I waited for a moment before I lowered my lips to Etta’s ears. “I am here,” I hummed.
Echoing is another great tool I have. I can stand in front of you, throw my voice and lead you to believe I’m under the house or in a different room completely. Etta shivered from the cold air I created, distracted from whatever plan she had in mind for me. I could smell the doubt and fear that now emanated from her. She second-guessed her decision to give me the what-fors. So sweet the smell.
“We need to talk.” Etta’s teeth chattered as she turned toward the family room. Even though she could feel the cold near her, my echoing confused her.
“Then talk.” This time I threw my voice upstairs. Etta jumped around staring at the ceiling above her.
“I know what you’re doing. You can’t fool me.”
“Why would I ever want to fool you?” My sarcastic reply was just a stall tactic. The longer she talked to me, the more I got to play with her.
“I am only going to say this once. You want to run around here playing tricks or whatever it is you do, I don’t care. Just leave me alone and stay out of my room.” Etta’s voice trembled. Her confidence gave way to her fear. I’ll give her some credit though, not many people have what it takes to try to go toe to toe with me.
“And if I choose not to, girl?” Calling her “girl” would really get under her skin. Etta was at the age where she wanted desperately to be perceived as a woman.
“I know how to get rid of you and I’ll do it. I’ll send you back to whatever Hell you came from.” This poor thing may have known a few things about what I was, but she remained clueless about what she could and could not do. No prayer or exorcism could banish me from my house. Only lack of energy or an Arch’s blade could get rid of me. But what bothered me most was the fact that she honestly believed she could. Human arrogance is a major pet peeve of mine.
“I highly doubt that,” I growled. “Girl.”
“My name’s Etta. If we’re going to be stuck together and you’re going to continue talking to me, call me Etta or nothing at all.” Etta spoke slowly, trying to keep her tone stern. I enjoyed watching her eyes shift around and her body fidget.
“Okay, Etta.” It would benefit me later if I let this girl think she had some control. Once people feel they have lost what little control they had, it intensifies their fears, which in return gives me more power and control over them.
“Have free reign of the house, do what you want. Smash vases, run up and down the stairs. Just stay out of my room.” This girl really thought she could order me around. I was okay letting her have a little wiggle room but she wasn’t about to tell me where I could and could not go. It was time to take off the kid gloves.
“I can’t do that. You see, it is technically my room. This is my house. You follow my rules, not the other way around.” My yelling in her ear shook every piece of glass in the house, and Etta bolted up the stairs. She only made it halfway when I blew a hurricane-force wind at her that sent her flying up the remaining stairs and dropped her onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. Etta scrambled to her feet and raced to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I waited to hear the beautiful sounds of her crying in fear and pain. Much to my surprise, only the faint sound of her guitar came from the room.
Oh, this girl was good. She had done some serious homework on Demons. The sounds of her guitar came to a halt when the front door opened. John entered, tugging René in by her arm.
“What were you thinking? This is the second time in six months!” John’s irate tone was that of a father scolding his child.
“Get your slimy hands off of me.” René stumbled right through me as she ripped her elbow from John’s grip. The woman could barely stand up straight.
“I can’t do this anymore, René. I can’t keep getting pulled away from work just to keep you out of jail.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you need to save all of that for your precious psycho daughter.” Rene stormed to the bar and pulled a bottle of vodka from her purse.
“That’s enough!” John ripped the bottle from her mid-gulp, spilling most it down the cheap pink pantsuit. Too bad vodka didn’t stain. That horrible ensemble had to go.
Ahhh…a family argument: one of my favorite forms of entertainment. Seems Mr. John Divad was somehow able to save his wife from a night inside a urine-saturated jail cell. I watched as the fight traveled from the doorway to the bar, then to the family room. A small creak of a door caught my attention. Etta stood at the top of the stairs, listening to her family’s destruction. Though it wasn’t me who caused this family spat, I’d take the negative energy anyway I could get it.
“Do you ever stop and think about what this is like for me?” John held the bottle of vodka as if he were thinking about drinking it himself. “Between your drinking, Etta’s schizophrenic outbursts, being demoted and shipped off to a desk job, I just don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t know what it is I need to do to help you, but there has got to be something. What else do we have to do? What am I missing here, René?” John left no room for René to answer.
This argument was getting good. A demotion and a transfer? Maybe John may have not been the great Marine I’d originally thought, but a screw-up, his last mistake landing him at Quantico and in my home. René didn’t listen to a word as she swayed there, staring at him with disgust. I followed her to the stairs as she stormed off. If she fell I wanted the pleasure of watching her snap her neck. She could barely keep her balance enough to storm up the stairs. But she stopped short of Etta.
“This is your entire fault, you little brat. I hope you’re happy.” René shoved past, pushing her into the railing.
“Yeah, couldn’t be the alcohol, could it?” Etta whispered under her breath.
“What did you say to me?” René swung around and jumped in her face.
She turned away from René and looked down at the floor. “Nothing,” she muttered.
Why was Etta so afraid of her own mother? I couldn’t imagine a girl who could stand up to a Demon would fear a decrepit drunk. What power did Rene have over her?
“Don’t you lie to me! What did you say?”
Etta kept silent. René pretended to walk away, and then she spun around and out of the blue began beating on her shoulder with the side of her fist. Etta dropped into a ball on the floor and took every punch without making a sound. Every hit landed harder than the previous one. Watching the hate René had for her aroused me.
That is, until a single tear fell from Etta’s frightened brown eyes.
