PROLOGUE

The stench of death was unbearable. Spencer stood in his own living room, back to the wall, a vicious trench knife trembling in his hands. Each haggard breath brought him that much closer to mixing his own vomit with the blood-soaked carpet.

That day began in a blur, Spencer awakening to the dead eyes of a woman he vaguely felt he knew. Eyes that sucked him in like the darkness of a deep, deep well. With a cold shock, Spencer almost flew from the floor. The woman's face was half gone, and in her mouth was a crumpled piece of paper. Compelled by something other than his own fear, Spencer removed the paper and read what it had to offer: Random Acts. This woman was one of the many whom Spencer had helped through his life.

Spencer had established an enormous following of people all over the world, individuals willing to volunteer and help those less fortunate than themselves. Rebuilding schools, raising money in charities, even traveling the world to meet and help others in person.

And this woman--this poor woman with her life soaked into that once-creme carpet--wasn't the first. No, she was the fourth Spencer had woken up beside. Even so, his nerves could never get used to it.

As his mind spiraled to the various places he could go to take the body, a voice cackled out from the shadows.

"Are you still not having fun?" it asked softly, eagerly. "Just give in, Spence. Things will be so much easier. I won't keep doing it all for much longer. You need to take up the knife sometime. You might even enjoy it." The man flinched. Like a mantra, he repeated the words 'It's not there, just a nightmare' over and over to himself. But the voice only laughed more. "Oh, you know I'm here. And you are, too. Back with me, where you've always belonged."

"STOP IT!"

Just out of reach of the room's dim light swirled a mass of shadows. It was too much for him, seeing it floating there, taunting him. Laughing. Spencer lost all sense of himself and hurled the knife across the room. Physical though it appeared, the shadows offered no resistance. The knife passed cleanly through and embedded into the wall.

"For shame, Spence," the shadows clucked. "Mister Gaspard won't return your deposit now. Well, I'm sure the blood made sure of that. Doesn't come out easily, you know." Gripped by sticky threads of shadow, the knife moved. Aged plaster and a choking dust crumbled to the floor.

The soft whistle of cleaved air was the only indication Spencer had of the knife being returned. not even the warm blood on his cheek registered until it had trickled down his chin. Daring against sense to move his gaze from the shadows, the man felt his heart skip: The blade was up to its hilt in the old plaster just a hairsbreadth away.

Feeling like screaming on the inside, Spencer refused to show it, to give the creature the satisfaction of seeing him break down. He bit his tongue until a coppery taste filled his mouth.

The shadows pulsed. "Foolish boy, why do you fight me?" The ceased their roiling, instead coalescing into a murky humanoid form. The thing clenched its fists.

"Because I know you want me. Need me," Spencer whispered, a hint of madness in his tone. He pulled his shirt off by the collar over his head, revealing a well-toned upper torso. And something...different. A hand print, raised and shiny as though branded onto him, resting neatly on his left shoulder. "The more I fight you," Spencer breathed. "The more you lose control of yourself. I know I'm not the first you've gone after, but I'm damned sure I'm the one you've wanted most."

But the creature only barked out a laugh. "I need you? You know how many people are in this world, Spence? Billions. I could have my pick of any of them. But it wouldn't make any difference to you, would it? I could leave you right now. You;d go on living your life, and I wonder just how long the guilt would take to send you sniveling back to me? A year? Maybe two at the most?"

Truth of those words broke whatever false sense of superiority Spencer felt. Biting his lip, fought the tears that threatened him.

"In this day and age, I thought games were the most popular form of entertainment, hm? One of your favorites, no? Survival-horror, Spence! I thought you would enjoy doing it for real!"

One translucent hand flashed out, its sticky fingers twining around Spencer's neck like vines. And despite the man's desperate attempt at freedom, he could only watch his own arms go limp. Spencer was trapped. How could he possibly harm a shadow? But why fight?, he thought to himself. This monster will only go after someone else, and the guilt... "Damn you," he cried.

"There we go," the thing smiled. Its soft tone broke the man out in goose-flesh, prickled the hair on his arms and neck. "You have survived by far the longest of anyone in this whole. Putrid. World." Each word was punctuated by the creature moving its starless void of a face closer and closer to Spencer's own. The man let out a strangled whimper, his amber eyes almost vocal in their pleading. "Don't look at me like that, Spencer. You did this to yourself."

Spencer cried out louder as the shadow being grabbed his knee. That hand left chills in its wake as it traveled--first up his thigh, his hip, abdomen, chest... A wispy grin morphed in and out of sight on the creature's face. "You possess a strong mind," it whispered into his ear. "A fierce and fiery heart. A body suitable for my needs. Plus, you're quite the looker in this queer modern age. I can use that to my advantage," the darkness added with a slimy hiss of a cackle.

A rage built in Spencer's chest. His words came out a strangled warble: "SCREW YOU!" he choked.

With starts exploding before him, and a pounding ache in the back of his skull, the man was hauled off the floor. His feet dangled helplessly above the stained carpets. Raising a wispy finger to its face, the demon ordered Spencer to be silent.

"Your games ended weeks ago, boy. This time, you wont be able to get rid of me. Not until every fiber of that body bends to my beck and call will you ever know happiness again.

Between Spencer's panicked gulps for air, the warbling loops of sirens came from the distance. And with them, a crazed light of relief washing over his face. "You can't do anything now," he whispered. "You try anything and they'll just shoot me dead. You won't have anything keeping you in this world then!"

