Notes About The Poem

The Flute from Hell’s Broken Gates

A Sovereign in the Soil

He dug a deep, round hole in the dirt. He wanted it to look exactly like an old wishing well, a cruel trick to trap the demon.
At the bottom of the pit, he placed five holy books in a circle to block Marcus's magic. Across the books, he threw four heavy wooden planks, making a cage. Then, he poured a glowing mist over everything, the trapped energy of human souls. The souls bound the wood and books together like spiritual concrete.
He pulled out a silver bone flute. It was the same magical flute he had stolen when he first broke open the gates of Hell. He blew into it. The sound was a sharp, painful screech that tore through the night air.
The music forced Marcus out of the shadows. Marcus wasn't a terrifying monster tonight; he looked exhausted and terrified. He was a wishing demon, bound by ancient laws to serve whoever summoned him, but he had never asked to be brought to this cruel world. The music pulled at his spirit like a heavy chain, dragging him forward against his will. Marcus wept black tears, his glowing eyes begging for mercy as his legs moved on their own.
With one last breath, the man blew a loud note. Marcus tripped and fell into the deep, dark hole.
The moment Marcus hit the bottom; the holy books burned his skin. The four wooden planks snapped shut above him like a heavy trap. Marcus curled into a ball, sobbing in the dark. He was completely helpless, buried alive under the crushing weight of the souls.
The man walked to the edge of the pit. He took a simple brass key out of his pocket, the key to his own house. He shoved the key deep into the dirt and twisted it. With a loud click, the magic locked.
Marcus was trapped in the dark, a sad, broken prisoner held hostage by a greedy human.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

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