it and tossed it aside. His one hope for safety rattled to the ground.
   “You suffer Angelo. Let me give you the peace you desire,” said Iblis.
   “I do not want to die.”
   “Die?” The room shook with his laughter. “I am not here to kill you, but there is something I wish to destroy.” He bent forward, pulling the fiery needle from between his teeth and aimed it at Angelo’s gut.
   Stricken with fear, the adrenaline told Angelo to run, but his body did not obey his command. Held to the floor he experienced the agony of the searing pin piercing his flesh and worm toward the center of his stomach’s ailments. Iblis circled the needle inside Angelo’s stomach, seeming to take great care in watching his motions—intent on his job. The burning sent violent shivers to Angelo’s brain, causing him to scream. His joints would not flail and he lay there knowing only pain and restraint. Howls into the night went unheard—even his voice would not do his bidding, but he never realized it. Inside his head he heard his own screams and he began to cry for no one came to rescue him.
   He prayed for the second time that night—he prayed for the burning to end—but the searing pain went on and on, endlessly into him. It dug deeper and further into him than he realized, and the trauma of his childhood came to him in violent flashes of cool disregard. The smack across the face from his father at age five, the ruined birthday party at eight that caused him to renounce God, and even the recent memory of his last lover, growing tired of him and leaving him for another man. A whimper escaped his lips.
   “A little more, Angelo. You have not seen it yet,” and Iblis sent a bolt of heat through the metal, causing Angelo’s muscles to contract and his body to arch as if struck by lightning.
   He saw it then—before Angelo’s eyes he saw a purpose stretching out in front of him. The path of his life, littered with its heartbreaks and betrayals also showed gold glittering along the edges. Where he went, he did good to others, and further down the path he could see something beautiful—a child ran to him with black braids and tan skin, and he knew he had nothing to fear from the pain.
   The scene was bathed in a white light, heat scorching him as his viscera pulled apart. Iblis reached into the blackened hole he created in Angelo, and retrieved a ball of greenish brown scum that had lain in the young man for too many years. All of his pain and fear, his mistrust of others and desire to hide away from the world pulsated in this one ball of muck. Iblis held it up before Angelo’s eyes so that he might see, and he burned it in his hand, the layers of filth sloughing off onto the floor. It started to take on a different shape—where once it was cylindrical, it started to appear more triangular, and slowly it exposed more layers until the edges of white stone shone beneath.
   When fully cleansed, Angelo could see it was a carved arrowhead made of a pale and shimmering stone. Iblis enclosed it in Angelo’s hand, and then placed his own hands over the gaping wound where Angelo’s entrails could be seen red and purple. A light glowed from Iblis’ hands, and the flesh slowly worked itself closed, healing itself beneath his touch.
   Iblis said, “Sleep,” and Angelo moved into the depths of sleep, only to awaken in bed and alone. In the light of the dawn, he turned his head and opened his hand to find the arrowhead of his ancestors laying in his palm. No longer did he feel sick, and he stepped into the brilliant sunshine that morning to take a walk.