Aye, the dark ones are born here in this middle place. Beneath the stary night sky---a cosmic order to chaos. Deep inside the gut and crawling upon the skin monsters by the trillions but yet they too have order. This middle place is where the mechanics of universally repressed chaos finds a name.
FADE IN:
EXT. WOODED COUNTRY ROAD – NIGHT
A dark, silent expanse. Towering pines loom, their branches whispering in the cold wind.
THE COVEN FIVE prowl the blackened roads, their arms flapping like wings, their mouths curling into twisted smiles.
COVEN FIVE (WHISPERING, MOCKINGLY)
"Who-woo... who who..."
They call into the night like hybrid misanthrope ravens, stalking the wooded streets. Their eyes scan the dim-lit road ahead, searching. Hunting. Were they merely birds of prey chasing another frugal meal? Or was it all an act?
A ritual?
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – NIGHT
DANNY (13) walks briskly, his sneakers scuffing against the cracked pavement. He glances over his shoulder, his pace quickening.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
It was Danny’s birthday. May 7th. Tomorrow, Grandma Darla would take him to the Tractor-N-Surplus store for a new bike.
He should have been excited. Instead, unease prickles his spine.
Danny knows these roads too well. And he knows them—the Coven Five.
Everyone knows everyone in this small, repressed lakeside town.
EXT. FOREST EDGE – NIGHT
The five figures stand motionless among the pines, watching, waiting. Their hunger isn't for food—it's something else entirely.
Their bodies tremble, starved of the power they crave.
A low, pulsing frequency hums in the air, twisting around them in warped, cymatic tones. A signal from somewhere beyond.
A chemical reaction, a spiritual drug.
Sex. Violence. Blood.
Their bodies buzz with unnatural energy, as if aligned with something far away—a ringed pulse, an unseen force. Saturn. The stars.
And then—
Damon steps forward.
EXT. SIDEWALK – NIGHT
Danny hears footsteps. He stops. Turns.
Nothing.
The sickly-sweet scent of roses clings to the night air. But underneath it—something rotten.
His heartbeat hammers. He walks faster.
Then—A SHAPE EMERGES.
Damon.
He moves with eerie confidence, his smile sharp, hollow.
DAMON
Going somewhere, birthday boy?
Danny's breath catches. His fingers twitch. Run? Stay?
EXT. DESOLATE ROAD – NIGHT
The attack comes fast.
A sudden, brutal blow to the face—Danny stumbles, his head snapping back.
Then another.
And another.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
A sacrifice of ceaseless death. A transfer of energy.
The others descend, their fists pounding, bodies shaking with sick pleasure.
Blood splashes onto the pavement in crimson arcs.
Danny gasps. His wide, unblinking eyes stare upward.
And then—
Stillness.
EXT. ROADSIDE DITCH – LATER
A gray, lifeless body lies discarded like waste. Blood seeps into the earth.
A car rumbles past. Its tires smear the remains across the road, streaking fate into the asphalt.
No one would know.
No one would care.
Just another worthless life.
Forgotten.
EXT. DANNY’S BACKYARD – FLASHBACK – DAY
Danny kneels before a cage, peering inside. Foxes. Rabbits.
Tiny creatures, trembling. Waiting.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
He had been calling to something. Summoning.
But he never knew what.
The wind shifts. A whisper curls through the trees.
Something unseen. Watching.
Waiting.
MATCH CUT TO:
EXT. FOREST – NIGHT
The Coven Five stand beneath the trees, eyes gleaming in the dark.
They are no longer just human.
They have become something else.
Something ancient.
Something insatiable.
FADE TO BLACK.
To name them is to recognize them, to acknowledge that even chaos bows to a deeper law. But whose law? And to what end?
-----
Flapping their arms as if having wings like owls and often assuming themselves as hybrid misanthrope ravens, they smiled cawing or calling out into the wilderness "who-woo who who". The five prowled those wooded streets. Country roads blackened by high, thick, forested, silent watchers—the pines. Jusy birds of prey chasing down another frugal meal? It was all an aspect of the act. Scanning, searching, looking for an insignificant rodent perhaps?
Thirteen year old Danny would soon be walking hurridly home. Making haste to span that long 1/3 of a mile corridor from his to his grandmothers house just blocks away. It was his Birthday today [May 7th] and tomorrow she would buy him a bike at the Tractor-N-Surplus store she just wanted Danny to pick a color prior to. Her birthday surprise to her only grandchild. However the coven five didn't know that it was Danny's birthday, so I suppose this is further proof of the dark divine?-- However this walk was a routine weekly predictable action. Danny was close with his grandma Darla. Little Danny knew them, and they knew him these "coven five". Everyone knew everyone else in this small lake side repressed community.
