Old Nick Comes Calling

His wife, Lily, had gone upstairs. His son, Rilestone, was asleep in his crib. He, Harris, was rereading Psalms while keeping an ear to the baby monitor. Such old things, he thought, but one of the more useful tools especially after the Third World War. Now that he was away from the Navy, away from the SEALs, he looked to quieter days. Well, as quiet as a family with a child could get.

On the other end, he could hear the silent breathing of Rilestone. Having been born months ago, he was still getting used to his crib and his room, being alone there without his mother or father holding him. The adaptation would take time, but his son seemed to be taking the new environment well. On occasion, he would hear the familiar "Mmmm" that babies usually make, but then he would fall back to that slow breathing of sleep. Still, Harris was ready to spring into action in an instant. He read further into Psalms...

"Harris..."

He looked up. Surely, he was just tired. There was no one else in the house, definitely not while it was locked up at night. One would have to basically walk through walls just to get at them. He turned back to his book...

"Harris."

That same voice. It wasn't coming from near him; it was coming from the baby monitor! But that was impossible! No one was there except for Rilestone! He set his book down and ran up the stairs, opening the bedroom to his son's crib. Right there, in front of his very eyes, Rilestone laid upon the crib, still except for his breathing. He stirred again, making his little groan, and Harris stood over him and gently rubbed his back. A happy gurgle came to the boy before he slipped back into his slumber, rubbing his white hair upon his firm mattress, scootching just a bit in his sleep sack. His father then turned his attention to the second baby monitor. "These old things!" he grumbled. Picking it up, he examined it. Someone had to be talking through it, baby monitors don't just emit English on their own...

"Psalms."

His blood ran cold. That was the same voice coming through the baby monitor, and therefore it was through it... from downstairs. Someone was definitely in the house, and that person was speaking from where he had been sitting less than a minute ago, looking at his book that he left open.

"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."

The voice was no longer limiting itself to singular words and harsh whispers; now, it spoke with a low tone yet in a powerful demeanor. There was a determination to the voice, almost as if it was leading on after hooking its intended victim, and it had found its mark and was starting to pull. Harris grimaced, knowing that voice all too well. The voice continued:

"They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone."

Harris finally answered the voice. "Old Nick."

A guttural chuckle emanated from the baby monitor. "I remember those same words over two thousand years ago that I quoted to a man I mistook as just being holy. You were just quoting them down here, weren't you? Hoping for protection from something evil, my boy?"

Harris shook his head. "You are not welcome in my home."

"Free will", replied the voice. "It isn't limited only to human beings, my boy. Mind you, it was free will that sent you away from your own home, leaving your parents to die and your brother to be enslaved, right?" When Harris didn't answer through his gritted teeth, the voice piped up again, "Or maybe it was just you feeling like you didn't matter after his birth? Is this new life that you bring forth a way to make up for your mistake?"

Harris struggled to keep his temper from waking up his child. "Leave my son out of this!"

"MY SON!" growled the voice. After a few seconds of silence, it started up again; "You, your real father, your brother, and dear little Rilestone are all mine. Or have you forgotten how it all led up to this particular moment? It's your heritage, my boy. I, too, came down unto a daughter of man. Granted, the idea disgusted me initially, but the Flood was gone, and the Judges were laid to rest, so the board was practically reset. What was going to stop me? Again, my boy, free will!"

Harris turned to look back at Rilestone. The baby was still except for his breathing; a peaceful dream was in his mind without doubt. His father, however, was having his peace chipped away by this intruder, this voice that had no problem pushing the boundaries of acceptable decibels. He turned back and spoke to the voice; "Regardless, MY son, the son of my wife, is off-limits to you. He belongs with us, he belongs to God, and you cannot touch him."

A sound like that of a gathering wind grew from within, a sound of frustration that became the setting for a great storm. Harris placed his hand over the speaker, but the sound was only getting louder. Once more, Rilestone started stirring in his sleep, the noise starting to cause him discomfort. "Mmmm!" he started crying out. But then, the noise stopped. As his son started settling back down to his serenity, the guttural laugh came back. Harris removed his hand from the speaker and heard a terrifying question; "Do you remember Black Diamond?"

Harris was familiar with the cemetery of the old lore before World War Three, especially its reputation of being haunted. He had paid such no heed, as the graveyard was miles away and was probably destroyed during the Land Renovation to bring more water to the Eastern half of Washington State. Still, he remembered the vague memories he had during that time, the final year of the war and the sentencing of many a criminal in that place. "I remember," he announced, "and that matter was over and done."

"My boy, nothing is truly done," the voice chided. "What you and yours did there has affected the world, though they will not yet know how badly. It is inevitable, my boy; a great plague, a world war, a powerful and terrifying ideology, a conquering cult, a lie accepted as the origin, and now a father's grave mistake, all according to my plans. My prophets, my soldiers, my own angels, and my version of Heaven will be widely accepted through the blood that you and your son shall spill." Finally, the voice went back to a barely audible whisper, and Harris had to hold the speaker close to his right ear. He heard thus: "It was my blood that condemned my officers, and it will be my blood that releases my soldiers. It shall happen, my boy..." Harris still held the speaker upon his right ear, but the last word was breathed into his left:

"Soon."

Immediately, Harris whirled around to face the being, but he was met only with an empty room. The baby monitor was released from his hand and landed upon the carpet, issuing a sudden beep that awoke Rilestone. The young boy started crying, and the fatherly instinct suddenly overrode the want of seeing Old Nick, sending Harris to the crib to lift up his child and hug him close. Rilestone's cries started to dissipate, and he held onto this familiar person of stoic love and undying protection. Harris kissed his son's white hair, and cooed, "Shh, my son, shush. Everything is fine." He knew it was a lie, but his son needed the comfort to return to tranquility. It worked, and Rilestone gave one last happy gurgle before returning to his slumber. Harris placed him back into the crib, rubbed his back again, and said a prayer for his protection.