Slate Gray

Chapter 8.2: Perrin Slate

Now that the pretense was gone, I wondered how I could have mistaken this thing for anything other than a demon. But I was young and stupid and irrationally believed that people were who they said. And, as a consequence, here was the stuff of my nightmares, callously possessing the body of my uncle.

"No!" I shrieked, sharp and shrill with fear. Leaping from Dad's chair, I raced for the door as quickly as my short legs would allow. But he caught me by the wrist as I passed, his grip far stronger than Morgan's muscles should have allowed. He dragged me so close that I could see the individual, fiery pigments of his irises, holding my wrist above my head so I was practically dangling by it.

"I'm serious, you little bitch," he snarled in that sickening voice, his breath hot and fetid. "If you refuse me now, then you had better pony up when I return. Because if you don't, everything you know and everyone you love will be shredded to bloody fragments while you weep."

"No!" I shrieked again, struggling against him. "Get lost, demon!"

With my free fist, I smacked him in the nose as hard as I could. He jerked back, unhurt but stunned that I would dare attack him. His face twisted, warping Morgan's features into something alien and violent and bestial as a growl emanated from deep within his chest, running down my wrist to reverberate in my bones.

The doorknob rattled then, followed by firm, staccato knocking. "Rin? Everything ok?" came Michael's muffled voice. "Why is this door locked?"

"It's not him," I yelled, doing my best to communicate through the terror. "It's not Uncle Morgan!"

Luckily, Michael had been studying with Dad for years so he was able to read between the lines. A heavy bang rattled the door, like he had thrown himself against it. Then another.

"Oh dear," the demon droned. "Do you think he wants to come in?"

A third bang busted the lock and flung the door wide, sending my big brother spilling into the study.

Michael took one look at the red-eyed monster holding his little sister and sprang into action. Grabbing an iron bust of some dead scholar, he chucked it straight at the demon's head. It struck him in the temple, breaking his grip on me and eliciting a thunderous roar that shook the room. I rushed to my brother's side and he hauled me behind him as we sprinted down the hallway.

The music had stopped but Ace was still dancing spasmodically in the living room. "What? What?" she babbled when Michael hoisted her onto his hip.

"Upstairs," he ordered me. "There's a gun in Mom and Dad's room."

We pounded up the steps and into the large master bedroom, expecting the demon to overtake us at any second. Ace jabbered nonsense the whole way, asking why couldn't we keep listening to "Meat Woaf"?

Locking the bedroom door, Michael dropped to his knees by the huge fourposter bed and pulled out the shotgun I had also been warned never to touch.

"Do you know what it wants?" he asked, loading it with the special shells from the nightstand.

"Yeah, it tried to make a deal with me," I said, gathering Ace in my arms, shushing her.

Michael spun towards me and his eyes were so wide that a ring of white encircled the brown. "And did you?"

I flinched at his panicked expression. "Of course not. I'm not stupid."

"Good. Don't give it anything, ok?"

"Ok," I solemnly replied.

Then he pumped the shotgun and took aim at the door. I can still see him in that moment: brave, confident, eyes fierce and jaw set. He really did look like an Archangel come to Earth. "Get behind me. Mom and Dad will be home soon. We just have to hold him off till then."