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I beheld his demise. I felt no pity for him, nor did I feel remorse. Living among the people and in the realm of night has imbued me with a sense of cruelty and cynicism. Yet I also respect the right to one's own choices. I had no doubt that, had the sorcerer desired, he could have healed himself. But he chose to depart. Death does not exist for children alone. It is mortals who fear it, fearing the unknown. Death is but a transitory phase, akin to the shedding of a snake's old skin.
On the sixth day, the elderly man abruptly requested that I sing for him. I was taken aback. Setting down my book, I inquired:
–"For you?"
Upon receiving a nod in affirmation, I acquiesced.
– Pay the Witcher in silver coins, in silver coins, whoo, pay the Witcher, it shall all be counted, I sang with a discordant voice.
And then the old man was struck by the candour. It was akin to a confession. The wizard divulged everything about himself in a concise manner, revealing the very essence of his practice. He engaged in witchcraft, aimed at causing harm and casting curses. He received various commissions. However, most of those who sought his services requested retribution. They sought to exact punishment on their wrongdoers.
After all, injustice has always been prevalent. Someone has been robbed of their possessions. Someone's life has been destroyed by gossip and defamation. And someone's child has been subjected to rape and left for dead. And a woman's daughter has been tormented by her mother-in-law to the point of suicide. Rarely could one expect a just decision from the human court. For corruption, bribery, and nepotism have always existed. Thus, people turned to the wizard. Driven by despair in their grief, they knew that the wizard would not turn them away.
"I've always done evil in this world. He stood for a force that does evil but does good, brown-eyed. – Said the sorcerer. I wore an inverted cross and represented the Dark and Evil One in this world. I served him faithfully and faithfully. He sent you to me. I'm glad. I didn't want to die in the mud and alone.
The old man looked into my eyes and spoke in a charming voice.
– As there is the power of creation, which creates and will create everything in this world, so there is the power of destruction. The power of destruction is needed in order to destroy the old in order to build a new one in this place. Darkness and Light are the two wings that carry our world into eternity. Darkness is not evil. The sprout reaches out to the Light, but it gets its life in the Dark. So it is with the child, in the mother's womb. It's dark in the womb. And during childbirth, a newborn sees Light for the first time. Mother darkness. The damp grave earth is also dark. We begin and end our journey in Darkness. – The old man shared his wisdom.
Clearing his throat, the sorcerer continued:
– This world needs us, we are the destroyers. I've always destroyed, no matter what or who. You're not, you're the judge. It is in your power to have mercy and punish, brown-eyed.
You know what the funniest thing is? No matter how hard he tried to destroy paganism and witchcraft on this earth, he failed. I didn't tell you. I used to be a priest. It was a long time ago. Even in his youth. I studied the Bible, read all the volumes, the entire Gospel, and I prayed to the Lord God. I tried to understand. But you know, brown-eyed, those who seek God sooner or later come to the Devil.
The sorcerer fell asleep, not for long. When he woke up, I served him a decoction in a mug for coughing to ease his suffering. After drinking it, the sorcerer confessed to me that if he were younger, he would have done many interesting things to me. Which men usually do to women. I grinned at that. The old man told me that there is no need to laugh at old age, that it is very insulting.
– In any case, I am glad that I received such a gift before my death. – He said, looking at me tenderly at the same time.
It was an amazing contrast for me. At first, the sorcerer looked appraisingly at how a master evaluates another master. Then he was openly angry, and now, before his death, gently.
I actually left him after 7 days. Not to his house, but behind the coffin for the remains of the sorcerer. The funeral cost me pretty cheap. The same peasant on the gazelle who brought us groceries helped me bury the sorcerer.
We buried the old man according to all the rules, putting his ritual knife in the coffin, and we put a silver coin in his hand. (The silver coin was kept in my purse as a talisman to attract money.) It is needed as payment to be melted down across the river of the dead.
