#fandomless story

[akillysheel]

The Demon you (Don’t) Know. ❜

Summary:  Ricky reflects on his relationship with both religion and Laz, his best friend.  Little does he know that Laz embodies the very horrors he’s seeking.

Characters:  Lazlo, Ricky.

Warnings:  Fictional religion and discussions regarding losing faith, child-abuse and cult behaviours implied.  Nothing is in great detail, and Ricky remains very unreliable in that he’s been indoctrinated since he was a young child  ----  which may be a warning in itself, too.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve followed the Phixen faith.

After my dad lost my mom, he turned to Raku to feel better.  He was never really religious before, but I guess I can’t blame him.  I never knew her, but he always tells me how great a person she was.  That she was kind and caring and would have been the best mother anybody could have hoped to have.  

He also tells me that it’s my fault she’s gone, but that Raku’s teachings have given him the strength to forgive me.  I guess it all works out in the end.  My dad has found the fortitude to move on after her passing, and he’s also found it in his heart to be a good father too.  I’m so lucky to be the son of such a generous person.

I’ve been to every service since I was old enough to walk.  Every Wednesday, I head into a small, sweaty confession booth to talk to Raku.  I tell Him everything I’ve done that week.  All the temptations I’ve resisted.  How hard I’ve been working.  How good a son I’ve been pushing myself to be after my terrible sin.  Some weeks are better than others.  Sometimes, I achieve more at school, and I help more of my neighbours, and I get into less fights with my dad.  But the fact is that I always try to be good.  I hope Raku knows that.  He should, if He supposedly knows everything.

'Supposedly’.

I shouldn’t talk like that.  A lot of the fights I get into with my dad nowadays revolve around faith, and what’s okay to do and what isn’t.  As I’ve grown older, I’ve become more curious.  My interests have expanded.  I suddenly have questions that I didn’t before.  My dad says that I’m straying, but I think I’m just growing up, and I think he hates that.  I think there’s still a part of him that hates me for what I did, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop it.

Which only makes me feel even more distant, because if Raku’s teachings have really healed him, then why is he still punishing me?  By the word of God Himself, he should feel drawn towards the light.  “Vindication should not traverse the pure of heart” is what Raku tells his prophet Aldierno in 10:2.  I think my dad still feels vindictive.  I think he still hates me.  He just won’t admit it.  Which is a sin too, by definition, but whenever I raise this argument he holds my hand under hot water for a full minute, and that’s the end of that.

Maybe I am straying.  Maybe I am being slowly consumed by darkness.  Maybe I don’t have what it takes to be a truly good person.

That would explain why I’ve been ditching sermons to go urban exploring instead.

I know it’s wrong.  Though ghosts are undoubtedly real ( or so the text says ), huros aren’t supposed to meddle with them.  To attempt to bridge the gap between our world and the spirit realm is one of the greatest sins in the entire scripture  ----  but according to my dad, I’m already a murderer, so technically speaking, I don’t have many ways to get worse.

I can’t explain what intrigues me about the spirit realm.  I only know that when I lay awake at night and think about the presence of creatures that exist on a parallel plane, I feel scared out of my skin, but I also feel alive.  Like I want to know more.  Though me and my dad butt horns about it often, there’s nothing in the scripture that discourages the pursuit of knowledge.  In fact, Raku Himself says that to know is to love, because knowing means that we understand more. It’s just unfortunate that the thing I want to know more about could potentially land me in serious trouble with the Church, and my commune.

I don’t think any of them know what I’m doing.  Not yet.  I still look devout.  I still take care to show up to events and services whenever I’m being watched.  I still go to church with my dad.  I even still attend The Great Burn, even if it hurts me to watch.  It’s not as if I hate religion now or anything.  I just think there are things out there that I want to know, and maybe my beliefs don’t line up with what I truly think any more.

