Knocking on Satan’s Door excerpt 2

Knocking on Satan’s Door excerpt 2

Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons

© Paul DeThroe 2016

When his mom left for work, Preston decided it was safe to perform a spell using his new stolen skull as a magical tool. But first he did an internet search on the name Agramon, and discovered it was the ancient name of the demon of fear. Freaked out, he reached for the backpack and slowly removed the skull. What he saw next blew him away.

The light of day brought out details in the skull that Preston had overlooked the previous night, despite the fact that he’d used a flashlight. The skull had two small, protruding horns and vampire-like fangs, giving it the appearance of something that’d came straight from Hell. He was absolutely sure this skull would be his unholy grail. He’d use it, and the strange supernatural powers it surely possessed to make all his evil desires come to pass.

Thrilled with his discovery, Preston looked in his candle box and found one last black candle. He lit the wick and held it over the demon skull as the melted wax dripped. Electrified by the occult imagery dancing around in his head, he placed the candle firmly into the melted wax and held it there until it was secure.

Unlike any of his other rituals, this one gave him a false sense of entitlement, like he could rule the world if he wanted to. As the power in him began to rise, so too did the temperature of the room. He opened his eyes, and to his amazement the skull was gone, replaced by a real life fiery devil. Preston became filled with fear, cowering down in front of the demon, as if that would somehow protect him.

“Why have you interrupted my eternal rest, boy?” Agramon bellowed.

Remembering from his studies that humans have power over demons, and not the other way around, his fear subsided and Preston began to feel vital confidence start to build again. Ultimate magical power lay within his grasp, if he could figure out how to use it to his advantage.

“I want you to fulfill my every desire,” Preston whispered fearfully. “Make me the greatest black wizard in the world.”

“He shall, if you’re willing to make a small bargain with me,” crackled another flaming monster that appeared from out of nowhere.

“Who are you, demon?” Preston asked, again frozen in fear.

“My name is Lucifer,” growled the demon. “I am Agramon’s master. I’ll lend his services to you for a certain amount of time, for a small price, of course.”

“Name your price,” Preston replied.

“Your eternal soul,” Lucifer pointed a long, crooked finger right at Preston.

“What good is my soul?” Preston laughed. “You have yourself a deal!”

“Show me your hand,” demanded the devil. When Preston did so, Lucifer grabbed his index finger, sliced it with a razor sharp claw and then produced a contract. Preston sealed the deal by signing the contract in his own blood.

Both Lucifer and Agramon disappeared. Only the demon skull remained, a black candle still burning but with a strange, green glowing smoke billowing from its orifices. Evil laughter filled the room and then dissipated, as did the eerie smoke. “Your wishes are my command, Master Preston,” Agramon’s voice called from within the wizened skull.

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Paul DeThroe
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Knocking on Satan's Door excerpt 1

Knocking on Satan’s Door excerpt 1

Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons

© Paul DeThroe 2016

“I’m going to show you the real reason I come here,” Brandon walked behind the casket, bent over, pulled out a brass candelabra and a plastic storage bag full of half burnt black candles. He meticulously placed one candle into each of the candle holders, set it down atop the casket, and then started lighting them.

“What are you doing?” Preston whispered, as if afraid for his very life.

“I can only tell you if you promise never to tell anyone,” Brandon spoke in a hushed tone.

“I promise,” Preston swore, now the subservient one.

“Good,” Brandon smiled, his face becoming long and fearsome from the light of the flickering candles. “I have a confession to make; I am a wizard.”

“A wizard?” Preston asked, unconvinced.          

                      

“Yes; and a black one at that!”

“A black wizard; I’m not sure what that means?”

“Have you ever heard of Aleister Crowley?”

“No.”

“Alright, let me rephrase that. Have you ever heard the song, ‘Mr. Crowley’ by Ozzy Osbourne?”

“Oh yea, I’ve heard it at a party here or there.”

“Well, it’s about this famous black wizard. I subscribe to his theory.”

“What’s his theory?”

“Do what thou wilt is the whole of the law.”

“Ah, what does that mean?”