It wasn't until I got home that my nervous tension was released. It's amazing that in just seven days you can get so attached to a person. I cried all evening, crying for my friend.
That night I had a dream, in the dream the sorcerer was a young man, I recognized him only by his eyes. We were standing on the drawbridge. He's on one side of the bridge, and I'm on the other. Dawn was blooming on my side, but on his side there was fog and grave cold.
"I came to say goodbye and say thank you,"– the sorcerer said to me, making a half bow.
– And the power and the demons, what were you supposed to give me? You didn't touch me before you died, did you? – I asked.
– I kissed you while you were sleeping, back on the first day of your arrival. – The dead spirit replied.
–So that's why…
– Yes.
He looked over my shoulder.
– Go, meet the dawn of a new era, together with other people. See you in the Underworld. For now, goodbye. – The spirit told me and disappeared into the fog.
And I went towards the dawn.....
History 3. The Church demon.
I couldn't sleep last night. It was midnight, one, two. I couldn't get the conversation with the demon out of my head. The thing is, I was at church today. I needed to buy candlesticks for thin wax candles. The church smelled of rotten flesh and incense. The unpleasant smell and vile feeling of death did not leave me when I was in church. I experienced similar unpleasant sensations when I picked up Mansour's book. I had a momentary vision of cadaverous worms falling out of the book.
I noticed that there were people in the church. There was an evil grandmother selling candles behind the counter and the priest himself was busy in the back room. I asked you not to condemn the priest because he is a sinner and as a true Christian he has sinned and repented, sinned and again repented.
The parishioners themselves are strictly divided into two types. The first type consists mainly of practitioners who have come to harm their enemies or those of their clients, or, perhaps, on the contrary, they have come to heal themselves or their clients. The second type includes people who have come for atonement of their sins. They attend confession and all services, and priests will absolve them of all their sins.
My young neighbor, Ninochka, was among the parishioners. Her mom calls her Nina. She is seven years younger than me and looks like a typical fashionable provincial with extended nails, false hair, and eyelashes. Nina complements her look with a push-up bra. She studies to become a lawyer by correspondence and her favorite sin is lust. She loves having sex very much with different men and I wouldn't be surprised if she had sexual experiences with girls too. Nina's favorite breakfast is dick and her pink dream is to get the cock of a newfangled rapper or to participate in an orgy with that rapper.
– The headlight is great, and the face is lovely. It's so beautiful. They're like an angel and a devil. I want both of them. When I'm old, I'll remember that I had a relationship with that person. And it won't be so painful to look at myself in the mirror, – she confessed to me.
Since Ninochka pretends to believe in God, she goes to church regularly. And the priest, who indulges in alcoholic cahors, listens to all of Nina's stories about her relationships in confession and forgives her for her sins. I wouldn't be surprised if the priest started drinking because of her stories.
If you ask Nina about marriage, she might say something like this:
– Same thing every day? No, that's not for me.
Of course, her favorite song is:
"I'll never be a feminist because I have breasts…"
The fact that her breasts are fake, of course, we won't mention.
Apart from the people in the church, there were, let's say, non-people. The imp was brazenly sitting with his ass on the icon and wagging his tail. His tail looked like a black arrow.
"What are you doing here?" Isn't this the house of the One God?– I asked, totally freaking out.
"Hee-hee, what god? God is not here. Just me."– The imp replied, wagging his tail at me.
Since I didn't want to draw attention to myself, the demon and I continued our conversation in the churchyard. I sat down on a bench and poured the imp vodka from a flask. Although I don't drink, I usually always have a treat for the demon with me. Demons, like humans, love attention to themselves. They're more talkative if you treat them.
We talked to the demon about various things. The imp told me about Abara. There is a legend that a demon was guilty in front of my dean. Fearing punishment, he rushed to bow to the One god, swearing allegiance to him. The one god accepted the demon, entrusting him with work in his temples. Now every church has a demon Abara. Abara is responsible for the shady dealings in the churches. We chatted some more, and somehow we started talking about money.
