Satanic Memories

By Daniel Canals Flores

I like writing within the horror genre because it allows you to merge reality and fantasy relatively easily. This compilation contains some new texts and others, published in various literary media, with a common link: evil, both human and supernatural. In “Evil Escape” we will witness an incredible escape and subsequent revenge. “In nomine” is a tribute to diabolical possession set in the Middle Ages. In “The Infernal Cube” we will penetrate the human psyche and descend into hell itself. “The Revolution” is a disturbing story that will show us another perspective on evil. “The Apocryphal Phantasm Screenplay” is a parody about this fantastic horror film saga, from the late 70s. “The Last Christmas” represents the antithesis of the Christmas holidays, with a different perspective. “Birth” is a short but intense story. In “The Extraordinary Case of Susan Malcolm” we will learn the secrets of voodoo and its lethal consequences and in “Sanatorium La Chapelle” we will experience a curious rescue in a machiavellian place.

I hope you enjoy reading this book, as much as I did
writing it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jan 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781667468969

Daniel Canals Flores

Escritor aficionado, a mis 46 años inicio mi carrera sin ninguna experiencia previa. Me gusta escribir poemas, relatos cortos y micro cuentos inspirado por lecturas de Charles Bukowski o Kerouac.Texto: La bicicleta del milenio, publicado en la Revista Ekatombe. Junio 2018III Concurso de Microrrelatos La Radio en Colectivo/Valencia Escribe. Mayo/Junio 2018. 1er. Finalista con el micro cuento: Industria 4.0.III Concurso de cartas Ojos Verdes Ediciones, Cartas quemadas. Texto: Sanatorio La ChapellePoema La cucaracha. Publicado por la Revista La Cucaracha. Julio 2018La rata y Ante todo honestidad. Microrrelatos publicados online por la Revista La Sirena Varada, en México. Julio 2018.Revista Antología Microrrelatos No3 Onomatopeyas de Historias Pulp. Seleccionado por el texto: Peligro inminenteGanador del III Concurso de Microrrelatos Valencia Escribe-La Radio en Colectivo del mes de Junio/Julio. Por el texto:Beso Letal.

Book preview

Prologue

Evil escape

In the name of...

The infernal cube

The Revolution

The apocryphal Phantasm script

The last Christmas

The birth

The Extraordinary Case of Susan Malcolm

The Chapelle Sanatorium

Other books by the author

Prologue

I like writing within the horror genre because it allows you to merge reality and fantasy relatively easily. This compilation contains some new texts and others, published in various literary media, with a common link: evil, both human and supernatural. In "Evil Escape we will witness an incredible escape and subsequent revenge. In nomine is a tribute to diabolical possession set in the Middle Ages. In The Infernal Cube we will penetrate the human psyche and descend into hell itself. The Revolution is a disturbing story that will show us another perspective on evil. The Apocryphal Phantasm Screenplay is a parody about this fantastic horror film saga, from the late 70s. The Last Christmas represents the antithesis of the Christmas holidays, with a different perspective. Birth is a short but intense story. In The Extraordinary Case of Susan Malcolm we will learn the secrets of voodoo and its lethal consequences and in The Chapelle Sanatorium" we will experience a curious rescue in a Machiavellian place. I hope you enjoy reading this book, as much as I did writing it.

Evil escape

Part I - Invoking Beelzebub

I'm lying on the bunk bed, in the twilight of midnight. The curls of my cigarette smoke seem to me like a spiritual shift. On the room's floor, the faint light of the full moon, which penetrates through the window, is sufficient to illuminate the pentagram that I drew with a piece of plaster. I don't need much more.

In my feverish mind I have the moon, the pentagram, and the spirit of the dead. Now all that's missing is the proper psychophony and the most importantly, the invocation. A rat starts to scream in rhythm and then I cast the curse:

I, the Black Master, conjure the presence of the Evil One! Oh, mighty Satan, King of Profound Darkness, respond to the call of your faithful servant!

