Natalie Yacobson - Chat with a Demon. Daughter of the Dawn

How strange that sounds! Nikita looked around. There was no one in the room again. The uninterrupted power unit was beeping alarmingly, which meant that the power had been cut again. He should get up and turn off the computer, but he had no strength.

Nikita felt as if he had been put through a meat grinder. There are scratches on his body, scratches on the walls and closet, too. Overall, the room looked normal without the nocturnal guests, but the scraps of gutted bear crumbled from the closet. And why would anyone want to destroy Winnie the Pooh. That, he thought, was the name of the toy when he was a kid.

The room was full of stacks of discs in plastic cases and old-fashioned videotapes. No one had touched them, and for nothing. He had nowhere to put the tapes, but it was a shame to throw them away, too. They had interesting covers on them. Even though the video player had been out of order for a long time, he kept the tapes at home as souvenirs. They are the memory of a bygone era.

His parents had gramophone-type records and players, Nikita accumulated video cassettes as a child, DVDs came to replace them, and they will probably be replaced by something in the future. What else is needed, though, if there’s the Internet. It’s easier to find everything on the Internet than on store shelves. You don’t have to buy cassettes or disks, you just have to click the keys and you’re done.

Nikita downloaded Athenais photos. He is lucky that his girlfriend is an actress. Otherwise her beautiful photos might have disappeared with the deleted account. Any Internet user can delete his account at any time, along with all his photos, but photos of the actress will stay online forever.

“They can change and burn like her servants?” Someone whispered in Nikita’s ear. There was no one behind him, but there was the sensation of a sharp claw pulling his hair away from his ear.

He probably had wax plugs in his ears. They’re the only reason whispers and whistles can be heard. We’ll have to go to the doctor.

For a moment, Nikita thought the downloaded pictures were blackening as if they were burnt.

“What if she’s already burnt and blackened like us? Then would you admire her so much?”

“Yes, I would!” Nikita replied, like a lunatic, to the emptiness.

“And if you find out that the contemplation of fallen angels makes people blind?”

Someone laughed deafeningly above his ear. And that was it! There was no more whistling or noise in my ears. So he didn’t have to go to the doctor. But that didn’t save him from the demons.

Demons live in the computer? Or they live in his head?

Nikita examined the scratches on the closet and the wallpaper as carefully as if that would make them disappear. It looked like we’d have to make repairs. The plaster was beginning to chip away, the telephone wires appeared to be chewed up.

Someone had spilled flour in the kitchen. Cracks appeared in his mother’s china that hadn’t been there before. A distillery pot, a thermos, and a set of silver spoons had disappeared. Mom will be very angry about the missing turkey. The arabesque-engraved turkey was a gift from someone important.

The salt-cellar and sugar bowl were cracked, the crystal irons were shattered, and the pots and pans were shattered, as if a giant had stepped on them.

Could it be that the devil had arranged a coven in the kitchen?

Nikita had to take up a broom and dustpan. Only after half an hour of cleaning the kitchen began to become more or less clean.

You can’t let any more bad things into the apartment, or the place will turn into a garbage dump!

Can’t he let anything else in? The demons didn’t ask permission before entering.

“Throw away the computer, then there’s no place for them to come in,” the thought suggested. “Until you got into a chat room with an angel, there were no demons in your life, either. Where there are angels, there are demons. It’s a law of being.”

Throwing the computer away was a reasonable clue, but Nikita wouldn’t dare do such a thing. After all, getting rid of the computer meant getting rid of contact with Athenais. You could only chat with her, after all.

Nikita hid the broom and dustpan, ignored the need to write essays, and returned to his favorite pastime – watching horror movies. He had enjoyed it as a child, then he became weaned on horror, and now Athenais brought him back to his usual hobby.

How had she succeeded? Nikita naively assumed that he had grown up and would never go back to it again.

“Girls do what they want with guys,” he wailed, going through old cassettes and DVDs. The assortment was old-fashioned. He had bought his last CDs about seven years ago.

Wait! He had something much better. Athenais had sent links to his movies, after all.

The first film was called “Mistress of the Pharaohs.” It began with a grand war in the heavens and the fall of the angels into the sands of the Sahara. The very scene of the battle of the winged beings was already the embodiment of horror. How much worse could it get? Already in the battle, the furious angels turned into monsters. Their eyes darted sparks, their lips breathed out flames. Athenais, as Dennitsa, led the legion of rebellious angels. She breathed fire like a dragon. The pegasus beneath her also exhaled flame from its nostrils. Dennitsa’s visor and shield were riddled with runes, the sight of which made him dizzy for some reason. Nikita even wanted to take a pill for a headache. The film’s prologue was filmed in some unfamiliar language. Was it Arabic? It was hardly ancient Egyptian. No one speaks it now. Or do they still teach it in some universities? They still study Latin, even though it’s a dead language.

There were no titles in the film. Nikita didn’t understand what it was about. If you remember the Bible, the blond, handsome man who fought against Dennitsa was supposed to be the Archangel Michael. The movie was designed so that the opponents seemed to be former lovers. Dennitsa could win. Michael was giving up his position. It was noticeable that he was in pain to look at the leader of the rebellious angels. Anger kept him from concentrating. Michael wore the same armor mottled with runes and shield as Dennitsa. Only Michael wasn’t as handsome.

He would have lost, but an unarmed, dark-haired angel was suddenly thrust into the battle. The name Gabriel could be well understood in an unfamiliar language. He tried to separate the warring men. Dennitsa’s sword suddenly pierced his shoulder. From the wound instead of blood grew a lush lily, like a living parasite. The flower took root directly in the wounded angel’s flesh.

Athenais feigned horror. She herself was stunned that she had struck an unarmed man. And she’s a good actress! She plays it so naturally! It’s like it’s really not an act.

The special effects are over the top. The angels grow claws. Their wings turn black. Angels fight in flight like birds of prey. Angels transform, becoming monsters.

Nikita’s eyes dawned on him. The sounds of an unfamiliar language somehow made his ears hurt. He watched Dennitsa’s legions fall, but the torture scenes had to be replayed later. The angelic bodies writhing on the stakes were shocking.

In the following shots, the bloody desert was replaced by a valley of ashes. The sands absorbed the ashes. The angels were recovering. Centuries of torture must have passed before they rose from the sand already monsters. There was nothing beautiful or graceful left in them.

But Athénaïs is still beautiful. She’s a maiden, no matter how you look at it. And according to the Bible, Dennitsa was male, like all the angels. Athenais must have been aiming for a strong female role.

Nikita once watched an adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Metzergenstein.” There, too, the main male role was turned into a female role to make the story more expressive. But there it did not look sacrilege. Using his meager knowledge of the Bible, Nikita remembered that all the angels, even though they had maiden beauty, but for some inexplicable reason, people appeared in the guise of boys. Are there any exceptions? Or is religion adjusted to the patriarchy? Strange, then, why angels are ascribed feminine beauty.