Clara sat anxiously in the sterile, brightly lit office of the child welfare department. Dr. Silas Thorne and Dr. Nina Foster sat across the wide desk, looking incredibly exhausted. Serena was asleep on a small couch in the corner, clutching a blanket.
"We have spoken to her for over an hour," Dr. Silas said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And we can assure you, Clara, that the 'monster' she keeps seeing is a manifestation of her trauma. Her brain simply cannot fully comprehend the horrific incident, so it has created an imaginary image to process her father's actions."
"How do you know that?" Clara asked defensively, crossing her arms. "Why are you pointing accusations at her father before the trial? Is this how you are trained?"
"Look," Dr. Nina intervened gently, leaning forward. "Our words cannot be used as legal evidence because we are just giving our psychological opinion. But we don't believe in the supernatural. Actually, a demon would make her story make perfect sense, but if that were true, we would advise you to take her to a pastor. According to our medical study, I believe it is severe psychological trauma. But... I admit, we could be wrong."
Clara frowned. "What now?"
"She seems so absolutely certain of what she saw," Silas sighed, looking at his notes. "She keeps saying 'Shadow' and 'Monster.' We will document exactly what she said for the child services record, and we will document our professional opinion."
"So, won't you cure her?" Clara asked, her heart breaking for the sleeping girl. "Can't you remove the trauma?"
"We can't just 'cure' her, Clara," Silas said grimly. "She says she sees the monster all the time. When we tried to do exposure therapy in the other room, she started screaming 'Monster, monster!' at an entirely empty corner of the office."
Silas leaned back, looking completely defeated. "Look, I will be brutally honest with you. I don't believe in the supernatural, but this acts like a supernatural problem. She is pointing at thin air and crying in genuine, heart-stopping terror."
"We can treat her symptoms for a time," Nina added quietly. "But she seems to know exactly what she is seeing. When is Charles's court date?"
"The preliminary hearing is happening tomorrow," Clara said, her voice filled with hope.
"The judge will probably postpone it, or even throw the case out," Silas assured her.
"Yes, there isn't enough physical evidence to actually convict him, right?" Clara asked.
"Right," Nina smiled reassuringly. "Your husband, Detective Jack, is trying his best working on the defense side. Charles will likely be a free man soon."
Clara looked over at the sleeping Serena and smiled, feeling a huge weight lift off her shoulders. She carefully picked the little girl up and carried her out to the car to take her back to a safe home.
The Devil's Bargain
Late that night, the honorable Judge Pendergast was sitting alone in his luxurious, dimly lit study, reading a thick, leather-bound law book.
Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted. A dark shadow seeped through the cracks of the locked oak door and solidified in the center of the Persian rug.
Pendergast dropped his book. He jumped out of his leather armchair and instantly pulled a loaded revolver from the pocket of his dressing gown.
Azathoth looked at the weapon and let out a dry, mocking laugh. "You carry a gun everywhere you go in your own house? How insecure are you?"
"I am a judge of the law, and it is for my protection!" Pendergast shouted, aiming the barrel directly at Azathoth's chest. "Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house?!"
"I came to talk," Azathoth said calmly.
"If you are here to steal, I am offering you exactly one chance to leave now!" Pendergast warned, his finger tightening on the trigger. "I will shoot you in self-defense! How the fuck did you even get in here?! I locked that door!"
"Listen, I am not here to kill you or do anything violent," Azathoth raised his hands lazily. "I just want to talk."
Pendergast was shaking, but he stood firm. "I am listening. Talk fast, or I will shoot."
"I killed a child's parents," Azathoth stated plainly. "I framed the father. And that father is being judged by you tomorrow morning."
Azathoth stepped closer. "I want you to sentence that man to death."
Pendergast stared at the shadow in disbelief. "How stupid are you? You just confessed to a murder right in front of a judge."
"Would you do it?" Azathoth asked.
"No! Why the fuck would I?!" Pendergast roared. "Get out, you murderer!"
BANG! You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Pendergast fired the revolver point-blank. The bullet struck Azathoth's chest, flattened against the dark cosmic aura, and harmlessly bounced onto the wooden floor with a soft clink.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Azathoth sighed, brushing his chest. "Please. No need to waste bullets here."
Pendergast began to back away slowly, the color draining from his face. "Who the fuck are you? Oh, fuck... you are not human. No human can do that."
"Look, please stop showing fear," Azathoth rolled his eyes. "Let's just talk normally."
"No, I can't! I won't!"
"Your child is in the hospital," Azathoth's voice suddenly dropped, becoming incredibly dark and serious. "She has stage four cancer. She will die by next week Tuesday."
Pendergast froze. The gun trembled in his hand. "What...?"
"I will heal your child, completely and permanently, if you sentence Charles to death," Azathoth offered. "I know how much you love her. I know how much you care for her. She is so young. Don't let her just throw her life away."
"No," Pendergast stammered, tears forming in his eyes as his morality warred with his grief. "I can't. I can't sentence an innocent man. I am a man of the law."
"The law has always been unjust, and you know it," Azathoth whispered smoothly. "And you will easily get away with it. This case leans completely on the supernatural. No one will be able to scientifically prove you wrong. People like Detective Jack will hate your decision, but no appeals court can reverse your judgment without solid evidence."
