text: For those interested, you can read the story for free online on Dance of Death's website. ***M****ichael Knight* *is a 20 year old living in Moore, Oklahoma. He lives with his mom, brother, and dog Emmett. He’s loved to create and write stories ever since he was in the third grade, but only in the last few years decided to pursue it as a career. Until his big break, he’s working at a pizza call center, and currently not in school.* *Check him out on Reddit at* u/MichaelKnightWriter An ancient demonological tale states God created every creature on earth, except for the fly, which was a creation of Satan. I am inclined to believe this is true, for if what I witnessed that night was a creation of God he is no god I wish to follow. I will never forget the events which befell me and my friend. I think the guilt is the worst part. Every night I awake in a cold sweat, thankfully forgetting the nightmare that caused it, and whenever I hear the buzzing of a house fly, I am taken back to that day. It happened on September the 14th, 1933. It was a rather slow day at our office. Outside, the gray clouds blocked out the sun over the city. I sat on the couch reserved for clients and sipped coffee, preparing myself for the long day ahead. Angel sat at his desk, taking advantage of the lull to work on his manuscript. Angel tore a page from his typewriter and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it towards the trash bin and missing. His novel, a dark comedy in the vein of Stella Gibbons, took inspiration from occult practices, which he obsessed over. He had extensive knowledge on the occult, accumulated from years of research back when he studied at university. While his story's premise was original, I found his characters and scenarios cliched. He was much better at being a detective than an artist. As Angel contemplated over his typewriter, the telephone rang, which jolted us both. Angel picked up the cup and held it to his ear. After a brief conversation, he hung up. He informed me a new client wanted to come and brief us on a missing person. This excited me at the time. With no cases to work on and a longing for new ones, I jumped at the opportunity to work. Angel didn't seem so excited, since he had less time to work on his novel. According to Angel, the client was a woman, and lived about a block away. She would show up at our office at any moment. Not ten minutes later did the glass pane on our door shudder from a frantic knocking. I let the woman in and directed her to sit. She looked nervous. Her eyes darted around the room, never locking onto a single object, but always in motion. After she sat, Angel and I began the questioning. She gave us her name, Camille Patterson, and said she worked as a seamstress ever since her husband had died. He took his own life after losing his job due to the Stock Market Crash. Earlier that morning, her eight year old son, Alfred Patterson, went missing. She had woken up to find the window to their first floor apartment opened, and Alfred nowhere to be seen. Camille didn't believe Alfred had ran away. Something in her gut screamed, “Abduction.” She went to the authorities first, but she knew they would only put her case in a pile with the others. We continued to question her on other places Alfred might visit and took note of her answers. Angel assured her we would find Alfred and said it would be best for her to go home, rest, and call us if anything else came to mind. I showed her out the door and turned to Angel, already going over his notes. One question that stood out to me was when Alfred asked where Camille's husband was buried. She told him and he wrote it down. As we rode in the elevator, he explained to me his theory, which he had already developed in his head. Alfred snuck out to visit his father's grave, and was kidnapped there. Angel knew of an abandoned apartment complex across the way from said graveyard, and thought that was a likely candidate. Angel also mentioned how Alfred's disappearance could be connected to the others that had happened in the weeks prior. The thought had occurred to me as well. Although those other disappearances were all adults, it wasn't too far fetched to assume we had a serial kidnapper on our hands. Minutes later, we arrived at the graveyard, and moved through it to the apartment building on the other side. The building didn't look abandoned from the outside, although peering through the windows, a barren space of what used to be a lobby with faint outlines where furniture used to be stood before me. Stepping back to get a view of the top most floors, I froze in my tracks as my eyes met another pair gazing down at me. This pair of gray eyes belonged to a head containing long, unkempt locks of hair. