”Do you believe in Devils

”Do you believe in devils? How about angels?”

I look over to him curiously. Wondering what it was he was rambling on about. He smiled at me with his wickedly back teeth as they rotted out of his gums. I was surprised he still had all of them in his mouth.

He repeated the question to me. “Do you believe in demons, devils, angels, gods? Any of it?” he blew out a puff of smoke as he tapped the end of his cigarette into the ash tray. I hated smoking, and having to sit by this gentleman on the train was torture enough, let alone having to speak to him.

“I don’t know what I believe in,” I spat out suddenly. But it was a lie. I knew exactly what I believed in. I believed I was going crazy. I believed the creatures that were hunting me down were nothing but figments of my imagination gone wild. And that the voices I could hear whispering to me were nothing but memories that I had locked away or pieces of memories coming together and inter mingling to make me believe there was someone breathing into my ear some sickening or comforting words as I tossed them around my skull. Do I believe in angels? HA! And the demons and what ever else he asked me; I don’t believe in any of it. At least… I thought I didn’t.

The old man sitting across from me continues to smile; his eyes were locked on me as if I were some riddle he had to solve. As if he could see the intricate parts of my brain and the inner workings of my mind and was fascinated by them, like a cat watching fish in a tank full of water. Only I wasn’t swimming. I was drowning.

“I think you do. Your eyes have seen them haven’t they? You’ve witnessed the battle between the angels and demons and now they’re out to get you. Ho ho, I know these things you see.” My eyes shot over to him suspiciously. I didn’t know if I should be afraid or if I should be grateful that someone in this frightening world knew what I was thinking. And as he drew in another lung full of smoke I began to feel as if something was coming together. I watched him as he closed his beady little back eyes and blow out the smoke above our heads. He looked back at me with that black smile. “Wonder how I know these things do you?” He asked as he leaned closer. I could not help but lean in a little myself. And then I heard him whisper something that sent cold shivers down my spine. “You’re the dark angel.”

When I heard those words my heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that to me. The old man leaned back and started laughing and I pressed myself into my seat, trying to keep as far away from him as I possibly could without drawing much more attention to myself. I didn’t want to know how he knew about that. In fact I didn’t want to hear any more of what he had to say. I turned my head looking out the window into the dark night. There was nothing there to see accept the silhouette of trees moving past us at incredible speeds. I heard the old man calm himself from his laughing fit and lean forward over the table again towards me.

“You’re not going to out run this.” He said and I fought the urge to look back at him. But still he continues to speak, why I do not know. Perhaps he felt compelled to try and save my soul, or life, or what ever I had. Perhaps he had his own little agenda to keep up with. Or maybe he worked for those creatures that were chasing me… No! There are no creatures chasing me, those are merely figments of my imagination. My imagination that seems to be running wild and… What did he say?

I looked back at the old man, his eyes lit with a strange sort of twisted joy. “What did you say?” I asked suddenly.

He laughed again only this time he was able to keep himself together, or at least what was left of him, before he repeated the last thing he said. “I said, ‘Desten is a lovely place to visit this time of year…’”

“No, no… before that.” I looked at him with a wide eyed expression. He said my name. The old man knew my name, though I had not told it to him. There was nothing visibly on me to give it away either. I had no name tag, no necklace with my name inscribed on it, no tattoo, no luggage... I had nothing.

“Well the sentence before that was ‘The place you need to go is Desten.’”

“No. How did you know my name?” I was getting angry, not because he knew my name so much as I was afraid as to how. How did he know me name? I felt myself press back against the seat again and the cold shiver that plagued me earlier once again finding its way down my spine. The old man looked at me, he was no longer smiling. His beady black eyes were no longer joyful. There was a sickening feeling in my stomach as I watched this old man suddenly stop being old. His face was wrinkled and his body looked frail but his eyes and expression told me he wasn’t as weak as he looked. He was caught. I found out. I knew something I wasn’t supposed to know and despite the fact I had no idea what it was he knew I had an idea of what it could be. He was one of them. One of those creatures that followed me where ever I went; that I was trying so hard to run from.

The old man looked at me sharply, narrowing his eyes and scowling. “You can’t run from us forever.” He said his voice suddenly different. Before his voice was an old squeaky voice with a hint of learned wisdom. Now, however, it was darker, deeper, with a sinister purpose behind it. It was a demonic voice and that of a voice I’d heard before. I glance to either side of me and wonder where I could go to get away from him. He wasn’t real. My mind was making the old man that was once sitting before me into this monster. Soon I would hear the old man talking to me again. I would see his black smile and hear that annoying laugh. But the man sitting in front of me now remained. His cold eyes staring into mine and I didn’t know what to do. Hopelessly I turned my face away form him again, facing the window and concentrated on the dark images that passed by.

