The Demon Side (2 page)

“Could you move please?” Etta whispered.

Without even thinking, I moved to the side and allowed her to walk past me. I spun around, dumbfounded, as she joined her father in the last bedroom. There was absolutely no way she could have seen my physical form. In all of my five hundred years stuck in this disgusting place, I have never had another being see me without me permitting it. They could feel my breath or my cold sensation, but only when I granted them the ability. How did she know? It had to be a fluke.

I sauntered into the third bedroom, taking extra measures to conceal my presence. Etta stood by the window, staring out at the murky Potomac River below. In a blink I stood next to her, tracing her long, triangular face with my gaze. She looked from the window towards me. This was getting interesting. I had to be sure she could not see me or if she did, that she knew I wasn’t friendly. I blew onto her neck. Her body shivered from my cold breath. “Stay away from me,” she spat, leaving me in total shock. Before my next trick, Mr. Divad came up behind Etta and rubbed her arms.

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Divad asked his daughter.

“Just great.” Etta pushed away from her father and just before she huffed out of the room, she threw me a long scowl.

She could
see
me. Not just feel me, but actually see me. Dozens of psychics and exorcists have claimed to sense spirits in this house, but not a single one ever noticed me. Every now and then one would get lucky and point my way. “He’s standing there watching us.” I never had the feeling they actually caught a glimpse of me. It was all just hoo-do-voodoo bologna they spewed so they could make a buck.

This was completely different. She saw me and she spoke directly to me, but before I could get my composure and test her again, they’d left.

I didn’t hear if they were buying the place or not. Were they coming back? If so, when would they be moving in? I had to learn more about this girl. When you’ve been around as long as I have, time just fades away, but now I counted every second as I paced back and forth waiting to see Etta come through the front door again.

Day one: nothing. Day two: nothing. Weeks went by and still nothing. She probably told her dad about the cold draft in the bedroom, so he decided not to buy. I may have waited for nothing. I’ve scared a family off in less than a month, but never the first day they viewed the home. It would be an all-time record. But Etta wasn’t scared. Annoyed, yes, but not scared. The more I tried not to think about Etta and her Demon vision, the more I did think about her.

“We’re home!” Mr. Divad yelled as he struggled to get an enormous box through the double doors. I waited to see Etta’s reaction when she came through the door and saw me. Mr. Divad walked back outside. Where was Etta? Unfortunately, since I am a Demon, I can’t see anything outside except pitch black and swirls of infernal flames. The outside world resembled the Hell I’d once known, except now the inside of my Hell has ice water, double-sided fireplaces, and horrible pink floral wallpaper.

Through the blackness, two brown eyes came into focus as they approached the front door. Carrying a box under her arm and Fender Stratocaster guitar case in the other, Etta finally appeared. Stopping for a moment to stare at me, she sighed deeply. When she took a breath in, her face curled in disgust. Demons tend to smell pretty foul. Not that I would really know. It’s only what I have heard from victims in the past. They’ve compared my smell to that of a dead cat in the walls. Could I be any more disgusting than that, a dead cat in the walls?

“Can you see me?” I whispered softly to Etta as she stood in the doorway. I waited, but Etta didn’t respond. She stared at me until her father almost knocked her over with another giant box. The collision sent the box marked “office” and its contents crashing to the ground.

“Okay, Etta?” he asked, looking torn between comforting her and checking on the box. Uneasiness lingered between them. Why would a father and daughter find it so uncomfortable to be in the same room? This could play to my advantage. Dysfunctional family members are easy to pit against each other.

“I’m fine. Which room’s mine?” Etta asked in annoyed tone.

“Last one on the left,” Mr. Divad answered, choosing to check on the box instead of his daughter. Etta and I would be sharing a room. This could get awkward. But of course, I wouldn’t mind seeing what hid underneath her clothes. I wouldn’t be a true Demon if there wasn’t a little bit of a perverted side to me, now would I? I felt a twinge of long-dead excitement. Etta wasn’t a supermodel by any means, but there was something naturally beautiful about her. She wore no makeup that I could detect, save for a hint of clear lip gloss.

