The Idiot Box

The fools would stare on slack-jawed, gaping at the feeble excuse for entertainment whilst I slip into the back of their minds, stretching out and making myself comfortable in my new home, reaching out at the strings of their thoughts and working them like a puppeteer.

Long before the invention of the television, back when people had to think to be entertained, I struggled to get in, to spread my seed and infest. I remember the day that I sat with D’kor’zak and told him “I’m going to do it, I’m going to be the number one Demon infesting the hearts and minds of men” like I’d ranted for aeons “and this TV is going to be my way in”

He stared at me queerly as I insisted “I’m not crazy. I used to be, but I’m not anymore”

“It’s only a box of pictures. What good could it do you?” he’d say.

Well, the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth proved it’s real use. 27 million people all gathered around their newly bought televisions, minds so full of wonder and excitement and, with a little bit of effort, full of me.

The rush was intense. I almost lost control of it all and slipped into the void. So many minds, so many thoughts, so much power!

When all had calmed down, when the children were off to bed and the adults sat with a beer, the thoughts of the day still stirring in their head, I found myself in each and every one of them. With a little effort on my part children’s dreams turned dark and men brawled in the streets.

I claimed my first soul that night, driving a man to slay another outside a pub. I pushed him to smash his face repeatedly into a wall until it was an unrecognisable pulp and the wall was smeared with blood and flesh and embedded with teeth.

That was then.

Now the TV was everywhere. Every home, bar and hotel had one glaring in the corner. You carry them like fools in your pockets, hoping to catch glimpse in the quiet moments of your life. And I went with it, sharing billions of minds, surfing the airwaves and signals, drinking in the power my infestation gave me.

If you had ever gazed at a screen and lost yourself in a film or show or news report, if you had ever lost your thoughts in a shining screen, I had found my way in and I would, eventually, find time to twist you.

It was now my favourite game. I’d roll my metaphorical dice and find a mind to ride. To go deep down to the dark seed within and nurture it to darker deeds and darker intent, to push it and poke it, to make it wrong.

A rape here, a murder there, war, famine, genocide and countless more were mine to make. I loved the feel of it, the sweet sensations I could feel in both perpetrator and victim would leave me shuddering.

So, restless one night, I set out to ride the mind of a personal project, Mike. He was once an unassuming, kind man but I had changed him, given him a thirst for suffering. I had worked him slowly, like a conductor directing an orchestra with his baton, controlling him to an eventual crescendo.

Tonight, my unseen hand helped him stalk the dark side streets for a victim who he now had chained up in an abandoned warehouse, far from prying eyes.

It was the little touches he offered that pleased me. Our victim for the night was naked, stretched into a crucifixion position, a chain reaching out from each arm to walls on either side. His brow was bloodied from the blow that knocked him out and his eyes were still a little foggy as he came to.

The moment was near.

“W..w..what is happening” he stammered, panicking at the site of the knives and implements on the table before him.

“I’d tell you not to panic” Mike said coolly “but that really would ruin my night. You’re here, I’m afraid to tell you, to die” he continued, tracing a scalpel down a thigh and watching with interest as the blood ran.

Any screams were quickly staunched by a jab to the throat leaving him gasping, panic and realisation of his impending doom racing through his eyes. I whispered softly in his mind, calling him to me in the fires below, causing him to look around for his new tormentor.

He soon stopped searching as a kebab skewer was forced through his testicles, bringing him twitching and whimpering back to the moment.
“You should embrace this” Mike and I said “you’re not long left for the world so savour the final moments” his eyes glared a demonic red as my control increased.
His nipples came off surprisingly easily with the application of a knife. He thrashed and moaned in feeble efforts to escape as I aided Mike in his torture and mutilation, blood and viscera joined them on the floor, swiftly being added to as intestines were removed with a slash.

Mike stood back and admired his work, watching the final essence flow out of his unknown victim to join me.

Mike never knew why he’d separate the limbs and head, cutting it all to smaller pieces after carving intricate runes and glyphs upon them. He never knew the meaning of any of it but I knew that the gobbledegook I’d have him carve would frustrate forensic scientists and cryptologists for decades. Once they’d managed to put the pieces of the shattered corpse back together again, that was.

I would release Mike to wander off home and I’d wait and watch the Police come and horror at the scene.

I’d never let them catch Mike, not yet. I’m having too much fun, so I’d tweak a mind here and thought there to damage or destroy evidence.

I’m in control you see. You’re all my puppets.