I Saw The Face Of The Devil.
As a moderator for the No Sleep forum, I had a pretty straightforward job: enforce the rules, ensure stories met the guidelines, and keep the community safe. But every once in a while, things would take a turn for the surreal. This was one of those times.
I had removed a story from the platform, accused of bandwagoning, but it was clear to me that the author was innocent. The accusations were baseless, and I had done what I believed was right. Still, the backlash was fierce. The author didn’t take it well his frustration boiled over into angry messages laced with curses and threats.
Then, without warning, a strange chill crawled down my spine, sending shivers across my entire body. The floor beneath me began to crack and moan, a sound like the groaning of ancient, tormented wood struggling to contain something massive and malevolent. The very ground seemed alive, as if it was buckling under the weight of unseen horrors.
An intense pain erupted in my chest, like an iron fist gripping my heart and squeezing with relentless pressure. Each beat felt like a struggle, as though my heart was trying to break free from its prison of bone and flesh. The agony was overwhelming, a visceral reminder of the severity of my predicament. It was as if the very essence of my suffering was being amplified, twisting my pain into something far more profound and excruciating.
I turned my head to the right, and my blood ran cold at the sight of a creature lurking in the shadows. It stood tall and emaciated, its pale skin stretched tight over its skeletal frame. Bat-like wings unfurled from its back, their tattered edges barely visible in the dim, flickering light. Two twisted horns protruded from its head, and its eyes glowed an eerie red, cutting through the darkness like malevolent beacons. The shadows clung to it, obscuring parts of its form and amplifying its terrifying presence.
I forced myself to glance back at my monitor, the pain in my chest a constant, gnawing torment. My vision swam, but I managed to read the message that had appeared:
"Hell will be the only home you know when I drag you there myself."
Each word seemed to sear itself into my consciousness, a chilling reminder of my dire predicament. With every ounce of remaining strength, I clung to my fleeting sense of reality, desperate to hold on amidst the agonizing pain and the looming threat of that monstrous entity.
Suddenly, I blacked out. When my senses returned, everything was a disorienting blur. A constant, high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out all other sounds. As my vision cleared, I found myself in a hellish realm of fire and torment.
The sky above was a swirling mass of molten orange and ashen gray, choked with thick, acrid smoke. The sun was a distant, dim smear behind the smoky haze, casting a sickly, reddish glow over the landscape. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh.
In the distance, towering mountains rose like jagged, fiery sentinels, their peaks wreathed in smoke. Rivers of lava flowed down their sides, glowing with an intense, searing light. The lava hissed and bubbled as it carved fiery veins into the scorched earth, its surface intermittently exploding into bursts of molten fire.
People were scrambling in every direction, their screams and desperate cries echoing through the infernal chaos. They were being hunted by monstrous creatures that prowled the land with relentless hunger, and creatures all around drowning them in fire and flames.
The Screamers were among the most terrifying. These gaunt, skeletal beings had long, spindly limbs and mouths that gaped open unnaturally wide. Their eyes were hollow sockets glowing with an eerie green light. The sound of their high-pitched wails pierced the air, driving those who heard it to the brink of madness. Their bony fingers reached out, leaving scorched marks on anyone unfortunate enough to be touched.
Then there were the Chained Fiends. These creatures were grotesque, their bodies bound by thick, iron chains that clanged and rattled with every movement. Their skin was raw and blistered, as if the heat of the realm had seared them to the bone. The chains were adorned with rusted, jagged spikes that tore at their flesh, adding to their suffering. The sound of their chains clashing was a discordant symphony of agony.
Finally, the Infernal Hounds prowled the land. These beasts resembled monstrous wolves, their bodies covered in scales that glowed like molten metal. Their fur was patchy and burned away in places, revealing charred skin underneath. Their eyes burned with a fierce, malevolent red light, and their jaws were lined with needle-sharp teeth dripping with a corrosive, glowing venom. They stalked the area with a menacing grace, their growls resonating with a deep, unsettling menace that seemed to vibrate through the very ground.
The entire scene was a nightmarish panorama of suffering. The ground was strewn with the remnants of destruction charred debris, shattered remains, and the ever-flowing rivers of lava that consumed everything in their path. The torment was not just physical but seemed to seep into the very essence of existence, creating a relentless cycle of anguish in this infernal landscape.
Suddenly, the same creature from my earlier nightmare materialized before me. It moved with an unsettling grace, its bat-like wings folding and unfolding with each step, while its tail swayed rhythmically. Its face was a grotesque mask of malice, diabolical and horrifying.
It stopped directly in front of me, its eyes glowing with a cruel, unsettling light. For a moment, it just stared, as if measuring the extent of my fear. Then, it spoke with a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of the abyss. "How unlucky you are to have two faces, and both of them are truly ugly."
The creature edged closer, and I felt a primal urge to flee, but my legs were rooted to the spot. It lifted a slender finger, its sharp nail gleaming wickedly. With deliberate, almost leisurely slowness, it dragged the nail across my face, slicing through my skin and leaving a long, burning cut. The pain was immediate and excruciating, a searing reminder of its cruelty. "Something for you to remember when you wake up," it said with chilling nonchalance.
"What the hell are you?" I managed to stammer, my voice barely a whisper. The creature regarded me for a moment, then tilted its head slightly in amusement, a small, sinister smile curling its lips.
"I'm the Devil," it said, the words dripping with malevolence. "And you’ll be right here," it gestured to the ground beneath us, "when you die. You’ll see this pretty face," it said with a grin that oozed wicked delight, "while we rip you apart piece by piece."
With that, the Devil raised its hand slowly. In a snap of its fingers, everything around me dissolved into darkness.
When I woke, I found myself back at my desk and the monitor was still on, left on the message where I spoke with the writer earlier, my face stinging where the cut should have been. I can’t explain how this could be possible, how a dream could leave a physical mark. I’m at a loss for words, struggling to reconcile what I experienced with reality. But I know one thing for certain: I’m going to strive to be a better person, not just for myself, but for the next writer who I might cross paths with so I won't have such a nightmare ever again. Shit I need to go to church or something.
