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A micro-fiction story

By K. KocheryanPublished 10 months ago โ€ข 1 min read
Photo by Carolina Pimenta on Unsplash

The Priest's fingers spit out holy water, which sizzles on the walls. He circles the living room chanting useless words from a book. The Victim is sitting on the sofa, rocking, smelling like sweat and death. And I am waiting unseen on the ceiling.

"Begone demon!" The Priest yelled.

The demand makes me smile. Weak Priest. The Victim is mine. And they will have their endless nightmares, blood-letting scratches, and my wicked whispers. They will see the images of my twisted, contorted, vile body.

I am their Hell, Priest.

I won't leave...

because I'm still rotting in the basement.

Short StoryHorror

About the Creator

K. Kocheryan

I write, delete, write, and on most days, delete again.

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  • Kelly Robertson10 months ago

    Wow that last line really sealed it. Nicely done!

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