Dingir and the abomination

By Mark Green

We had brought the mansion at an excellent price, four stories, acres of land, a massive swimming pool, even an extensive basement level with a fully equipped gym at only a fraction of its market value, but we should have known it was too good to be true. If it was as simple as someone died here before, or it was used by a drug cartel, I wouldn't have cared in the slightest.

To be honest even a ghost wouldn't have been all that bad, whose wife doesn't have a few occult knickknacks lying around that might be handy in such a situation? What we were to soon face was significantly worse than the plot of a recycled omen movie. Our danger sadly had a physical presence.

It started with our pets, we had three dogs, good sturdy beasts that a wolf or coyote would likely come away poorly from a confrontation with them, not those flimsy custom purse poodles that spoiled teens oddly favour. Sweet as our dogs were with my wife and kids, I knew they were fighters, as during a break-in about five years ago, when six men broke into our home, they were half-dead by the time I got downstairs with my shot gun, savaged with admirable predatory skill. No remains were discovered, we reported them missing, but the police weren't too bothered. They assumed they'd simply gotten loose, and doubted criminal intent as it was a high end neighbourhood, and wild animal attacks were extremely rare.

Then came the growls and large scratch marks on the walls, deep gouges, impossibly large, that no bear could hope to imitate. While my wife wanted to put up security cameras to see what had caused the damage, we certainly hadn't found anything skulking in our new home, and if we had it would have killed us in our sleep. I knew something was fundamentally wrong, I had grown up on horror stories, and my family always liked the ancient sagas, heroes, and pantheons of forgotten gods. I had never really believed in it, but I had enjoyed it. In the off-chance something like that was really happening, I didn't plan to be part of a B-list horror flick. I hurried to my new study, most of it was still in boxes, even before the dogs had vanished, I had been busy getting everything settled. Moving across States was no simple task.

The one thing in the study that was being used, was a small safe built into the wall. It was an older model, but still good, sturdy iron. I put in the key and turned it, inside were not treasures in the normal sense, only to me, rare photos of my now deceased parents, they had never been one for such things, my father's signet ring, a worn and frayed toy that I was too embarrassed to put in display or keep in the bedroom or on a random shelf. I was nearly fifty years old.

I searched through the various priceless objects and pulled out a business card. It was worse for wear but still readable, on it read 'John Hickson', beneath that in smaller golden font was a phone number with several extra digits. On the reverse was the name of an occult shop both my parents liked to go to when I was young. The Demon Workshop, it was an old, bizarre place with incredible, impossible products. I had loved it. The owner was a bald man in either his thirties or forties, it was hard to tell with the mass of connected tattoos that covered his skin. They glowed like magic, but that could easily be the delusions of an imaginative child.

He was a nice, if strange man, he had given him this business card, making it appear in a flash of blue light, like magic.

"If you ever need our services little one, don't hesitate to call, we are always open."

I dialled the number on my mobile phone, the card then began to glow, and I almost dropped it. A deep growl echoed at the edge of my hearing, I span, but saw nothing. Heart pounding, I put the phone to my ear again. It connected.

"Welcome to the Demonic Workshop, our operating times are always, and our services cover from the mundane, to the magical, to the delightfully demonic," spoke a familiar man's voice. "How can we help you today, caller?"

Another growl echoed, this time louder, more guttural.

"Oh dear!" said the voice at the other end of the line. "You might want to be quick with what you want, it sounds rather big."

"I think I have a monster or something in my house, can you come help?" I demanded, as the man could hear the growl as well.

"Of course!" the voice replied. "Now run to your door and place the business card anywhere on the door and then turn it."

"What?"

"Just do it, or you'll be dead in a few seconds," came back the chillingly light reply to mortal peril.

The creek of wooden floor, inside my study!

I ran as fast as I could, and slammed the card against the hard wood, and yanking it open, too frightened, I dived through, a bellow sounding behind me. I slammed the door shut and scrambled back. It was then I realised I was inside a massive, ancient looking shop, and not the hallway that it should have connected to. Magic!

