Chk. Chk. Chk. Slivers of wood fled the door in terror as an emaciated boy tore into their

father with a silver knife. Every strike grew fainter with each passing blow, as if the splintering

and charred barrier to the realm he sought to gain access to resisted him and sapped his strength

like the roots of a malignant tree. The child’s eyes could barely bare witness to the actions he

committed as the rhythmic tics of chipping rang out in sotto voce. His muscles begged him to

stop, imploring from the half conscious brain to send orders of cease fire or retreat but no, such

orders were no longer the boy’s to give, but the shadow. The shadow that danced by the

candlelight atop the stairs jeered and scoffed at his master’s misery, never allowing him to rest.

His goal was within reach, after all. The tangible sense of knowing everything he desired lay just

beyond the door, a world of fulfilling dreams that the boy so longed for. His muscles, in favor of

more practical goals, incited a coup and in a swift instant, overruled the shadow, allowing the

boy rest. The silver edge of yearning fell from the boy’s feeble and soot-ridden digits and the rest

of his frail form followed suit. His weakened eyes strained to peer once more at the shadow

dancing by candlelight and felt the disdain in its invisible eyes. But he knew they lurked amidst

that two-dimensional face, that flat intangible harbinger of sufferings yet to come, and the child

released a gasping, choked breath of momentary rest, acknowledging that his own desires

brought forth this unsightly demise.

The candle flickered, moved by the child’s sufferings. It also knew of its father’s sins

against the child and its remorseful glow illuminated the fading soul as it too danced like the

shadow. It hovered about the child’s body unsure of its intended destination. The child’s breath

grew weaker with every passing moment but his soul had decided to bind to its master, at least

until his body expired. The door, ever vigilant, stood over the now unconscious child,

questioning the boy’s motives and conviction. He knew what lay behind him, what the room held

for the boy, and for this, the door could only ponder about the child.

No dreams could be fulfilled by this boy, no wonder could be sought. For the child, loss

would replace his sun, and suffering would be his moon. Dreams cannot manifest in the world

for they remain behind a gate locked under the key of the mind. The door stood guard against the

child’s dreams, against the suffering he would endure. A guard does not betray the king. Sleep

well, my king.

. . . . . . .

Cast down to the earth, the man cried out in pain and pleaded for his life. The blood, like

tears of a weeping mother, drizzled from the newly formed wounds.

“I beg of thee, spare my aged form.”

A young child of matted coal hair and matching soot eyes observed the spectacle from

the across the road, unmoving and unwavering. The stone gray sky matched his unusual

pigmentation as it gazed down on the curious child.

“Please, I have committed no crime, why do you-” his head rolled to the ground, the look

of fleeting hope locked forever in his eyes. Cleaning his blade, the soldier tsked in

disappointment.

“Those worth less than the dirt beneath my feet bear no right to speak to me. You should

have remained hidden in the shadows where your kind belongs.”

Crossing the street, the boy peered down at the slain man. He offered no reaction beyond

the blinking of his eyes and the tilting of his head.

“And you boy, what say you in his defense? Or do you share his worth?”

Belphegor 2

The child gazed towards the soldier, squinting as the light from the noon sun glinted off

the man’s armor. “I just like to look. Mhmm.” The boy nodded, affirming his own beliefs.

He continued on down the road, whistling a single, unchanging note.

. . . . . . .

“Egor, what’s this I hear about you not finishing your chores while your mother and I

were at work? You weren’t wandering around town again, were you? You know that’s

dangerous.”

“I don’t see why I need to; this house will always be filthy, the roof will never be without

holes, the doors will always creak, and-.”

His father raised his eyebrow. “And that’s enough. How do you suppose anything will be

accomplished around here if you don’t contribute? We all have our duties, Egor. I will address

this later, however. In fact,” he paused, running his hand through Egor’s hair who frantically

tried to comb it back down. “Egor, ma boy, I have great news. I have been promoted!”

“Promotion?”

His father sat on his haunches and laughed to himself. “It means I get paid more, and you

know what that means?”

Egor shook his head.

“It means we get to eat every day!”

Egor’s eyes grew wide. “Every?” The word itself felt like he was eating a delicious

turkey cooked to a golden brown. Nothing in his life was “every.” He didn’t see his father every

day. He didn’t get to change his clothes every day. He didn’t get to bathe every day. And he

never got to eat every day.

