Passing On

                                                                                  Passing On

Folding back red wings which near filled the room, the Imp pushed his face close to the sleeping priests, reached across the duvet, and sunk his claws deep into wrinkled flesh. Blade like nails punctured his windpipe and a vile hissing sound echoed around the old man’s room.

Blood sprayed high over the Imp’s horned skull as he lowered his fanged mouth towards the wound. The priest gasped, eyes wide with terror, bulging like squashed eggs. Gargled words stumbled from his blood filled mouth, No. . . No!”

The Imp inhaled, and forced his thoughts into the dying priest’s mind. “Yes! Your soul is Lucifer’s now priest. The pain you inflicted on the innocent shall be yours a thousand fold for all eternity. Welcome to hell.” Cries of agony filled the priest's mind: death cries, screams of terror, a thousand voices begging for death. “Kill me! Kill me!”

A black light emanated from the dead man’s eyes, growing in power as the Imp stood back, grinning wickedly. As the light grew in strength, the Imp grew in stature until soon its scaled bulk burst through the ceiling, smashing the vicarage to dust as it spread its vast wings, jaws snapping. Fiery clouds swirled above him. Lightening forked towards the priest. Darkness fell.

The priest awoke, bound and naked, suspended over a sea of boiling blood by two rusty chains around his wrists.. “Ahh!” He screamed but made no sound. The priest was skinless, yet felt no pain. He looked up, disbelieving.

The cave roof was so vast he saw naught but blackness. In the flash of an eye the cave shock like thunder and a towering Imp burst through the waves two hundred feet high. A deafening roar filled the gloom. 

Thoughts filled his mind though the mighty Imp’s jaws never moved. “You will beg for death but it will never come. You will repent endlessly as pain consumes you, but it will only worsen. You will die and be reborn here, ten thousand times a day, for you, above all mankind, are the worst. We will enjoy feasting on your black soul, priest. Ha-ha-ha-ha!” The Imp’s laughter boomed around the cave, joined by the distant laughter of his brethren as the priest struggled in vain.

“We, Imps, control suffering, priest. Enjoy this moment, for never again will you know peace.” A piercing scream rent the air as the Imp slashed the chains with his fire bathed trident, its face twisted in pleasure as the priest fell. Mortal screams, Impish laughter. 


                                                                                                    * * * *

Shutting the door gently, the doctor addressed the assembled well wishers in the vicarage corridor, “I’m afraid, he has passed on.” A collective gasp filled the air. “But, it was a quick passing I am certain; he looks as peaceful as an angel. God bless him.”
“God bless him. Thank you doctor,” a porcine lady sobbed, “your kind words are a great comfort to us all. I’m sure he is in heaven now.”










500 words