A couple of months after my encounter with the fallen angel I was still shaky and suffering from nervous fits. I talked to friends about it but seeing as they laughed it off, and tended to not believe me, I started to feel reluctant about sharing. Still, I needed to get the experience off my chest. One evening I was at a party in the industrial areas of the vast island Hisingen just north of Gothenburg across the water of Gota Alv.
I had only had a few beers and no drugs whatsoever that night. I remember watching a satanic rock band on the stage, thinking they were a sham probably oblivious to the really dark aspects of our existence, of which I had just recently become so acutely aware. During the gig I lost contact with the people I came with. Johannes, beeing such a bore, had probably split already and Sofia and Karl had probably snuck off somewhere to fuck.
After the gig I went outside the building and sat down, leaning against the wall next to two guys. There were some other people hanging around outside as well, smoking, drinking and shouting. After a while one of the two guys next to me stood up and went back inside. As I turned to the other, asking him for a smoke, I noticed that his eyes were pitch black, I mean like two empty holes. It was not just a case of dilated pupils. There was actually no iris and no sclera, it was all just nothingness!1 My heart froze and I felt a strong fear in my stomach as I took the offered cigarette and lit it. Trying to compose myself and not shit my pants from out of fear I inhaled and sat still, trying to act casually. He took out a blade, well over twenty centimeters, and started to pick his fingernails with it. He then spoke in a low voice.
"I killed a man today." he said.
I said nothing for a while, keeping track of the people around us, hoping they wouldn't leave. Normally I would have thought such a statement odd, being the result of some foolish need to boast and impress. But I felt instantly he was telling the truth. I finally managed to speak.
"Why?" I asked him.
He took a deep drag on his cigarette.
"For the fun of it." he said and grinned. Although he looked young, in his late teens or early twenties like myself, he lacked several teeth and there was something really ancient, almost archaic, about him.
"So, what's your name?" I asked, almost immediately regretting this, since he had just confessed to a murder. I was just trying to make small talk, trying to give him the impression that I was relaxed.
He looked at me with those creepy eyes.
"Are you a demon?" I asked, my voice barely holding.
He then confirmed this and showed me his tattoos, one of which depicted his demonic name, and several others with ghastly images of hell. This is when I first came to learn about some rules about demons and interactions with demons, like the fact that simply asking demons flat out if they are demons sometimes is actually a good strategy. Many demons appreciate you recognizing them, especially the stronger ones, the ones that have nothing to fear from you. Some of them also like to boast, and tell you about their exploits. They are actually often quite vain and they feed of respect. But as I have since come to know, the opposite is many times also true. Many a demon will deny they are demons and become upset or angry with you at having exposed them. This demon definitely belonged in the first category however.
I then told him about the experience I had with the woman at the bus-stop, the demon with the black wings folded in under her clothes. He gave me a curious look and then told me that I had been lucky to escape with my life.
"I'm not going to kill you, coz I'm not hungry right now." he said. "You want to know about evil, do you?"
Our conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a girl who sat down with us. She seemed to know the demon and kept calling him Henrik. I could tell that she was not a demon herself but just an ordinary human.
The demon next to me explained to her that I had recognized him as being a demon, and that I was ok. She nodded and told me that I was very perceptive, but that I was to tell no one.
"Yes, it's best if you don't. The consequences are grave." the demon added.
We didn't talk much after that. They left and I took off home. The next morning I was ill with a sickness3. It took me a full week to recover and after that some of my friends forced me to go to the psychiatric ward at Sahlgrenska sjukhuset, the hospital. I met there with a doctor, I can't recall her name. This was before I met with dr Christian Ek, who later came to confirm the truth about my sightings. This female doctor however told me that I was delusional. I was admitted for two months, and learned the hard way not to talk openly about the presence of demons.
1 At this time colored contact-lenses of this kind were not yet commercially available in Sweden, and although the thought did not occur to me then I have since been made aware of this possibility by several others.
2 As I have later come to know, this demonic name is derived from the author H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) and by some considered to be purely fictional. But I do consider Lovecraft to have had insights, and possibly having met that demon that I encountered on that night. He Who Can Not be Named is also a stage-name for a member of the punkrock-band The Dwarves. I have on several occasions written them for an explanation but got no reply.
3 It is not unusual that a meeting with a demon results in physical illness, as well as mental, as you will come to learn from my case studies.