His father stood up and hugged his wife, who had tiny rivers flowing from her eyes.

“Is this true, Clave?” she questioned in a near whisper.

Clave slammed his chest with his fist proudly. “I said it, didn’t I? Why would I lie to my

own family about things like this? Learn to trust your husband, Porta.”

Porta drew her hands to her face and formed a little teepee over her mouth. Clave picked

her up and spun her around as she screamed out for him to stop, laughing at the same time.

“Porta, let’s have a feast tonight!”

“A goose! But it’s not my birthday. Is this what the king eats like everyday?” Egor asked

with wonder as he mother adorned the table with the delectable bird.

“Of course not!” Clave answered, to which Porta shot daggers at him in response. Clave

held up his hand in protest”

‘Of course not, Egor,” he continued. “Not even all the king’s money could buy what we

have here, Egor.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why, a well deserved family meal, of course! Do you think the king does anything to

earn such a feast? Works hard for his family like your dear mother and I do? Of course not, he

rules this country. Every need he has is met. His life is but a dream, his castle, a wonderland.

Well let me tell you one thing, Egor. We have the best life anyone could ever want. We have

each other, a place to sleep, and food to eat. And tomorrow,” he paused to raise his cup,

“tomorrow we will have enough money for you to eat your first full course meal.”

Porta raised her cup and Egor did as well, although unsure of what this meant. His

parents loudly tapped each other’s cup and then his. Egor retracted his cup, wondering why his

Belphegor 3

parents were trying to break his only cup. They laughed and Clave ran his hand through Egor’s

hair, who combed it with his hands.

“Dad, dad, can you tell me a bedtime story?”

“Now Egor, it’s late and I have to wake up early…”

“Oh, right,” he hung his head, “I’m sorry. That was foolish of me.”

“...so only one story, ok?”

Egor’s face was almost taken over by his joyful expression.

“Hmm,” Clave looked about the room and spotted the window, the single bed in which

they slept, the tattered blanket of which even Egor had begun to grow out of, and the wooden

door. Its edges were those of dry knuckles and one of only two doors. Scratching his short beard,

Clave nodded his head as the tale laid itself out before him. “Once there was a child, a young boy

in fact, who live in a castle all alone.”

“Alone? This doesn’t seem like a very happy story, papa.”

“Shh, listen. He lived in his small castle all by his lonesome. He was once a prince

destined to rule a kingdom, but after his mama and papa died, since he was too young and the

kingdom already poor, someone else took up the throne. The boy neglected his duties as a

member of the royal family, feeling that it was all worthless to him. Eventually, everyone left the

boy, even the faithful companions of the family saw no reason to bring up a worthless boy in a

worthless castle. And so he was alone, No servants walked the halls, no dogs barked outside, and

no friends came to visit. And so the boy spent much of his time in his room, sleeping.

“He dreamed the day away. In those dreams, he lived out his time telling stories to the

servants, playing fetch with a dog, and racing his friends outside. But the boy grew lonely when

he awoke from his dreams, and hungry too. So one day, he left the castle and strolled down to the

village where he found people just like us; dirty, rugged, and they all looked even hungrier than

him. But the villagers, recognizing the child of castle, chased him off because in their eyes, he

was not like them. He was from another realm to them.”

“Was he a human, or an elf like us? I bet he was a human. I don’t like humans, either.”

“You don’t like humans? But you-,” he paused, then shook his head. “They were of the

same race, if you must know—both elves. The boy, without anyone to talk to or food to eat,

returned home. But his tummy growled fiercely and he worried that he could become very sick if

he didn’t eat, so do you know what he did?”

“What he do? What he do?”

“He ate his own dreams. Yup, gobbled up every last one.”

“No, father, you can’t eat dreams; they aren’t real. Just night stories.”

“Maybe so, Egor, but sometimes, people live their entire lives eating their dreams. The

boy was no different. But do you know what happens to those who eat their dreams?”

Egor shook his head.

“They lose all purpose. The boy ate his dreams, every single one. The servants who

listened to his tales. The dog who fetched the stick he threw. The friends he invented to race

against. And so the boy, still hungry, returned to the village and do you know what he did?”

Egor shook his head once more.

“He ate the dreams of all the villagers as well. And soon, they lost all their purpose to

work and slept their days away just like the boy once did. But such food could no longer fill him.

