Issac hadn't escaped it. He had traversed a continent and an ocean and was still hunted. Through sand and mountains it had followed him, for what reason he had no idea. He remembered when it all started, those years ago, he had ran the signs in his mind hundreds of times and still couldn't understand why it was him of all people.
It started out as small signs, maybe a tap on the window, fluttering at the corner of his eye; he would write it off as just a trick of his mind, he was only a boy. After a while it made itself a bit more apparent. As he wrote, maybe watched television or was out playing with his friends, he would see something that it seemed no one else could. At first, he saw the cloak. It was as if someone had merely thrown a tarp onto an ever-swirling mass, it contorted and flew freely in places it just shouldn't. He'd acknowledge it maybe once or twice, even at an older age he still thought nothing of it. He began seeing shadows belonging to no present entity, but they would disappear whenever he got too close. His parents never believed him, nor did his friends or siblings, how could they? He was the one the thing wished to be seen by.
Suddenly tripping, Issac tumbled down the hill and quickly cocked his head behind him to see the haunting figure approaching fast. It didn't walk so much as it limped, but regardless its flimsy figure still allowed it to move faster than he could. Finally he made it to his home, locked the doors and the windows and grabbed his shotgun. His homeland taught him well when he served in the military, but nothing could have prepared him for a threat such as this.
When he finally gave up on telling anyone of his plights, Issac entered into a time of peace. No odd occurrences or paranormal activity, nothing. As brief as it was Issac still remembered it fondly, as it was the last moments of his blissful ignorance. It was that one night he heard it. Sleeping in his bed, the tranquility surrounding him was suddenly broken by a sudden sound. A dull painful sounding hiss.
He awoke with a jolt only to find he was alone. He stepped out briefly and went to the bathroom across the hall to grab a quick drink of water. As he stepped into the light and looked in the mirror he saw it. The cloaked figure had no skin, no eyes, or anything. It was just a bare skeleton draped in that pure black cloak he had been taunting Issac with all those years. It let its jaw hang open for a moment until it disappeared through the walls behind him. Issac ran back to his room, refusing to accept what he had seen. Surely this was a nightmare, a hallucination, some excuse to justify that it wasn't real! His hopes shattered as he saw the indentions of bony fingers and knees on the mattress where he slept. It had been right over him.
Shotgun loaded, Issac tore into his kitchen thinking he'd find the beast there, only to find nothing out of the ordinary. Relieved, he turned to find the beast behind him, blocking his escape. He could see the fire in its eyes. Pinpricks of orange, gray streaks underneath one eye, and a mix of rot and some sort of slightly luminescent liquid. It let out a brief wheeze, and spoke a single word in a cheery, yet nonetheless raspy, hushed, and disgustingly gurgly voice. There was a hint of malice, sadistic malice, speaking in a tongue Issac knew all too well, "Surprise!"
He packed up once he finished college. He abandoned his family, his lifetime home, and started for a new world. An escape. Issac refused to think about the possibility that it would follow him. Deep down, he probably knew.
He screeched and fired once. The beast smiled, as best as it could, and simply held a hand out to the boy. Before the icy bone could make contact, Issac flipped the shotgun around and...
It was a typical day at the precinct, albeit a boring one. Even to an officer squeamish in the line of duty any sort of call would be satisfying, though they appreciated the lack of emergencies. As the shift neared its end the officers began having casual conversation. They came to the topic of the oddest cases they'd ever encountered, and began. Most were lament over the rookie's lack of experience, however even he managed to bring something to the table.
"I do remember...one. Um...I remember there was this suicide in my neighborhood, poor kid blew his brains out with a double barrel. Looked like he'd gone insane, the house reeked, windows were boarded up, and he had all these drawings of this skeleton thing… it's a bit hard to describe, any of you heard of Slenderman?"
"Course not, well it's sorta like this-"
"Get to the point already!" one barked.
The rookie paused. "…anyway, what was stranger is that it looked like he was firing at something before he turned the gun on himself. He must've been panicking because..."
The rookie let out an awkward chuckle
"...he left behind a full on river of-"
"Oh God just stop!"
A mix of interested looks and quasi-disgusted mannerisms ensued.
"Was there a note?"
The rookie held his head and stroked an imaginary beard.
"Um...yeah. Though it sure as hell wasn't in a language I understand."
One inquired again,
"Do you remember what it looked like?"
"Yeah... hang on."
The rookie grabbed a pen and took out a pocket notepad and quickly scribbled some indescribable markings on it and showed it to the precinct.
"Oh." a soft voice popped in. It was the lieutenant, sitting at his desk apart from the group. He got up and walked slowly over to the rookie and took the scrap.
After an awkward moment of silence, a voice interjected,
The lieutenant looked up.
"What does it say?"
The lieutenant studied the paper and tried to enunciate the word of a tongue he hadn't spoke in decades.
Few mature men would laugh at their superior struggling with a word like an infant struggles to say its first word, though a handful managed to choke out a snicker.
Silence. The lieutenant seemed confused by this, as did most of the officers, until one finally broke the silence
"So… what does it mean??"
The lieutenant looked up and spoke,"Demon."
Written by The Zog.