– Katya, do you like money? – let's ask the devil Abara cunningly.
– Yes, I do. And so much so that she is ready to kiss the penis as a symbol of fertility and paw the eggs of the golden calf. – I replied, laughing.
Abara and I laughed. Abara told me that Christianity is not about money. That in the Christian religion, only the clergy are more or less rich. With that, he disappeared, hiccupping from the vodka a couple of times.
My notes on incubi and succubi.
So, what do we know about succubi and incubi? We look at Google and it says: "These are two images of seducer demons. An incubus is a male image seducing women, and a succubus is a female image seduced by a man. Their goal is to have intercourse with their victims. No, coitus is not their goal. In fact, they feed on people's sexual energy, something like an energy exchange. You may have a dream of the best sex of your life, where all your fantasies will come true, even the ones you are ashamed of. And the incubus or succubus will be your energy."
In the West, incubi and succubi are often referred to as sex demons. This is a common misconception. While it is true that sex demons can fall in love, they do so more frequently with virgins.
It is difficult to say exactly how sex demons interacted with monks in medieval monasteries. However, it is known that there were intense passions and desires within these communities. It was not considered a sin for monks to engage in sexual activity, nor for them to masturbate.
The strong sexual energy of the unsatisfied monks attracted succubi, who were attracted to this energy. However, if a person often dreams of having sex with a demon, they risk being consumed by the demon and taken to the lower world, as the demon may love them.
A naked woman with loose hair on red bed linen is an invitation for an incubus. They fulfill the most intimate erotic fantasies. In your dream, they can create any shape of a penis, even a meter long, if you like it. For a man, a woman will have at least three breasts. Whatever your lust desires.
If the girls' best friends are diamonds, then the witches' faithful companions are incubi. I once asked why incubi love witches so much. They answered me:
–They're special.
But if the incubus chooses between a virgin or a witch, then his choice will be a virgin.
– An unpolluted flower. -The incubus told me about the virgins.
The fact is that virginity is very rare nowadays. The age of vulgarity and outright debauchery, where honor is worthless and girls give themselves for an iPhone has done its job. Dirt and filth are now considered the norm.
They are afraid of him because he is horned, or my notes about the film Atrium.
I was tormented by one question about the afterlife. All people say that after death, a person will go to a better world. What's beyond eternal rest?
But what if this is a misconception? I can't believe it's so good and rosy in the world of the dead. That there are a hundred virgins waiting for men, and for women, ponies are sitting on clouds and shitting rainbows. If there is such a madhouse in the human world, then why would it be better in the world of the dead?
Not knowing what exactly was going on in the afterlife scared me. According to old stories and legends, I knew that first comes the world of the dead, and then the descent to the Lower World. But I didn't know how Hell works or how everything works there.
It helped me figure this out – "he who carries the fire of knowledge between his horns, thickens and dissolves, and gives knowledge." He led me to a very creepy and at the same time curious movie, Atrium. A dangerous movie. He's not for ordinary people, and the knowledge in this movie has killed more than one person. And all because of the merchants and their thirst for profit. Those who wanted to make money by showing the Atrium cinema and those who wanted to have fun by watching this movie were very severely punished. The lives of these people became food for the dark deities.
The fact is that the film involves the summoning of the Duke of Hell, Astaroth. He is a progressive and advocates the development of science and art. In the Middle Ages, a group of magicians somehow summoned Astaroth. Imagine the picture. The magicians summon him and demand to obey. A creature that is hundreds of years old, which has seen the fall, and the development of more than one civilization requires submission. Astaroth punished them for showing disrespect to his person, and those magicians decided to kill themselves.
In addition to summoning Astoria, the film tells about the levels of Hell. Yes, Dante was right, Hell is really divided into levels. Only he described what would happen to sinners, ordinary Christian slaves. And what awaits everyone else?
The main conclusion I made after watching the movie is that the world of the dead is the first level of Hell. So the expression that we will all meet in Hell has a true meaning.
