Near Death Experience Seeing Evil Demonic Spirits Postcard

Edward drifted, a wisp of consciousness clinging desperately to the edges of oblivion. The chloroform, thick and sweet, had claimed him, dragging him into a nightmarish dreamscape. He was vaguely aware of a cold metal table beneath him, the sterile scent of disinfectant assaulting his nose. --- His eyes fluttered open, but vision blurred. Grotesque shapes danced at the periphery, their laughter a high-pitched whine that scraped against his sanity. As his focus sharpened, a scream, raw and primal, ripped from his throat. Grinning, winged creatures, no bigger than ravens, materialised in the sterile light. Their skin, a sickly green, stretched taut over bony frames. Razor-sharp claws twitched, and Edward recognised the glint of surgical instruments in their skeletal hands. --- These weren't the sterile tools of a surgeon, he realised with a surge of terror. These were instruments of torture, their edges serrated and cruel. Panic flooded him, a tide threatening to drown him. He tried to push himself off the table, to fight them off, but his limbs felt like lead. --- One of the creatures, larger than the others, detached itself from the cackling swarm. Its eyes, pits of flickering yellow flame, bore into Edward's. In that cold, empty stare, Edward saw his own terror reflected, a flickering flame about to be extinguished. --- Then he saw it. A swirling vortex behind the lead demon, a gateway of inky blackness that pulsed with an unholy light. It reeked of sulphur and decay, a portal to a place no mortal soul should enter. This wasn't about surgery, not the way he knew it. This was about something far more sinister. --- "The offering is ready," the lead demon rasped, its voice a chorus of whispers. The others fell silent, a chilling reverence replacing their manic glee. They circled him, their instruments glinting in the harsh light. --- Terror turned to a desperate clarity. They weren't after his flesh, not in the way a surgeon might be. They were after his essence, his very spirit. They intended to drag him through that infernal vortex, to steal the light from his eyes and leave him a hollow shell. --- He screamed again, a defiant roar that echoed through the sterile room. But his defiance was met with mocking laughter. The lead demon reached out, a scalpel glinting in its grasp. It wasn't meant to cut flesh, Edward realised with a horrifying certainty. It was meant to sever the silver cord, the tenuous thread that bound his spirit to his body. --- The point of the scalpel met his chest, a cold prickle against his skin. Just as the world threatened to dissolve into darkness, a primal instinct surged through him. He wouldn't go quietly. He wouldn't let them win. --- With a strength born of pure desperation, Edward channeled every ounce of his will. He screamed, a sound that shook the very walls of the room. The demons recoiled, momentarily startled. In that split second, Edward ripped himself free from the chloroform's grasp. --- He gasped, the sterile air filling his lungs in a searing rush. He bolted upright, knocking the instruments from the startled demons' grasp. Disoriented but alive, he stumbled off the table. The demons screeched, their rage palpable. They lunged at him, but Edward was already scrambling for the door. --- He burst through it, the sterile whiteness replaced by the familiar hallway. He didn't look back, didn't dare to. The memory of those burning eyes and the swirling vortex haunted him, a constant reminder of the night he stared into the abyss, and the abyss nearly stared back. He may have escaped the demons that night, but the chilling truth remained - the border between life and the horrifying unknown was thinner than he ever could have imagined. --- This early 20th-century British artist (1885-1957) is best known for a satirical work depicting the anxieties surrounding anaesthesia. His grotesque imagery and dark humour offer a glimpse into the fears people felt about the then-new medical practice. While details about his broader artistic focus are limited, this one piece continues to spark conversation and intrigue. --- This artwork was made in 1912.