"I can't!" Pendergast yelled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Leave me alone!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Pendergast emptied the rest of the cylinder in a blind panic. All five bullets bounced off the floor. The judge turned around to run toward the hallway, but Azathoth instantly appeared directly in front of him, blocking the exit.
"Okay. I am going," Azathoth said, feigning disappointment. "But it is such a shame. You traded your own daughter for a stranger."
Azathoth leaned in, his voice dripping with venomous guilt. "And you claim you love her. Your own blood... sacrificed... for a stranger."
Azathoth turned his back and took a step toward the wall to vanish.
"Waittttt!" Pendergast screamed, dropping the empty gun.
Azathoth stopped. He smiled in the dark.
"How can I trust you?" Pendergast wept, falling to his knees. "Would you really heal her?"
"Of course," Azathoth promised.
"I will do it," the Judge sobbed, completely broken. "But promise me you will heal her first."
"Done."
"So... you are the Devil, right?" Pendergast looked up at the towering shadow.
Azathoth looked down at him. "A deal is a deal. I came in peace. No blood. No war. And I have already healed her as of this second. You have officially signed a deal with me."
Azathoth's red eyes glowed. "Now do your fucking job."
"You... you swear you saved my lovely daughter?"
He vanished, leaving the corrupt judge weeping on the floor.
The Kangaroo Court
Fast forward a few months. The Lagos High Court was packed to the brim.
Detective Jack sat firmly at the defense table next to Charles, acting as his legal advisor and fiercest advocate. Charles looked exhausted and pale from months in holding, but he managed a weak, hopeful smile at Jack.
Across the aisle, Prosecutor Julian stood with the late Pastor Callen's furious, grieving extended family.
Judge Pendergast sat high above them all at the bench, his face pale and unreadable. He slammed his gavel down. "Let the case begin now."
Prosecutor Julian stood up, adjusting his suit. He walked aggressively toward the center of the courtroom.
"Your Honor, members of the court," Julian began, his voice booming. "I will present my evidence today with absolutely no benefit of the doubt. This is a clear, brutal case of domestic madness."
Julian pointed an accusatory finger at Charles. "We heard the phone call from his traumatized seven-year-old daughter! The police SWAT team arrived in less than thirty minutes and found him in the locked room, completely covered in blood! While the defense tries to argue that the voice recording is 'anomalous,' we have absolute proof that he was the only living adult in that house!"
Julian paced in front of the judge. "This man was starving. He was desperate. He admitted to the police that he consulted a dark practitioner—a babaláwo—for a money ritual. And when the money didn't come, his mind snapped. He constructed a grotesque demonic idol, murdered his cheating wife, and slaughtered the innocent Pastor Callen who tried to stop him!"
Jack stood up violently. "Objection, Your Honor! That is pure speculation! There is absolutely no physical evidence linking my client to the actual mechanics of the murder!"
"Overruled," Judge Pendergast said flatly, not looking Jack in the eye. "Continue, prosecution."
"Thank you, Your Honor," Julian smirked. "The defense wants to talk about mechanics? The defense wants you to believe a 'demon' did this! I say, a desperate, abusive man fueled by rage and satanic delusion did this. The defense has no alternative suspects. Charles was found at the scene, with the bodies, with the blood on his hands. The state rests."
Jack stepped out from the defense table, his heart hammering with righteous fury.
"Your Honor," Jack said, his voice steady but fierce. "The prosecution is ignoring the laws of physics. My client is a malnourished mechanic. The victim was impaled on a stone horn twelve feet in the air! The crime scene investigators found no ladders. No pulleys. No ropes. It is biomechanically impossible for Charles to have committed this crime. Furthermore, the forensics lab searched the entire church compound and found no murder weapons! You cannot convict a man of a triple-weapon homicide when no weapons exist!"
Jack looked desperately at the Judge. "This case is full of reasonable doubt. The evidence does not fit the man!"
The courtroom fell dead silent. Everyone looked up at Judge Pendergast.
Pendergast stared at his desk. He thought of his daughter, now completely cancer-free, playing happily in her bedroom at home. He swallowed the massive lump of guilt in his throat.
"The court has heard enough," Pendergast announced, his voice echoing coldly through the room. "The defense's reliance on physics does not negate the overwhelming circumstantial evidence, the audio recording, and the defendant's presence at the active crime scene."
Jack's jaw dropped. "Your Honor, you cannot be serious!"
Pendergast banged his gavel. "Order in the court! The evidence is sufficient."
The Judge looked down at Charles, who was trembling, his eyes wide with absolute horror.
"Charles," Judge Pendergast read from his prepared document, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are hereby found guilty of the charges of satanic triple homicide and severe child abuse. It is the ruling of this court that you be sentenced to death by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul."
The courtroom erupted into chaos. Callen's family cheered and wept.
Jack stood frozen, his world spinning. "No... no, this is impossible. This is a setup!"
Two heavy-set bailiffs grabbed Charles by the arms, dragging him out from behind the defense table. Charles didn't fight back. The fight had completely left him. His faith, his hope, and his life were over.
As the bailiffs dragged him past Jack, Charles stopped for one brief second. He looked Jack directly in the eyes.
"Protect my child," Charles whispered, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "And tell her... I love her."
Then, Charles was pulled through the heavy wooden doors, gone forever.