Demon Host

CHAPTER TWELVE- To part with death

Have you ever been chased by a bull? I haven't but with what i am feeling right now, i could imagine what it feels like, or maybe the feeling would be less nerve racking than this, either ways i am very sure it would feel much better than having a gun aimed directly on your head while knowing that just a little pull of your enemies finger could end your life right there and then, and there was no one to come save you.

My eyes were shinning wide open and my heart was beating frantically as a result a fear, a feeling that i have recently become quite accustomed to in a matter of a week.

He opened his mouth and spat some words in Italian. Venom laced in every word, words that i could not even piece together as he adjusted his index finger on the trigger.

"W-what are you d-doing?" I stuttered.

"You!" He repeated his previous word, squeezing tighter around the silver pistol "what do you want from me again?".

Again? Have we ever even met before? "I just want to talk, please do not do what you are about to do".

"You ruined me!"

"What?" He squeezed in the trigger slowly.

"Stop! wait, are really going to kill me?" I questioned taking a step back "right here, in front of your home? In the middle of the streets?" He looked calculative for a second. "I think you are mistaking me for someone else. But if you pull that trigger, people are going to hear the sound of a gun shot, and then you would be arrested and put in jail for the rest of your life" i pointed out, trying to act like i had the situation under control and not to look as frightened as i really was. "Don't do something you are going to end up regretting for the rest of your life."

For a second i thought that my speech had worked because the look on his face had changed from that venomous expression to a more calculative and considerate one, the spitfire in his eyes were not there anymore but the moment he looked into my eyes again all that softness had disappeared and the next thing i know, was the feeling of hard metal striked across my head, making me loose balance and consciousness too.

******

My head hurt and my stomach churned. I felt like a heavy bag of beans had been strapped to my skull and i'm not exactly sure what to call the feeling in my stomach. It was like constipation, like the feeling of having human waste for far longer than supposed in your tummy but that is just me shit talking.

And the smell...i'm not sure but i think it was fart. My fart? My nose cringed and i was forced to open my eyes. Urgh...that smell is awful.

I looked around me. The place was warm, there were little flower vases around every corner, the chairs looked old but newly polished, there was a small burning fire place by the right, a little too close to where i was sited. But still there was still that churning smell wafting through the air and making it a little bit difficult to breathe properly and i was starting to doubt if it was the smell of my gaseous human waste. Unconscious people do not fart right?

Okay, do not answer that.

"Z-it is gertod" a masculine voice said, directing my gaze to his tall figure "a herb that would help you keep it in."

I frowned. Looking closely at the man who had struck my head with the butt of his gun. He looked pale but heathy, his grey beard neatly shaven, his grey-blue eyes held a warmth that i had not seen before as i watched him walk over to a small slab by the other end of the small cabin that i would call the kitchen, while supporting his leg with his walking stick.

"Keep what in?" He stopped purring hot water into his mug at my question and turned to look at me "the devil inside you".

Just like i thought, he knew. And if he knew that there was this thing inside me then he definitely knows how to get it out. A small sigh of relief escaped my lips and i shut my eyes in contempt.