"My cards are rather special you see," said the speaker from the phone, I turned and saw a middle aged tattooed man standing about ten feet away, using a fifties style phone that was mounted to the wall. It was him, and somehow he hadn't aged a day. "Touch any door and you can come here, one of my more ingenious magicks, I must admit." He put down the phone, and approached, offering me a hand to get up. I accepted. He yanked me up.

"John Hickson?" I blurted.

"That's right," he affirmed.

"W-Why haven't you aged?" I demanded.

"Oh? New are we, that's surprising, I don't give out those cards often, you know."

"I came here as a kid with my parents..." I began, unsure how to articulate what I wanted to say.

"Ah, that would explain your confusion, the answer is simple: magic!"

What I wanted to say was cut off as the door began to shake and a deep, guttural bellow filled the store. "Oh god, it's coming!"

"Well, that's a surprise, it can sense my magic, normally demons can't come here unless I let them," noted Hickson with mild surprise, but no fear. Though as the hinges and wood began to warp, he began to pull me away. "We probably shouldn't be close when it breaks in."

"What?"

The door exploded, though the shards vanished into thin air, likely magic again. From the opening then came a huge mass of shadowy bulk, I saw glowing red eyes and a mass of gigantic teeth, almost human, but big enough to swallow us both with ease. It let loose a bellow, eyeing me with evil intent. This was the thing that killed my dogs, scarred up my walls, and followed me when I called for help.

It began to squeeze though the gap, holy shit, it was big!

I turned to John Hickson as he carefully led me further back, out of reach, as a massive bear like arm, with sword-like claws swung at us, missing us by inches. It growled again, and began twisting about, trying to get in fully, God's above, it was big!

"Mark, take care of this!" shouted Hickson to the second floor of the shop.

"Don't order me about," said a deep, but young voice. Someone jumped down from the second floor, landing in front of us, he was big, he wore a long leather jacket, that reached his knees, and in each hand he carried a sword. They glowed, magic again, I suspect.

The monster bellowed in a rage and swung at the newcomer, this 'Mark' parried the claws, cutting through them easily, as though he was using a light-sabre or something equally impossible.

The monster breathed out a mass of red 'something', but suddenly my eyes were engulfed in a blinding white light and I was forced to close them. As the burning tingle faded, I hesitantly opened them, and we were alone, the monster was gone. The once destroyed door was gone, replaced by an old wooden one that matched the shop's antique decor.

"It got away," said the young man, turning to face them, a faint irritation showing his features. He was younger than I thought, eighteen at the very most. He hard dark hair, that verged on being black, and strange grey eyes, with many bags under them, he likely didn't sleep much. I didn't recognise his accent, could be English, could be Australian, and I would probably get it wrong. "Should I go kill it?" he asked.

"Now that depends on our guest here," replied Hickson. I looked at him, in surprise. "We are a business Mister Conner, I assume you can afford our rates?"

I panicked. "I'll pay anything you ask, please just get that thing out of my house!" I didn't even question at the time, of how the shop owner remembered me, I did not favour my father's features, and it was forty years ago.

"Your house...shit!" sighed Mark, giving Hickson a meaningful look, before turning to me. "You got family in that house?" he asked. I felt a chill, of course, if it wasn't here, then it was there, with my family...

"We have to hurry!" I yelled.

"I'll reconnect my door to another door in your home, as that one was destroyed. What's your address?" Hickson asked, while Mark sheathed his swords, which were tied to his belt, his long coat hiding them from view. He then grabbed a number of objects off the shelves, and stuffed them into his pocket. I rattled off my address to the apparently un-aging shop owner.

Numerous glowing, spinning magic circles appeared in front of Hickson, he ran his fingers against them, they span and changed, the ancient looking symbols shifting and adapting to their creator's will. "Well get going then," the magic circles flew towards the door, sticking to it, and melding into the woodwork.