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again he disappeared. After telling Angel, he suggested we try to make our way in. I went around and tried the front door, but it wouldn't budge, so Angel went back into the alley, got a brick and shattered a window. I frantically glanced around to make sure no one saw him, and then rebuked him as he climbed inside. “Jacob, Alfred could be in there with a very dangerous man. I don't know about you, but I won't sit by and wait while he's in danger.” And that was the problem with Angel. He tended to rush in and act without giving much thought to the consequences. I fear that is what spelled his doom in the end. Reluctantly, I climbed in after him. I followed Angel through the ruined interior and up the stairs to where I saw the man. The apartment door opened inwards on creaky hinges. Some feeling of dread in my gut made me reach my hand out and grab Angel's arm, preventing him from entering. A strange vibe resonated with my primal instincts, and I refused to cross the threshold. Angel said he felt it too, but we had to see if Alfred was okay. Before I could stop him he already threw the door open, and once he glanced inside he froze in his tracks. My stomach sank before Angel uttered a curse in hushed breath. When I finally walked over to join him, my eyes locked on to the shrine in the center of the room. An altar made of concrete bricks stood there with a leather sheet draped over it. On top lied a raccoon's corpse, gutted with a knife embedded in the carcass. While the brutal scene disturbed me, that wasn't what gave my friend pause. He stared at the wall directly to the right of the altar. A strange symbol not unlike a Star of David, but with some noticeable differences and liberties, took up nearly the entire wall. The star itself had nearly triple the points of an actual Star of David, and it was surrounded by Greek-like characters, with a four limbed stick figure in it's center. Angel recognized the surrounding characters as a combination of several Canaanite languages, and the sigil in the center he knew from his studies into the occult, but didn't recall exactly what it meant. I shivered at the thought of some mad cult performing blasphemous rituals so close to our homes. I would've continued to dwell on it, but the slapping of rain against the window made me jump. The clouds had finally burst open and unleashed a torrent of water on the city. I snapped out of my trance and suggested we keep looking for the man. We had not seen him exit the building, so I assumed he was still hiding somewhere. I cursed myself for not bringing my revolver, but luckily Angel had his. After searching the rest of the top floors, we back tracked to the lobby, and went to a previously unnoticed, barely open door. Angel took point and opened the door, which led to a set of concrete stairs leading into darkness. After descending the steps, the rain outside became muffled and I felt the cold basement air hit me like a brick wall. The basement looked even more ruined than the lobby. Rotting wood and decay added a stench of death to the scene. Furniture piles and cardboard boxes lied everywhere, and while we tried to traverse through the narrow pathway between the mountains, we had to do our fair share of climbing across overturned furniture. Once we reached the other side of the basement, I stopped. A table leaned against the wall, the underside facing us, with the same symbol as above carved into it. I walked forward, distracted by the symbol, and tripped on some small object and went flying into the table. It cracked inwards creating a divot that I could barely see through. To my surprise, a tunnel opened up beyond the wooden barrier, about five or six meters long, and angled downwards towards an opening which leaked a weak light into it. I told Angel and he got me to help him move the table out of the way. Normally I'd object to traipsing in like we did, but we trespassed, and the police wouldn't have supported us. So we agreed to go through ourselves, no matter how dangerous it was, and entered the chasm. Towards the end, enough light leaked through to see a two foot dip into a chamber, and we safely dropped into what was, to my surprise, an abandoned subway station. The cylindrical tunnel loomed around us, and some oil lamps hung on the walls, which produced the light I saw in the basement. To our left, the remains of a cylindrical train car, long out of order, blocked the way. The model dated back to the turn of the century. How long had this been here right under our noses? I looked at Angel to see his reaction, and his eyes were lit up. “Underground caverns,” Angel said to himself, “I don't know why I hadn't thought of this sooner. This might just save my novel.” I laughed despite the situation. Angel was the only person who would think of his book in a situation like this. He had spoken to me numerous time about how he wished to get out of the private eye business. His artwork made him exponentially happier. As he contemplated his story, I continued to look around. We could only go to the right, so Angel took point, aiming his revolver. Every now and then as we walked, more glyphs would appear, scratched into the curved walls. A wrongness filled the air which I detected much the same way someone would detect static electricity. I could tell Angel felt it as well. A renewed feeling of dread swept through me as a brighter light appeared ahead of us. We inched closer, and found the light came from a train station. Another train car blocked the way. Or it would've if it didn't have it's back door open. The light came from somewhere beyond it, leaking through the windows and then the door way. When I went towards it, Angel put his hand in front of me. The extra pressure against my chest made me feel how fast and hard my heart was beating. Then, I heard it. Voices. A chorus of deep voices chanting in a language I didn't recognize, but I assumed it to be the same as the language written on the walls. Angel and I crouched and crept up to the train car. We crawled in and went up to the side