Alan

Alan pressed on the handle, and the door creaked open with unsettling ease as if it had been waiting for him. It seemed to beckon him inside.

The first thing that hit him as he stepped in was the smell. Sharp, foreign, like something rotting deep within the walls. He gagged, covering his nose and feeling for a light switch. When his fingers found the cool plastic, he pressed. A single, weak bulb flickered to life, casting long, wavering shadows in the small room.

It wasn’t much. A small iron furnace stood near the door, likely to drive away the cold. Next to it was a lone chair with a desk attached to the armrest—like something from a classroom, except far more worn. Behind the chair, a bare plank passed for a bed, only a thin blanket thrown over it. Alan grunted in disappointment.

His eyes fell on a large closet dominating the other half of the room. Pulling the handles, the doors opened smoothly to reveal an unexpected sight—a small armoury. Rifles, pistols, and enough ammunition to last through a siege. A flicker of unease crept up his spine. What exactly did someone need all this firepower for, out here in the middle of nowhere? It felt excessive for a simple hunting cabin.

But Alan hadn’t expected to stumble across anything man-made so deep in the woods, so he couldn’t complain. The cabin was built beneath a ridge, almost hidden by the landscape. If it hadn’t looked so out of place, he would have missed it entirely and kept wandering, probably lost for hours more.

Half-hoping to find a phone charger, he rifled through the closet but had no luck. With a sigh, he placed his dead phone on the chair-desk. He cursed himself for not charging it before leaving; who could have known the dog would run away? Kel, his father’s old dog, was out there somewhere. Helpless.

Alan busied himself with lighting a fire in the furnace. If there wasn’t a charger, he couldn’t call for help. If he couldn’t call for help, he’d be spending the night here, whether he liked it or not. The bed was a disappointment, but at least the fire would keep him warm for the night. Outside, the wind howled, the same wind he’d battled for hours as he searched for Kel. His father's companion—a loyal warrior in his final days. But now, the old dog wouldn’t last long.

As the fire crackled to life, casting a warm glow, Alan sat back in the chair and watched the flames flicker. His thoughts swirled like the orange tongues licking at the logs—alive, unpredictable. He felt a gnawing discomfort creeping into his mind. He turned to the window beside him.

A shadow darted across the glass, sharp and sudden, like a predator stalking its prey. Alan’s pulse quickened. Was that Kel? Or something else? A wild animal? He felt a cold sweat trickle down his back.

Just to be sure, he stepped to the door and opened it.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?”

Only crickets replied. He stumbled back inside, startled when an owl hooted, making him jump. He crashed back into the chair, uncomfortable. “Damn nature. This is why I quit the scouts,” he muttered. He wasn’t a tracker, and certainly not one at night. Kel would have to wait until morning. He checked around the room again, looking for the door’s key. He didn’t feel good leaving it open. But he didn’t find it.

Sitting back down in the chair, he looked into the fire again. The orange tongues of destruction waved around the wood, crackling. It almost seemed as if they were dancing in a circle. His fingers played with his phone, while he was thinking of his dead father. He’d died two years ago.

Another shadow moved outside, and Alan sharply looked up into the darkness. The way his head had been hanging, he would’ve seen something only if it had passed right next to the window. He fixed his gaze on the door. Was something out there?

For a minute, nothing happened. He stayed still for another. Nothing. He leaned closer to the window. The trees and their branches moved in the wind; no other movement was seen.

Was it truly so windy outside? The branches swayed violently, almost too much for a mere breeze. Was there a storm announced? The tension in the air felt heavy.

Before he could think further, a figure stepped out of the darkness, into the dim light finding its way out of the cabin. Alan’s heart stilled. It stood tall, on two legs, its arms far too long for its body, almost touching the ground with them. Black smoke curled around it, blurring its outline, and giving it an eerie, unreal appearance.

As he gazed outside, a figure stepped out of the darkness, into the dim light finding its way out of the cabin. Completely black, it stood on two legs, tall and with arms too long, almost touching the ground with them. Black smoke drifted around it.

As he gazed outside, he felt a mixture of fear and disbelief. That was no human. It was staring right at Alan.

He jumped to his feet, knocking the desk chair. His phone clattered to the ground, the screen cracking. Not that it mattered—it was already dead.

What was that?!

The creature retreated into the darkness as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving Alan trembling. His mind began to churn again—his father’s face floated into his thoughts. The man had been so devout, so adamant that demons were real, that they lived among them. Alan had always dismissed it. Fragments of the priest’s words from two years ago resurfaced. “Demons killed your father. He worked with them.” Alan had laughed at it all then, brushed it off as nonsense. But now, standing in that cabin, it didn’t seem so absurd.

Moving quickly, Alan grabbed a pistol from the closet and loaded it. He’d never fired a gun before, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t planning on using it—just having it in his hand made him feel safer. Or at least, less exposed.

He sat back down, clutching the gun tightly. The room seemed darker now, despite the furnace blazing brightly. The shadows flickered too wildly, almost as if they had a life of their own.

