The Forge

The crimson numerals on the alarm clock read two twenty-five, and the boy lay still in his bed half covered by a yellow blanket. With the exception of the slight glow of those three digits and minimal intrusion on the moon's behalf, the room was pitch black. It was quiet...too quiet.

People have different theories on the subconscious, but a prevailing belief says that the body can sense danger even when the mind has seemingly shut down. Thus the boy's dreams probably shifted quite suddenly in a vain attempt to warn him of what was about to happen to him. For at precisely two twenty-six, something crept into the boy's room, up to his bedside, grabbed him by the shoulders and began to shake him violently. It was different from the urgent but playful shaking that one might expect from a close friend messing around in a drunken stupor. There was something malicious about the action, something sinister.

The boy woke almost instantly to the shaking. Attempting to open his eyes to get a better idea of who the culprit was, a pang of fear shot through the boy as he realized he was incapable of lifting his eyes from the cloister of their lids. Quite irritated and a little disturbed by the shaking, the boy put all his might into the swinging of his left arm towards the attacker--only to find that his arm, too, had seemingly lost its ability to heed the commands of his mind. In mere moments the boy came to the terrible realization that he had lost control of his arms, legs, eyes and mouth, and the shaking grew stronger with each passing moment.

He continued to struggle for control of his eyes, and managed to win a minimal victory. For several seconds his eyes opened just enough to let in a dull red light, the kind that's bright enough to fill the room but not bright enough to illuminate anything else. Shutting his eyes tightly, the boy suddenly became aware of another presence in the room: cold. He was ice cold, surrounded by red light, and someone--something was evidently trying to disconnect his brain from his spinal cord inside his skull. A thought raced through his mind, and he knew what he had to do. Struggling for some time, he finally managed a few words:

"In...Jesus'...name...." something changed. Immediately he perceived an alteration in the mannerisms of his attacker. Now, with stronger resolve, he repeated: "In Jesus' name...I command you to leave this place." The shaking stopped.

In the name of God, The Alpha and Omega, Creator of the the universe and all that is in it, leave this place. You have no power over me.

Half command to the intruder, half praises to his Maker, the boy began to unleash a torrent of declarations on what had only minutes before been the very picture of tranquility. The tension disappeared, and the boy was able to move his limbs once more. He kept his eyes clenched tightly, afraid to see what it was that had disturbed his slumber and come so strongly against him as to veritably cripple him. Calling to Heaven for the defense of a legion of angels, the boy felt at peace almost instantly. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing at all. Nothing but the face of the clock, which said nothing to him but two thirty-four.

The boy laid his head back down on the pillow, and closed his eyes. He began to whisper to himself: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.....Yea though I walk in the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me...." After making sure it hadn't been a dream, the boy went back to sleep. The demon did not return.

Epilogue:
My alarm clock went off at 8:15 AM. Happy to find my room filled with light, I sat up and reflected on what had happened early this morning. Why had a demon felt it necessary to attack me? And why had I not been overcome by fear at finding myself incapacitated, but rather irritated that I had to put up with such an attack? I'm not entirely sure whether I want those questions answered, but I figured I'd post them here for you to ponder too.

-Mr. Smith.