They took me into the room and ordered me to sit down. The handcuffs tore my wrists, and the doctor’s forehead glowed with sweat. He asked me about my health.
– Bad, doc, bad. I dream of everything these days: pink elephants, old women with machine guns, the Taj Mahal on fire, dead and living relatives – they follow me in a full bus and banging my mind! Yesterday, I dreamed of Omar Sharif wielding an ax and Raquel Welch in a negligee! And then Slobodan Milošević – he was driving a scooter around my building! Then suddenly he sits on the edge of my bed and whispers something to me. He was dressed in that pre-war children’s navy suit…
– Listen, boy, I’m a court expert, I’m here to assess whether state will reintroduce the death penalty because of You, or whether You will still be in a madhouse for the rest of your life. Let’s talk about that laptop and Azazel again?
-I found the laptop next to those containers with graffiti – “The Salvation Army”. I took it, at least for spare parts, and these rich people throw away everything. And the laptop was not to be thrown away, I easily fixed it!
Azazel is a demon trapped in hardware during a mathematical calculation with the aim of determining the coordinates of hell by taking into account certain variables …
– And You … set him free?
-Let’s say. Azazel and laptop are actually one. A chat window popped up on the monitor and that’s how we started communicating. He became my master…
– You met the victims through various social networks… What would you usually talk to them about?
-Literature, music, film, life… you know. Although I was just a messenger.
– Well, Azazel spoke through me…
-Remember the first girl, boy. You raped her and killed her, and cut her body and hid it in the basement, just like the others. But you didn’t film her. Why?
– Azazel still hasn’t asked me to. He later wanted a new battery and a webcam. He became hungry. He demanded to watch.
– Explain to me what this is? Look at the photo. There are carvings on this laptop – a strange alphabet engraved with a sharp blade… and straw, feathers, a hen’s foot and a human toe adhere to duct tape…is this a pentagram drawn with wax?
-Nothing unusual, a standard magic ritual according to Azazel’s instructions…
The doctor looked at me sadly. I didn’t want that idiot to feel sorry for me. I started screaming, got an injection, and before the sedative knocked me down, I told him everything about the world he lives in, about hell on earth, about Horror.
It’s dark now. I feel that my hands are tied. I sit and look around. I’m looking for Azazel, wherever he’s been. I am waiting for a sign. He will appear. I know he will. I listen as silence creeps into my bones. Creepy, imperishable silence.
Marko Antić was born on October 11th 1980 in Paraćin, Serbia. He is an underground poet and writer. His work is published in the fanzine “Green Horse” and Serbian and regional poetry and short stories anthologies. Formal education: Bachelor of Laws