A note on the nature of Good and Evil.
When the upper class disintegrates, it falls and becomes inferior, and when the lower class educates itself and strives for perfection, it rises and becomes superior. This is the law of evolution.
Maria Corelli. The Tribulation of Satan
My son, at the age of eight, inquired about the concepts of Good and Evil, a question that is not uncommon but is more difficult to answer than inquiries about the origin of life. He also sought to understand what magic is, distinguishing between white and black magic. I responded in a manner similar to this:
Magic is an ancient, profound, and perilous art. It is a discipline that elucidates and explicates all phenomena in the world. There is no issue that cannot be resolved through a magical act (ritual). There is no clear distinction between white and black magic; it is simply power, how it is wielded is up to the individual's discretion. One can use a knife to cut vegetables, or they can use it to harm another person.
To elucidate the dichotomy of good and evil, I resorted to an analogy. A fox pursues a hare. The fox has ravenous offspring, while the hare seeks to survive. Who is in the right? My son argued that the fox's children are hungry. In nature, there are predators that feed on other creatures. It is a natural law. The moral of the story is that whichever side you choose, you will be in the right. You could divert the fox, allowing the hare to escape, or you could let nature take its course. The fox will capture and devour the hare, nourishing its young.
In life, it is analogous. The person who is right for you is the one whose viewpoint, perspective, or worldview you align with. Everything falls within your sphere of influence.
Of course, it is convenient to think in terms of patterns and shortcuts, and to conform to the opinions of the majority. However, in doing so, the uniqueness of one's individuality is sacrificed. The individual becomes a part of the gray mass, a member of the crowd, as unremarkable as a simple pencil, capable only of thinking in the direction dictated by their leader. Even if this leader is like a Pied Piper, leading others to foolishness and death, the followers will still follow.
Vision of the future.
The biggest mistake in life is being someone you are not.
Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
– How strange it is that ordinary things sometimes inspire us. For example, someone's work or a dramatic story – I once shared my thoughts with my supervisor.
My companion and I were on the veranda one beautiful summer day. The sun was shining brightly, birds were singing and little fairies were fluttering around on the meadow flowers. They were tiny, about half the size of my little finger, and my supervisor loved them very much. He often took them in his hand and admired them. Their hair was golden and their eyes shone like the sky sparkled in the morning sun.
– You know, it's quite possible that someone will tell my story like that one day. Someday, someone will be so interested in me as a writer and as the heroine of a mystical story," -I continued thinking aloud.
–It's possible, even probable, -the Curator replied to me.
The picture changed. Completely transforming the place we were in. This suggests that one picture has been replaced by another. Now we found ourselves in the Curator's Black Castle, for him it was a place and a home and an office and a throne room and even his prison. In the place where we were, there was a desk, which was littered with thousands of folders. The throne is majestic in black, lacquered. Behind the throne was a window that showed a bloody sky. Two comfortable armchairs located opposite each other next to the fireplace. We sat down in them. There was a green flame dancing in the fireplace, and it was warm. There was also a table nearby, on which a decanter with an empty glass stood alone.
– Do you like the atmosphere in my gloomy castle?
– It's creepy, but it's passable, – I replied.
– I don't know how to answer your question. Answering all of your questions is like cutting off the fifth leg of a chair. The design of such a special high-chair may not be able to withstand it, "my interlocutor said, pouring some wine for himself.
–I can give you your case. The book of your life. It describes your whole life. When you were born and when you will die, where and how you lived, what deeds you did, in how many lives of people and non-people you marked. In short, everything. It contains everything you really want to know, – the Curator continued the conversation.
He got up from his chair, went to his desk, and picked up one of the folders. He came back, standing behind the chair he was sitting in. Leaning his body on his back.