I don’t even really know what I think.  I’ve never had to think for myself that much, and now that I’m on the cusp of adulthood, I feel stunted in a way that I shouldn’t.  I think that’s what this is, this new-found interest in ghosts and all that weird stuff:  I think it’s that I want to challenge myself.  I’m constantly stuck between wanting to see something and never wanting the supernatural to show itself, because if it’s real and I see it then there’s no going back.  I may be questioning my faith, but it’s also a safety net.  An easy way to live my life.  If I see something I can’t unsee, if I breach the veil between the living and the dead, where will I go from there?  What will I think?  And how can I continue to live with my dad being the way that he is when I know in my heart that it’s wrong?  I think that’s what scares me the most:  the idea that my dad isn’t actually as good a person as he seems.

Laz says that he’s projecting his insecurities onto me.  I don’t know whether my dad’s actually unsure about anything, given his attitude, but Laz is certain.  He says he feels lost and alone in the world, and that he’s using faith as a crutch because dealing with grief is hard.  I used to tell him to stop being so cruel about him, but the more I think about it, the more I think that he hasn’t really dealt with my mom’s death at all.  Maybe Laz is right, and maybe I know that, and that’s why I’m sticking with him whenever I can.

Laz is a bit of a weirdo.  I met him when skipping one of my sermons.  He was standing in the shade at the back of the church, still as the dead.  It was as if he knew I was coming.  His eyes never left me.  When I asked what he was looking at, he said that he too was ditching, and asked if I wanted to hang out with him.  I was scared of how easily he saw through me, and I guess that made me say yes.  I didn’t want other people to see through me too  ----  and I didn’t want him to tell anyone that he’d seen me out of the service just to spite me either.

I’m ultimately glad I hung out with him though.  He’s probably the only person in my life right now that I actually trust.  My dad’s kept me pretty closed off throughout my life.  I’ve been so focused on my practises that I haven’t had much time to make friends, and I’m only really allowed to associate with members of the church.  People my dad approves of.  He would absolutely not approve of Laz.  In fact, I get the feeling that he could probably kill me for hanging out with someone like him.  He isn’t a bad person, but he isn’t a believer either, and my dad thinks the two are mutually exclusive.  I know better though.  I think Laz is good.  He listens to me, and even though he’s a pretty lazy guy, he gives solid advice and speaks from the heart.  He’s honest.  And he’s entertaining my stupid ghost-hunting adventures despite being a sceptic.  You can’t ask for a better sidekick than one who’ll follow you into the dark just for the hell of it.

He’s the entire reason I’m brave enough to be doing what I’m doing now:  sitting awake writing in my journal while we’re bunked in The Crow Yard.  It’s such a creepy place, and even in Raku’s stories it’s a place of great evil.  It’s where really bad people are put to rest.  Like, really bad people.  The people of the district come together to make a scarecrow that embodies something they feared when they were alive, so that their spirits are too afraid to leave the grave and wander.  It’s an old tradition, but as you can probably imagine, there’s a lot of folklore and myth surrounding this place.  People are scared of it.  They think it’s haunted.  I do, too.  I think if there’s any place that something evil could live, it’s here, and while it may not be brave enough to come out, that doesn’t mean it isn’t here.  I’m scared out of my mind, much too scared to sleep, but I feel…  excited.  Like I’m actually doing something I want to do, even if part of me is telling me to run away.  

Laz is snoring beside me.  He looks so goofy tucked in a sleeping bag.  He’s stupid tall, and so finding something for him to sleep in was next to impossible.  Though he assured me he didn’t need anything, I still brought an old futon for him.  His legs are poking out of the bottom.  His pillow’s on the dirt.  He sleeps as if he’s shacked up in his bedroom while I’m sitting here shaking like a leaf.  I kinda wish I was as brave as him, but maybe it’s less about being brave and more about being stupid.

The sun will rise soon.  I haven’t seen anything, but I feel it.  In the air.  Like electricity.  Like something’s gonna jump out at me.  Laz would laugh himself to death, even if it really was a ghost that attacked me.  He’s just a jerk like that.  But at least he’s here, which is more than can be said for my dad.

