Yinka’s not an angel. Yinka’s a demon
Yinka’s not an angel. Yinka’s a demon
The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the worn wooden floorboards. In the center of the room, Yinka sat, his smile unnervingly wide, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.
“You’re a good friend, Ade,” he said, his voice smooth as honey, laced with a chilling sweetness. “The best kind of friend, you understand?”
Ade, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, swallowed hard. “I, uh, I think so, Yinka,” he stammered, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as a dry leaf.
He hadn’t wanted to come, but Yinka’s insistence, his almost desperate pleading, had finally broken Ade’s resistance. Yinka had been acting strangely, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a brooding intensity. He’d spoken of a dark secret, a burden he couldn’t bear alone. And Ade, despite his growing unease, had felt compelled to help.
Now, sitting in Yinka’s dimly lit apartment, surrounded by an unsettling silence punctuated by the occasional creak of the old building, Ade felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Yinka’s words, his unsettlingly casual pronouncements about his “burden,” echoed in his mind.
“I’ve been struggling, Ade,” Yinka continued, his gaze fixed on something unseen, a shadow perhaps, lurking in the corner of the room. “I’ve been carrying this secret, this…darkness…for so long.”
He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly burning with a fiery intensity. “I need you to understand, Ade. I’m not what you think I am. I’m not an angel.”
Ade’s breath hitched. He looked into Yinka’s eyes, searching for a flicker of jest, a hint of playfulness, anything to dispel the growing sense of unease. But there was nothing. Only a cold, calculating darkness that sent shivers down his spine.
“I’m a demon,” Yinka whispered, his voice barely above a breath, but the air in the room seemed to crackle with a malevolent energy. “I’ve always been a demon.”
The candle sputtered, plunging the room into near darkness. In the sudden, oppressive gloom, Yinka’s smile became a horrifying grimace, his teeth gleaming in the faint light like daggers.
“And now,” he hissed, his voice a rasping whisper, “I need your help to release this darkness.”
Ade, his fear solidifying into a cold terror, scrambled back, but the room felt constricted, the walls closing in on him. He tried to scream, but the words caught in his throat, choked by the thick, suffocating dread.
Yinka, his form twisting and contorting in the darkness, reached out, his fingers elongated, his skin slick with something that felt uncannily like oil. The scent of sulfur filled the air, choking, acrid.
“You’re a good friend, Ade,” Yinka rasped, his voice distorted, inhuman. “And good friends help each other.”
The shadows in the room seemed to coalesce, forming a dark, swirling vortex that pulsed with a malevolent energy. It drew closer, closer, engulfing Ade in its chilling embrace.
The last thing Ade saw, before the darkness claimed him, was Yinka’s smile. A smile that spoke not of friendship, but of an ancient, terrifying hunger. A smile that promised only pain and oblivion.