entrance, where we crouched beneath a window. The chanting continued just beyond the train car. Slowly, I peeked around the barrier, and took in the scene in a matter of seconds. The fetor of decaying flesh assaulted my senses, and I had to cover my mouth and pull my head back to keep from vomiting or screaming. It was one side of a normal subway station, with the entry way closed and covered in that same dead language. The pillars, which contained braziers, also had the daemonic script, and the walls and even the c ceiling had it. There was also the same symbol on the floor, and an altar made of concrete bricks lied in it's center. A group of around ten men and women wearing dark robes surrounded the altar, with the man I saw in the window standing behind it, his hands raised in worship. He wore a peculiar black headdress, which Angel explained looked very similar to ancient Philistine head wear, like a cross between a fluted crown and a keffiyeh. The long fabric fell across the mans shoulders and back. Upon the altar, a young boy which I immediately knew to be Alfred lied, naked and bounded at the wrists and ankles. He had a look of existential horror on his face, and I believe he was barely old enough to even comprehend what was happening to him. While that sight gave me feelings of anxiety and empathy, what made me retch was the pile of around four adult bodies on the left side of the station. Gaping holes were in their chests where their hearts should've been. I didn't know where the hearts went, although blood on the lips of some of the cultists allowed me to make my own inferences. I refused to dwell any longer on that aspect of the scene. Angel and I didn't act for a few minutes, seeing as we were outnumbered. As we hid, the leader finally stopped chanting. I peeked around again, morbid curiosity outweighing my terror. Three cultists stepped forward and surrounded the altar. They produced knives from their robes, and I feared for the boys life. Instead of plunging them into Alfred, they took the knives and ran them across their own throats. Alfred screamed as the bodies collapsed. Once they hit the floor, a rumbling began beneath my feet. A mild earthquake had started, but it lasted only a few seconds. I wanted to believe the two events weren't connected, but the cultists dug their feet into the ground, as if wanting to feel as much of the quake as possible. The leader of this sick society inhaled, seeming to relish a sort of pleasure from the event. “Brothers and sisters,” the leader began, “For thousands of years our god has lied dormant. Although many have attempted to praise him, none had the knowledge that we do today, and many misconceptions and lies have been brought forth. Lies such as our god is Satan or an agent for him. No. He was worshiped long before the concept of Satan, before the tower of Babel was erected, before any of the Abrahamic religions were a fleeting idea in the minds of blasphemers.” He produced a knife from his robe and raised it above the boy. Angel aimed his revolver at the man, who didn't notice him, too engrossed in his ritual. I didn't want the boy to die, but I feared that somehow killing the priest wouldn't help anything, but actually make things inconceivably worse. The rumbling in the ground increased gradually, and a new wave of dread washed over me as the priest finished his last rite. “We know our god is the true god of the Philistines! The Lord of the Flies!” The back of the mans head burst outwards in a torrent of blood. The gunshot echoed throughout the claustrophobic chamber and my ears rang loud. The remaining cultists recoiled at the sound and backed away from the altar as Angel rushed out, aiming his gun at them to keep them back. I got out of the train to assist him in untying the boy, who had passed out. The cultists faces trembled, their expression frozen in terror. As I picked up the boys body, knowing they weren't afraid of us, I wondered what could've had them so aghast. The rumbling I felt earlier increased in volume. Soon, I had to struggle to keep my balance, and some of the cultists fell over. A cracking sound resonated throughout the room. Barely audible, maddening voices whispered all around me. I didn't know if it was real or a trick of my mind at the time. Then, I looked to the other end of the station. My knees grew week and I collapsed at the impossible sight. A floating, gelatinous mass of flesh and blood began to spawn. It grew and pulsated, squelching and spewing out giblets of matter which smelled of rotting meat. I averted my eyes from the horror as a red light flashed. It pierced my eye lids with its crimson radiance. After it dissipated, silence overcame the room. A stench like a cross between fecal matter and stomach acid filled the area. A strange chittering noise began. I slowly opened my eyes and looked to Angel, who stared in the direction of the noise, his mouth agape and his eyes transfixed on something. His eyes. Dear God his eyes were dead. That's the only way I can describe them. Staring at something and nothing all at once. Curiosity outweighed the dread I was feeling once again, and I stared, too, at the sight which I know stole a bit of my sanity. I estimate the creature to be around twice the length of an elephant and about as tall, taking up nearly half of the station. If I described it simply it would not do it justice, but I could just as easily describe it as a monstrous