[insolent-creations]

PROLOGUE: A GOD GROWN BORED

Cover

First (You’re here!) | Next

[scarl3ttjpg]

Making Amends

I'd never seen a ghost before. I didn't even believe in anything paranormal and supernatural -- everything had a reasonable explanation. A thought process like that is why Velma was always my favorite character from Scooby Doo growing up. I always found myself relating to her, always looking for a realistic, logical explanation for everything around me.

Up until now, I used that logic every chance I got. If a door opened on its own, there must be a draft somewhere. The floorboards creak and squeak late at night when nobody’s walking around? It’s an old house, that’s normal. I’d always, always been under the impression that there’s a logical explanation for any obscure occurrence around me. But now… I couldn’t be so sure about that.

Now, I'm not sure how to reasonably explain the cold, lifeless eyes staring at me from barely five feet away. Just a few months ago, I was at her funeral. I saw her on her deathbed, she was gone. I watched them bury her, for heaven’s sake. I had come to terms with the fact that she was never coming back. Like, ever. But there she was, in all her glory, staring. I wanted to say something. I wanted to say anything. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to do anything but stand there frozen as if I were a statue. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out but a raspy exhale as I desperately searched for words -- any words. She didn’t say anything either. I didn’t even know if she could say anything. I didn’t even know if she was real.

After what felt like an eternity of unbroken silence, I finally found a single word. In a shaky release of a breath that I didn’t know I had been holding, all I could do was squeak out a quiet and terrified, "What?" She blinked and tilted her head as she continued staring. She took a slow, shaky step toward me, and I took a slow, shaky step back into the wall behind me. My hands scramble blindly along the countertop next to me, and I grab the first thing I can reach to defend myself. In nothing but pure, unbridled panic, I hold up an ice cream scoop, prepared to swing. I had no idea if that would even do anything to protect me.

"What's wrong," the spectral figure before me spoke. My eyes widened in fear and recognition as she opened her mouth to speak again. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" She laughed wildly. God, how I missed hearing that laugh. I wanted to smile, and I wanted to feel like everything was okay again. I wanted so desperately to believe that she was truly here with me, but not even the familiar laugh of an old friend could ease the sinking feeling in my stomach. 

"You... you..." I started, unable to bring myself to finish my thought.

"I died." The girl standing in front of me finished my sentence. "I know. Turns out there's a lot that goes into this whole 'afterlife' crap. A lot that I need to do."

I furrowed my eyebrows as I listened. Yet again, the only word I could muster out was "What?"

My old friend pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit before taking a seat in the chair next to it. She politely clasped her hands on the crochet tablecloth in front of her and smiled. Cautiously, I sit, looking at her expectantly and waiting for something to make a lick of sense.

“So, Samirah,” she started. The sound of my name leaving her lips was already enough to send chills down my spine. “How have you been? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” It was just like her to avoid the subject.

“Allie,” I stuttered out. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

I watched Allie's smile falter as she let out a sigh. “I see you’re just as straight to the point as always,” she trailed off. “Samirah, do you remember what happened before I, you know…” I nod in confusion as she continues. “Well, as it turns out, I don’t get to ‘move on’ until I’ve made amends with everyone.” She pursed her lips in a tight line and watched me expectantly as I processed this. I didn’t know how to process this. I was overjoyed to see my best friend again but terrified at the same time. There was a touch of anger and hurt bubbling in my gut—I lost her four months ago, but she only appears to me now?

I looked at her in a stunned silence before I responded with a firm “What.”

“God, Sami, can you say anything else?” She rolled her eyes, letting out a huff. “Look, I know we weren’t on the best terms, but can you just apologize so I can go?”

It was my turn to scoff. “You want me to apologize? Allison, respectfully, I did nothing to apologize for. Are you sure you know what exactly you need to ‘make amends’ about?” I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back in my chair as I looked her up and down. I still wasn’t full convinced that this was all real.

“Uh, yes, Samirah. I need you to apologize,” she mocked. “You kissed my boyfriend in front of me and then lied to me about it. Like, I don’t know what you’re so confused about.”