He needed more. And one day, a black door appeared and out stepped a withered old man. Now

the boy, who had some wits to him, was wary of the old timer. Questioning his intentions he-”

Belphegor 4

“Dad, what are ‘intentions?’”

“Something you hope for or a goal. Anyway, the old man offered the boy his dream to

eat, seeing how the child was still quite hungry and would in return tell him what he wanted. The

boy accepted but after tasting the old man’s dream, he grew sick. The dream of the old man was

a nightmare to the boy. The old man explained that he was a wizard who used the black door to

travel across the land eating dreams, but he had never found anyone else who could eat them like

him. So he offered the boy a deal. Come with him and never have to work a day in his life and

eat all the dreams he wanted, but that any dreams of his own would be eaten by the wizard.

Realizing he had nothing left in the village, the boy left his castle and joined the wizard. But the

years went by and the boy found his skin growing darker every day, so dark that it stained his

clothes until one day, he was completely black. On that day, the wizard smiled and explained not

to worry, all he had to do was hold a metal door handle in his hand. Scared, the boy did as he

was told and found himself turned into a door upon doing so! The wizard opened the door, and

walked through. Do you know why I told you this tale, my son?”

Egor shook his head for the third time.

“Never lose sight of your dreams, otherwise someone else will find them and feed off of

them. Those who don’t work hard eat other’s dreams, but those who strive every day like your

old man, make those dreams a reality. Do that, and you can achieve anything you want, even

your own world where everything is as you want it. But you must open your own doors and that

means being accountable for your responsibilities. Tomorrow, you will complete all of your

chores but for now. go to bed. It’s getting late.

Confident his son was asleep, Clave gently shook Porta awake.

“What is it?” She asked groggily.

“What was with that look at dinner?”

“Oh forget it, it’s too late for this.”

“No, this is important to me, our son needs to learn of his world around him. He can’t be

trapped in a dream for much longer. I was hoping if I saved up enough that we could send him to

school.”

Porta scoffed, “and when were you planning on telling me about this ‘secret’ noble blood

that courses through your veins to pay for all this? Has the past nine years of our life together in

this worn out house been an act of humility for you, my lord?”

“Hilarious, Porta. Hilarious. Is it too much to wish for my son to live a better life than

us?”

“It seems that you are the one trapped in a dream, my dear. You know he isn’t really our

son. Such a strange story you told him, by the way. How do you suppose we even get him into a

school? The only non-nobles to be educated are those who accelerate in mathematics or science

from a young age, but neither of us learned much of that, and certainly Egor doesn’t know much

at all. And he obviously isn’t an elf like us. Maybe if he was an Animad he could pass, but he’s a

Corpuson. I’m surprised he still thinks of himself as an elf. Regardless, don’t feed on your

dreams like that, nor fill his head them.”

“I work for my dreams, Porta. Starting tomorrow, I work for my dream pay as well

because this family is my dream. We tried for so long to make a child of our own, don’t you dare

disregard Egor as our son. As a Corpuson, he literally has no identity beyond a number. A

number. That damned society of humans disgusts me. No names, no identity, no dreams. Let us

find our own. Goodnight my love.

Belphegor 5

Clave awoke in a cold sweat. Visions of raging flames and a tall dark door corrupted his

dreams. He relived the thoughts in his head until the sound of the door handle shaking broke his

stupor. Laughing to himself, he thought back to the bedtime story, but the handle shaking

returned. He glanced over to his wife and son and after confirming their position, he quietly tried

to move out of the bed. His efforts, however, were in vain as Porta woke up and rubbed her eyes.

“W-what is it?” she asked groggily.

“Someone’s trying to break in,” Clave whispered. “Stay here with Egor,” Porta nodded.

Clave nimbly stood up, got on his hands and knees, and reached under the bed frantically.

He grasped the single sided axe he used for work and erected himself. He walked to the edge of

the doorway, counting every beat of his heart as if they were his last. He reached out slowly,

imagining all the terrible people that could be behind the door, protecting him and his family.

But he grasped his axe, knowing that was his job, and slowly opened the door.

Clave took the key hidden atop the doorframe and locked the bedroom with a cheap

copper contraption. Porta can take Egor out the window should the worst come to pass. He

darted to the other side of the room, still hidden by the shadows that darted about from an

unknown orange light that poked through the knotholes. He looked out of the small knotholes in

the wooden shutters that stood on either side of his front door. .