“Well, isn’t this lovely?” A middle-aged woman stepped into the room. I figured she must be Etta’s mother. I didn’t need a walkthrough to know what this lady had to hide. Her hair had been bleached so much it resembled the straw you stuff in a scarecrow. Her crow’s feet made her stale blue eyes appear sunken; her skull was swallowing them whole. The left side of her face didn’t move as smoothly as the rest. My guess, she’d had a failed Botox injection.

Her cheap lime green pantsuit reeked of vodka and cigarettes. Great! Another alcoholic mother! They spend half of their time so inebriated that they don’t even notice when their own kitchen is on fire. Have another drink, light another cigarette—and ignore the Demon in room.

Etta sized me up as I watched her mother and father walk through the house.

“I know you see me,” I whispered as Etta moved just two inches from me. I could feel her heart beating. Though she showed no outward signs of fear, her heartbeat told me a different story. She knew I was there, but did she know exactly what I was?

“Leave me alone, especially in front of my parents, okay?” Etta murmured. She didn’t want her parents to see her talking to thin air. I understood, I suppose. Of course, I didn’t really care. It just made my job that much easier.

“You can hear me, too!”

“Just move so I can unpack.” Etta rolled her eyes, as if I were the inconvenience. Well, I suppose I
am
an inconvenience. As she walked past me, it dawned on me that she knew what would happen if she walked
through
me. Every moment of her life, every secret she’d ever kept, every fear, every dream, every dark or perverted thought would be open for me to see. Nothing would ever be safe from me. That’s exactly why I loved walkthroughs when new tenants arrived. But how did she know? What exactly did she know? My thoughts were beginning to repeat themselves. I didn’t like that one bit.
I’m
the Demon! I’m the one who is supposed to control the situation!

As Etta made it to the top stair, I flashed up and into her. Quick images of rape, molestation, beating, suicide attempts, and pain filled me. Strange enough, usually I could see a person’s attacker or abuser in their thoughts, but there was no one in Etta. No face, no hand, nothing but emptiness. Quickly, Etta turned her thoughts to the Potomac River. I had photos of the river in newspapers, but now I observed the water move through Etta’s eyes.

“Get out! Get out!” Etta screamed as she hit herself in the chest with her fists.

Her father came running out of one of the rooms with the speed of a bullet. Her mother simply lollygagged her way to Etta. The woman scowled and rolled her eyes. I popped back out to watch the interaction between the three. I found it odd that they were uncomfortable around each other earlier, but now Etta wanted her father’s arms. Family dynamics always confused me. The whole love/hate relationship made no sense. Like I said, the only thing I have ever felt was boredom and a little irritation.

“Baby, are you okay?” Mr. Divad tried desperately to catch his breath and composure.

“Yeah, is the baby okay?” her mother said with disgust in her voice, as she turned back toward the bedroom.

“I’m fine. Sorry.” Etta spoke sheepishly.

“Did you take your meds today?” her father asked.

“No, sorry, Dad. With the excitement of the move, I must have forgotten.”

“I’ll go get them. Want a Pepsi to take them with?”

“Pepsi would be great.” Etta gave her father a weak smile as he walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear me?” Etta turned back to me, picked up her guitar case, and stormed off to our room.

So, I now knew my new roommate took medication. Probably from the suicide attempt I witnessed, which was caused by the abuse she endured. The girl was damaged from the inside out. But none of that information proved useful to me right now. She knew too much about me, or at least my kind. Her knowledge of what I could do, what I would do, was unexpected. Etta also knew how to block her thoughts, which is frustrating for any Demon. These aren’t skills you just pick up on or learn online. I needed to learn more. I came to be truly excited.

I flashed to our room. It felt so strange thinking of it as “our” room, as if we were college buddies. Etta emptied the box she’d been carrying earlier. Inside were nine thick books. She carefully removed each one and placed them on the white wicker vanity that the previous girl had picked out for her sweet sixteen. Ugh—there’d been nothing sweet about that girl. More guys snuck through her window than people served at a McDonald’s drive-thru. Etta would be a welcome change from the walking STD that was the previous occupant. After carefully resting her guitar against the side of the desk, Etta plopped down on her twin size, white wicker bed and stared off into space.