“In witchcraft there is a law of three.”

“Like on the series about three sexy witches that fight demon lords?”

“Kind of, but not really; Let me explain. Whatever type of spell a witch performs comes back to them in terms of karma, threefold, or in layman terms, three times. So, if a witch does a good spell to help someone, then it comes back on the witch threefold.”

“And if the witch does an evil spell, it also comes back on the witch three times.”

“Correct, but Crowley came up with a new idea. If you use magic to will a thought, an action, or a desired outcome into existence, the law of three doesn’t exist. This allows wizards like me to perform spells without any repercussions.”

“That’s pretty amazing, Brandon! Show me how it works.”

Brandon did as requested. He took a stick and drew a magickal circle around the edges of the tomb, then went back to the casket and started chanting some archaic ritual, in words Preston didn’t understand. When it was over, nothing spectacular had happened, but Preston was hooked. He wanted to become a black wizard.

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Paul DeThroe
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Sedusa’s Island excerpt

Sedusa’s Island excerpt

Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons

© Paul DeThroe 2016

I banged on the door several times, waited a few seconds and then pounded some more for good measure. “Hold on, hold on,” I could hear the witch cackle from inside. “Who could it be, banging on my door? Who’d call at a poor old woman’s home at this early hour? Lordy be, hold on!”

“I am Captain Deathblade,” I announced haughtily.

“What is your desire?” she asked, as she opened the squeaky, half-rotted door. I couldn’t answer her at first. The sight of her ghastly ugliness had taken my breath away. She was truly a hag. Her long, unkempt, gray hair went every which way, her wrinkled face was covered with dark sunspots and warts, all of which had wild hairs protruding from them, and all her teeth were missing except two on top, one on the bottom. Her eyes were covered with hazy cataracts. She was the most hideous looking woman I’d ever laid eyes upon. I quickly gathered myself, took a deep breath and started the unenviable task of charming her.

“My dear lady,” I said softly, “I’m but a poor sailor, drawn far away from my normal travels in search of something which is said to be held in your possession. I’ve come to humble myself before you and appeal to your renowned charity, so that you may share this great treasure with your fellow man.”

She laughed at me long and hard. Finally she spoke. “The villagers down below have filled you with lies. I’m but a poor, lonely crone. I have no treasure to speak of. My possessions are few and of those, they’re all needed for sustenance. What value could I possibly offer you that would in any way assist your voyages?”

“I seek an ancient map,” her eyes squinted to show deep concern as I spoke. “I’ve heard that you possess many such maps, but only one that interests me.”

“Yes, I have acquired and held onto certain hides that have been marked with drawings of our world,” she whispered wearily, before stopping to hack up a blood-streaked chunk of phlegm that she spat onto the dirt floor. “But why would I share them with you? What would you offer me in persuasion to even show them to you?”

“My lady I’ve amassed a vast amount of treasure of my own, through my many and varied adventures,” I attempted to persuade her. “What would interest you, gold, silver, coins, or antique artifacts? If I don’t have your pleasure, I could most assuredly acquire it.”

“What need would I have for earthly treasures?” she laughed in my face. “Keeping valuable possessions here would only invite robbers and swindlers, like you, of which I have no defense against, besides curses that I can barely remember the words to.”

That was what I feared most about this adventure. Sure, I could’ve already ran my sword through her bony torso and tore her house apart until I found the map I sought, but with her dying breath she could put a dreaded curse upon me which would cause me to indirectly take a path to misfortune and doom. That was a risk I was unwilling to take, at this point. That’s why I preferred to barter with the old bat. If I could sweet-talk her out of the map with minimal token, I’d be much better off than facing down the retribution of her ominous talents in the darkest of arts. “Surely there must be something of your liking I could give you in exchange for the map. I could send the finest wines and furs from town. I could have someone bring you some fresh, tasty meat, which from the looks of you, have been sorely lacking.”

“Stop right there, young man,” she put a finger in the air to halt my unabashed carpet bagging. “I have no need for any of those things. I drink spirits from the roots grown in my garden and sustain myself on a diet of berries, nuts, acorn bread and wild bee honey, all of which are readily available within a few minutes hike. Nothing you’ve offered me has appealed to my senses of charity regarding the map you seek.”

