The Demon's Song

Chapter 2

The day went by in a blur, impending exams looming over Vincente who couldn't bring himself to care. A lackluster feeling fell over him like a heavy blanket, muffling everything--including the sound of Paulo's non-stop gossip as he copied Vincente's notes from that day and the week before. Paulo didn't seem to notice his disinterest, carrying on the conversation entirely on his own save for a few agreeable grunts on Vincente's part. There was no one else there.

He stared blankly at his notes under the pretense of review, anticipating the moment when he would finally get to retreat. The afternoon sun beamed in through the windows to light the third floor flat that Paulo called home. Piles of unwashed dishes and dirty linens sat in the corner of the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Paulo waved his hand in front of Vincente's face, "Vin, hey, anyone home?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine, Paulo," Vincente knocked his hand away, "It's been a long day, I'm just tired."

"Well, if you say so. It'll be getting dark soon, so if you need to go you can. I think I've got enough to get me through finals," Paulo patted the stack of parchment and handed the leather bound notebook he had been copying from back to Vincente, "I can walk you home if you want."

Vincente smiled, tucking the loose notes into the book and placing it into his bag, "No, Paulo, I'm fine. Thank you."

"If you say so, Vin," Paulo waved it off, walking him to the door to see him off.

Vincente patted Paulo on the shoulder as he entered the hallway separating the third floor flats of the building and made his way to the stairs. He let his smile fall as soon as he heard the door behind him and sighed deeply.

The cramped stairwell felt far removed from the afternoon sun. The muffled chatter of the building's tenants sounded distant and eerie, distorted by concrete and plaster and something else Vincente couldn't place. An ominous sensation crept up his spine as he hesitated halfway down, listening to claws scrabbling across bare wood.

Something hit the wall behind him with a dull thud and he bolted the rest of the way down and out onto the street. The sun beamed down on the stone street, making his moment of panic feel stupid and pointless.

Vincente stopped to catch his breath, scolding himself. After all, it had probably just been a large rat like the ones he saw on the street at night when he looked out his window. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of their eyes flashing green in the darkness, holding his gaze before continuing to rummage through the refuse thrown out for the night. The thought of encountering one on the street after dark made his skin crawl, and he made a brisk pace for home.

Vincente closed the door behind him as dusk settled over the street. Victoria glanced up from where she sat on the sofa with one of his textbooks, a scruffy gray cat settled cozily in her lap.

"Evening, Vincente," she nodded to the spot beside her, "would you like to sit?"

Vincente leaned against the closed door and sighed, "Victoria, you know what I said about the stray cats."

She grinned and closed the book, shoving it to the far end of the couch, "I know, I know, but I think you'll like him. His name is Spirit."

"God, you named it," Vincente groaned, sliding down the door to sit on the floor and tangling his hands in his hair, "Victoria, I cannot handle a pet right now, on top of everything else."

Spirit made a confused sound somewhere between a chirp and purr as he was picked up and cradled in Victoria's arms like a child. She sat down beside him without letting the cat go, shaking his shoulder to get his attention, "Come on, Vincente, he isn't your pet. You just get to be around a cat, come on, say hi to him."

He glared sideways at her and the alley cat in her arms, scowling at his smug face. Spirit's blue eyes stared back at him, tip of his tail swishing back and forth contentedly. Vincente stretched out a begrudging hand to scratch Spirit under his chin.

"Isn't he cute?" Victoria prodded, poking at one of his paws folded politely against his belly.

Vincente responded by rubbing the cat's belly, who promptly latched onto his hand and gave it a playful bite. He yelped and tried to pull away before giving up and letting the cat gnaw on his hand until Victoria pried Spirit's paws away and allowed him to escape.

He studied his relatively unscathed hand. "I think he looks like trouble, Victoria."

She shoved him with her free hand, "It will be good to have a cat around, you'll see."

Any sense of joy vanished from Vincente's face as the moment passed, and Victoria noticed. She rolled Spirit out of her lap--who went as far as the sofa before hopping up and making himself comfortable on the furniture--and placed a hand on his shoulder to show she understood.

"You've had a long day, Vin," she said, lingering on the moment in an effort to comfort him.

He nodded.

"Maybe you should sleep early, you may feel better in the morning," she suggested, "I can bring you dinner if you have an appetite.

He hauled himself to his feet, "I'm not hungry, Victoria, thank you."

He left Victoria in the parlor with the dozing cat. She heard his door close and stretched, any facade of cheeriness falling away from her own face as she collapsed on the couch beside Spirit and jolted him awake. He chirped at her in confusion, before deciding it was safe to doze off again as she stroked the length of his back.

"It's going to be a rough week," she whispered to him.

Vincente stared at the ceiling, focused on the unearthly chattering outside his bedroom window. Something scratched at the wall outside, teeth clicking together and whining to get in. He reached for the prayer beads on his nightstand and rolled them between his fingers.

"O Lord of all man," something thumped outside beneath the window, "blessed your creation be. Bless the earth," the creature outside made a nervous chatter as though it was uncomfortable, "and blessed be the fruit upon it. Drive evil from the souls of your beloved."

The animal screeched and threw itself against the outside wall before falling to the ground with a thud. It barked once and scampered off into the night, leaving the house in sudden unsettling silence.

Vincente continued to recite the Lord's Bounty in his mind, staring pointedly at his ceiling to avoid the sinking feeling in his chest and any movement in the periphery of his vision. He listened intently to the wind outside and strained to catch the sound of scampering feet across the wood floors of his flat.

The floor above him creaked, startling him as his neighbors shifted above his head. He relaxed when he realized what the sound was and chastised himself for being jumpy and suspicious of what were likely just rats--possibly diseased alley cats or dogs.

Whatever the creature was, it seemed too large to be a rat. No matter how he tried, he couldn't force that thought out of his mind. Even the largest rats could be restrained with one hand, and very few sounded as large as whatever hit his wall. He thought back on the luminescent green eyes that caught his gaze every time he looked out to the street at night. Why did they always seem to know he was watching? Not that the creatures seemed to mind his gaze, acknowledging it and then passing over. Their nonchalance made the darkness feel heavier, the silence feel more stifling, in that moment.

He tried to convince himself that he was imagining that. The thought nagged at his mind. The thought that somewhere, miles from here, his family was gathered to mourn the death of his grandfather without him also nagged. No one had asked him to stay at school and focus on his studies, but he agonized over the decision.

He felt a lump begin to form in his throat and his words of prayer fell away from his mind. What detail he could make out on the ceiling blurred into a nonsense smear of night grays and blacks. The tears he held back during the day finally spilled over, and he did nothing to stop them.