Page 1 of A Hail From Hell: Vol 1
1. Desperation And Manipulation
The lifespan of an exorcist depended on his ability to coexist with beings that did not belong in this world, and to eradicate them when necessary.
Ever since he was little, Evan Blackwood saw things others couldn’t. Crawling shadows. Haunting figures. Sometimes they whispered to him. Words. Phrases. Warnings.
Incomprehensive language, yet somehow it made sense to him.
Only to him.
And when they weren’t talking, they were watching him. Always watching. From the corners of the rooms, hidden in the darkness outside his windows, crawling across the ceilings at night.
Evan thought they were ghosts.Evil.
But one day, after unwillingly being dragged to the church by his friend, Evan saw the same shadows there, at the feet of the crucifix. Darkness wrapped around who was said to be the ultimate bearer of eternal light. And he realized…maybe not all of them were evil.
Maybe.
But people never believed him when he told them that.
First, they took his words for naivety, then a joke, and eventually shut him up with a flat "It’s not funny anymore."
Honestly, if a strange kid came up to you and started speaking of shadow figures and monsters of the dark, wouldn’t anyone be creeped out? At least a little?
So, at one point, he stopped telling them.
“Are you listening to me?” Aaron’s voice nagged from the phone speaker as Evan took a final drag from his last cigarette, eyes lingering on the cloudy sky outside his bedroom window. If he stared hard enough, he could make out faint silhouettes of figures floating about.
The world was full of those shadows. They were everywhere.
“Hm.”
“Hey, don’thmme,” Aaron groaned, then let out a tired sigh. “I’m telling you, this case is the jackpot you’re always whining about not hitting.”
Indeed. And what a fucking terrific hit it is.
Evan crushed the bud into the overflowing ashtray with more force than necessary. “Even if that jackpot might cost me my life.”
“Dude, stop being dramatic.”
A sigh left Evan’s lips as he slumped against the edge of his bed, faint smoke from the dying cigarette wafting around him.
Even after working together for years, Aaron couldn’t understand the dangers surrounding Evan’s profession. It was more naivety than ignorance. Ever since Evan knew him, Aaron had been the same: overachiever, over-bright, and overconfident in Evan’s capabilities.
“Come on, this is the first client you’ve got in three weeks,” Aaron’s voice tightened like he was clenching his lips. “You need the money.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
Evan didn’t just need the money; he was desperate for it. Celie’s tuition for the upcoming semester was due next month, which was only a week away. The current month’s loaninstallment was looming, too. And Evan hadn’t had a proper meal in five days. Unless a pack of cigarettes and a carton of chocolate milk counted as one.
What about the half-eaten apple inside the freezer that looks like something not even worms would go for?
His head rolled to the side, catching his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Dark strands of greasy hair stuck to his forehead, brown eyes that closely resembled a dead fish taking its last breaths on a fisherman’s hook.
Was it just him, or had his cheeks sunken into his skull?
But even though desperation clung to Evan’s shoulders, he refused to undertake a case that could possibly become his last.
There was a book in the back of Evan’s mind, its pages always fluttering; The Doctrine of Blackwood Exorcists. It was a rulebook passed down from his maternal ancestors, consisting of one hundred and three rules of conduct.
