Of Thrones
and Demons

Royce Osborne sat in the corner of the small, one-room house, next to the stone fireplace. The room smelled of old smoke and dry wood, its wooden walls lined with shelves of chipped crockery and old tools. His feet, hands, and torso were tied to a simple wooden chair, its legs uneven on the old splintered floorboards. His head hung to one side, but his eyes were wide open. The back of his head was matted with blood, and a strand of drool reached from his mouth to his pants.

His wife, Marta, sat in the corner on the opposite side of the fireplace, next to the home's single cloudy window, nervously tearing what was left of her fingernails off with her teeth. Her throat was bruised, her eye blackened, and a bloodstained bandage wrapped her left forearm.

Above the bed there was a small loft, with just enough space for a single person to lie down. Seven-year-old Ellie was peering over the edge, eyeing her father, when his head jerked up, his wild eyes darting between the door and the small window beside it.

"No!" he shrieked. Marta looked up, dazed, and her gaze followed her husband's to the door. "No!" Royce screamed again. "Don't let them in! Don't let those fuckers in or I'll fucking kill you!" Marta stood and approached the door as a knock echoed through the small house. "It didn't work last time, it won't work this time, and I'll fucking kill you, you bitch! Don't you let them in! You listen to me! Don't you fucking let them in!"

Marta opened the door. Two men, one older, one younger, both in simple dark robes, peered in the door at Royce as he rocked in his chair, still spewing threats and profanity. Marta stepped to the side and motioned them in. "Don't worry," the older priest said, loudly, over Royce's screams, as he stepped through the door. "This will all be over soon. You'll have your husband back before sunset, that's a promise."

"It's a miracle you were able to restrain him," the younger priest said as Marta closed the door behind them. After inspecting Royce for a moment, the two men looked up at Ellie. "Usually they choose the child." The older priest shot a glance at the younger, who quickly averted his gaze to the floor with a slight nod.

"I'll take the child!" screamed Royce. "I'll take all of you fuckers–I'll cut you open and eat–"

"Silence!" shouted the older priest, his demeanor flipping instantly from kind, caring man to something entirely different. Royce immediately stopped screaming. His face reddened, and he breathed heavily through his teeth, sending flecks of spit onto the floor, but he remained silent as the priest continued. "In the name of The Old Book, The New, and our Holy Lord, I bind your tongue, demon. You shall not speak another word. You've already done enough harm to this family." With that, he turned back to Ellie, and smiled warmly. "Come down here, child."

"We already had the priest here," said Ellie. "It just made it worse."

"Yes, I know," replied the priest. "He's the one who sent for me. I am Father Blackmont, and I've come all the way from Broadsford. I know a few things that Father Collenn didn't." He winked.

Ellie glanced at her father, then looked back to Blackmont, but remained in the loft.

"The thing inside your father can't hurt you anymore," said Blackmont. "I'll have him back to you very soon. But I need you to go outside for a little while." Ellie thought for a moment, then turned and slowly climbed down the ladder, keeping an eye on her father. When she got to the bottom, she took Blackmont's hand and squeezed it, then her eyes welled.

"He hurt mother," she said through her tears. "He said he'd hurt me too."

The priest stooped down and put his hands on the girl's shoulders. "That's not your father. It's something else that took him away–something that's taken your father's place. Just give me a few minutes in here, I'll get rid of it, and you'll have your father back. Then I'll make sure this never happens again, alright?" Ellie nodded, walked over to her mother, and hugged her.

"Come with me, mommy?" asked the child.

Marta looked up at Blackmont, who shook his head. "I am here to guide, but it's your husband who will need to overcome his captor. I cannot do it for him. He'll need you here for strength."

Marta patted her daughter on the back and ushered her outside, closing the door behind her.

"Let's begin," said Blackmont. He pulled a small book from somewhere deep in the folds of his robe and turned to Marta. "There are many worlds. Not just the one we know–not just the one we see. Something let this creature from its world into ours. To send it back, I must open the door again–widen it, just for a moment."

"Is that… dangerous?" asked Marta.

"Very," he said. Then smiled. "But not to worry. I was trained many years ago by the masters at Veamha Hall, and this has been my area of expertise for decades. I've done this more times than I could count. You're in the best of hands."