I walked over to the desk to see just what a damaged girl would read. I half expected to find a copy of Thorin’s
Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing
. She could be a Goth girl, like the last few emotionally damaged kids that lived here. I didn’t find Thorin’s work or any other emo-oriented items on her desk. But I had seen her books before. A lot of the psychics I’d met through the years used them for their babble.
Demonology for Dummies, Spiritual Cleansing, Exorcising Demons
, the
Holy Bible
, Dante’s
Inferno, The Complete Book of Devils and Demons, Angels and Demons, Dispelling Poltergeists
, and my personal favorite,
So Your House is Haunted
. None of those books ever worked against me. Hell, I’ve even used the books against the tarts, who believed in their false practices. What are the chances that a girl who reads this garbage moves into a house with an actual Demon?

“Here you go, baby.” Mr. Divad’s voice cracked as he handed Etta two yellow pills and a Pepsi. Etta’s episode seemed to have shaken him up. Surprising, considering he seemed to be a hardcore Marine who had probably seen and done as many horrible things as I have. Maybe I didn’t do a good enough walkthrough on him. I’d have to dig deeper into him.

“Dad? Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, baby,” Mr. Divad said.

“You remember what I said about happy thoughts?” Etta’s tone was low and sheepish. Whatever she was talking about, she appeared embarrassed mentioning it.

“Yes?” Mr. Divad looked puzzled. I became intrigued by their awkward body language. Maybe this conversation would give a little bit of dirt that I could use later.

“Can we do that here, too? Just for a little bit until we settle down?”

“Sure thing, baby, but we really need to work past all of that. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll bring the rest of the stuff in.” Mr. Divad kissed Etta on her forehead and exited the room.

Happy thoughts! She wanted to block me from gathering more information. I thought I felt a hint of anger, but I wasn’t going to lose the upper hand in my own house. I couldn’t give her a chance to block me out. With any luck, her father wouldn’t honor Etta’s request.

“Don’t you dare,” Etta said, but before she could get up. I had already caught up to her dad. Flashes of Etta screaming, blood, hospital rooms, and pain filled Mr. Divad. Of everything a forty-something-year-old Marine could have possibly gone through, all he saw was his daughter’s pain? Oh, there must have been something else going on. Viewing the flashes, I stopped at one that I had seen before. I watched the scene play out.

Etta lay in a crimson red bath water. Her tears fell on her bleeding wrists. Etta’s mom screamed “John!” over and over again. Then Mr. Divad, John Divad, in a white tank top and light blue boxer shorts, barreled into the poorly lit stale beige bathroom. I paused John’s thoughts to better examine the details. Over the toilet was a small window. On the other side of the window blazed my Hell. Darkness streaked by flames, but in that Hell, a face stared in through the glass, smiling. I didn’t need to see any more.

Popping out of John, I met Etta’s angry glare. She didn’t need to say a word. I walked to our room and took my spot in the attic just above the closet, where I enjoyed watching rats burrow and build little homes for themselves. One of my favorite pastimes was to put a couple of them in an empty box, let them starve for a bit, and then throw a scrap of food in and watch as they tore each other apart. They were my little minions, always great for a scare. One of my favorite tricks involved dropping one on the dining room table during a dinner party. But there would be no playing with the rodents tonight.

The face in window bothered me. If the Divads had already experienced a Demon, it could pose a serious problem for me. That would also explain not seeing any attacker in Etta’s thoughts. Demons aren’t the same as ghosts. First off, ghosts aren’t real. Second, Demons are bound to an item, person, or property. Demons have the option of following a family or person if we choose, moving from one house to another, continually torturing a person. It’s a rare occurrence, but if one is lucky enough to find a person or place that either generates enough fear or is so despicably horrible to fuel the power needed to exist on Earth, then you can bet he wouldn’t just let them waltz out of his life. Another problem is that no two Demons can occupy the same place or own the same person. If the Divads had in fact lived with a Demon before, I might be getting a very unwelcome guest.