An Apple for the Creature

Then ten thousand other sets of eyes flashed across the screens. People of all races, all cultures, all times. Cavemen and saints, simple farmers and scholars endlessly searching the stars for a glimpse of something larger. Something there. Never giving up, never failing to believe in the possibility of the larger world. The larger universe.

Even Bird’s eyes were there. Just for a moment.

“Can you, in your arrogance,” asked the demon, “look into these eyes and tell me with the immutable certainty of your scientific disbelief that every one of these people is deluded? That they are wrong? That they see nothing? That nothing is there to be seen? Can you stand here and look down the millennia of man’s experience on Earth and say that since science cannot measure what they see, then they see nothing at all? Can you tell me that magic does not exist? That it has never existed? Can you, my little student, tell me that? Can you say it with total and unshakeable conviction? Can you, with your scientific certitude, dismiss me into nonexistence, and with me all of the demons and angels, gods and monsters, spirits and shades who walk the infinite worlds of all of time and space?”

Trey’s heart hammered and hammered and wanted to break.

“No,” he said. His voice was a ghost of a whisper.

“No,” agreed the demon. “You can’t. And how much has that one word cost you, my fractured disbeliever? What, I wonder, do you believe now?”

Tears rolled down Trey’s face.

“Answer this, then,” said the demon, “why am I not bound to the circle of protection? You think that it was because Mr. Kidd played pranks with the wording? No. You found every error. In that you were diligent. And the circles and patterns were drawn with precision. So . . . why am I not bound? What element was missing from this ritual? What single thing was missing that would have given you and these other false conjurers the power to bind me?”

Trey wanted to scream. Instead he said, “Belief.”

“Belief,” agreed the demon softly.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Trey. “God . . . I’m sorry . . .”

The demon leaned in and his breath was scalding on Trey’s cheek. “Tell me one thing more, my little sorcerer,” whispered the monster, “should I believe that you truly are sorry?”

“Y-yes.”

“Should I have faith in the regrets of the faithless?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I . . . didn’t know.”

The demon chuckled. “Have you ever considered that atheism as strong as yours is itself a belief?”

“I—”

“We all believe in something. That is what brought your kind down from the trees. That is what made you human. After all this time, how can you not understand that?”

Trey blinked and turned to look at him.

The demon said, “You think that science is the enemy of faith. That what cannot be measured cannot be real. Can you measure what is happening now? What meter would you use? What scale?”

Trey said nothing.

“Your project, your collection of spells. What is it to you? What is it in itself? Words? Meaningless and silly? Without worth?”

Trey dared not reply.