The old man leaned back in his chair now, sitting up straight with a stern expression, as if he were superior to me. As if I were meant to bow down before him as the Egyptians once did before their pharaohs. But I refused to look at him. I refused to accept the fact that in a split second all the distance I thought I had put between me and these creatures disappeared.

It was hard keeping my eyes locked on the distant shadows. I began to feel the urged to look at him. To see what he was doing in his chair. My eyes glanced over a little, and I could see his reflection in the glass. Only it wasn’t the old man I saw in the window. I turned my eyes back ahead of me, away from the image that was only my imagination. That is what I kept telling myself. It was only my imagination. In a moment I would wake up or I would snap back into reality and the image of the demon in the window would disappear. Disappear into the darkness that it belonged to. I glanced over at the old man suddenly. I had to see if he was still there. To see if maybe some part of my sanity still remained. As my eyes fell upon the stern, wrinkled face of the old man I didn’t know if I should be relieved or afraid. His black eyes watched me like a hawk now, waiting for me to do something, say something, or act in some way that would tell him something about me. But I didn’t give in. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t do anything accept watch the dark, distant world outside the window and glance at him from time to time.

And time did pass. The train went on silently; the other passengers slept in their uncomfortable chairs, or read some book or new article. Only the old man and I were truly awake. He and I sat across from each other in the last row of the train near the door, watching. Watching each other; watching the world; watching the time tick by like the slow trickle of a river bed after many dry months. I honestly can’t say how long we sat there. Or how many times he lit another cigarette and blew out grey puffs of smoke above our heads. Or how many times my eyes darted from window to man and back again. And I honestly don’t care. All I know is that as I sat there my mind raised with thoughts of how to escape. How I could get myself away from the man sitting across from me before he took my arm and swept me away to some wicked little house in the country some where.

The whistle of the train blared out suddenly as we approached a deserted little station. The whistle made me jump and I turned in my seat so suddenly I almost forgot about the old man. But I suppose I could never forget him. I keep calling him an old man but he’s not. He’s a demon. The old mans face that keeps staring at me is nothing but a mask. A mask he used to trick me into relaxing my guard. But he slipped and I found out who he really was, or rather, what he was I should say. And that was a problem, whether the problem was his or mine I couldn’t figure out but I knew somewhere this had caused a problem and the problem was starting to snow ball as the whistled died off back into silence.

As the trained slowed to a stop I felt the muscles in my body tense and I watched the old man closely. My eyes locked on his and his eyes locked on mine. I wondered if there was any chance for me to run. To get up from my seat and grab my canvas shoulder bag and make it through the carriage door and down the stairs onto the platform, all before he could reach me. But as the carriage stopped he shook his head at me slowly. He knew I couldn’t out run him, and I had to face it; I also knew I couldn’t out run him. I just didn’t want to believe it.

The train let out its steam and a few of the passengers shifted in their seats, barely disturbed by the changes in their environment. I was disturbed though. I was loosing my mind as I got up from my chair slowly and reached above my head for my bag. The old man stood up with me, standing there next to me as if he’d known me all my life. As if he was some protective father figure, or older brother. But I knew better. He wasn’t protecting me, he was making sure I wasn’t going to fall into the hands of his enemy, or run away from him and cause a scene that might expose him to all the passengers in our car. But he waited for me still. And as I shouldered my bag he motioned with his arm towards the door. I had no choice really. This was where I was going, only not to the place he was taking me once I got off the train.

I started to walk towards the door, my feet sticking to the filthy, brutally stained worn out floor as I walked. The old man followed me, his feet beating on the ground heavily with every step, which I assumed was just a testimony to the powerful being that was crammed into that frail body. As I walked through the door and rounded the corner to the stairs I found myself shaking. I was actually shaking. My body was trembling and I couldn’t decide if it was from the cold winter air or the fear that came rushing over me, engulfing me, devouring ever ounce of will power I had to descend those stairs that I stood above. The old man waited behind me, and I could feel his hot, cigarette smelling breath as he inched closer to me. He was leaning over me, and though I could not see him I could feel his cold black eyes digging into the back of my skull. The dimly lit station rested just a few steps away but I couldn’t move. I felt his breath move across my neck like little spiders crawling along the interact fibers of its delicate web. I felt them move up to my ear, and his breath grew warmer as he leaned his chapped, bloody lips closer to my ear. I could smell his breath, his decaying teeth and waxy saliva giving off an odor that reminded me of rotting meat mixed with burning tobacco.

