1990 #2 He Who Can Not Be Named

   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.

"They call me He Who Can Not Be Named²." he said. "But I have other names."

"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.

1989 #1

   The very first demon that I ever identified as such¹ was back in 1989. I was soaking wet from the rain, having walked five blocks to get to a bus stop. It had been raining all day and the street was turning into a lake. No buses in sight.

    Inside the small shelter of the bus stop sat a woman of semitic heritage. This was a rather uncommon sight in Gothenburg at the time, since immigration in these days mostly had come from out of the Balkans, Chile or nearby Finland. Turks were sometimes seen, and I first took her for being one of them.

    As I asked her for the time she answered me in a peculiar non-human voice and tried to hide her face with her scarf. That was when I noticed that something was up about her. Everyone I had met that day had been soaking wet but she was all dry. How had she been able to enter this bus-stop without getting wet? She had no umbrella with her. Then I saw what I at first believed to be a gross outgrowth on her back. At first I just thought she was a hunchback, but then I could see her big black wings folded and tucked away, not completely hidden by her cloth.

    At this time I was not yet on the look-out for demons, I was not well-read in the literature, and I did not carry a camera. I believe I stared at her for several minutes before finally the spell broke. Her wings were no longer visible but I had to make sure. I pulled at her clothes and exposed one of her blackened breasts. It was the tit of a demon for sure. I froze up like a man in the face of death. Then I tried to fend her off as she started screaming, trying to pull her clothes back on as an innocent woman would. I then ran like I had never run before. I ran like hell, like a person literally running for his life. When I finally stopped I was halfway across town.

   It took me a long time to get over what I had seen, and I tried to rationalize it. Perhaps I had been tired, perhaps there had been some strange optical illusion, or maybe the woman was on her way to a masquerade? Perhaps someone had slipped me bad acid, or I was having a flashback? I did my share of tripping when I was younger, I admit to that. But I also know that I saw what I saw.

   As I had stood there in the bus shelter I never even came up with the idea to ask the demon for its name. To this day I still do not know it, even though I have read just about anything available on the topic of demonology and lists of demons known to man. I am quite certain it actually was a demon previously unknown but that it has known relations. Today I can make a qualified guess as of the origin of that demon. Quite possibly it was a fallen angel, related to either Lilith or Naamah, either as their equal in which case the demon I encountered must have been very powerful, or as their subordinate or follower.

    In any case the female demon was certainly a dangerous one, but without ever knowing its true identity her death toll would be pure guesswork. As a fallen angel her primary work would not lie in death either but in misery in the affairs of men and women.

I have since never seen her again.

1 There may have been other encounters earlier in life, where I failed to identify the subject as that of a demonic nature. For instance, I remember a boy in school with supernatural strength who used to bully me. Today I suspect he may have been a demon of the third or fourth hierarchy.