“Then tell me what you desire, my lady,” I begged her.

“Come inside, lad and sit at my kitchen table. I’ll share with you fresh herbal tea, brewed from my very own garden, modest as it is.”

“I’d be delighted,” I ducked my head to walk under her doorway and stepped into her quaint home. The musky old place smelled horrible. A rotting corpse in the sweltering dog days of summer couldn’t have smelled any worse. I soon found out why. In her kitchen was a wood fired stove. Upon it sat a soup pot, still boiling, that was apparently responsible for the vulgar smell which saturated the stale air inside the shack.

She poured us both a steaming cup of tea. I was apprehensive at first, fearing what could be infused in the liquid. But she noticed my hesitation and took the first sip from her cup. I traded her cups as soon as she put hers back down, and took a sip as well. She looked at me knowingly; picked up the cup she’d originally given to me and tossed its contents into the barely smoldering fireplace. It erupted into flames, sending a whistling flash up the chimney.

“You’re a very smart young man,” she hobbled back to the table.

I smiled and nodded, proud of myself for not allowing her to trick me into drinking poison. “If you try something like that again witch, my sword shall taste what little blood your feeble body may hold.”

“Come, come, young man,” she winked. “Surely, you wouldn’t blame a little old lady for wanting to protect herself from a strange outsider, would you?”

“Yes, I would,” I stared at her malevolently, to let her know that the time for playing games was over. “I want the map you have. The one that shows the island that Sedusa has been exiled on. Nothing will stand in my way, not even your curses. I’d prefer to trade something of value for the map, so that you may avoid reasons to jinx me. But I’ll not leave here without the map, even if I have to kill you and subject myself to certain damnation.”

“I understand,” the hag smiled, got up, walked to her stove and started stirring her cauldron, which released such obnoxious odors that I gagged. Oddly, it didn’t affect her in the least. “There is one thing I could use, but I doubt you’d give to me.”

“Oh, for the sake of the ancient gods of the sea,” I roared. “Tell me what you want in exchange for the map and I’ll shall it to you.”

“The remedy I’m boiling in this cauldron is something I consume every day for my health and beauty. But it’s missing one ingredient, a key ingredient, one thing which you possess.”

“Spit it out, witch!” I demanded.

“I’ll trade my map for one of your eyeballs.”

 

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Paul DeThroe
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Sorcerer’s Daughter excerpt 1

Sorcerer’s Daughter excerpt 1

Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons

© Paul DeThroe 2017

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1543010792/

King Ragnar was so happy that the dragon had been defeated, that he granted my father the hand of his queen’s sister in marriage. Soon thereafter, I became their firstborn. As fate would have it, I was to be their only living child, as my mother died eight years later during the birth of their second child, a stillborn boy. My father was never the same after that tragedy, and spent the rest of his days wasting away in deep depression.

At that time I couldn’t accept the fact that I’d never see my mother again, nor know my baby brother. Knowing I needed the kind of emotional support he couldn’t deliver, my dad shipped me off to a convent for my formal education the day after their burial. It was a crushing blow to my already bewildered psyche.

I should’ve been fodder to the whims of the tyrannical nuns that ran the brainwashing factory, considering my defeated emotional state, but instead I found myself rebelling both against their morality judgments and their close-minded bigotries that branded all things differing from the Church as heretical.

I took their beatings like a badge of honor, letting each dreadful blow sear the pagan religion even deeper into my soul. What I learned to do as time went on, was to say whatever they wanted me to say, but to also keep my own beliefs and convictions alive in my heart.

I had no such luck with the monks from the nearby monastery. They discovered the delicate flesh of my tender youth quite early in my seclusion, despite my protests. When I became a whore in my teenage years to spite them and their hypocrisies, they blamed my promiscuity on the fact that I was a woman. Their entire belief system centered on the thought that women are the reason sin is the world today, thus absolving themselves for their own sins against me, and others like me, and squarely placing that guilt on the weary shoulders of the victimized.