Marta nodded.

"When I do this," continued Blackmont, "you may see or hear things. Don't let them distract you, no matter how horrifying or disgusting. Focus on your husband, and call him out to take control again–to take himself back. I will handle the rest." He turned to the younger priest, who nodded, then turned to Royce, who was still breathing heavily, his face red, and the veins in his neck straining.

Blackmont opened his book, then read aloud in a language Marta had never heard before. Almost immediately, Royce began groaning and shaking harder. Then the groans turned to screams. As the words flowed out of the priest's mouth, the screaming grew louder and took on a hollow, otherworldly quality.

Marta covered her ears, which helped a little, but the sound went through her hands–almost as if she could feel it more than hear it.

Royce rocked so hard the chair fell over and he hit his head on the wall, but didn't stop screaming and shaking violently.

The younger priest touched Marta on the shoulder. "Now," he said, half shouting over the din. "Approach him, but don't get too close. Call for him." Marta approached her husband. The room grew darker. Royce's screams layered and multiplied until they sounded more like a hollow choir of tortured souls than a single man. The walls and floor disappeared into a cloudy blackness and all Marta could see was Royce and the chair.

"I need you, Royce," shouted Marta. "Please come back to me!" Royce's jaw opened wider than it should have, and his face shifted into something inhuman. Marta pressed harder on her ears, and tears rolled down her face, but she continued calling.

The scream ended. Royce's breath came in ragged gasps. He closed his eyes then reopened them, his face now his own again. He glanced around in the blackness. Blackmont stopped reading and the darkness vanished.

Royce looked down at the ropes that bound him to the chair. He started crying–softly at first–then he broke into a sob like Marta had never seen from him, or from any man. He vomited with enough force that the black-streaked bile reached halfway to the opposite corner of the room. Blackmont stepped around the vomit and approached, pulled out a knife, and began working on the ropes. Marta, now also sobbing, crawled to her husband and put his head in her lap, paying no mind to the vomit. "Royce," she sobbed. "You're back. Oh God, Royce, you're back."

"I'm sorry," he said through his sobs. "I'm so sorry." The last of the ropes gave, and Royce climbed into Marta's arms.

"Dear god!" spat the priest. He stepped backward, almost tripping over Marta and Royce. Marta opened her eyes and followed the priest's gaze. A man stood in the far corner, staring at them, expressionless. His robe was blacker than the priests', better fitted, and more ornate. It had various colors and small gems stitched into the hems and along the neckline.

Marta looked back toward the priests, who were staring at the man, shock on their faces. The priests looked at Marta as if to ask if she knew the man, then all three turned back to the visitor.

"Who are you?" Blackmont asked. The man didn't answer, but looked at each of them, one by one, curiously. He took a step closer. The priest raised his knife a little higher. The man stopped and looked at the knife, then at the priest. "How did you get here?" asked the priest. The man looked down at Marta and Royce.

"I demand answers!" the priest half shouted. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

The man looked up at the priest. "There are many worlds. I have seen them all. I am the prince of many. I am here for yours."

The door of the house opened, and a man in a black robe–one Ellie was sure was not either of the priests–stepped through it, leaving it open behind him. After a few paces, he stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply in through his nose before letting it out. When he reopened his eyes, he looked down at a cut on his sleeve for a moment before opening it up, touching his arm, then calmly observing the blood on his fingers. He didn't seem to notice Ellie standing there, frozen, the front of her dress wet with tears and snot.

The man went back into the house and dragged four bodies out, one by one, meticulous about the way he placed them in the dirt. Blood slowly ran from the slit throats and began pooling together, turning the dirt into a thick, red-brown mud. Once the man seemed satisfied, he turned to the girl, who stood there sobbing and shaking as if she were freezing, despite the pleasant summer weather.

"Are you…" the girl whispered as she glanced between the man and the faces of her parents. "…are you gonna kill me?" Fresh tears sprouted from her eyes, and her face contorted into a sob.

"Eleanor," the man said, stooping down in front of her, smiling with something close to warmth, "I delight in the pain of your kind. And you will have so much more if I let you live."