Another movement outside made him flinch. He stared at the window. Nothing. Just the trees, swaying violently, too violently for the still air he’d felt earlier.

Then, from the darkness, the figure returned. It stood just beyond the reach of the firelight, its black smoke swirling more aggressively now, its gaze locked on Alan. The eyes—hollow, endless pits of darkness—bored into him.

Alan jumped, backing away. His father’s warnings echoed in his head. Could it be true? Were these demons here because of him? Because of what his father had done?

His grip on the pistol tightened. Oh God, had it all been real? His father’s faith, his righteousness… had it all led to this? Alan’s breath quickened. Demons. His father had warned him, and now they were here, clawing at the edges of his sanity.

When the black creature finally vanished, Alan could hardly breathe. The room seemed darker, except for the furnace fire, which burnt brightly. Standing in the corner, clutching the pistol, Alan started calming down. When his heart rate reached a semi-normal beat, he moved towards the closet. He pulled out a belt for the pistol and a few ammunition boxes. He also took a rifle and an old oil lamp. He wasn’t staying in the cabin. He couldn’t. Every fibre in his being screamed at him to leave. Whatever had been out there would come back. He could feel it.

Taking some fire from the furnace to light the lamp, he turned to the door. He opened it and braced for the wind. There was none. Alan stepped outside. The branches whipped wildly in the wind, yet the air remained unnervingly calm. No breeze, no gusts against his skin. Alan cursed under his breath, damning his father and his outdated beliefs. Gripping the rifle with his right hand, and holding the lit lamp in his left, he left the hidden cabin behind him.

After reaching the edge of the cabin’s light, he looked over his shoulder. He’d left the door open. Animals would enter it and likely wreck it. He turned back to the dark forest. If the owner cared, he wouldn’t have left it unlocked.

“This isn’t real. It can’t be,” he whispered, but his cold, shaking hands betrayed him.

He pressed on, rifle in hand, an oil lamp in his other. The forest swallowed him in seconds. Every sound, every whisper of movement made his heart race, but his vision was locked into the small circle of light cast by the lamp. He couldn’t afford to look behind him.

He kept walking. At first, he kept on looking around, trying to spot the black creature. It taxed his mind too much, so he later decided to simply look straight forward and just keep on walking.

Just as his nerves began to fray, a flicker of light ahead caught his attention. Another fire? Relief surged through him, hope igniting. Was it campers? Someone else out here? He quickened his pace, pushing through the underbrush until he stumbled into a clearing.

The fire blazed hot, too bright, almost blinding. Its light wasn’t like the warm glow of the furnace—it was harsh, unnatural, white-hot. Around it, four shadowy figures danced in eerie silence, their movements synchronized with the violent crackling of the flames.

Then they stopped. They turned toward him in unison, their faces emerging from the dark.

Alan screamed.

He tried to run, but they were on him in seconds, their icy hands yanking him back, dragging him toward the fire. The rifle and pistol were ripped from his hands and thrown into the flames. He sobbed, scrambling backwards, but they blocked every escape.

Through tears, Alan looked around for any possible escape, but the demons stood too close to one another. There were no gaps. He looked up at them. His thoughts blanked out.

The faces. He knew them.

He screamed again.

“What are you! What do you want!”

They stared at him without an answer.

His body shook and he pulled himself into the only direction he could. Towards the white-hot fire. The dark figures followed him, not making a sound. Reaching the fire, Alan turned back to him, his eyes bloodshot. His body was shaking, but he barely registered it.

“I couldn’t have helped! I couldn’t have!!” he screamed towards the boy and the girl demons. Twins who had been murdered on his street. Both gave him empty stares.

He turned to another, his ex-girlfriend. “You wanted it! It’s not my fault!” He broke down and sobbed. “It’s not my fault…”

He looked up at his father last. His eyes filled with anger.

“It’s all YOUR fault! You and your stupid religion! I had to do it!”

None of them replied. Or moved.

Through his tears, he saw Kel step into the clearing. The dog—his only friend left. Surely Kel would save him. But as Kel approached, his form warped. Black smoke twisted from his fur, and the dog transformed into yet another demon. This one had Alan’s own face. It grinned.

“But you could’ve helped them,” it nodded to the boy and the girl demons. “You simply wanted to see what would happen if you didn’t”

It waved at the second one “It wasn’t her fault. You kept on squeezing even after she started flailing around and scratching your arms.”

Lastly, it looked at his father.

“He- You’re so similar to him. Which you hate.”

The demon Alan turned and the others stepped forward. They lifted the real Alan in the air, holding him as if he’d been crucified.

Alan gasped. “What are you?” he choked out, barely able to form the words.

The demon Alan grinned, its features twitching and distorting.

“Me?” It leaned forward, eyes black as the void. “I am what you’d call the Devil.”

The others hurled Alan into the fire, watching for a moment before they disappeared into the night. Alan’s screams echoed through the clearing as the flames consumed him.

When a search party found Alan the next day, curled up and muttering about demons, the doctor suggested a mental break. But no one could explain the singed clearing or the melted remains of the guns.