I wasn’t having any of it. I slept with anyone who caught my fancy. As my reputation of being a whorish nun spread to neighboring villages, the Church could ignore me no longer. So they whipped me one last time, branded me a heretic and cast me away.

On my way out, I cursed them with every affliction and foul word I could think of. After I called the nun superior a colorful word for rotten female parts, she lost it, plucked a heavy gold ornamental cross from the convent wall and chucked it at me. If it would’ve landed in its intended place I wouldn’t be writing this story, but it missed by a hair, zooming right over my shoulder and landing on the ground with a thud.

Fearing that pitchforks and torches were imminent, I picked up the valuable relic and ran for my life. They gave chase, but the hags were no match for my tireless teenage legs. I found my way to my safe spot in the woods in a matter of moments. The religious fanatics who’d tortured me for the longest couple of years of my life didn’t have the courage to enter Haunted Forest, fearing it was full of witches and unnatural wolves.

I didn’t share their dread. I’d befriend the shadow-strewn beasts of the woods as if my life depended on it. In a way, I suppose it did. I loved the forest. I visited it nearly every time they allowed me to go outside. It was the only place I could escape their frequent beatings, never-ending penitents, incessant demands for free labor and the hyper-driven libido of the filthy monks.

Now I’d call it home. There was really nothing to fear. Sure, there were wild beasts to contend with, but if I didn’t bother them, they likely wouldn’t bother me. I was always good with animals. Ever since I was but a toddler I could communicate with domestic and wild animals alike. It was my greatest paranormal power, my gift. Even the fabled ghostly devil dogs of the forest couldn’t resist my charms. I used my powers of telepathy, as well as my natural animal magnetism to round them up. With a wicked glance I caused the alpha male to submit to my will and the rest of the pack followed his lead. Now, even if the villagers sent bands of hunters they’d have no chance of capturing me.

The devil dogs were nothing more than my ancestor’s hunting dogs killed long ago by invaders. They became dreaded specters of the most fearful order because of a curse laid down by a wizard that hated the invaders for killing his prize hunting dog. After that, most people unfortunate to cross path with these devil dogs died cruel and painful deaths. Occasionally a victim escaped and would invariably spread tales of the monstrous werewolves all around the local villages. This worked in my favor. The Church inspired the current mood of superstitious mania about Haunted Woods, which would, in turn, cause them to leave me to my own devices. I’d take it upon myself to study the dark arts of witchery inside the magickal confines of haunted forest.

I vowed to someday open the people’s eyes and show them that their adopted religion was keeping them poor and subservient. Oppression and heavy-handedness proved to be a highly effective means of assimilating followers from one religion into another. Of course, there would always be people like me, malcontents who live on the fringes of society and carve our own paths.

Sure, mine was an old path, primeval in fact, but the guidance of the Ancient Ones was no longer available, their wisdom a forgotten piece of the past. But the old gods and goddesses were still tugging at my heartstrings, calling upon me to summons them back to Earth. Knowing no other way, I decided to construct my own path to enlightenment, from scratch.

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Sorcerer’s Daughter excerpt 2

Sorcerer’s Daughter excerpt 2

Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons

© Paul DeThroe 2017

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1543010792/

Fires were lit atop the walls under kettles containing oil. When the attack came sentries would tip the pot and whatever soldiers trapped underneath would be in for a terrible death.

Realizing I was getting too caught up watching the action unfold, I decided to do something to help. I talked the king into allowing me to meet with Ragnar and his generals, to see if terms of peace could be achieved. He reluctantly agreed and I climbed to the top of the fortress, tied off a rope, threw it over the ledge and started climbing down.

Fear crept over me as soon as my feet touched the ground. Not fear for myself, per se, but fear for all the lives that would be lost if I failed to persuade Ragnar to leave. I could’ve already killed him on three different occasions but chose not to. But I had no regrets, because I knew his time would soon come.

