Between sets, he stood, head bowed slightly, sucking the end of his cigarette almost seductively, arrogant and nonchalant. His black clothing hung loosely, the dyed black hair dirty, uncombed. He seemed unmoved by the attention of the young flesh, nodding intermittently, expressionless in his frigidity. Or so he wanted to appear.

I'm what you'd call a watcher. I've made it my life's hobby to observe the human race, and am particularly fond of seeing under the façade most people use to shield themselves from the rest. I had learned of this guy from conversations overheard, and knew I had to see. Now that I had, I knew I had to get underneath that shell, to reveal the ugly blood and guts which made him tick. I observed him for the remainder of the evening, peeking over my wine glass, and shifting my gaze whenever his touch on mine. Which happened frequently. I went home somehow feeling flustered, and intrigued, wondering why his brief look had such a profound affect. I decided I wouldn't give up my quest.

I began to follow him for the next several weeks. Everywhere he went. Even to his gigs at the worst dives in town. It became an obsession like no other. I barely ate, slept or bathed, just as he, and found myself seeing the underworld of the rejected in society; or as they put it, those who have rejected society. I needed to be closer.

I found my opening one morning in the early hours of dawn, mist covering the blackened streets, and matching the tears of the girl who'd just left his dwelling. I'd call it an apartment, or home, but it really wasn't either. Just a collection of walls with no windows, black on the outside, and I guessed inside as well. Stifling. I had cursed the first time I'd seen it, anticipating to play Peeping Tom, but finding it impossible. I had to be content with listening the sounds which emanated from within; cries of pain and ecstasy. I found myself becoming aroused on more than one occasion, listening to the pleasure that was his every night. Many times, more than one girl or boy would venture forth into his lair, for an orgy of S&M, I guessed. If I had only known the real events, maybe I could have saved others and myself.

The girl, walking gingerly as if in deep pain, tears streaming down her face, stumbled onto the street, coming within of inch of where I was crouched. She didn't even notice me. Her words uttered quietly, broken by her sobs, became imbedded in my mind.

"God, save those who may pass along his path, for I am willfully lost in his dark promises. God, save those who may pass…"

Her words faded as she walked on, but I knew she was repeating the prayer as she went. I stayed in the familiar position for a few moments longer, then leapt up and raced to my car several blocks away, intent on following her and becoming her "friend". She would be my way to the inside. She was easy to find, as she was on foot, and walking rather slowly. I circled many times out of necessity, yet she never even looked up from her own feet. In the darkness I could vaguely see her moving lips.

She ended up at an old, condemned home, which was now apparently occupied by several of the "lost". Some lounged on the porch, passing a joint. She walked past them and inside, never changing her gait or acknowledging their presence. I cruised past, windows down, and the wind brought the aroma of marijuana through to my car. I glanced toward them briefly then away, and drove home, plan now firmly embedded in my mind. I would simply approach the house, proclaim homelessness, and tell the tale that I had heard of them at the club from a frail, homely girl who said she lived in that very house.

The next week was a whirlwind. I played the game of a lost soul, angry about societal norms and the bureaucratic systems which plotted to squelch creativity. I just needed a place among kindred spirits, somewhere to relax and paint without schedules or routines. They welcomed me with open arms, and I was soon lost in the game of being "different" from the rest of the world.

I met Raven that first day, and found her to be the same quiet little girl I thought her to be, introverted and even shy. She and I hit it off immediately. She carried a notebook into which she wrote at odd times, thoughts and poems which would occur to her at random moments. She was rather unlike the others, those who appeared intelligent and brave, were in fact, ignorant and scared young adults with no ambition. I soon learned Raven was very well educated, and in a late night confessional, told me she held a degree in literature. To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

It took about a week of parties, and rambling about town before I encountered Him, during which time she never uttered his name, only spoke of the one who had changed her forever. She was devoted heart and soul to his cause, whatever that could be, for she never spoke in specifics, only generalities of his plan to reign over all.

We were in the same club in which I had first seen him. There he was, in the corner, sullen and aloof. Raven grabbed my hand, excited and awestruck by his presence. I followed, reluctant to meet him now, afraid to be turned into a groupie like Raven.

He looked up from his game with a pack of cigarettes when we joined the throng of girls who hung around, some embracing and kissing , and his eyes held mine in a long look, never once glancing in Raven's direction, pretending ignorance to her devotion. His brown eyes, initially cold and empty, warmed, his nostrils flaring as he spoke.

"Good evening," his tones reminded me of Bela Lugosi, and I giggled despite myself, provoking an expression of surprise on his lean face. "You find me funny?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's just that you reminded me of an old movie." My trepidation at meeting him face to face was lost in the utter normalcy of the moment. Up close, he was no longer the enigma I had initially encountered weeks ago. The time I had spent following him had familiarized me with his movements, facial expressions. I found myself completely at ease, as though I'd known him for quite some time.

