The next few days passed in a blur. When I wasn’t at work or pretending to live my normal life around others, every spare moment was consumed with planning my trip to France.

Booking the flights and Airbnb was the easy part. The hard part was keeping it all secret. As far as anyone else knew, it was just a normal week for me. Meanwhile, thoughts of demonic possession plagued my waking hours and lingered in twisted dreams at night.

I still hadn’t had any further “visits” from Zalthos since our first encounter. At times I wondered if the demon had just been a hallucination after all. But deep down I knew he was lurking within me, waiting to emerge again. I could feel it.

The night before my departure, I sat on my living room floor across from the demon mask. Its lifeless fake horns and theatrical paint seemed almost comical now. Hard to believe this tacky satanic prop held the essence of a dangerous ancient evil.

“What’s your game, Zalthos?” I muttered. “Why stay quiet all week? Trying to lure me into a false sense of security?”

I didn’t really expect a response. But the mask’s empty black eyeholes seemed to stare back malevolently. I shuddered and packed it away for the trip. As much as I hated its presence, the mask clearly held the key to the demon. Keeping it close felt important, for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

At the airport the next morning, I slipped through security without incident. So far, so good. Settling into my window seat, I saw my own haggard reflection looking back at me in the glass. A week of little sleep and obsessive demon research had taken its toll.

Not that the other passengers could tell. I kept up a mask of normalcy: smiling politely, making small talk about the weather. Inside, my mind spun with supernatural secrets. How would anyone react if they knew my true purpose for this trip?

As the plane reached cruising altitude, I tried to distract myself by looking out the window. But seeing the ground shrink rapidly into a patchwork grid far below only reminded me of Zalthos’s reality-warping powers.

I shifted uneasily in my seat. How long until the demon tried to make contact again? And what new terrifying abilities might he reveal next time? Clearly Zalthos could transport my mind to different places and times along with freezing reality. The possibilities were endless...and horrifying.

Ten tedious hours later, the plane touched down at last. I breezed through customs andsoon found myself in the bustling heart of Marseille, checked into my rented downtown apartment.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out the scrap of paper that had become my obsession: the name and hometown of Brother Tomaso, my strongest lead to finding the monastery.

Luckily the town was only an hour outside Marseille. First thing in the morning, I would head there and start hunting for clues. The ancient brotherhood couldn’t hide from me forever.

I ordered room service for a late dinner, not feeling up to braving the crowded local restaurants on my own yet. As I waited, I flipped distractedly through TV channels, unable to focus. The French newscaster’s soothing voice became background noise.

My thoughts turned to all the everyday moments back home I was missing. Game night with Jake and the guys, barbecues in the park, heading to our favorite club downtown on weekends. It all seemed part of another lifetime now.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Could I ever have that normality back? Or had touching the mask doomed me to a life of secrets and solitude? Anger simmered within me. I never asked for any of this!

A voice whispered from the shadows: “But you did ask for more...”

I jolted upright. A pair of crimson eyes glowed from a dark corner near the window.

Zalthos.

The demon glided forward, misty and opaque in the room’s illumination. Still, his presence seemed to drain all light and warmth.

I stood slowly, muscles coiled. Our first true encounter since that chaotic night at my apartment.

Zalthos tilted his horned head, studying me with those unsettling eyes. “You seek to unbind us...a futile quest.” His voice echoed eerily in my mind. “Our merging has only just begun.”

Swallowing my fear, I met his nightmare gaze. “I will find a way, demon.”

The corners of Zalthos’s shadowy mouth curled. “Such spirit. But you do not fully understand what we could achieve united.” His form wavered, growing less distinct, as if our distance weakened him. Still, his hypnotic voice remained strong in my head.

“You could bend reality itself to your whim! Rule from the shadows, unseen and unchallenged.” His skeletal hand stretched forth beseechingly. “Embrace your potential, John...”

I wanted to block out his tempting words, but they wormed into my thoughts. Unchecked power could be mine...time itself mine to control...

No! With monumental effort, I pushed back against the intrusive thoughts. “I want nothing from you, monster! Leave me be!”

Zalthos hissed, eyes flaring brighter for a moment. Then he drew back, fading into the dark corner once more. “Very well. But you cannot silence me forever...” His presence slowly receded from my mind.

I sagged back onto the bed, clutching my sweat-slicked forehead. Just a brief mental attack had left me shaken and drained. I could only imagine the horrors if Zalthos ever gained full access to my psyche.

I had to hold him at bay, especially once I reached the monastery tomorrow. Surely some record existed of how The Order had bound Zalthos centuries ago. This knowledge was my only hope of imprisoning the demon again.

I touched the mask in my suitcase, stifling a shudder. Soon, Zalthos would be trapped back in his lifeless prison. And I could finally reclaim my mind and soul.

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, in stark contrast to the darkness plaguing me within. I grabbed a quick coffee and pastry from a nearby cafe before catching a train out of the city.

The passing French countryside helped calm my nerves somewhat. Crumbling stone buildings and rolling green fields whisked by outside the windows. After months in crowded, bustling cities back home, the rustic peacefulness was soothing.

At last, the train pulled into the tiny rural station near Brother Tomaso’s historic hometown. My pulse quickened as I stepped onto the platform. Was the mysterious monastery somewhere nearby, hidden in the surrounding hillsides?

Outside the station, I paused to get my bearings. The sleepy town was picturesque, with quaint stone architecture and flower boxes adorning the windows. A little cafe, inn, and market made up the modest main street.

Luckily, most locals spoke some English. I made my way through town, casually bringing up my “historical research” project and asking if anyone knew about interesting old religious sites nearby. Most just shook their heads apologetically.

After hours of searching and dozens of polite rejections, I finally received a promising lead from the innkeeper: an old abbey rumored to have secret catacombs beneath, roughly five miles into the forested hills.

It was growing late, so I booked a night at the inn. Lying awake on the lumpy mattress, I turned ideas over, planning my search come sunrise. If anywhere held the knowledge I sought, this secluded abbey seemed my best hope.

The next morning, just after dawn, I headed out on foot into the surrounding hills. An overgrown trail led off from the main road, winding uphill into the dense trees. The morning mist lent an ethereal quality to the silent forest.

After a difficult uphill hike, the trees suddenly gave way to a crumbling stone complex nestled in a rocky clearing. Ivy crawled up ancient walls pockmarked with missing bricks. A bell tower loomed overhead, long silent.

The ruins exuded age, with traces of old tiled floors and archways hinting at its former grandeur. But I had little time to admire the architecture. I had to find the way beneath.

According to the innkeeper’s tale, the secret catacomb entrance lay hidden somewhere within the ruins...