Shattered Sanctuary

[Trigger Warning: Suicide]

The river had always whispered secrets- a dark, undulating ribbon of water, teeming with mysteries darker still. It was here, where the demon found her. A young woman, her eyes hollow, her heart a bruised plum, whispering the name of her lost child as tears rolled down her face

The demon, a wisp of smoke with emerald eyes, glided close, a silent promise in its gaze. “You are drowning in sorrow,” it hissed, its voice a caress gone wrong. “This river, it offers release. It will take you to your child, to a world beyond pain.”

The woman's eyes fixed on the shimmering surface of the water, the ripples a silent invitation. “You mean I can be with him?” her voice cracked.

“Yes,” the demon purred. “He waits for you, beyond the darkness, in a realm of eternal peace.”

And so, the woman, her feet light, walked to the river's edge. The demon watched as she walked into the churning water and was swallowed by the river's maw.

The demon, its thirst for sorrow not nearly quenched, moved on. It found a fisherman, his eyes red-rimmed, his face etched with the lines of a life spent battling the tides. The demon saw his weariness, his longing for rest.

“The sea, it is a cruel mistress,” the demon spoke, its voice now rough, an echo of the ocean's roar. “It demands your life, your strength, leaving you hollow, empty. But there is peace, a final, blissful sleep beneath its waves.”

The fisherman, wrestling with the burden of his life, saw the demon's words as a truth long known, a final release. “A final sleep, you say?”

“Yes,” the demon whispered. “It will take you, embrace you, make you one with its vastness.”

The fisherman gripped his anchor, the rusty iron cold against his skin. He looked at the ocean, his eyes filled with a strange peace. With a final, ragged breath, he tied the rope to his leg. He then stepped off the boat, the vast ocean swallowing him whole, the weight anchoring him to death.

The demon watched as the fisherman disappeared beneath the waves, a ripple in a boundless expanse. It had fed its hunger, tasted the bitter sweetness of another soul lost to its whispers.

Across the valley, a man burdened by the loss of his wife, sat hunched in his workshop. The air was thick with the smell of sawdust and grief, a potent concoction for a demon's malicious design.

The whispers began, this time weaving a tapestry of the man’s sorrow. They recounted his wife's gentle laughter, her warm embrace, all now lost to a cruel fate.

“She'd want you to be free,” the demon urged. “She'd want you to be with her, beyond the pain.”

The man, his heart heavy with despair, found himself drawn to the attic. A rope hung from the rafters, waiting. 

The man, lost in a labyrinth of grief, didn't see the demon's hand in his demise. He only saw the promise of joining his wife, of escaping the suffocating reality of his sorrow. He grasped the rope, in his final act of resignation, as the demon watched.

In the woods outside of town, Cora was foraging. The wind came first, a soft rustling in the trees that carried the scent of wet leaves and rotten meat. At first, Cora dismissed the smell, attributing it to the November breeze. Then, the wind turned into whispers. They grew louder, more insistent, morphing into words that wormed their way into her thoughts. 

“Life is a burden,” they hissed. “An endless cycle of pain and misery. Release yourself.”

Cora suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

A shadow, barely discernible from the canopy of branches, detached itself from the tree’s limb and approached her. Its whispers slithered into her mind, tempting her with words of peace and oblivion.

The shadow swirled around her, it felt warm. It felt honest. The shadow promised an escape from her pain, a release from the agony that consumed her.

In the distance, she heard her sister scream, “Cora! Help! Hurry!” It was just enough to break her from the trance.

Cora ran to her parents’ home. The moment she stepped onto the stone walkway, she was consumed by unease.

Bursting through the front door, Cora was met with a tableau of raw grief and helplessness. Her mother’s usually soft face was contorted with anguish. She held her sister close, her sobs muffled by the embrace. The window on the third floor was gaping open, a stark reminder of what had just transpired.

“Dad?” Cora whispered, the word carrying a weight of disbelief and accusation. 

Her sister, ever the practical one, shook her head, “He jumped. We tried to stop him, but…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

The air hung heavy with unspoken pain, punctuated by the rhythmic sobs of Cora’s mother. It was then that the memory of the woods flashed in her mind. The sun barely filtering through the leaves, the wind, the voice. A voice whispering of a world where pain and sorrow don’t exist. It had felt like a dream, a nightmare, but now, in the face of her father's death, it felt like a cruel prophecy. 