He nudged one of the girls next to him out of her chair, and grasped my hand with his, placing me in the seat. He turned, blocking out the others, and to my surprise, grasped my blonde hair with a gentle hand. "So different from the rest. You've been in here before. Several weeks ago." A statement I felt needed no response. "Come with me. I wish to show you my collection of art. You're a painter, aren't you?" At this, he glanced at Raven, finally, and I knew she had told him of me, possibly during one their sex sessions.

"Yes. I guess I can go." I paused, suddenly wanting the security of another person, "Raven…"

"NO. You come alone." He cut me off, his tone darker now, even commanding. My raised eyebrows must have shown him he was about go without me, for he lowered his face to mine, "I'm sorry. She bores me beyond belief, and I simply wish to be alone with you." Pause. "I don't think she understands art, anyway," proving they'd never gotten deep into any type of intellectual discussions.

With this, he clasped my hand in his, and pulled me toward the exit, the throng of girls left behind, pouting. Some turned toward one another, and began dancing sensuously. They were easily diverted, I guess.

My impression that the inside of his living quarters would be as dark as the out had been correct. The obscurity was only lightened with displays of erotic and demonic art, some a combination of the two. I was standing, enthralled by one particularly gruesome picture, when I felt his hot breath on my neck, lips slightly brushing my ear.

"Why have you been following me?" he whispered harshly, the moistness of his mouth and the startling question creating a chill over my entire body. He bit my earlobe, and I twisted, frightened by his knowledge of my infiltration, and by my own bodily response to his presence.

I only made it a few steps before his hand brutally grabbed my hair, jerking me around with one quick flick of his wrist. I screamed, hitting with my fists against a chest which felt as solid as a brick wall. He chuckled, bringing me closer, and I stopped my battle as soon as my eyes met his. They had changed to a fiery red, flaming with a look I knew to be desire.

"Do you not like what you see?" His voice was deeper, more sinister than any human could possibly accomplish. "Why are you here! I know you are not like the others, lost and broken, seeking thrills and the unknown. Why are you following me?"

I couldn't speak the reality that he was a demon rendering me petrified. I clenched my eyes tight and began a reciting the Lord’s prayer, my tears streaming like lava down my cheeks. The fire intensified with the stroke of his tongue lapping up my sorrow. I cried harder as I felt the response between my thighs; the moistness his power created.

I allowed him to lie me down onto the bed covered in black silk; allowed him to remove my clothing. He was ever so gentle, so unlike the overheard sessions with the others. I opened my eyes when I felt him leave me, glimpsing several items of torture on a table near the bed. A sword hung above, antique, I guessed.

He had gone to a curtain and pulled it back to reveal Raven. She was naked and standing solemnly, head bowed in servitude. He backed toward the bed, pulling her as he went, and then turned, revealing his true demonic face. Hideous, twisted. The same fiery eyes leering at me. I looked away from the gaze so hypnotic, pretending embarrassment. I had to run. I had to escape from this madness. I would not succumb to the darkness which had enveloped all of the others.

"I need your strength for my harem. To be the leader of these insolent, undisciplined weaklings." With this he slapped Raven half-heartedly, and shoved her down onto the mattress. "I know you can do it, Sara. You are strong, willful, unlike the others, yet I need the others to continue my existence on this Earth." He shed the remainder of this clothing, showing me his complete incubus form. His member stood erect, huge and frightening.

I grabbed Raven's hand, pulling her upright, shaking her out of her hypnosis. "Raven! Get up! Don't let him do this to you!" I screeched, jumped onto the floor opposite the demon, reaching behind me in a desperate search for the sword. He laughed wickedly, and flung Raven aside with inhuman force, walking across the bed.

The sword fell to the floor, and he again grabbed me by the hair, jerking me off my feet and bringing me to the level of his horrid eyes. I shut mine, not allowing him the chance to evoke me into hypnosis, and I kicked him in the groin, his penis hot against my bare foot. He threw me against he opposite wall, and I lay there, breathless, knowing several ribs to be broken. I struggled to sit upright, blind with pain and terror. I heard his ragged breathing coming closer and closer…at that moment I realized a metal object was at my hand, behind my back. I felt the length, determining it to be a long knife.

I labored to clear my sight, and witnessed him coming nearer. I looked at his clawed feet, waiting…waiting. I guess he thought I'd given in, for he knelt and brushed my face softly with a razor fingertip. His breath on my face reminded me of my arousal earlier, and the knowledge that I'd almost allowed him to overtake me.

With a primal scream, I brought the knife upward with the power of vehemence, plunging it deep in his chest. He howled and fell backwards and I followed, laying upon him like an impassioned lover. I extracted and plunged the knife repeatedly with a supernatural force; the force of righteousness. Minutes later he lay still, presumably dead. I stood, soaked in his fetid blood looking for Raven. She sat in a far corner, sobbing silently.

Burn his flesh.. The voice inside my mind had never failed me, so I grabbed some clothing and Raven's hand, pulling her outside into the misty air. She offered no protest. I re-entered the ominous dwelling, and found the can of lighter fluid on the nightstand. I doused his remains and the surrounding furniture in the foul liquid, then backed from the room and threw the lit match…