The newscaster sighed, tears welling up in her eyes as she read the newest case of suicide in the city, “Fifteen year old, Annette O’Hannigan, was found dead on Fifth Avenue after plunging to her death off a hotel. Annette was the star of her high school basketball team and will be greatly missed,” she ended. As the camera shut off she wept, along with the others at the memorial set up for the young teen.
   A small table with a white cloth draped over it, pictures of the girl, the candle light flickering made it seem like her eyes were still shining, but they weren’t. Her eyes in the photos all contained the same shadow-like figure. The same figure that Trey had noticed within the other photos of the fallen.
   The figure seemed as if he smiled when one would look at him, he looked directly into the soul, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t move the way he did. He was a photograph. Just a window into the depression of the young girl. Trey couldn’t shake the feeling of the man watching him.
    “Let’s go, Trey,” Steve spoke. He knew that Trey was upset by all of the suicides that had been occurring, especially since Trey’s mother had been one of the many people who had committed suicide this year. He also knew that Trey would do anything to find out why this was happening.
     “Alright,” he replied solemnly. The figure, what is it? More like who is it? Are the fallen being prompted to end their lives?

“Mother,” Trey spoke, “she was happy...I think. Five months before she had jumped off the Empire State Building, she seemed paranoid. Always talking to someone,” he grabbed his coffee to take a sip. Steve was listening to his friend recount what had happened to Mrs. Balugenoff, like any good friend would, for the tenth time in a week.
    “...and the figure?” Steve added. By now, he had every word of the twenty-six year old’s rambling memorized, and could recite it forwards and backwards, unfortunately.
   “Yes, the figure appeared in the eyes of her photos, just like they did in Annette’s, in Timothy’s, Mr. Hawken’s and Mrs. Henderson’s,” he sighed. All of these suicides had something to do with that figure- that demon.
   Every single one of the fallen had two things in common. Suicide, and the figure that brings harm to anyone who lives with it. Something that no one else knew was there, and only appeared to the eye of those who were afflicted, those who cried alone during dark nights. Those who bled in silence.
   “The journal! The journal!” Trey exclaimed.
   “What journal?” Steve replied, slightly questioning his friend’s sanity.
    “My mother kept a journal, it’s in the trunk beside my bed!” Trey grabbed the key to the wooden chest, and opened it.
     There it sat, the dust blue journal that Mrs. Balugenoff wrote in nearly every night. Every night up until her death. It must have contained something as to why she jumped, and why she joined the fallen.

   Dear Trey,
  If you decided to look in this journal, then you should know that this thing will come after you, but sit down, keep reading. I can help you through this.
  Exanimationes Incidamus may come to you in any form, do not respond to it. IT will make you think that you are worth nothing. A voice will echo in the back the back of your head. Do not join the fallen.
         -Isabelle Balugenoff.

    Trey’s expression fell to pure disbelief. Examinationes Incidamus, surely it is latin for something. Something was scribbled below the page that his mother had left him- Examinationes Incidamus, internum daemoniorum. 
     “Hey steve,” He called out, “Did you take Latin in highschool?”
     “Yeah, why?” Steve shouted from the other room.
     “What does Examinationes Incidamus, internum daemoniorum mean?” There was a pause. Silence filled the air as the words faded. Trey clung onto hope that his friend would be able to translate the words. Hope that he could find out what this thing was.
     “Trey, all I know is the meaning of the word daemoniorum, it means Demons,” Steve sighed. Steve had thought this whole “demon” theory of his friends to be false. He did not believe in such things, but how much evidence would he need to bend to the idea of it even be a possibility? Mrs. Balugenoff was an honest woman, and if she had meant what she wrote, it would have falter his opinion. Maybe he would bend to the idea that these were not truly demons after all.
     Trey stared blankly at the wall. His mother had saw it too, had referred to it, had named it. The fallen were all plagued by this thing known as Exanimationes Incidamus. It was killing them, it had killed his mother. He would do anything to get revenge.
     He turned page after page, scanned word after word looking for more clues on where to find this thing, and how to kill it. He looked for more evidence than just one phrase to make Steve believe that he wasn’t crazy. Frantically, he searched for any last bit that he could find, and he found what he was looking for. A drawing, not of the figure that he had saw, but definitley whatever his mother had faced.
    Long, curled fingernails and teeth that had pierced the sides of the mouth. The creature looked as if it hadn’t eaten in years, and that a simple blow could break the ribs. Weak, it looked, weak. Maybe that is why it preyed on those who would easily break, whose cries were stifled by the plagued hearts in which they held. Those who would find peace in an ending, stuck in a fit of amor fati.

  “Facite, facite, FACITE!” it yelled from inside his head. The chanting had gotten stronger, varying in language, and voice. “Do it! You ungrateful swine! I’m giving you the chance of a lifetime! You won’t bother anyone anymore! Facite!”
   Trey knew that this is what his mother had warned him about, and he wouldn’t give in. No matter how much the thing pulled, he knew that he had to obey his mother's wishes. He grasped onto every last bit of hope that he could, hoping that he could make it through. He had locked himself in his room, carving words that he couldn’t understand into his walls. Exanimationes incidamus, facite, internum daemoniorum, morietur, morietur, morietur.
   He rocked back and forth, his knife stabbing the wall over and over. His eyes were glazed with sheer paranoia. The thoughts echoing about nothing but death, and his unworthiness. Songs of sorrow flowing in the room, and a hunger for pain plagued his stomach.
   “Two steps, one onto the ledge, and one off. Why not jump to meet the same fate that your mother had met in September? She left because of you, this was all because of you!” the deep, angered voice screamed. Trey had gathered up enough strength to stand now. The demon standing behind him had tried his best to knock him back down, but it wouldn’t happen. Not yet, not today.
   Trey grabbed a chair and sent it spiraling towards the demon, and it snarled. It raised the upside-down cross that hung around it’s neck, snarling as it stepped toward Trey. “Facite!” it yelled.
   “Go to hell!” Trey spit.
   “I’m already there, and you are coming with me! Facite!” The demon grabbed onto Trey’s arm, twisting it backwards as Trey let out a blood-curdling scream. His arm was covered in his own blood, and the knife pushed into his skin. His hand instinctively moved downwards, and blood was pouring once more. He had joined the fallen.

“Two-hundred and thirty nine,” Steve sighed, “You were number two-hundred and thirty nine, and I will never forgive you for it!” He stomped on the ground over the grave that held his best friend, and broke down. “Damnit Trey, damnit,” he sobbed.
   It had won, the demon had taken over Trey’s life, it had twisted his mind into thinking he was something that he was not. Exanimationes incidamus had won, depression had taken his friend’s life.

The Dictionary of Latin Words

1.)Exanimationes incidamus- depression.
2.)Facite- do it.
3.) Amor- Love of
4.)Fati- fate
5.)daemoniorum- demons
6.)internum- internal