I stood up and looked around the room, laughing. This had to be some sort of sick joke. This was a prank! There must have been some hidden cameras somewhere.

“Look, Allie, I didn’t lie about anything. You were hurt, and I get that,” I take a breath. “But you just didn’t want to listen. You didn’t want to believe that Jake was the same scumbag he was three girlfriends ago.” I watch her roll her eyes again as I continued slowly, as if explaining to a child. “Jake kissed me. I pushed him away. I didn’t want him to do that. I never even liked him!” I could see that she didn’t believe me, so I paused to think.

“Would you believe me if I called him? You can hear what he has to say about it. If he really loved you as much as he claimed to, he would still be heartbroken right now.” She caved, sighing and rolling her eyes once more. I took that as a ‘yes,’ and pulled out my phone. I unblocked the boy’s contact and watched my finger hover over the button to call him. I glanced up at my old friend, took a deep breath, and dialed, putting the phone on speaker so she could hear.

“Hello,” I heard his voice respond. On the inside, I was retching. If only Allie knew how much I truly hated him. “Samirah?”

“Jake,” I state. “Hey. I have a question for you,” I began. “About Allie.”

“What’s up,” he asked.

I sighed, thinking of how I could ask about this without sounding insane. “Why did you kiss me at that party? It really hurt her, you know.”

I could feel rage boiling in the pit of my stomach as he responded with a laugh. “Oh, that? Look, Allie was hot and everything, but I can’t be tied down like that. I don’t know what she thought we were, but we were nothing as far as I’m concerned.”

“So what exactly made you do that, then?”

“I was bored, you looked good, so I made a move. Simple as that.” He chuckled. “Why? Want it to happen again? I knew you would come around.”

This time, my retching wasn’t internal. I audibly gagged at his suggestion, spit out a quick “No, bye,” and hung up. I looked over at Allie with sympathy.

“You can say ‘I told you so,’ now. I get it,” she sighed. Allie looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the tasseled edges of the tablecloth. “I thought he was different.”

I take my seat next to her once more and put a hand over hers. I shiver at the feeling of her. She was as cold as ice. I had almost forgotten that I was questioning if any of this was even happening because it felt like she was truly there with me. It felt like I finally had a chance to talk to her again and fix our friendship. But I felt a lump in my throat as I swallowed, knowing that this could never last forever.

“I know you did,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “At least, you wanted to believe he was different. Anyone would.” I studied her face. There was no doubt that this was her. No puppet or dummy or figure could capture each and every detail, and the feeling of her freezing hands under my own was enough to prove this wasn’t some sort of hologram.

This was really my best friend, with the freckles spread across her face like stars in the night sky, her long dark hair cascading halfway down her back as if it were a waterfall, the scar on her cheek from when a dog bit her as a kid… I feel tears sting in my eyes as I watch her fade away. I was afraid that if I blinked, my eyes would open and she would be gone forever.

She looked at me with the kindest of smiles. The smile that I would see at the bus stop every morning, the smile that I would see at midnight during a sleepover as we tried to keep our giggles quiet, the smile that I would give anything to see one more time.

“I’m so sorry, Samirah,” she whispered. Then, just as I feared, she was gone in the blink of an eye. I looked around the kitchen, hoping that I could see her just one more time. Even after all of this, I never thought that this was the last conversation I would ever have with her. My heart ached, but at the same time, I smiled. There was peace. The truth had finally been revealed.

I’d never been one to believe in ghosts before. I didn't even believe in anything paranormal and supernatural -- everything had a reasonable explanation. But all logic was irrelevant at this moment. My best friend, despite passing away four months ago, had just sat in front of me at the kitchen table just as she had so many times over the years. I looked at the chair that she was sitting in, still pulled away from the table. I looked at the tablecloth, still creased from where she had rested her hands. I wasn’t quite sure what had happened, and for once, I was okay with that. I let out a long sigh before I stood up and took a step to the hallway. I turn around and glance at the kitchen once more, the kindest of smiles on my face.

“I know.”