Lazarus Grey...The Righteous Hand.

Chapter 1

A swift chill swept through from the west wing to swathe like Arctic fingers round my entire body, it was then I noticed the walls begin to warp and bend; demonic emaciated fingers ooze through the pliable façade. The beastly form of the devil's messenger slipped from the wall like grease from glass and stood before me.

"Your time is near, Grey!" it rasped in hollow tones that sent the heat of hell's breath rushing into my face.

The acrid stench of sulphur emitted with its every word, assaulting my nostrils with the taste of eon's old lost souls. The skinless beast, dripping putrid flesh that was once an earthbound man, but is now one of the demon horde, stands before me. Its intention; to end my life, to drag my soul down into the darkened depths of damnation and there to be feasted upon by Satan's minions for all eternity. But not today.

A twist of my right wrist and a spray of holy water jets into the beast's unholy face. With screams that would please Satan himself the messenger melted. Its decaying shell slithered to the floor with writhing pain to pool at my feet. Finally to make damn sure, I empty a canister of salt over its remnants; toss the empty canister into the blackened remains and walk away. "Yeah, but not today!"

The name's Lazarus Grey and they call me The Righteous Hand.

For the past fifteen years of my fifty I've been an entity seeker. My weapons are not guns and knives, but salt and holy water, and one other...the righteous hand, right hand in fact; bloodless and as cold as a penguin's ass. A power bestowed upon me by those above, to turn evil into ash with a single touch to its demonic soul. My purpose in life, to vanquish those that serve the dark, destroyer of the demon breed. This righteous hand, bestowed by the Quorum of Saints holds no harm to the mortal, but when touching an entity, in any guise, will burn.

The deed was done, now onto the next hunt.

My cell rang, it was Father Ryan, my..."guide" to demonic occurrences, just how he got his info I didn't know, nor did I care, but his info was always on the button. Turns out my next "execution" would be some mind-sifting abomination that sucks memory from its victims. Would you believe the place it had chosen to terrorise is a backwoods town down south called Devils Bowl.

I drove into Devils Bowl at approximately five in the evening; as soon as I saw the place I knew that something wasn't right, a Psyclesh Demon is normally a city dweller, hunts in densely populated cities where minds are more abundant. Here in an outback hick town it wouldn't last long, something just didn't smell right, something was wrong. I would need a safe house, somewhere I could retreat and be safe; this then would be my first task.

Three days passed, and I finally found the lair of the Psyclesh, it secreted itself in an abandoned graveyard just outside Devils Bowl, no one used it since the new church had been built some thirty years previous. An ideal home where the Psyclesh could easily mingle with the shadows during daytime, protected from the killing rays of the sun. But tonight that deviant of damnation would end its reign, and be sent back to the pit of eternal corruption.

I arrived at the graveyard shortly before dusk, that way when this ghoul showed its repugnant face I'd exorcise it in true righteous fashion, quick and easy. I placed myself in a corner from where I could watch the yard, the slightest movement and I'd move. I struck up a half chewed Cuban, drew deeply and exhaled a cloud of blue-tinged smoke.

I kicked back for a couple of hours, not moving, silently watching, need a lot of patience in my game; place is as quiet as the grave, if you'll excuse the pun. Then I heard it, a scraping sound. In this business you train your senses to pick up on the slightest of things. Hearing, sight, smells these are what give you the early warning and keep you one step ahead of the game.

I fine tuned my hearing and zeroed in on the sound; the scraping is the grate of a tomb lid being opened, somewhere off to my left. Grinding the cigar stub into a tomb wall, I get to my feet. Years of hunting has made my movements stealthy, I could easily send this demon back to the pit within seconds, if it had been any other than a Psyclesh. To destroy the Psyclesh it has to be feeding on the memories of its victim, so I would need to tail his slithering ass until it feeds.

There it is, slithering like a slime infested snake, its oily black demonic form being fluid, a thick shadow that clings to the earth, snaking its way to whoever steps in its path. Speed is on my side, the Psyclesh when in need of replenishing is slower. I keep a fair distance back; the demon slithers from its crypt, snakes across the earth and out the broken iron gates of the cemetery.