‘Speak mine name, o wretched creature.’ The voices hiss at the edge of her hearing, quiet yet sharp, entreating her to listen closer and also threatening to perforate her eardrums. Not just one voice, but a legion of them, speaking in an uneven canon.
‘Belial, Behemoth, Asmodeus,’ she whispers back, frantic, her skin cold with fear.
‘Nay.’
‘Mephistopheles, Baphomet, Lucifer.’
There is a grin in their voices. ‘Nay.’
‘Beezlebub, Satan, Moloch.’
A cacophony of cackles. ‘Nay.’
Blinking back sweat, against all instinct, she turns her head to see what speaks. Her eyes widen. All thoughts are annihilated as the ego attempts to resolve what is being sent down the optic nerves.
‘Seraphim.’
A screech of delight.
Paddy Dobson
7th October 2022