Suddenly, the scant light diminishes as the radiant moon is covered, with immense black clouds pregnant with a storm. The sky begins to discharge heavy hail, all over the prison area, causing a lot of material damage. Ice balls, size of a fist, are falling. Lightning and thunder are accompanied by intense electrical discharges, turning into a single, arrhythmic lighting.

A few minutes later, the drawn circle lights up, with a bluish fire. My owner is about to show up. A golden beetle appears through the small window and begins to descend down the wall in the direction of the flames. It is a long-awaited moment, so I rise and nail both knees to the floor.

The beetle does not hesitate to enter, fully, into the interior of the fire and, right in the center of the drawing, begins to metamorphose into a male goat supported on its two hind legs. A pendant surrounds its neck with the magical pentagram represented on it.

Without looking directly at it, I make my request:

Lord of Hell, free me from these chains that oppress me! You have my soul at your disposal in payment for it...

A thunder rumble that makes the whole building trembles. A scroll written with embossed letters appears before my vision. It is the contract that I must sign after the invocation, it is inevitable. I scratch my wrist on the metal of the bunk bed and a rusty spike takes care of the rest; a stream of blood gushes into the palm of my hand. I press the document, which disappears instantly. So does the male. 

I know for sure that a black crescent-shaped mark has just appeared somewhere on my body. It is the sign of the Devil. I have bound myself to eternal damnation and now my status as a witch is complete. I will always wonder if I would have taken this step if I hadn't been captured, but this time my life depends on it. I am condemned to death.

After my Lord leaves, I rise and move towards the exit. The storm has also disappeared and my chains have fallen to the ground. A smell of burnt metal emanates from the hinges of the door. I step outside, blending into the night. Nothing and no one stop me.

The time has come for those wicked women, the ones who caused my imprisonment and this misfortune, to pay for it. That is why I have sold my soul to Satan, to achieve my revenge.

*****

Part II – The Synthesis of Evil

A few days ago...

I arrived in the city in the middle of winter. The streets were dirty and full of garbage mixed with the snow, which had an unnatural black color. I alternated my profession as a peddler with that of a medium, a skill that I inherited from my grandmother. Using a rudimentary Ouija board, I could visualize the spirits of the deceased and gather information from the beyond after paying for it, of course.

I settled in a dilapidated room, in the most humble neighborhood and began to develop my business after placing several advertisements in local newspapers. Witchcraft was forbidden, but necromancy was not. It was practiced, above all, among high society.

One night, I received a visit from the lady from Vermont, who caused me deep concern about the type of service she required. The usual thing is that the people who visited me would ask, romantically, about their deceased. At best, they consulted on a practical level to find out where certain documents were or if there was any hidden money that had not surfaced. The strangest case I had received was that of an elderly woman grieving for the recent death of her cat in an accident. The poor thing, she just wanted to know if the kitty was in Heaven.

But Mrs. Vermont, a cold and wealthy woman, didn't want normal service:

Master I need you to do me a very special favor she began by saying, as she placed a bag full of gold coins on my shabby table.

You may speak ma'am. I am completely at your disposal.

I'll get straight to the point. I need you to summon an evil spirit ... to kill Miss Anna Marjory.

Used to the most extravagant requests, that one surpassed them all. Greed at the sight of the bag overcame my reticence.

Tell me just one thing, Mrs. Vermont. What reason do you have for that? I asked.

You'll have another bag like that, once you’ve finished the job. As for the rest of the matter, it's none of your business. I am paying you generously only for that reason, discretion. The less you know the better.

We agreed to carry out the crime the following week and she left. Not that I was very amused by that work, but after finishing it I could retire comfortably for a good season, or so I thought at the time.

The really strange thing happened the next day. Miss Marjory, a well-known heir to high society, came to the consultation. I didn't recognize her until she removed the veil that covered her splendid and beautiful youth. She also got to the point:

Master, I need a very special job and it must be done with great discretion.

Ma'am, these types of tasks have a very high price. It can be very dangerous I added.

She took out a bag full of coins and threw it on the table.  My greed once again ruled out any imminent danger.

I want you to summon an evil spirit and... kill Mrs. Vermont. The work is commissioned by an important gentleman from the city, who does not want to show his identity.