“It was a demon,” Cora’s voice was barely audible over the sobs of her mother. “I saw it. It spoke to me too.”

Her mother, her eyes filled with grief, shook her head. “No, Cora. It was just grief. He was in pain for many years.”

She knew better. 

The next day, Cora shuffled through the cobbled streets, her eyes downcast. The once vibrant town reeked of despair. Empty houses, overgrown gardens, and the constant wail of mourners choked the air. How had she not noticed the plague that overtook her community? Now that her father had become the latest victim, joining the list of suicides that plagued their village, Cora’s eyes were open. There was only one person who could have brought an unwanted entity to their town. Amos.

Amos, the village’s spiritual leader, possessed the sacred ability to traverse The Veil, the mystical boundary separating the physical world from the spirit world. Unbeknownst to the community, he used it not for the town’s betterment, but for his own. He craved the exhilarating rush of the spirit world, the intoxicating whispers of ancient spirits, the high that left him weak and reckless. But the spirit world was not a playground. Amos, in his blissful ignorance, unwittingly befriended entities that were not benevolent. Demons that he allowed to enter the community.

These entities were insidious. They whispered in the villagers' hearts, sowing seeds of doubt and fear, twisting their thoughts until their lives seemed unbearable. The demons fed on despair, taking strength from every soul that yielded to their whispers. The death and anguish fueled the demons. For months, the cycle continued. 

By mid-afternoon, Cora had found Amos, slumped against an ancient oak, his eyes dull, his face pale. He was no longer the vibrant spiritual leader who guided them with wisdom and grace. He was a shell of a man, a puppet in the hands of the demons he'd so carelessly embraced.

“Amos,” Cora whimpered, “You must help. My father… he’s gone. So many lives have been lost. Something is killing the people in our town.”

Amos glanced at her, recognition flickering in his glazed eyes. “It's too late,” he croaked, “They are strong now. They will be free soon, and I cannot stop them.”

“No,” Cora’s voice trembled, “You knew? You could have saved him!?”

“I’m sorry.” Amos stood on trembling legs and walked away. He had gone too far. 

The air hung thick with incense smoke in Amos's temple, clinging to the intricately carved statues of the ancient gods. But Amos wasn't speaking to gods, not anymore. He was speaking to demons, creatures that lived beyond The Veil, in a realm of pure, intoxicating chaos.

He hadn't chosen this path. It had started with a dream, a whisper in the depths of his mind, a promise of ecstasy that surpassed any earthly pleasure. He'd sought the source of that whisper, delved deep into forbidden texts, and learned of The Veil and the beings that lurked beyond. 

His insatiable desire drove him to make a pact with the demons. He agreed to be their conduit, a gateway to the town during his journeys, in exchange for what he desired. The people he swore to protect, the village he called home, would be left undefended while he reveled in the depths of demonic pleasure.

Amos believed his brief absences were insignificant, that the demons wouldn't harm the town while he was gone. In his haze of demonic ecstasy, he couldn't comprehend the reality of his actions. He'd become a puppet, manipulated by insidious whispers.

One day, Amos, returning from another ethereal indulgence, gazed upon his ravaged town. The streets were eerily empty, the air thick with unease. His heart twisted in his chest, a hollow ache replacing the blissful numbness he’d become accustomed to.

Amos felt the weight of his error crushing him. He’d been blinded by his desires, sacrificing his people for a fleeting moment of ecstasy. 

That was the moment Cora had approached him and in that moment he made his decision, a sudden, desperate surge of selflessness flowing through him. He would break the pact, even if it meant facing the demons alone. He would sacrifice himself to save what remained of his community, his friends, the people who trusted him.

Amos returned to his temple, a place that had become a tool of his undoing, and began a ritual of cleansing, a desperate plea to the gods he'd forsaken. As his chants echoed through the halls, he felt a cold grip on his soul. The demons, their presence emanating a chilling, almost tangible hunger, came for him.

He stood firm, no longer seeking escape, but offering himself as a sacrifice. He realized with a heart-wrenching clarity, that he would now pay the ultimate price for his indulgence. His eyes fixed on the town, his community, he whispered,

 “Goodbye. I’m sorry.”