"Audrey, it appears you've got schizophrenia," the doctor looked through his notes and back at me, his eyes flickering towards my parents every now and then.
"I've got... okay. But that doesn't have any treatment. What am I supposed to do about... the things?" I asked quietly.
These "things" aren't things. They're demons. But no one will believe me. It's just as my grandfather had said. He could see them too, but they called him a crazy old cuckoo bird, always carrying his leather-bound notebook with him, frantically scribbling in his chicken-scratch print and doodling small pictures every now and then. Now I know what he had been drawing. He'd been drawing these... demons. The ones who roamed aimlessly, leaving a path of evil in their trace. They aren't little half-man/half-goat creatures either. They're all different shapes and sizes. No matter how they look, they will always bring one of three things: fear, misery, or despair.
"Audrey. It's up to you," my grandpa had once said. I watched him write and scribble in his book as his head darted around erratically, his eyes following something that wasn't there.
"As long as it doesn't get too bad, you'll continue to live a normal life. But once something, er... dangerous happens, then we'll decide how to proceed from there."
He smiled gently and looked to my parents, then handed them a pamphlet about schizophrenia, told them about what could happen and what I might say or do. I clicked my tongue. Finally we were going home, away from the endless pit of demons, and when I say that, I'm not exaggerating. It's a literal pit at hospitals. Crazed demons, hungry for sorrow or agony, bounce off the walls and into patients rooms. They cause pain and suffering, taking lives not ready to be taken, spreading illnesses from patient to patient, and inflicting agony. It was quite sickening. I sighed and leaned my head against the car door before drifting off to a restless slumber.
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Audrey...won't you come with us? We know how to have fun, down below....
Join us, Audrey.
We won't do anything too bad.
Imagine that. Leave this awful life of watching us behind. Everyone thinks you're insane. But, if you consider leaving with us, you'll fit right in.
I woke with a start. 3:38 in the morning. Big surprise. My hands were shaking, as usual. It's hard to have a regular sleep schedule when I constantly face nightmare after nightmare. Even though it seems to be in my head, I know it's the demons who rattle the windowsills, windowsills filled with neat lines of salt. They whisper through. The salt may keep them at bay, but it doesn't stop their taunts. Nothing does.
YOU ARE READING
Devil's Angel
Science Fiction"Freak. Psycho. Loser." They call me all these things, but they don't know the feelings that come with these so-called hallucinations. My grandpa seemed to know something though... Before he disappeared, that is.
