All the Bloody Devils Dance Upon Our Mountains

James Hesemeyer

I was born in the suburbs of Connecticut, raised amongst broad forests and simple folks promoting collegiate ambitions and 9-5 glories. I attended the University of Rhode Island where I majored in English, Education, and psychology. Afterwards, I taught High-School English in Florida for 2 years, one of which was during CO-VID. After burning out, I moved into food management and currently operate a Starbucks in Denver, Colorado. Writing has normally been a hobby for me and a way to dispel stress and anxiety through the creation of fictional worlds.

First began the fires that clogged the sky. Afterwards came the drums beating their hellish tune. Now from the smoke comes the devil and his horde to ravage the sweet innocence that exists beneath the bloody mountains. In the valley of Eden the sweet folks sleep believing their rules and their traditions might forever keep them safe. Yet, from the mountains comes death. From the mountains comes darkness. From the mountains comes the abominations that might forever extinguish the light from the world.

I sit beneath the mountains listening to the steady beat of the devils and their worshippers bang their drums upon the bones of those they’ve devoured. I do not fear the ascent I shall soon make into the darkness to take my place amongst those bones. They are the bones of my people, the bones of my friends, the bones of all those known and unknown that came once the fires roared upon our land. The darkness will not haunt me, a darkness I allowed to be created, a darkness born from the sinful lie I told all those years before as I looked down upon a body having committed its own heinous actions. I am not a violent man, and yet I shall march upon the mountain with the intent to provoke murder. I’ve never given much thought to claiming violence for myself, instead content to drift around the lands of Blossom witnessing the carnage and the killings incapacitated by my crippling lack of power. In my 50 years as sheriff, I’ve never killed a man, though many have crossed my path with the intent to harm me and the symbolic badge I wear upon my blue uniform. The only thing I have killed in my life was that great, damn bear that stood before me in the darkness while I trembled amongst my friends. And yet, the drums beat so loudly now. The drums beat so endlessly and assuredly, and I imagine the red-eyed purveyors of fear and destruction leaping wonderfully atop skins stripped from adults and children. I believe I shall remove my pistol now. I believe I shall stride upon the mountains and spit out whatever resistance I might. They shall overtake me. They shall break my bones and make me scream. They shall torture me in vats of magma, and I shall be placed naked atop the mountains to be burnt and devoured while the mountain people stomp their merciless song around me. But maybe I shall get one. Maybe I shall get two. Maybe I shall be blessed to empty a chamber into the skull of their leaders and be allowed to die knowing I removed evil from this world.

Genre Fiction

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