Thursday, February 14, 2008
Harold dropped a Valentine’s card on top of Jasfoup’s daily paper. The demon smiled.
“For me?” he said. “How kind of you, Harold. I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t.” Harold snatched back the card. “It was addressed to me. Look, it’s written in red ink and anonymous.”
“Oh.” Jasfoup looked at it. “Did it say anything on the envelope?”
Harold rolled his eyes. “Oh gee, Jasfoup. I never though of that.”
The demon stared at him. “Was that irony?”
“Of course.” Harold feigned patience. “If there was anything on the envelope it wouldn’t be anonymous, would it?”
“I suppose not.” Jasfoup read the message.
Roses are yellow,
Violets are blue,
If I had your face
I’d have something to look at on the wall in the study and with the rest of you I’d make a big pot of stew.”
“Have you annoyed your uncle lately?”
“Perhaps,” Harold said. “I dropped his tobacco down the toilet yesterday. How can you tell he sent it?” Harold frowned. “Has he left a bit of his soul in it?”
“No. One, the ink isn’t ink, but blood; two, I’ve read your uncle’s poetry before and three, he sent this same poem to your mother in 1953.”
“Oh.” Harold dropped it into the bin. “I thought it was a death threat for a minute. Thanks.”
“No worries, Harold.” Jasfoup waited until he was out of the room and readdressed the card to a succubus he knew. It had Harold’s DNA on it now.