The pills were supposed to make them go away. Seeing them had driven him to the point of thinking of suicide. They repulsed and scared him. So far none of them had touched him. As far as he could tell they were incapable of physical contact with him, but for all he knew that could soon change. And once they could touch him what would they do to him? They varied in the way they looked. Mainly two types stalked him throughout his daily life and made each day a living hell. The pills helped at first but now they were back, and they appeared to have grown in numbers. He had tried prayer, but God seemed unable to help him in this particular predicament he was in. He was alone with the devil's advocates. No God to help him. Rosaries and the Holy Water he had stolen from the church had no effect on them. Just as they could not touch him, his religious paraphernalia had no impact on them either. He had given up on God a good while ago and clearly that had come back to bite him in the ass. He was alone with them. He and the Others.

He had no name for them. They were simply Them. Or The Others. One group of them had wings, looking almost as gargoyles look - and stalked him from the skies as he would walk the streets. He could not see them clearly, but God they scared him. The shadow they cast as they flew in a swarm covering that of his. He was forever in their shadow. The second bunch of hell’s minions were much more willing to be seen. They stalked him around his house and in the shops and offices he went to. He had quit his job because of them. He was an accountant but could not focus on the numbers when They constantly lurked on all sides of him. Distracting. Taunting. What did they want? Did they want to take him to their kingdom? Were they sent to just torment him for the wrong he had committed throughout his life? Punishment for his lack of faith?

Now he sat in his house. Curtains drawn so the flying Ones were unable to be seen. He could see the other ones skulking around the room he had decided was the safest. The library. Full of literary works he did his best to distract himself from the creatures that shared his sanctuary with him. He took the pills often. Increasing the dosage ever so steadily to get rid of the sight of them. When he took the little blue pills They almost evaporated into the air. But once the pills wore out they miraculously appeared in all corners of the room. At first it scared him. Now he had reached the end of the tether. It had just become part of life. Take the pills, enjoy normality for a while and then succumb to the guests that very soon reappeared. The funny thing is it was pills that had started all of this, and now pills seemed the only way to subdue these demons.

He had met the guy in an alley. Clichè as it may sound that’s where he met his dealer. He would walk to the shops and on the way back pass through the alley behind his house and pass a wad of cash to the guy and get a bag in return. There was always a cocktail in the bag he received. Oxycontin, Xanax, Vicodin. All painkillers and antidepressants. He liked to feel numb. They distanced him from the cold reality of the world. He hated the world and the drugs seemed to help. Everywhere he looked there was nothing worth living for. Turn on the television and nothing but rape, murder and robbery. What kind of world are we living in? But on his last exchange with his guy, there was a few pills in it he had never seen. He saw them at home so he could not very well call his dealer to ask exactly what new drug he had been given. It should be good, so what the hell? Handful of pills and a bottle of scotch, new pill included – down the hatch.

The bottle of scotch was empty when he awoke, the bottle empty and the room full. Full of THEM. Boils on face, some type of goo dripping from the lacerations on their twisted and deformed human looking bodies. Long nails, talon like almost. Teeth like he had never seen before. Not only were they sharp but they were jagged and varied in length. The smell they gave off was putrid and some of them were missing appendages and flesh. He closed his eyes thinking it was a dream but upon opening them, they still milled around the room – looking with hungry intent at him. In a drug and alcohol induced haze, he stumbled up and barreled through the door towards the alley in the hope of seeing the dealer for answers. He was there. Black hoodie pulled up, covering his eyes. He had never actually seen his face, their transaction was always quick and without much interaction.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, terrified.

“Here, this will make it better. Those weren’t meant for you," the dealer said as he walked away into the darkness after handing over yet another bag – this one transparent and containing blue pills. He took one and immediately They disappeared. But that was then. Now the pills weren’t helping at all. And he was down to his last few. The encounter with the dealer was months ago. And after quitting his job he had not left his home since, for some reason the flying creatures scared him more as he had a grueling fear they would fly down and snatch him from the ground. The biggest problem was only he could see them. The pills were running out and he was growing desperate. He had to go back to the dealer. Donning a baggy sweatshirt and shades, though at night, he left his house in a run and headed to the alley. No one there but Them. He accepted his fate.

He returned home to find his sacred place in shambles. They had destroyed his possessions and clawed and damaged everything in sight. They were now tangible. Upon this realisation he took the last few pills he had and swallowed them dry. The effects would wear off soon, they would buy him much time. Swallowing them was painful but sure enough they disappeared. How much time would the last pills grant him of peace and sanity? His death was in the news. Evidently They were able to inflict damage on more than just his mere possessions. When the neighbours complained of the smell wafting from his home and the police were summoned, veteran officers could not hold their lunch.

The library was covered in blood. Body parts lay spread out the room, bitten into and partly devoured. His heart had been nibbled on and an eyeball sat atop a book on the mantle place. His arm lay bent in the chair. All his organs lay strew out on the floor and coat rack. They had a sense of humour. The police ruled it as a ritualistic cult killing.

However, we know different.