I felt him whisper in my ear. His words now flowing through the air like the soothing song of a mocking bird and my body calmed down. I stopped shivering as he spoke to me. “Go on, the train will not wait all night. It’s safe to get off now…” I don’t know what it was about his voice but it was different, it was an attempt on his part to be as comforting as a demon could be. And it worked. I walked down the few stairs, my shoes clanking on the metal, and I stood on the station platform under the starlit sky, my eyes fixed on the dirt covered cement before me. A single lamp post tried its hardest to light the platform, and as the old man followed after me the train blew out its whistle and started off.

I stood there silently as I listened to the train pick up speed. Had I given up that easily? Was I just going to let the demons win what ever they were fighting over me for? It wasn’t like me to just give up. It wasn’t like me to believe my wild imagination and follow its orders. I was in charge. I may be crazy but I knew I was and that gave me an edge. That gave me power over myself and over my imagination. I raised my head to look at the old man. He was standing under the lamp post now waiting for me. As I took a closer look at him in the lamp light I noticed he wasn’t as old as he was on the train. He was younger, and with every click of the train wheels on the track he seemed to become even younger, reversing the years and taking back his youthfulness, or at least the old mans youthfulness. I watched as his face slimmed down and smoothed out and his posture straightened and his lips healed. Only his black eyes remained the same now, his black evil eyes that could see right through me.

I wonder if he knew what I was planning to do. But I suppose I really don’t care. Demons aren’t real. Demons can’t be real. I’m imagining this and I was going to end this hallucination. I took a step forward and the demon let some of his guard down and I could see that he believed I wasn’t going to try and run away. I went to take my next step towards him but mid way through I slammed my foot down, turned on my heel and stretched out my hand, grabbing onto the handle of the train by one of the doors. I felt my body jerk to the side and I held on with both my hands. I admit it hurt. It hurt a lot. My shoulder felt as if I had torn my whole arm off as I pulled myself onto the stairs. I panted as I leaned against the train door, holding on for dear life. I was amazed at the fact I just did something as crazy as jumping onto a moving train. After a moment of catching my breath I looked back at the distant platform. The demon stood at its edge watching me. I could still feel his black eyes, and I looked away, bringing my attention to the door as I pulled it open. I managed to get into the train and find my way back to my seat with out any trouble. Placing my bag back onto the top rack and sliding myself back to where I had been sitting earlier.

The train was still as quiet as when I left it; the other passengers were oblivious to what had just transpired around them. I looked out the window and repeated over and over again in my head it was all just a dream. I think it’s sad when you have to tell yourself you’re crazy to get through the day. To believe that everything that happens to you really never happened and you were just making it all up. What if I am crazy? I guess I could live with that. I have so far after all. It’s not so bad being crazy really. People stay away from you, you have no friends or family but you at least you know who you are. You are that crazy girl. The crazy girl that people whisper about when you walk by, or pull their children away from so they won’t get to close. I can live with that. I can live with that because it’s safe and logical.

But what if I’m not crazy? I felt that familiar chill winding down my spine. If I’m not crazy then all of this is real. And I really am being chased by demons and angels as they fight over who gets to claim me. Why me? What is a dark angel? If I am not crazy then the pain in my shoulder is real and I am on a train going to a place I probably never heard of. I feel myself lean forward and my head tap against the freezing glass. My breath fogs the window and I close my eyes wondering when all of this will end. Can it end? Do I even want to know what the ending is going to be? I listen to the train trek on through the black night of winter and I can’t help but fight back salty tears as they attempted to wiggle their way out of my tear glands and slide down my already cold cheeks. I can’t cry though… I haven’t cried in a long time and I wasn’t about to start it in the middle of a train full of people I didn’t want to interact with. Slowly I feel the tears subside and retreat back into their secret domain where I lock away all the pain my heart has collected through the years. I feel tired now. The pain in my shoulder taking a toll on my body and I can’t help but start to drift off. I begin to feel light as my mind seeks refuge in my drowsy state. I listen to the train running across its tracks and finally give in, trusting the train to carry me off into the cold night safely to a new destination, and maybe towards the answers I’ve been searching for.