The five were hungry but they hadn't eaten in days and wouldn't now. Hungry for a power few would ever ponder in this life or any other. This psycho-driven drug like high fed their glandular marauding natures. A pulse of sexual-violence infused with cymatic beep! pitched tones ---of rape and murder. Exciting their connection to another world---an aromatic ringed halo pulse---Saturn and the stars.
Damon would come upon him first. Little Danny. As this young man was too called out into this night---inviting. So much life condensed in the certain [sacrifice of ceaseless dearh]. The sorrow of each their deliberate needless but willful act caused a sweet smell in the air and a pervading bliss. You'd sware angels were present and then what in the hell they truly were?! They wanted him to be found.
They wanted him to be found dead. Yet they would have to sacrifice even this for now. For they had much more killing to do. But it wasn't a killing like the "normies" thought of it. This is how you carry out an "energy transfer". What was Danny ever going to do with it---his life...wasn't really his. Tonight he would know this full well. It showed in the eyes beyond immediate death. Capture maybe forever as an act as deed. They couod all live with that and in fact relished it. Frozen in the moment, caught as a victim, this becomes a fact that just doesn't merely fade away into black, right away that is. Like this smell of sweet roses ot lingers on perhaps in eternity?
Though they all played the game, they too wanted to take credit, those five. They didn't need to watch the news to see the chaos and sorrow they would unleash. True, they were as lost and cliché as any powerless demographic that would even ponder such a thing. However, in the moment, they became something different, something foreign and removed. They wanted to be avatars for this unholy quest and they were for however long. After all life is fleeting and life is after all more of a gesture.
**Unrelenting pummeling, blunt trauma to the face and head.** Repeatedly inflicted—one penetrating assault after another. Pounding bare-knuckle blows, fully intending total annihilation. A marauding massacre. Blood splattered in all directions like a forensic, unholy scene of mayhem. That lifeless body turned gray as the bright red life plasma now seemed to make haste—pooling and searching, as if to find another host, another living form in its path. Yet it, too, would be splattered about and further violated, even after baseless death—tracked across miles by countless rotating tires that acted as if commissioned, like frenzied rotary saws, dispersing bloody fate far and wide across the meat-soaked tracks of time.No one would know. No one would care or know how to care. Just another worthless life, soon forgotten—one that no one would search for.
Not long after, and maybe the day before? He would go to that cage where he kept the various animals that he would practice his summoning skills upon. The foxes and wolves could have broken in and carried them away after all.
You see, Damon wasn't an idiot. He was doing this quite willfully with intent. For him, it was more of a process of becoming that which he already felt that he was. He wanted to feel cold and indifferent. As if he were able to automatically serve the will of something that chose him in a random moment of chaos, and he wanted always to be at the ready for these and other entities. Until one day he might become one that they too feared? Not by being more but to vacate his very soul. To posses what others couldnt see but yet held the real value.
One creature he had recently bought and pretended to nurture for the first week.His gaslight honeymoon which he showed genuine love to the thing, it was all part of the order.
Looking into its eyes for long periods. Seeing if it could feel what was coming? He'd left it starving here, getting ever weaker for two weeks now since. He was surprised it had survived an entire day out in the elements and practically cooking beneath the high sun. Loved, neglected, betrayed, stolen from and cooked as meat. This was all part of the organic alchemy in the funal act for the unsuspecting thing.
He met it, Harry with a guava. A fat and juicy one at that. To see if it would have the strength to dig in, and it did just barely. He pet it as the thing shook. But just as it was about to take its first bite after struggling to peel away the fruit's skin, Damon slapped the animal with all his might. Damon kept back his adrenaline. He lowered his heart rate at will. He wanted to access a happy thought. Morph himself into thus associating happy with this kind of embedded memory. In graduating steps associate happiness with much more hideous experiences than this one. He thought of his 9th birthday, innocence and would soon rewrite and destroy that. He whistled his birthday song from that time, picturing that beautiful day. As he grabbed the near incoherent reptile hard and sadisticly, seeming to have nearly broken its shoulder bones. That immediate contact by slamming Harry into that tree. That tree had witnessed several vile acts, but it remained silent, even taking on its own ominous aura, perhaps.
Damon grabbed it hard by the back of the neck, trying to nearly snap its little frame in the process but still he held back his full power. He walked hastily, directly into the kitchen where he slammed its head with a large frying pan in an incoherent shocking pivot.
