Short Stories for the Bored and Under Amused

The Grandson

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned- from exhausting halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests- but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly dollies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched colorful ‘home sweet home’ hung across wood-paneled walls. It’s a mistake-a wrong number, if you will. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they wanted to survive the encounter. It heard the clinking of movement in the room adjacent to his. The kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the faint smell of blood. It moves- feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There was a small splash of bright, scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up and pricked their finger. It would explain the very minute amount of blood, and it would also explain the demon being summoned into this strange place. As it pieces together this puzzle, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks. Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle length black dress, but there was definitely something amiss. Especially when the old woman lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothless grin, her eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it. “Todd! Todd, dear, i didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write- but oh, i’m so happy you’re here, dear! Also, would it have been too much to ask for you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood here- i had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and the cleanup didn’t go as expected. But i seem to recall that you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so i don’t suppose you mind.” She released a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, did pull out a few nostalgic heartstrings. “Image if it leaves a scar!” she said. “It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?” The demon realized that she is blind as a bat without her glasses it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humored her, if only because it had been caught off guard. The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just becomes so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing-happy accidents, as the humans would say. That’s why the demon did as was asked of it, plodding slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. It gingerly took the small glass pot and emptied it of old, stale coffee grounds and carefully, so carefully, measured new ones and put them into the pot. As the hot water starts to percolate, the old woman returned, her index finger wrapped tight in a small bandage. “I’m surprised at how tall you are, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time-you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She took a seat at the small round table in the corner and tapped the glass lid of the cake plate with unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but...i am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon could refuse, however, she lifted the lid and cut a generous slice from the near-complete circle that had scarcely been touched before now. It smelled of citrus and cream and was, as assumed earlier, soggy and oversaturated with icing. It was made for special occasions, for guests, but it didn’t seem that this old woman received much company in this musty, stagnant house that smelled like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years. Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd. The demon waited until the coffee pot was full, and then filled up two small mugs from the counter until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, did it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty in a small chair at the small table. It warbled out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it didn’t suppose the woman understood. Manners are manners regardless. “Oh, dear, i can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and i do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright dear, i’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.” The demon merely nodded-some communication can be understood without fail-and drank the coffee and ate the cake with its too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation. “I hope you enjoyed all of the presents i sent you. You never write back- but i am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little cafe down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; i wanted to visit it with Charles, before he...well.” She fell silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I still can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with such surprising speed that the demon was concerned for her well being, she moved to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.” When she returned, the white, grey, and black crocheted work with the summoning circle on it was bundled in her arms. “I found these designs in an occult book i borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill- i hope you like it.” With gentle hands, she spread the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over its craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.” Well that settles it the demon thought. Whoever, wherever, todd is, he’s clearly missing out. I guess i will just have to be her grandson from now on.

End of part one. Part two will be posted soon! In the meantime, don’t be afraid to vote, leave a comment, or subscribe to get (almost) weekly updates on stories!

This story is dedicated to the Tumblr user eatbreathewrite, who originally wrote this. I have changed only a few words to make it flow better, but almost none of it is mine. I do not take credit for any of this writing.