(I’ve been recycling some illustrations lately. This time I’ve done it the other way around: A new illustration to an old story. The story has been edited and you can see the original version here.)
There was a circle of mushrooms underneath some trees in the forest. Smoke could be seen between them, from the ground. It grew. Flames emerged as a hole opened.
A hand came up between the flames, grabbing the edge. Another. Two horns, an evil face. A foot.
The little demon pulled himself out of the hole, got on his feet. Stretched his back, and looked up on the starless sky. The night was coming to an end. Soon ridiculously disgusting human beings would start doing their insignificant things, thinking they mattered.
He walked through the house, memories were flowing. Children playing. Him, his sister, happier than anywhere else. Laughing and playing when the house was still full of life.
He walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside. The old tree stood there in all it splendour, looking fresh and alive. It had been dead for years, now he could here the wind whisper in its leaves. A shadow stood underneath it, a silhouette of a figure, a person…
The two children stood paralysed, staring at the hole in the wall. The dark smell of rot filling the room was unbearable. Between the bones a scull stared up at them, as if it was judging them for breaking the rules. Another stared into the darkness behind, into nothingness.
The front door opened downstairs.
Children! I’m home!
Carrie and James looked at each other. At the door. At the hole in the wall…. (more)
Joe’s head hurt more than usual. What happened last night? Where had he been, what had he done? He was hoping he’d never find out. No news were good news.
He turned his head. A woman was lying beside him. Pretty. Too pretty. Definitely a whore, there’s no way she’d be here for free. He looked around. He seemed to be in some cheap motel somewhere. At least he hadn’t brought her home.
I’m too old for this shit, he thought to himself.
His bladder was about to explode, so he pulled himself together and got out of bed. It hurt. Every muscle, every bone. His mind. His mind hurt like hell, and the room was spinning.
He went out into the bathroom, and sat down on the loo. He sat there for a while. Images flashing by, memories of yesterday. Girls laughing. Him dancing on the table.
Too old, he thought. Too fucking old.
He pulled a sheet from the paper roll, started folding it. A sound. He looked down between his legs.