Thursday, June 07, 2007

Premature Appointment

Harold stared at the demon. It stank of the pit, its oily snout sniffing the air until it centred on him and took a step forward, bare feet scorching polished oak floorboards.

“Harold Waterman?” it said. “Your time is up.”

“But I’ve got years left to me yet,” Harold protested. “You must have read the wrong docket.”

The demon shook its head, drawing a sword with an edge as sharp as daylight. “No, I don’t think so,” it said. “I’ve got the right address and everything.”

Harold snatched up his mug. “If you don’t leave immediately,” he bluffed, “I’ll douse you in holy water.”

The demon frowned. “You wouldn’t…”

“I would.”

“It took a step forward and Harold flung the contents at it. It screamed as the liquid scalded its mottled flesh, then paused and drew one finger across its cheek. “Coffee?”

Harold coughed. “Do you want cream with that?”

© Rachel Green 2007

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