While the Curator went to get the folder, I noticed that his clothes, embroidered with flowers and gold threads, had been replaced by a black floor-length robe. And his hair is sun-colored, jet-black, and waist-length. Only his pallor remained unchanged. The eyes of the owner of the Black Castle became black like his castle, without whites and round like a fish's. The change in his image didn't scare me at all. When dealing with demons, you get used to almost everything, and the fear completely atrophies.
I stood up and took the folder from the Curator's hands. Standing next to him, I felt like a midget next to a giant. My interlocutor was so great. I took the folder and examined it carefully. The folder was not a folder, but a black-bound book. And just as I was about to open it, my companion's stern voice immediately sounded:
– Stop. I have to warn you. All those who read their Book of Life were very disappointed, and did not want to live later. Don't read it. It's not worth it. It is better to live life without knowing your future. Knowing the future has not brought happiness to anyone yet.
–I'll take a look.I'm not going to read everything,– I replied.
When I opened the book, I saw something that, for every person, is usually very scary to see.
Ekaterina date of birth September 27, 1993
date of death (date and month blurred) 2055
The curator put his hand gently on my shoulder.
–It's not that bad, is it? You have a lot of time to live a decent life. You will survive pandemics, political regime changes, see a new era, and become one of the survivors of the harvest. A lot can be done over the years.
For example, to raise offspring with dignity. Become an outstanding writer, travel, see the world. To make capital.
–Yes, of course you're right,– I said, coming out of my stupor, boldly looking at my patron.
The supervisor hurried me on. Saying that I would watch faster while I still can.
I opened the book closer to the middle. There were no letters, lines, or sentences in the book. Instead, there were pictures, like video clips. It was like a vision.
And that's what I saw. I was standing in a room with a table next to me and on the table were my statues of Michael and Gabriel, the Archangels. A handsome young man burst into the room I was describing. He had grey eyes, a slender build and shoulder-length black hair. We argued and swore. At some point, he broke down and slapped me in the face. I fell. Then I leaned on the table and slowly stood up. Coldly, without crying, whining or tantrums, I rose slowly. Proudly, looking at the guy, I straightened up. He changed his face. Tears were in his eyes. The brunette fell to his knees in front of me and pressed his face against my stomach. There was something very intimate and desperate about that gesture. I tried to push him away by his shoulders, but he held on tightly.
– That's enough – the Curator's order sounded.
Once again, I just have a folder in my hands, which my interlocutor immediately took away. We sat down opposite each other again.
–I didn't understand anything,– I confessed.
The curator took a sip from his glass. What I thought was wine turned out to be blood. The curator drank blood like people drink wine. After drinking it in one gulp, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me very sternly.
Your visions cannot be interpreted literally. In your day, people were not particularly wise. Each succeeding generation of humans is less intelligent than the previous one, which is why you cannot see things so clearly. Blood is not simply water, and genes play a significant role. Your mind cannot fully comprehend what is written in the Book of Life, as the operating system is incapable of processing such a vast amount of information. This is what you perceive as it is. However, when the moment arrives, you will comprehend what you have seen, and then you will truly begin to live this experience. Thus concludes the Owner of the Castle's explanation.
The Bassoon is the demon of the winds.
Coffee with snow. Story 1.
It was a cold, cloudy afternoon on November 12th. Sleet fell on the rare passers-by, covering them with drizzle. I was standing at a catering cafe where they made fast food to take away. Due to the fact that almost everything in my city was closed due to the pandemic, the fast food cafe remained the only one in the city that served high-quality coffee.
So, I had a cappuccino with my new friend. He was a young man in his thirties, wearing a brown coat with bangs over his eyes and thick glasses. We were standing outside a cafe, where I was drinking coffee and he was smoking a cigarette. We talked about the meaning of life while we were there.
– Tell me, my friend Fagot, what the hell is going on right now? -The more I study and get to know the reality around us, the more I don't understand. I said to the Bassoon.
He was standing sideways to me and smoking. Carefully looking at the passers-by passing by us.
– Something's going on. Everything is somehow wrong, unfair. Something is going wrong and no one feels it.– I shared my feelings.