Báal

Persephone’s panicked breath left a trail of suspended vapor behind her as she sprinted frantically through the thick underbrush of the moonlit forest. The frigid snow beneath her bare feet crunched and cracked with each hasty step. Rogue branches tore at her hair and nightgown, leaving a helter-skelter array of fresh cuts and scratches across her thin frame. The bitter cold festered her anxiety—it was close; she could not tarry. She could hear the pursuit of footsteps trudging relentlessly behind her.

She doggedly forced her way through the thick brambles of a frost-covered bush, collapsing to her hands and knees on the other side. Her arched back heaved as she gasped for air. Mouth agape, panting, she reared her head to observe her surroundings. She brushed back her thick, frizzy brown hair and sharply held her breath.

Before her laid a manger in an open glade, adorned in the glittering residue of fine frozen particles drifting lazily from the disturbed canopy above. Each infinitesimal fragment refracted magnificently in the pale moonlight, cast delicately onto the thatched roof of the manger. Within, a cradle lay motionless—laden with hay and furs. A tiny cough sputtered from inside, followed by a cry that resounded softly against the watchful hollows of the pines encircled at the edges of the clearing. Persephone’s lip quivered and she struggled to her feet. Her eyes glistened. Something inside of her compelled her to help—this was no place for a child.

She took one step forward and an inordinate blast of heat blew back her hair, rippling her tattered nightgown. The manger erupted into a scorching wall of flames that shot outward and upward with prodigious intensity. The cries turned to screams, quickly drowned by the deafening roar of the immolation. Tears streamed down Persephone’s face as she cried out, though she could not hear the wails of her laments over the thunderous ripple of flames licking greedily at the stable’s crumbling beams. The heat scorched the hairs from her fingers as her hands shakily covered her lips and nose. For a moment, she felt a twinge of guilt as her numbed body welcomed the warmth begotten by the inferno. Dread coursed through her veins.

Amidst choking sobs, a hand seized Persephone’s neck from behind and flung her backward onto the ground with oppressive force. Her eyes shut tight as she struck the cold earth. They opened again tentatively, then dilated in horror. Towering above her was a colossal beast of a demon with dark, gnarled horns attached resolutely to the head of a goat. Tendrils of flame flickered and whipped menacingly behind the fiend: silhouetting it in a red-orange glow contested by the luminescence of the moon. The stench of sulfur filled the air. Its nostrils flared, enveloping clouds of vapor around its body: a man’s body—naked and gleaming with crude oil. The jet-black eyes of the demon leered hatefully at Persephone from underneath its matted black fur. “No,” she mouthed wordlessly. It knelt over her, seething, and firmly pressed its knotted hand around her throat once more. “I’m sorry,” she croaked. Its free hand grasped the ribs underneath her bosom and squeezed. The beast’s putrid breath singed the hairs in her nose as its twisted fingers pierced her bony chest with a loud crack. Its dirty fingernails scraped the inside of her ribcage, wrapping its wicked fingers around her still-beating heart. Kicking her feet, she screamed with all the life she had left in her: grasping at the beast’s forearms. Her head snapped back to the star-spangled sky. A spray of blood and steam shot upward from her mouth into the frozen ether, mingling with black smoke and eclipsing the mournful eye of the moon.

A sharp pounding echoed from the front door of Persephone’s cabin, jolting her awake. Her brow was bejeweled in beads of sweat. Blearily, she scanned the mess of unfinished novels and half-eaten meals around her. The pounding persisted. “Persephone!” cried a man’s voice from outside. “Open up. It’s me!”

She rubbed her eyes and checked her watch: 6:36 PM. “Have I slept through the entire afternoon?” she wondered. Her eyes drifted to a parting between the curtains. The sun had already begun to set on the stark white mountains: their shadows stretched beyond the frozen expanse of a vast glacial lake. She rose from her leather sofa and a book fell from her lap onto the hardwood floor with a thud. Shivering, she wrapped a woolen blanket over her bony shoulders and winced with every insistent remonstration the man’s fist made with the door. The door opened with a creak, illuminating Persephone in amber light. She squinted at a figure silhouetted by the golden rays of the setting sun. “Deimos,” she stated curtly. “You’re late.”

