The chubby 12-year-old boy named Gilliam Destrian was in need of a great deal of help.

Pastor Alfred was not proud of beating the boy until blemishes marked the flabby skin on his face and the stumpy legs that squeezed into his uniform shorts.

But he had no choice; on that windy Halloween night, he found the youngster in his office drawing Satanic symbols all over the walls with blood, of which he had no idea where it originated. No one else in the institution was awake, and Pastor Alfred had heard an action-invoking call, perhaps from an angel, that he needed to deal with the matter alone since the means may be too horrific for others to witness.

The most challenging part of the ordeal was the boy’s weight, but he persevered thanks to the Lord and was able to overpower the boy. As the boy was sprawled on the floor, weakened and out of breath, Pastor collected the things he had prepared from day one of Gilliam’s arrival.

At the Boys of Eden Academy, they’ve seen their fair share of ruffians take shelter in their Manchester-based school, but Gilliam was different. He was unlike any of the boys that came before.

Mr. and Mrs. Destrian’s haunted countenances said even more than what their lips did when they dropped Gilliam off. They were good folk brought to their wit’s end, who had tried everything to save their boy and settled for confiding in the instructors to do what they couldn’t.

As he collected his travel bag from his solid wood storage chest, Pastor Alfred could see clearly what was wrong with the boy. It should’ve been clear from the start—the foul language, the drawing of Satanic symbols, trying to form deals with other students and teachers, giving them something they desired in exchange for something they held dear.

The boy was possessed by a demon.

Pastor Alfred had faith in why a young man of God like himself would be tasked with curing this boy. He wasn’t going to falter. No, he had no reason to because he was chosen.

He dragged Gilliam out of the main building and into the monastery.

While inside, he beat the boys’ vessel containing the demon even more until it remained still long enough for him to prepare the room. He lit the candles around the space, illuminating the richly ornate architecture, and took a moment to look at the magnificent mural of two nuns to keep him at ease. He took in a deep breath, exhaled, and continued his work.

Pastor Alfred drew a pentagram with chalk from his travel bag on the altar floor and then dragged the possessed boy onto it. He took a bible and vial of holy water from the pack, flicking the boy with the blessed liquid as he started his prayer.

The water seemed to have been taking effect as the demon inside the boy silenced and remained idle within the vessel. Maybe, the next part was unnecessary, but Pastor Alfred had to take precautions. His travel bag contained a large wooden cross and industrial chains. He fixed the stainless steel around the boy’s wrists and then around his hands with the wooden cross between them. A lock was the second to last item he got from the bag, and he engaged it onto the chain link.

The demon had the boy look up at Pastor Alfred with an empty look.

As the chill came over the young devout like a cold fingernail slowly scraping down from the center of his back, Pastor Alfred expected his heart to be beating fast; instead, it slowed down. His chest panged as he felt death pulling him forward like a hand tightened around his neck. He tried to gulp, but the muscles in his throat weren’t responding.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and mustache and grabbed a few more vials of holy water from his bag. He circled the boy as he flicked water onto him and started the prayer again from the beginning: “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adoramus te—”

“--It’s adiuramos te,’” the demon said from inside the boy. “If I was actually possessed, a mispronunciation like that could make the demon even stronger, and where exactly did you get a hold of this so-called holy water of yours?” The demon laughed. “I hope you know it’s bogus and part of the ruse the other old blokes set up in an attempt to scare us straight. If not, then that’s very concerning—”

“Silence, demon!” Pastor Alfred commanded, convinced that the boy’s soul was long gone. His mission now was to just get rid of the unholy spirit.

“I am not possessed, mate!”

The world spun slightly for Pastor Alfred, but he fought against it, straining his eyes to adapt to the dizziness. He did not comply with years of celibacy and rigorous study to be wavered by a vile demon. He went back to praying while circling it.

“You’re just so typical. So… unoriginal,” it said as it grimaced. “Anytime something bad happens, it is because of the Devil, and if something good happens, it is because of God. Or sometimes, if things don’t go as planned, well then that means He didn’t want it to. It wasn’t part of His plan, right—?”

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A droplet of water flew right into its eyeball.

“Ow! Bloody hell!” The demon hissed. “The God you’re praying to won’t help you because this isn’t a matter of possession. Do you know who I am?” The demon raised its head and smiled. “I am the Third-Born of the Tainted Generation of Healers. The Demonologist. Do you understand what that means? The magical power I possess is and will always be infinitely more effective than whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

“Just be quiet….”

