Harold shrieked when the demon sat down and slid to the far end of the bench. Jasfoup sat in quiet contemplation for several minutes, watching the ducks squabble over bread that a small boy was throwing inexpertly into the water.
“I can’t begin to understand what’s happened if you don’t talk to me, Harold,” he said at last. “You’ve changed so much over the last twenty four hours.”
“I wish you’d just leave me alone.” Harold stared moodily at the edge of the water, where the waves from the rowing boats were more like piebald donkeys than white horses.
“But why? What’s happened, Harold? We used to be so close.”
“No we didn’t.” Harold stared at the demon. “I’ve never met you before in my life.”
© Rachel Green 2007