Now speaking softly and soothingly as he immediately made an effort to pet its head. As to reassure it, truly to conjuring up an unnatural algorithm of chaotic emotion in the field around him, yet the reptile gave out a defensive, guttural hiss. "Oh I'm sorry, buddy!" Damon sadly replied with an actual frown as he lit up the skillet, turning the gas stove up to the highest heat. Damon poured a generous quantity of cooking oil into the skillet but first made sure that he provided a fair amount of sink water splashed in towards the animal as to create an alarming pop throwing off burning crackles. As he watched the dumb animal tense up and hiss again, he broad-sided it with a meat cleaver and released it into the frying pan.
The reptile reacted, and Damon laughed as he saw the iguana, for a millisecond, seem almost human. Small clawed fingers and toes sizzled, instantly blistering with third-degree burns. He preferred it fresh and innocent.
The privileged—those with advantage—would go on in Sadistic Universal Continuance.
God must be an ancient, murderous, and demonic psychopath—it would lead anyone to wonder. It was never enough. There was always an insatiable hunger, an urge to consume life whole on this planet.
He'd boil some rice, Damon. Maybe make that Spanish rice, now flying high on what he'd just committed and done. His mother would like that meal he jostled. He'd make this one taste like Cajun-style chicken.
How many! How many times? By how many people? Was this the real world? A world of cruelty that spun this psychodrive?
It was time to leave a nice loving note for Damon's hardworking mom, Patty. On a paper towel he'd drawn a big, huge heart with an arrow through and one of those leftover Valentine chocolates from the top kitchen drawer. Reading, "I love you mom, bon appétit Patty," followed by "best mommy ever!" On the second line.
Damon had a fishing date where he could set his sights on killing things yet to be revealed in their occulted terror.
His dreams would echo now somewhere between this place and that one tonight. But really, he'd already planned on pulling young Danny's eye out earlier so that he could look into it at 3:33am under this vast [however feeling as if dimensionally shrinking] starry night sky. Holding the ince young Danny's currious eye to that brightest star in the heavens tonight. Was it Venus, Serius A or a tether between [world]? He would walk out there to see if he held that right eyeball up still bouncing at the root if maybe it may glow with some revealing truth of what might lie beyond this crappy world. On into the next one.
This is not a normal world. Neither is the world just. However, this is my world, or at least the hell that I have been cast into. We shall discover who will become the greater force of demonic rule. Especially the good—those who survive—become unrecognizable to themselves. Those who kill to eat see another day.
What was it that you wanted to be such a long, long time ago? Back when you didn’t know there was a brooding battle within for your eternal soul?
As Damon fell asleep, he drifted off to his coven. They were all dreaming the same dream as they often had.
"Hail Satan!" They chanted, nonchalantly yet deliberately, as they now circled from left to right. Only the initiates of this specific cult order would understand the meaning—this was a pure sacrifice, now commissioned and fully intended.
Pulling up and off their black-hooded robe coverings, each turned quickly, as if choreographed. These were only an outer layer, concealing the thick white-cowled robes beneath—a removable veneer. Even their demeanor shifted in a nanosecond. As the procession called forth another entity, they seemed lighter, in unison.
In a scattered, schizophrenic, fragmented shift, they became white lighters, justifying their hunger under another purpose. Slipping away from God's vision, they had learned to become both the decoy and the predator of disparate tenure.
These occult practices take place out in the open—always and everywhere. There is no removal from the passage of first history—the hideous and obscene realities that we are now tethered to, steadfast.
There is a lighter side to the brutality. All that we choose not to see. True, some have become either numb or mute within their souls. Trauma makes for eager learners.
Damon couldn't even remember waking up or how he got here. The innocents invigorated him. The universe poured blessings down upon him. His mother thanked him and kissed him as she tickled Damon as if he were a child. His friends were waiting by the docks, and they were all thinking the same thing. First, they had to do a little fishing. Then they had a body to desecrate and hide in places. They would all fantasize that they were burying Easter eggs. There was nothing obvious nor malicious. They were exercising muscles of the psyche. As they would state together loosely, "Psionic Satanic warriors training in an unknown land behind enemy lines."
The large fish stared back at him as he grabbed it tightly with thick tactical gloves he had fashioned for this purpose. In squeezing, he could hear some of the industrial-grade staples actually produce a pop as the skin broke. Damon wanted to see if the fish would squirm, even though it well knew that doing so would lead to further rupture of its assumed autonomy. It was food, and Damon wanted this animal to know it from the start.
You see, Damon wasn't the typical and dismissive kind. He didn’t require the immediate gratification of power over another living being. That wasn’t the case here. Neither was there some definite addiction to qualia—absorbing the soul essence of this fish or any sea creature by occulted proxy.
Damon wanted to see into the eyes of death in transfer. He walked in ritual always and slept in death’s cosmic embrace. He wanted to see what this fish would give away—what it was connected to—so that he could menace too this other worldly place. For now there would be much more killing to do.
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