• Michael Noctor

The Demon's Flecks

Whenever he appeared, which was often, adrenaline would flow not just through me but through everyone present, and if there was one among us who felt the charge for reasons other than ecstasy, I was not aware.

There are those who believe we make soul choices and on some level I may have been aware. The knowledge resting in some deep dark dingy part of my subconscious – or some bright enlightened portion, perhaps – to be shifted at some future point gently within my limbic system and reawaken the dread that his arrival should have roused.

The marks were there, albeit infinitesimal, almost imperceptible. Almost.

I am certain if I had paid a little more attention, I would have seen the flecks, the slight fading of skin colour that those with knowledge of the dark side know indicates removal of horns.

I was too young to realise my dark wisdom and by the time I discovered it, it was very, very late.

There was still time. I didn’t know how much, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was I could now see its flecks. I could see the demon’s flecks. I could see them with my eyes closed.

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