THEM

I am a writer, and I write what comes into my head whether it is fact or fiction. I write what I feel. I write what I see.

Seeing and sensing has been both a gift and a curse all my life. I observe what no living person should ever witness. I am numb to it now, but there was a time when seeing them unsettled me to my very core. Not anymore. Those days have passed. Now, seeing them acknowledging their presence has simply become a part of living. A part of my life.

They exist all around us, in countless forms, invading our waking hours and intertwining with our dreams. When I lived and worked in the service of others, my mission was to protect them from the evils of this world. Yet I learned that destroying the living does not rid the world of darkness it only feeds it. And with the darkness they come.

In my book A Psychic Spy: Recruited, I wrote of my heroine, Eileen Evans, and how, after each mission carried out in the service of her country, she would close her eyes and see the faces, the faces of those she had taken. But what I didn’t write is the truth behind her haunting. It wasn’t just the faces that tormented her, but what those lives became.

You see, in life, no one is perfect. And in death, that imperfection lingers, transforming into something else. The essence of evil is not confined to our plane; it exists on another. A plane that rarely intersects with ours, but when the conditions are just right, their reality overlaps with our own. It is then that they walk among us, infiltrating our dreams, lingering in the periphery, and brushing against our consciousness.

They, whatever they are manifest in forms that defy definition. Shapes with no illumination, no color, no substance. Their presence is felt, not seen. Humanity, in its need for classification, has given them a name. Man, seeking to label the inexplicable, has called them Demons.

Written by Irene Allen-Block.

Dark Demon, Ghost,