Glad that I have gored the goat to death. The growling that I have heard afterwards was not from pain but of rage. It was not coming from its opened throat. The corpse was lying down breathless. Fear started overcoming me for it was late night, exactly, the witching hour. Right then, I knew I had to begin the invocation.
Let the gates of hell open
Hails to the underworld
Accept my offering and give me what I have always asked for
A familiar from the dark lands,
A beast kept under an infernal vow
A vow of eternal servitude and unconditional obedience
Suddenly, a ghostly figure strangely appeared behind the sign on sand. It spoke and said:
“Koligtee, Gholly, Thiloom”
My servant will be a ghoul, named Thiloom, that I ll receive the night after.
Somehow in front of my tomb, I have found a cradle sheltering an unidentified dark little creature, a faceless infant ghoul. I feel an extreme joy and I thank the coven of witches from the bottom of my rotten heart for they have finally accepted my solemn request.
My new purpose now is to take care of my baby ghoul, feed it with dead flesh I ll collect from the graveyard till it becomes stronger and stronger, and tame it to my best of my abilities so it won’t make any mistake while obeying my orders, for I am the master of this infernal beast. I ll not make the dark coven regret such a generous gesture of theirs.
From now on I ll serve evil and make rituals from the blood of my future preys. My commands will depend on my mood. It will depend on the stars and on the moon phases.
Thiloom, run, harm and feed.
Thiloom , track, hunt and bring alive.
Each night, I wake up after sunset then I check on Thiloom. Thiloom is becoming stronger. I can sense that its thirst for blood has grown and hunger for human flesh has developed. I cannot hide the voices I hear inside my head, I cannot ignore them. They say,
Oh you servant of the darkness, Oh you pathetic servant, your time has clearly come, haven’t you noticed the new glare in Thiloom’s eyes, haven’t you started sensing its hatred towards you, you have not much time left, bow down near the northern well and gave us your soul with dignity or we ll command Thiloom to do it.
I cannot ignore these alien thoughts, but in the same time, I am the father of this beast. I am the master. I ll deceive the coven and run away with Thiloom. May be they have altered its loyalty to me, I have to run away to another land, may be overseas. Oh I hear something crawling behind, this is impossible; I have checked the chains of Thiloom earlier, how come? Maybe I am thinking too much.
Oh no, this cannot be, oh, Aaaaaarghhh.
Frightening screams. Crying and hopeless laughter. This is Insane. I do not recognize my self anymore. I am in full submission while falling on my knees in front of this huge beast. My dear Thiloom has become a stranger with the, one and only, instinct to kill.
Tonight was the same night Thiloom was brought to life by the coven, and now all I can see, is a bloody and deathly scenery. Thiloom feeding on the guts of its master, I the narrator can smell that disgusting feast, yet I can see how delighted Thiloom has become, the first smile on a faceless head. The killing of his master was one of the most brutal savage acts I have ever witnessed. Skull smashed, throat dissected, eyes swallowed, penis thrown to fire, flesh eaten, and bones destroyed. All what is left is a bunch of guts lying on the ground. Weirdly enough, Thiloom keeps vomiting them whenever they make way inside its infernal stomach.
I watch my own murder in disgust and pain, I plunge into despair and I wait for my final judgment. I feel the bitter regret of what is awaiting for me. A similar fate within the district of Hell.
The second meaningful long conversation was initiated by her after a long while of disappearance. She asked anonymously, how is your writing doing. In that same time I had a feeling it was her but i had a slight doubt. I replied with the first part of this humble story. A story of pain was her departure to an unknown fate to me, and all I could do is an attempt to live off her memory. I wrote this story from notes I had written by hand a long time ago, and each time, I think, the first deliverance was in time of a reunion, so may be completing this story and publishing it may grant me a chance of some sort. Hopefully, some kind of a second reunion.
Art is sacred and shall be. Art defies reason but keeps you dreaming. And all I do is I keep dreaming.