Not looking back, I focused on finding Ragnar. He was easy to spot in his breathtaking royal battle gear. He noticed me simultaneously, and goaded his war horse towards me with two generals beside him and several sentries flanking them. It was imposing to say the least, but if they attempted to take my life as an act of intimidation then I would take Ragnar to Hell with me.

I took a deep breath as they surrounded me. I stood our ground despite the crowding and constant nudging from the warhorses. I’ll never forget the scene. The mist that poured from the beasts and their masters’ noses was so thick from the cold that their faces were barely distinguishable, even after they raised their helmet’s shields.

Looking behind the warlords, a line of men could be seen and heard, all gathered around in groups, laughing at the sight of a peasant woman come to call out the man who would be King of all the land. Behind them tents and fires stretched as far as the eye could see.

The trees in the distance cracked and whistled a terrifying tune. The hood I had over my head did nothing to protect my face from the freezing dry wind, which stung me with each brutal gust. While the king’s men glared at me with malice, the king looked at me quizzically. My red face must’ve seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on just who I was.

“What business do you have here, King Ragnar?” I stared away from his presence, pretending to be intimidated.

“King Oakthorn is a coward that will die a merciless death. Why would send a mere woman-child to speak to the king of an army that challenges him in plain sight?” Ragnar grumbled causing his men to howl in laughter.

“King Oakthorn wishes for peace and would like to know your terms?”

“Surrender or die.”

“Harsh.”

“Harsh? Maybe, for a girl. Go fetch a man, if there is one behind those walls.”

I removed my hood. “You were sent here by the evil priest who gained his power from fake black magic tricks on the corpse of a sorcerer you once called friend. Now the priest is dead too. His prophecies were wrong. You shall perish as well if you pursue war here.”

“How do you know about the priest and the wizard?” the king ignored my threats to zone in on how I could possibly know his darkest secrets.

“I am the sorcerer’s daughter.”

“Elswyth? I’d heard you ran away from the convent and were murdered by hunters.”

“Nay.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Turn around and go home.”

“I shall not! I’ve come to claim my rightful place as High King of all the land. Nothing can stop me from achieving my God-given destiny of unifying the land.”

“Murder from above, death from below,” I chanted.

“What?”

“Darkness heed my call. A dreary filled doom upon Ragnar.”

“I will not stand here and be cursed by a witch. Kill her!”

Before his men could even draw their swords, I used my magic to become invisible and ran as fast as I could towards the woods. Once I made it to the tree line, I felt refreshed and powerful again. Now I’d take my best shot against Ragnar.

I laughed as the puzzled warriors clamored around in circles looking for me, hurling curses and generally looking like superstitious cowards. The groups of hecklers at their camp had fallen under a spell of silence. But there was no spell. They were just scared because they saw a witch threaten their king and then disappear into thin air. They also saw that the king and his top men had no answer for that threat.

I enjoyed my moment in the sun more than I’d expected. But I also knew that I’d just angered a renowned warrior with a reputation for cruel retribution. He wouldn’t take his embarrassment lightly and would surely take out his fury on the people inside the fortress, if I didn’t act with impetus.

I walked briskly to a darker, quieter part of the woods, so I could block out the background noise of the clamoring army that was desperately trying to vent itself into action. My goal was to absorb the energy emanating from the spirits of the forest. When I found the perfect spot I wasted no time falling into a deep trance breathed with one with all the creatures of the woods.

I spread out the breadth of my supernatural vision to span all the way to the great ocean and summonsed the great spirit of the wind to spread her wings and blow excessively moist air towards me. The vapor laden winds followed my voice, and hurled themselves at the cold air hovering over the plains upon which the army camped.

The resulting ice storm buried them. I came out of my trance and hiked back to the edge of the woods to watch as Ragnar’s army huddled together around barely burning fires, as all their tents had been flattened to the ground by the weight of ice and the power of the gales.

Freezing myself, I shivered at the mere thought of fire, but blocked it out of my mind because I had to finish Ragnar off. There was no more moisture left in the clouds, but I called upon the spirits of the wind to blow even stronger in hopes that frostbite conditions would cripple his now fragile army. If they didn’t leave now they would die were they stood.

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Paul DeThroe
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