Deimos, a clergyman of the Catholic faith, stood before her in a black overcoat. Decades of biblical analyses and sermons had done nothing for his stamina, and his rosy cheeks and heavy wheezing betrayed his physical impotence. The collar of his soutane poked out from underneath his shaven chin: a triumphant reminder of his invariable ambassadorship to the word of God. He groaned and set down a hefty wooden crate packed to the brim with grocery bags of bread, vegetables and assorted goods. “Big storm last night,” he said. “I couldn’t make it out until the roads were plowed.” Deimos gestured with his head to the tracks he made in the deep snow. They led down a long, fenced driveway: vanishing behind a bend of thick pines. “Lord willing, I was able to make my way over to you from the road.” He turned and beckoned with his hand. “Come on, help me unload the rest.” Persephone watched as he took several careful steps from the porch back into his shin-high tracks. Her back stiffened and her grip tightened on the door; her feet rooted at the threshold. Deimos paused mid-step and turned his head awkwardly over his shoulder. “Still can’t do it?”

Persephone shook her head mutely.

Deimos removed his spectacles and impatiently began cleaning them. “Have you tried taking one step a day? Like I suggested?”

She bit her lip and lowered her eyes.

“It’s never going to get better unless you try. You do have to try, Persephone.”

“I can’t—it’s not what you think. It’s not as simple as just taking a step.” She shifted uncomfortably against the doorframe and pulled the blanket taught around her shoulders. The stern gaze of the clergyman pierced the wintry air between himself and Persephone. His face softened. “It’s all right,” he sighed. “I’ll get the rest. It’s not much.”

Persephone sat cross-legged on the hearth, solemnly stoking the meager cinders when Deimos returned with a final crate of groceries. “That should be the last of it,” he said, clapping the freshly-fallen snow from his shoulders. Persephone stared blankly into the embers. He contemplated her for a moment, then hung his overcoat on the rack before taking a seat in the ottoman next to her. “So,” he said cautiously. “How have you been holding up this week?”

“I—I don’t know,” she mumbled.

The Father’s spectacles reflected the incandescence of the smoldering ash. “You don’t know?”

Persephone remained reticent. Deimos sighed and slowly heaved himself from the ottoman onto the hearth, brushing his shoulder against hers. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, gently placing several pieces of kindling into the firebox. Persephone withdrew and stood by the window, eyeing the sudden haste with which he stuffed pieces of crumpled newspaper under the thin strips of kindling.

“There is something outside of my house,” she asserted firmly.

The Father froze—his back to Persephone. “What?” he exclaimed. “Here—now?”

“No, it…it comes at night.” She turned to face the parted curtains. “Sometimes. When you’re not here.”

The Father continued stoking the newly born fire, blowing intermittently into the cradle of wood. “It is likely one of God’s creatures. A deer or a fox, perhaps. Harmless.” He blew once more into the yearning embers, and the wood caught alight. “You do live in the middle of the woods, after all.”

Persephone slowly shut the curtains and backed away from the window. “I think it watches me,” she whispered.

“Preposterous!” Deimos scoffed. “Why would a deer be watching you?” He placed a larger log in the fire and stood to face her. “What business would an animal have for coming here other than in the hopes they might rummage through your trash, or…or who knows what? It just sounds like…” His voice trailed off.

“Sounds like what?” she demanded.

Deimos’ face tightened. “Like you’ve been alone here for too long.”

“I am not being paranoid!”

“I didn’t say you were being paranoid. It’s likely just a pest, Persephone, I just mean—”

“You don’t know that! You won’t even listen to me when I’m telling you there is something literally walking around my house at night. I know what a deer sounds like; I know the tracks they leave in the snow—”

“What, you think there’s a man walking around outside of your house, peering into your windows?”

