Demons are not what people think they are.
There are seldom horns or spiked tails, no cloven hooves or red skin.
They come in all shapes and sizes, and aren’t anything like Hollywood portrays them. Hollywood casting agents erroneously casts demons as some sort of an evil specter or dark spirit lurking in the shadows seeking retribution or revenge. They connect them to Satan or some other demonic leader as if they were the antithesis to angels.
But Hollywood seldom gets the supernatural world correct. There’s usually a set of fangs and claws involved, and often a trench coat or dark glasses. Of late, Hollywood demons are Japanese girls with wet, stringy hair who hide in the dark to creep us out with their open mouths and scary sounds. They are cast as men wearing masks or revenants who need to feed in order to survive.Outside of the Hollywood caricature of the evil spawns, demons can be either spiritual or corporeal. They can be violent or just plain annoying. They may be after a certain individual or anyone who walks into their path. They are young and old, adept and clumsy, smart and stupid. They can be many things and take on different forms. The one thing Hollywood got right is that all demons have one thing in common:
They are evil.
Evil personified means evil walking and talking as a human being. Hitler, Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Jim Jones held the kind of evil in their hands that only a true demon possesses. People who shoot at school children or hold young girls hostage for ten years are the worst kinds of demons in disguise walking among us.
And they are everywhere.
I’m a demon hunter.
Part of my therapy for my relatively new job involves journaling about my experiences, though I’m pretty certain my therapist believes I’m a nut job. We are conditioned in this Christian society to believe in angels but not their counterparts. It’s okay if we believe in miracles but not magic. It’s fine to get your past lives read as long as you don’t walk around telling everyone around about it. Some guy walking on water or a chick chatting with a snake is acceptable, but anything else is blasphemy?
I’ve seen them. I’ve hunted them. I know what they look like and where they hang out.
My therapist probably believes I have delusions of grandeur at the very least, and have broken with reality at the most.
Who knows? Maybe I have. I mean, given my life lately, it’s entirely possible.
I used to be a normal––wait, make that a semi-normal––college student. Semi-normal because I was raised by two oddballs whose last name was Silver. My parents loved to laugh and were always doing the word jumbles together in the morning. They loved words. They loved pubs. They were goofy and silly together and one night after a party of some sort, they decided their children would be so much more interesting if they had interesting names. So, they named my older sister Sterling, my younger sister Pure, and my brother Quick.
My name is Golden. Golden Silver. Get it? Oh, I’m sure they had lots of laughs over that one. Parents who give their kids crazy names set them up for all sorts of battles, and we’ve all had our fair share of those. I mean really. Quick? The girls in high school used to have a field day with that one. Poor guy.
I go by Denny for obvious reasons, though my mother and older sister prefer Golden. They believe calling me that would somehow bring a light into my world, but they were wrong. So very wrong. Denny Silver is my name and I’m a demon hunter. This is my story.
Linda Kay Silva
Linda Kay Silva