“You’re not in any immediate danger. No one will come because there aren’t any demons in this room, you wanker!” The demon said as it swung its chained hands up, then lowered its head, suddenly going quiet.

Pastor Alfred prayed harder, but it was hard to not waver with the sight he was seeing. The archfiend had its new heavy body sway side to side like a corpse hanging from a meat hook. It became even harder not to waver as it began to sing in a soft voice.

“Don’t ever laugh as a Hearse goes by

For you may be the next to die

They wrap you up in a big white sheet

From your head down to your feet

They put you in a big black box

And cover you up with dirt and rocks

And all goes well for about a week

And then your coffin begins to leak.”

Pastor Alfred hated to question it, but he began to wonder when the prayer he sang would get it to shut up. The demon’s macabre ballad was getting even louder than his saintly song.

“And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out

The worms play pinochle on your snout

They eat your eyes, they eat your nose

They eat the jelly between your toes

A big green worm with rolling eyes

Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes

Your stomach turns a slimy green

And puss comes out like whipping cream

You spread it on a slice of bread.”

The demon lifted its head. “And that’s what you eat when you’re dead.” It finished and then said something that had Pastor Alfred freeze and gape down at it. “If you want them here so badly, I can bring them.”

Pastor Alfred’s mind betrayed him as it failed to instruct him on what to do next aside from standing and staring.

“Elrinarah. Maranwyn. Zellineth. Those are the demons I like to pray to.” The demon laughed after it got a good look at Pastor Alfred’s pathetic expression and went on. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. This isn’t the result of an overactive imagination. Do you know why you don’t recognize the names of those demons? In fact, the names of all the demons you know are baloney. It’s because the angels made sure of it. The human tongue has a special ability. Just by uttering their name, we make them more powerful. What do you think will happen if I continue chanting their name?” Its eyeballs rolled to the back of his head, showing its whites with tiny red vessels crawling up them like plant roots. “Zugdran, Belios, Ogdral, Ragthaan…” The demon sped up as the room began to tremble, and wind from the outside battered against the walls. “Bergulsaab, Kizzunaad, Borgrath, Ongraz, Terthran—”

Faith wasn’t strong enough to keep him on his feet, Pastor Alfred’s legs buckled, and he, a man of God, was down as the demon rose. With his world flipped, unsettling imagery filled his vision: sigils he had never seen anywhere before, but even without understanding their meaning, it made him shiver all over and sob.

“Stop, please, stop!” Pastor Alfred bellowed as he covered his eyes. Staring at the back of his eyelids gave him no solace either. The hundreds of tiny cryptic sigils rapidly flashed before his eyeballs. His ears were filled with howling winds and demoniacal whispers of a language he realized someone of his title was never meant to hear.

He opened his eyes again, and the demon was closer, looking down at him with the smug smile of a politician who knows they’ve won the race from the moment they start running.

“No need to be scared. Unfortunately, they can’t crossover. Well, usually, but wait… it’s an hour before Halloween ends.” The demon raised his index and little fingers, making devil horns.

Seeing the wooden cross in between demonic hand signs irked Pastor Alfred.

“Torzelas.”

After it cited the unfamiliar word, black flames circled the demon and then shaped into a long black robe. Hellish markings lined down the sides and sleeves. As the dark fire spread to its mouth, making a mask, the demon pulled its chin up for a second and then gave Pastor Alfred a look.

Even if he had studied more before signing up to be an instructor at the school, he still wouldn’t have been prepared for the imagery he witnessed above.

Monsters oozed down from the arched ceiling. About five of them; they were large but freakishly long and covered in shadowy black fur. Their mouths were lined down their appendage-less bodies with one yellow eyeball at the top of their round head.

Laughing with the voices of children in kindergarten, they stopped stretching down, hung from the ceiling like stalactites, and hungrily eyeballed the Pastor with their sideways smiles. Yellow liquid leaked from their sharp yellowing teeth and touched the paralyzed Pastor’s skin, getting a pained shout out of him. It burned like acid.

“Soon, the Netherworld will rise,” the demon said. “And you can join our family, Pastor Alfred.”

“Dinner time!” one of the monsters said, chomping onto the Pastor’s head.

While inside the monster’s mouth, he saw a vast valley blanketed with yellow flames filled with the sounds of thousands of souls burning in agony, screaming for salvation.

He felt the sharp teeth sink around his neck and then into other parts of his body.

Pastor Alfred knew then and there that he was going to join that yellow Hell.