Despite telling himself it would be over soon, Spencer's glee once more found itself squashed by the heavy weight of fear. The creature was still laughing. "Really? Oh no," it cried. "Whatever am I to do! Stupid boy. Who do you think planted it in your friends' heads to alert the authorities? They certainly weren't smart enough to do it on their own."

"No!"

Wasting no time, the creature pried Spencer's mouth open. It returned to its black, water-like swirling and poured itself down the man's throat. Every fiber, every hair, felt like it was on fire. Spencer could feel the demon reaching into every crevice it could find, latching on and never wanting to let go.

Coughing, gagging on the revolting substance, Spencer kicked out. He came free as the that last trace disappeared into his mouth, slamming down on the mushy carpet. His body twisted. His bones cracked. He threw back his head, belting out an agonizing scream.

No! he screamed within himself, I...I can't let this happen!

But there was truly nothing he could do this time. All of the incidents of the past two years had whittled away the courage and confidence that made Spencer as strong as he was. It felt almost alien as his own body twitched and convulsed there on the floor. And that noise... That menacing laughter. It came from his own mouth--in his own voice!--but it wasn't him.

Not anymore.

Whatever was left of Spencer could only watch as the creature moved his own body and rose to pace on stolen feet. It looked all about the room, a smile spreading his face as he noticed a tiny prick of red light. It was a web camera, and it was recording.

"Oh, how thoughtless of me," Spencer--no, the demon--said. "I didn't realize I came to get you at such a bad time." He moved the mouse from across the room with a mere wave of his hand, bringing the computer screen on. The video was currently at three hours and twenty-seven minutes of record time. "A loving message to your doting followers, no doubt. Well, we'll see how they like this message."

IT crossed the room in three long strides, taking a seat in the high-grade spinning chair. With glee, the demon spun around, loving each movement and sensation now at its full and complete disposal.

The chair came to a dead stop, the creature grinning darkly into the camera. IT looked like Spender still, but his eyes were the starless, solid black of an empty night sky. Removing its hosts glasses, the demon snapped them in two.

"I know you'll be watching this soon. But I also know you can't fully comprehend what you've just seen. This man--" Spencer motioned to his own chest. "--is no more. It's pathetic how he tried to fight." A visible shiver raced through the man's body. He let out a quavering moan of sheer delight. "And how he still is. It makes no difference. He was weak, just like I wanted him to be." The thing gave pause, and its handsome face broke into a wicked smile. "Finally," he growled. "I am real!"

Muffled voices yelling in unison assaulted what were once Spencer's ears. Hsi possessor didn't care in the slightest about the panic still welling up in the depths of the man's body. If anything, that wicked smile became even darker. A fierce knocking came to the door, turning to ramming shoulders when no answer was received.

Spencer's hand redirected the webcam to the front door. Outside, the heavy plod of boots and hastened yells of numerous policemen filled the hall.

With a cackle, Spencer retrieved the knife from the wall with a wave of his hand. Gripping it tight, he stood before the door. As splinters flew and armed men poured in, Spencer stood immobile, weapon in hand and his face split into a madman's grin.

The reactions were heavily mixed--revulsion, fear, confusion, anger. There was a deep silence at first. The authorities were prepared for what they told themselves to expect, but not at all for what they faced. One brave soul stepped forward.

"Spencer Gray?" he almost whimpered. Gun held at the ready, he cleared his throat. "Put down the weapon and put your hands in the air. We aren't here to hurt you. Please, set down the weapon."

Spencer didn't even blink. HE understood the orders completely, but was in no way going to comply. He gripped the knife so hard his whole arm began to shake.

"What irony," he said.

The officer hadn't expected him to speak. He nearly jumped from his skin. "W-what?"

"It's going to be me that hurts you."

Spencer took a step forward. Then another. And another.

"Sir! What are you doing!"

"Put your weapon down!"

"Stop!"

----------------

Robert felt his stomach churn. Sickening screams about a demon and for the other officers to run fo their lives rang in his ears as he closed out the playback. The time stamp on the video read '1.28.2016, 23:21'. Failing to shrug the chills from his shoulders, he moved the file to a personal flash drive. True, he was concealing evidence of the crime, but even with the world knowing of this demon's existence already... What good would it do to help Spencer? The world had been plagued by it for close to seventy years, and once someone was taken by it, they were either killed or locked away forever. When the drive flashed, the heavyset man stood and slipped the device into his pocket.

From across the room, a heavily accented female voice called out to him. "Monsuier, will you be needing some help?"

"No, ma'am, I'm... I'm okay. Thanks, though."

The female officer nodded. "I will be in my car. Let me know when you are finished so I can seal this apartment back up." With that, she left.

Alone again, Robert heaved a sigh as he looked around.

Boxes and tape and bubble wrap littered that apartment. A few things here and there had been packed out of sight by member's of Spencer's family, yet the state of the dwelling had eventually gotten to each of them. Those stains would never come out, and Robert knew it would be nearly impossible to ever rent that place out again.

A week ago the video was recorded.

A week ago Spencer lost his mind.

With no one left after Spencer's girlfriend finally had enough and walked out, Robert took it upon himself to pack up the remains of what used to be his best friend's life. IT was painful--stuffing so many memories into cardboard and bubble wrap. Yet he was thankful for one memory in particular. Gruesome though it was, Robert was the only one to see the truth in Spencer's final moments of sanity.

Shuddering, her pushed the nightmare aside and fought through his tears. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Robert squared his shoulders. He approached a half-packed box and began to fill the vacant space with whatever his shaking hands could reach.

Next Chapter: Chapter One