“I—” her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “I didn’t say it was a man. I’m just saying there’s something—”

“Oh, something!” exclaimed Deimos, rolling his eyes.

“Why are you trying to fucking rationalize everything I say?!” she cried.

“Because I’m trying to be rational. Perse,” Deimos took her by the hands, unfurrowing his brow. “Do you need me to stay here with you?” His nose hovered mere inches from hers, and her eyes began to water from the smell of his pungent aftershave.

Persephone turned abruptly from his eager face, pulling her hands from his. “I don’t need anything.”

Deimos’ eyes narrowed and his tone grew bitter. “You don’t need anything?”

Exasperated, her hands fell to her sides. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t need me to bring you groceries every week? To shovel the snow, to keep your secrets? For years I have protected you.” Deimos stabbed at his chest with his thumb. “You need me.” He reached into his soutane and brandished his rosary tempestuously. “You need this.”

Persephone crossed her arms indignantly. “God won’t solve all of my problems, Deimos.”

The red glow of the fireplace wreathed the Father’s bespectacled eyes in rage. “BUT HE WILL PACIFY YOUR SIN, PERSEPHONE!” he bellowed. She faltered and pressed her back against the wall. Her heart began to race. “OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOUR—”

“Enough!” she shouted over him.

“—YOU ABANDONED! Left to burn in hell!”

“I said that’s enough!” A lump grew in her throat as she pushed herself past Deimos, choking back tears. Her shoulders trembled in the rippling orange light. She would not give him the satisfaction of her sorrow. Deimos let out a frustrated sigh. “I want you to leave now, please,” she muttered quietly. “Thank you for the groceries.”

Fuming, Deimos glared at her from across the room. He slowly tucked his rosary into his cassock. “Fine,” he said curtly. “I’ll go.” He yanked his overcoat from the rack and slung his arms into the sleeves with a flourish. “But know this: your mind will not heal until you accept Him into your heart. You are tainted, Persephone.” Over her shoulder, her eyes shot daggers at Deimos’ lurking frame as he reached for the doorknob. “Do you remember our agreement?”

Persephone averted her gaze once again, her eyes landing on a plate of withered carrots and dried hummus. “I didn’t ask for this,” she murmured. The door opened, releasing a waft of chilling air into the cabin: emaciating the heat of the fire, seeping into every corner of the room.

“Everyone has a choice, and you chose. Now, do you remember our agreement?” he demanded emphatically.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“Then, for once, honor it.” He spat, slamming the door behind him.

Darkness poured through the wintry alpine valley like black ink spilled on a fresh canvas. It seeped expeditiously over the tundra of icy pines and jagged terrestrial bodies that loomed above them. Snow hares eyed the timely harbinger of slumber and retreated into their burrows, crooning their mates. The pines swayed and groaned in the coming wind, brought on by the whispers of a nearby tempest. A stillness had fallen over the lake, save for the unsettling creaks and ricochets of the thick, shifting ice. One by one, specters of light dotted the northern rim of the shore, heralding man’s suburban defiance to the elements. On the southern shore, Persephone peered through a crack in her kitchen window as the lights flickered faintly on the milky-black horizon.

The crackling flare of a matchstick flooded Persephone’s kitchen with radiance, marrying the yearning gas of the stovetop to a circular synchronization of flame. The wind outside blew a mournful tune against the eaves of her little cabin. She placed a kettle on the grate and carefully prepared a bundle of tea leaves inside her favorite mug. Her tired body then flopped onto the leather sofa and she dreamily observed the dancing shadows cast from the hearth onto the wooden ceiling. “Honor,” she thought. “God help me.” Comforted by the warmth of her abode, her eyelids fluttered and closed, if only for a second.

A loud bang erupted from the front door. Persephone jolted upright, alert. The wind outside had turned into a gale, battering a tree branch against her living room window with an eclectic series of ticks. She rose to her feet. The teapot began to whistle and hiss. Her eyes snapped to the stove and back to the door.