It must be a very prestigious person, if they personally sent you. What is your relationship with this person, if I may ask?

Just do as I ask and don't ask me any more questions. When the corpse of the Vermont appears, you will be rewarded again. I will bring you a chest full of coins like these.

I accepted. I didn't quite know how to resolve that decision but my dark side got the better of my conscience. Something made me suspect that Miss Marjory might be the mistress of the wealthy and prestigious Mr. Vermont.

I went to the Vermont mansion, to familiarize myself with the place, and there I could contemplate the three of them, strolling through the outdoor gardens. «What a hellish trio», I thought. On of the servants, who was returning from some assignment, surprised me with his binoculars looking out over the estate and threw me out without hesitation.

The following week, Mr. Vermont was found dead on his property. His corpse was stiff as a stone and his brown hair was, completely white. The doctor, after the pertinent examinations, determined that the cause of death was a collapse. Something had terrified him so much, that it provoked a fulminating attack.

I decided to put distance between us; that was not my responsibility. I packed what I needed in a carriage and headed for the outskirts. I did not release that they might be watching me, but that was indeed the case. Arriving at the first village on the outskirts of the city, I was stopped by the guards and after checking my identity, I was taken to prison on charges of witchcraft and murder. Someone had tipped me off anonymously.

After a short and summary trial, in which they took as evidence the servant's statement, the unusual possession of money and the escape attempt, I was condemned to lose my head in the guillotine at dawn. Neither my background did help much in my defense.

*****

Part III: Revenge after the Escape

As I make my way toward the mansion, thousands of questions hit my head, «Who, and how had Mr. Vermont been murdered? Why had both ladies, if I could call them that, involved me in that matter? Who really benefited from all that?»

I got them both tied up and naked, in front of me. After gagging them and ripping off their clothes with a knife, I couldn't help but burst into laughter. Both of them have a very defined mark on their bodies. Miss Vermont under her right chest and Marjory on one of her buttocks... A black crescent.

All my questions have been answered; my new master and lord must be laughing right now, in the depths of Hell.

In the name of...

––––––––

I shouldn't have attended that unexpected interruption in the middle of the night. My fault. What motivated me to do that? I don't know if it was because of the tremendous downpour that was falling, the force of the fierce blizzard, or the visitor's agonizing insistence: the heavy knocker thundered louder than the storm itself. Who was knocking on the entrance to the sacred enclosure while the terrified friars rested under their worn-out blankets? KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

As we opened the door, the hinges nailed into the decayed wood creaked like the hinges of an old coffin. Something worse than a curse, was going to fall on our heads. Oh if I had known! The screams, the deep guttural howls, were even louder than the claps; but his face, if you had seen those factions driven mad by terror... The visitor suffered an exacerbated panic attack, motivated by some horrifying and inhuman vision: You are back, Monsignor!!! He's back!!! the unhappy man shouted, mistakenly assigning me a rank that didn't belong to me. She died, we buried her and she's been resurrected!!!

The final part of the revelation made my hair stand on end, but in the situation in which we found ourselves, between the cracking of thunder and lightning, the terrifying effect was amplified to infinity. The miserable peasant shivered under the downpour, so I made him come into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. To calm him down, I served him a revitalizing bowl of Gaelic water, which he drank eagerly.

Lucia has returned! He spoke without looking at me, absorbed in an inner world; the question was obvious:

Who is Lucia, good man?

When he heard my voice, naming the personification of his terrors, he became agitated again and hiding his face in his hands, he began to cry heartbroken, while shaking his head. Then, he clenched both fists, punching himself in the face until he bled. It felt like he wanted to tear his eyes out to erase the horrible images buried in his traumatized mind. Using all my strength, I forced him to drink one more bowl; for a moment, the sparkle in his intoxicated gaze made him regain talkativeness:

You must see it with your own eyes, monsignor hipped the peasant, not used to liquor. Those were his last words, sinking into a deep slumber. There was little else I could do for him, so I laid him down as best I could and covered him with a sack