Mark calmly headed for the door, as he opened it, I saw the entrance hall, we must be using the front door, no monster was waiting there, but then I heard my children scream. Mark leapt through the door and hurried in the direction of the noise. On panicked, adrenaline fuelled feet, I hurried after him. The creature was in the dining room, one of the few places that could give it freedom of movement, though it had no trouble chasing me in my room.

My youngest, Katie was holding a bloody leg and crying, my wife lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding heavily from her temple. Meanwhile, Harry and Elizabeth were in the grip of the monster, one in each hand. Eyeing them, deciding which to eat first. "Get away from my family!" I bellowed, rushing the creature without any thought. It casually swiped at me, sending me sprawling.

"Daddy!"

"Daddy, help!"

Both the creatures arms were sliced off, my children fell to the ground, still in its shadowy, dismembered grip. Mark placed a hand on each child, whispering something, it sounded like Latin or Spanish, I wasn't sure which.

"Malo Purget..." The two demonic limbs dissolved in a brief flash of light, he quickly passed my children to me, as the creature thrashed about in apparent agony. I retreated with my children, as I set them down with the others, he spoke to me. "Take them all to the shop, they'll tend to your injuries." The monster re-grew it's arms, and swelled in rage, casting a deep shadow on their surroundings. "I can't promise that your house will survive." He took a stance, a white aura surrounding his body and weapons.

"Pretty..." said Elizabeth, as I left with my family, my wife and Katie slung over my shoulder, my children hurrying ahead, glad to be away from the monster. I didn't spare the young man a glance as we fled for our lives, I could only hope that he could handle it.

Mark let loose a sigh of relief, the family would just get in the way. He ran about the large room as masses of shadows erupted from the creatures body, he dodged them while throwing small balls of blessed silver, as they struck against the massive demon's malleable, shadowy body, they exploded like a tiny grenade, burying the shards deep into the creature's body. Mark dived behind and upturned table to avoid the shards. The blessed silver began to burn the creature from the inside, it shrieked, and began ripping the 'infected' parts from its body.

"Huh? that's a first," Mark remarked in surprise. Then the creature regenerated, much faster, it was growing used to his purifying magic. It's arms had regenerated too, it slapped him with massive force, smashing him through the surrounded walls. Mark vomited blood, his back and neck spasming in pain. As the creature charged at him, he hurled a bottle of Holy water into its mouth. It pulled back with a shriek. Mark struggled to his feet, eyes glowing like molten gold, his angelic power growing stronger. Now he was pissed off. He approached the creature, "Sanctitudo..." he muttered, it was time for the kill. "Let's see how many times you can regenerate."

"Dingir!" growled the monster, blasting at him with red mist from its mouth, igniting the air around them.

All of my family were going to live, the shop had first aid, and even a place for surgery, they were terrified, but glad to be away from the house. Hours had passed since they had gotten here. Mark had yet to return, I was concerned, but the shop owner, John Hickson didn't seem worried about it.

"It's fine, when it comes to killing demons, there are none finer that you could hire, unless you found a God willing to do the job for you," said Hickson as he tidied away the medical equipment.

"That's an exaggeration," said Mark, walking into the shop, his clothing was singed in places, smoke still trailing from his body, his face was bloody, and his eyes twitched with a profound irritation. There was a stiffness to his movements that showed he was injured. "Bloody demon was possessed by an amalgamated evil in the home, those things take forever to kill. Now heal me Hickson, I have to get to college soon."

"Sure, follow me," they went upstairs.

'College?' I thought with surprise, it was the middle of the night. But with time differences, and the shop's ability to appear anywhere, he could be from anywhere. I never saw Mark again, I had hoped to thank him, but to this demon killer, it was probably just another day. What a life for a teenager to live. I pitied him until I saw the state of my home, now I pity myself. We might be moving again, half of the house was gone.

THE END

This story will be appearing in the anthology 'Monsters 'N' Things' this Halloween with loads of other Monsters themed short stories.