BANG!

The door shuddered on its hinges against a tremendous force. “Who’s there?!” Persephone yelped. A wet, guttural growl crept from beyond the wooden frame and slowly grew in a ghastly crescendo. The teapot’s low whistle graduated to a high-pitched whine as she meekly tiptoed her way to the kitchen. “Deimos, is that you?!”

The growling grew louder still, until Persephone’s ears were pierced with the cacophony of a wrathful bestial roar. She clutched her head and contorted her face in agony, fumbling for the raucous kettle. Though her fingers met with the hot wooden handle, they gripped it in panic as another tremendous BANG shuddered the door—this time with enough force to break one of its hinges. Startled, Persephone whipped the teapot upright against a rack of hand towels, sending its contents crashing onto the stove. A volley of boiling water smattered across the room, sizzling onto everything in its path. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?” she sobbed. “INCUBUS! BASTARD!”

The door burst from its hinges and hurled across the room, obliterating the mantle of the fireplace and reducing it to splinters and rubble. A trail of flame sneakily leapt from the stove into the debris of towels and broken wood and quickly made its way up the curtains. Persephone’s voice was stuck in her throat. She could not scream. Flames licked voraciously at the vulnerable wooden ceiling.

The scent of brimstone wafted through the air, carried by unforgiving gusts of wind and snow that permeated the sanctity of the cabin. Persephone gagged; she fought hard against the urge to retch. A dichotomy of darkness and a rippling glare of crimson flashed menacingly across the fiendish visage of a demon’s leering face as it emerged from the black night. Its muzzle opened and crooked yellow teeth parted, releasing a foul discharge of viscous black liquid and writhing maggots. A deep, gravelly rumble came from within its heaving chest: “Penance…”

Persephone screamed and scrambled over the kitchen counter, hitting the hardwood floor on the other side. Fire engulfed the beams above her. Smoke suffocated her lungs as she crawled tenaciously toward the remains of the mantle. She clutched a poker and braced herself against the rubble. The creature’s curled horns and broad shoulders pierced the billowing smoke as its wet, dirty hooves thumped slowly across the charred floor. The beast loomed menacingly above her, unfazed by the swirling heat that wreathed the rafters and walls around them. It knelt with its forearms resting on its knees and extended its hand. Persephone coughed and stared long into the void of its soulless eyes. It stared back, waiting.

A massive smoldering beam broke loose from the ceiling, crushing the beast and consuming them both in a shockwave of smoke and ash. Persephone coughed again, blinded by the stifling haze. A voice cut through the smoky void: “Persephone! Where are you?”

“I’m here!” she shouted. She crawled past the smoldering debris where the demon lay motionless. Clutching a handkerchief to his face, Deimos appeared from the billowing miasma. A fierce look of urgency shone in his steely eyes.

“We have to get out here—now!” He hurriedly grasped her arm and pulled her toward the stark black portal that was once her door. A swirling inferno encircled the frame, beckoning Persephone into the cold night. Her eyes widened in terror. She convulsed erratically against Deimos as he dragged her across the ashen floor. Her fists struck his arms in protest.

“No!” Persephone implored. “I can’t go out there; I won’t do it!”

“There’s no time,” Deimos said through gritted teeth. “You must.” She howled restively as her body was slung across the threshold and over the porch steps. Hacking and sputtering, they collapsed into the safety of the deep snow as the flames licked their backs.

“Please...don’t leave me here to die.” A meek plea whined from within the infernal depths of the cabin and abruptly hushed Persephone's sharp breaths. Stunned, she blinked and peered through the conflagrant maw of the entrance at the figure laying amidst the rubble. There laid Deimos: his head and a single arm poked out from beneath an enormous burning beam. His glasses were broken and skewed—skin peeled from his blistered face. “Please,” he croaked.

A voice emanated from behind her: “He is lying to you.” The aroma of sulfur crept through the air, embracing Persephone's flushed cheeks. “It is just another trick.”