Yes, Demons Do Exist

Yes, Demons Do Exist

I watched the safari truck jostle along the rough dirt track, weaving around mud holes and low hanging acacia branches. Dusk had fallen moments before, and the family hanging out of the pop-up roof squinted fervently through the gloom to spot the elusive leopard. What they spotted instead was me, and I had timed this perfectly.

“Dad, did you see that?” I heard the youngest girl squeal, wagging her finger towards the rear of the vehicle. The family had been calling her Quincy. Her older sister was Berkeley, and the other family’s daughter was named Suriya. Both Berkeley and Suriya were eleven, and would make a tasty meal. 

“Moses, stop the truck!” the man referred to as Dad shouted while grabbing wildly to brace himself as the Toyota screeched to a halt. 

Dust swirled around the tires, creating a perfect haze to screen my movements. I knew the entire family was eagerly crowding around the back of the vehicle, one of those Toyota Land Cruisers that seats eight and has a roof that pops up. Safari tourists can then stand up as the truck bounces along so they’ve got a better view of the game park. 

Crouched behind a cluster of dead branches, I watched and waited until all seven members of the two families were in position. Then I slunk out, stepping just enough into the wake of the tail lights to be visible. Just enough to make the family wonder desperately what they were seeing. 

“Dad,” seven year old Quincy whispered in terror. “What is that?”

“I don’t know, Quincy. I’ve never seen an animal like that.” Little did the patrons of this safari vehicle realize, but I had sat next to them during lunch today at Uganda’s Lake Mburo Game Lodge. I had been watching them, choosing them in particular. I had been in human form then though, so to them I was just another hungry safari bird watcher. They could not have been more incorrect.

“Moses,” the brown skinned woman named Prabha inquired over her shoulder, “can you tell us what that is please?” Her posh Indian upbringing made everything she said to Moses or any of the lodge staff sound like an order. She wasn’t cut out for a dirty African safari. She was only here because her soft, upper-class husband was trying to impress the other dad, a rough-hewn American.

I saw Moses glance into his side mirror, peering into the dissipating dust cloud. I could tell he had been a safari guide for a long time, but just like Dad, he had never seen anything like me either. His response: slam on the gas pedal.

The family was not expecting a naked, deformed humanoid to be what stepped out from behind that tree. My long, thin legs stuck their knees obscenely into the air as I dropped into my crouch, and I planted one boney hand into the dirt to steady myself. The other hand though I reached up toward the vehicle, making sure the family saw just how long my claws are. The hooks I wear on my fingers are the stuff of nightmares, each nearing a foot long. They are meant for tearing flesh from bones, right after I’ve torn open a victim’s throat or sliced the belly to let the entrails cascade out. I’ve found that entrails are tastiest when they are fresh, when the victim is still alive. Still kicking. Still pumping blood through their veins before they expire. 

But what Moses had seen was the eyes of a demon. My eyes in this transformed state are terrifying, just enormously round, and a shiny pitch black. They are nothing but pupils, and are often the last thing my victims see before they expire. 

Moses was not able to process fully what he had seen. As a devout Ugandan Christian, he feared demons above all else. The superstition around evil taking physical form was a legacy of British colonialism, but formed a bedrock of the country’s spiritual faith. Moses fled from me in terror, as every Ugandan is trained from childhood to do. Ironically, no one had ever actually seen a demon, probably because none had survived such an encounter. Sadly, Moses and his safari charges would not live to see morning.

With blinding speed I dashed off behind the vehicle. In demon form I could run faster than a horse, with my exaggerated appendages stretching out grotesquely to propel me forward like a cannon shot. The lumbering safari vehicle, even floored, was a big truck to move so it ambled away as quick as it was able. It was clearly outmatched though. 

In just a few strides I caught up. A leap into the air and I was on top of the truck’s pop-up, claws slashing downward. I hooked Suriya with such force that her head was left dangling by just a few strands of flesh. The wailing screams from the girl’s mother, Prabha were a cacophony of fear and anguish at what she had just witnessed. Her daughter’s life had just been snuffed, and she grasped what was left of the child in her arms as the little girl’s life essence evaporated from her eyes.

Prabha threw her head back in a mourning wail, but the sound was immediately arrested in her throat.  For what she saw in looking towards the heavens was me, claws holding the roof of the vehicle and my misshapen face peering down at her with those chilling ebony eyes. I could see that she was frozen in terror, and a glance around the interior of the truck showed that a moment of silence had befallen the group. The only sound was the revving engine and the squeaking rattle of safari vehicle bouncing along in a desperate attempt to escape.

Moments like this sustain me. I must consume human flesh to maintain physical form, but the demon side of me requires sheer and utter terror. I’m eternal, but even I have requirements, needs for infernal nourishment. And the scene before me was a delightful feast. I would cherish the looks on these poor faces for decades to come. 

Savoring the moment, I made eye contact with each member of the vehicle. Even Moses saw me from the rear view mirror. But enough is enough, and the show must go on. 

Slowly I leaned forward, running a single claw under Prabha’s chin. The goosebumps that jumped out across her pampered brown skin was almost as delightful as her whimper. Then with a flash like lightning, I skewered young Quincy with that solitary nail. I whisked the child up to the roof and tucked her under my arm. Whirling to face the open savannah, I bounded off into the darkness. Quincy’s small body trembled under my arm, and I could feel her squirting blood splashing across my left flank. 

The safari vehicle screeched to a halt, and I heard the engine be thrown into reverse. Yes, yes, come and follow me. Just as I  planned, they were following the bait. Understandably, they wanted their child back. But they were plunging headlong into my trap. This fleeting moment of human courage, this flash of desired vengeance, would lead to a group extermination. 

The meat on this party’s bones, and the range of emotions I had stirred in them, would be enough nourishment to last until I transitioned to my next human form. I had inhabited so many of these mortal bodies, and each had been a joy to work with. The current safari bird watcher had been a favorite, but there would be more. There would always be more. I had not yet decided who I would become next though. I had plenty of time to decide, but I was rather enjoying this safari experience. I might have to do this again.

The Toyota’s headlights hit me squarely. I knew they would and I spun in anticipation of my next move. This entire night had been meticulously planned, and the next step would add more fuel to the horror the families were already feeling. I dropped to a crouch as the vehicle barreled towards me, bouncing across the broken safari grassland. I held Quincy’s still struggling form up to be clearly seen, then stood to my full nine foot height. I wanted the truck people to clearly see this next part of the show. I brought my glistening fangs down into Quincy’s little head, ripping the top of her skull off. Then I slithered my demon tongue over her brain, causing her feet to spasm wildly. I sighed mightily as the child’s brains slid down my throat, and I cast the rest away in an unnecessary heap of bones and flesh. 

The vehicle itself seemed to pulsate in human anguish, the screams echoing across the darkened prairie. I chuckled, knowing they would follow me. I would pick them off, one by one, until only Moses was left. I might even let him live, so that he could confirm to his faith community that yes, demons do exist.