fly. It's thorax angled upwards so that it's giant head and bulbous eyes stared down at us. I shudder to remember those damned eyes, so black it appeared to absorb any light which came near them. The beast had a swarm of millions of flies surrounding it, smaller versions of itself, from which emanated a maddening buzzing. It tilted its head at an angle, as if assessing us all. Judging us. That insult to creation was intelligent! The cultists all rushed past me and got on their knees, bowing to the beast, muttering prayers and rites in their language. The beast took it's clawed fore arms and dug into the wall. It hoisted itself onto the ceiling, where it hung directly above the worshipers. It's mandibles opened, and a proboscis slithered out. After a moments pause, the beast sprayed a corrosive acid on to the worshipers. Their screams of agony as they dissolved freed me from my trance of horror. The mad worshipers, betrayed by their own god, had their skin melted off of their bones and on to the floor, a dreadful combination of dark red and tan colors. Their bodies molded together. Three arms merged into one body, reaching up at the sky. It brought down its mouth onto the plash and began sponging up the remains. Seeing as it was distracted, I got up and hoisted Alfred over my shoulder and grabbed Angel by the forearm, pulling him towards the train car. The motion snapped him out of it and soon he began running by himself. We ran out the back of the train car and seemed to have a clear shot ahead of us. Then, a metal groaning began behind us. I turned my head out of instinct. A pulse of anxiety shot through my body as, impossibly, the beast's head squeezed through the back door of the train car. It's fore arms wiggled out, giving it more leverage to slither it's surprisingly malleable body through the entire car. The thing then chased us on four insectoid legs. Compressed by the narrow passageway, it still ever so slowly gained on us. The creature didn't use it's wings, for there wasn't enough room. Not wanting to look anymore, I turned my head and focused on our goal. Flies began to swarm us, drowning my ears with the buzzing and obscuring my vision. They flew up my nose and into my ears, disorienting me. They crawled on my eyeballs, forcing me to close my eyes, but I pressed on. Angel tried to wave away the pests as he ran. The beasts foot steps thundered as it got closer. It's body scraped against the walls. We finally reached the end of the tunnel. A minuscule wave of relief washed over me as the familiar sight of the entryway came into view. Angel and I both turned around and beheld the monster the cultists called Lord of the Flies. It was but a few meters away, and closing in fast. Angel drew his revolver and pushed me towards the exit. “Take the kid and get out of here.” His voice trembled. He and I both knew he wouldn't make it. I wish I could say I wanted to stay and help him; that I would've sacrificed my life in his stead, but that would be a lie. One look at the monstrosity and all courage within me vanished, like a physical thing the creature slaughtered. I ran as fast as I could, without hesitation, and climbed up and in to the tunnel. About half way in, Angel fired his five remaining shots. The thing screamed. It rattled my brain and against my will I had to stop and grab my head. The migraine was nearly unbearable. Then, it stopped. Through the ringing in my ears I could hear the ominous chittering of that living blasphemy. Angel's cry broke my heart. It was not only the cry of a man who knew he was about to die, but it was as if his sanity was crying out for euthanasia. With tears of fear and sadness I clambered out of the tunnel and into the basement. I set Alfred down and grabbed whatever furniture I could find and piled it into the tunnel, blocking it off. I wasn't sure if it would hold, but it was better than doing nothing. Silence, and dare I say calm filled the room, except for the humming of flies which still surrounded me. I collapsed to my knees and screamed for the loss of my friend and the loss of part of myself that day. I screamed out of the guilt of abandoning Angel, even though I had no choice. I knew at the end of the day, even if I did, I would have ran anyway. My screams turned to sobs, and then to whines, until I had vented out what stress I could. A permanent hole in my sanity that I felt could never be filled again had appeared. Of course I couldn't focus on that right away. I still had a job to do. I picked Alfred up and dropped him off at the front doors of a hospital. I then notified Camille over the phone that her child was safe and sound and gave her the hospital address. There is an air conditioning unit in my apartment. I leave it on and it hums all day until it fades into the background and I can no longer hear it or notice it. This event has haunted me in a similar fashion. It's always in the background and always affecting my life, even if I don't notice it at the time, and I know I will never get rid of it. I don't just grieve for my sanity, I grieve for my friend Angel, who I still believe I betrayed. I vow not only to complete his novel for him, but to study the occult as he did and hopefully find an explanation, or perhaps even a way to defeat the abomination. Because to my unimaginable horror, I believe it still remains in those tunnels, waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting world.