Something in me awoke as the tear splattered on the floor. A feeling I hadn’t encountered for as long as I could remember: rage. I suddenly had the urge to protect Etta.
I lost all control of my senses, composure, and thoughts. Before I knew it, I pinned René to the wall and was rapidly draining her of all energy. I would rid the world of this insect. Her fear was my drug, her struggles were my syringe. Trying to use her dangling feet to break free from my grip, René kicked a hole in the wall. The sound of breaking sheetrock finally grabbed John’s attention and brought him charging up the stairs.
“What the hell?” John yelled as he tried to grab for Rene. With a soft push I sent him down the stairs and crashing into the front door.
“Stop it! Stop it! You’re killing her!” a coarse voice yelled. Etta sat up against the railing, pulling her knees to her chest and trying to suck back her tears as she pleaded for this pathetic sack of flesh’s life. Why she wanted this woman to live was beyond my comprehension. Watching Etta rock back and forth, I realized the rage that caused me to try to help her hurt her more. I looked back at Rene’s sunken face and bulging purple veins, trying to decide the next best course of action. I could hold on a few seconds longer and end her life, maybe getting rid of John and Etta at the same time, or I could drop her now and be demonized—no pun intended—for my actions. Either way, I knew my actions of physically hurting René had already caught the attention of the Ar
ches and for that, they would be visiting me soon. I might get off easy if I showed mercy and let the bitch live. I glanced at Etta’s terrified face one last time before dropping René to the floor so hard she actually bounced.
Etta crawled over to René and cradled her head into her lap. René was already regaining her color as Etta petted her hair. As pink began to fill her cheeks, she finally found the strength to lift her head and look at her daughter. I waited to hear her apologies and grateful pleas. Etta basically saved her life, but what I heard next made me want to kill her even more. It wasn’t strength that lifted her head, it was spite.
“Get away from me, you little bitch. You did this. You did this!” René hissed in anger at Etta.
Etta’s face sank as René pushed away from her as if she had an infectious disease. John finally regained consciousness and came to René’s aid, helping her into their bedroom and closing the door behind him. Blood had dripped from his head down his olive green shirt and onto the floor, leaving a trail from the door up the stairs and to his room. Maybe I had pushed him a little too hard, but what can I say? I was in the zone. It was the most excitement I’d had in months.
“Why? Why me?” Etta’s gaze rose to mine as I stood in the bathroom doorway.
She wanted an answer. I didn’t have one. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Draining someone to near death was something I had done dozens of times before, but only to scare them for my amusement or to taunt the Arches. The situation grew mindboggling. Etta didn’t say another word as she pulled herself to her feet and staggered somberly to her room. I stood in the bathroom doorway trying to make sense of it. I must have stood there for an hour before John tiptoed out of his room quietly, relative to a boy sneaking out of the house. He took a few deep breaths and leaned his forehead against the door. This man was stuck in a house with an alcoholic wife who hated his teenage daughter, who had a history of attracting Demons, all while trying to serve his country and put food on the table. If he wasn’t already taking some of Etta’s meds, he should start.
Once he caught his composure, he knocked on Etta’s door and entered before she answered. Curious about what kind of conversation they would have, I flashed into the room, thanks to René’s replenishing energy.
“You okay, baby?” John sat on the bed, petting Etta’s long brown curls as she lay turned away from him.
“Fine, Dad. How are you?” Etta sniffled and finally started to cry.
“I’m good. Nothing an old Marine can’t handle. I’m thinking of maybe ordering some pizza for dinner,” John said in a quiet voice so as to not wake up the true Demon in their life.
“Sounds good.” Etta released another sniffle. This girl made no sense to me. She could cry over a woman who hated her, but I couldn’t get her to drop a single tear in fear? I’d lost my touch.
“Baby, look, I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry—”
Etta cut him off. “Don’t, Dad. It’s not your fault.”
“Hey? Look at me. It’s not yours, either.”
“I know.” Etta rolled over. The whites of her eyes were pink.
“There’s my girl. Guess that pizza isn’t going to order itself, huh? By the way, don’t think that any of this gets you out of trouble for ditching school today, but we’ll talk about that later.” John gave Etta a kiss on her head and left the room.
Such a strange dynamic these two had. They shared enough sweet and loving moments to make a group of menopausal women bawl their eyes out. If only John and Etta weren’t so uncomfortable around each other. I could only surmise that John was uneasy raising a teenage girl practically by himself, because let’s face it, the things a teenage girl goes through is something no man is ever prepared to deal with. But I couldn’t understand Etta’s withdrawal from him. She would look at him as if she wanted him to hug her but kept him at arm’s length. I stood there for a moment watching her breathe in and out, wondering what I had gotten into. I’d grown too involved.
“I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.” Etta tried hiding her sobs as she spoke.
“Actually, Demons don’t breathe. We pulsate,” I responded out of instinct.
“Well, whatever you want to call it doesn’t change the fact that I can hear you.”
“Are you okay?” I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth. Why did I care if she was okay? I should be trying to get rid of her.
“No. No, I’m not okay. Why did you do that? Now she’s going to blame it on me, and my dad’s probably going to send me in for another evaluation.” Tears ran down Etta’s cheeks.
I couldn’t catch my tongue before the question flew out. “Evaluation?”
“Yeah, you know. Psych eval. He always orders pizza right before he calls a shrink. He thinks this is another one of my ‘outbursts.’” Etta’s voice stayed calm as she sat up on her bed. This was not good. I couldn’t have normal conversations with some girl. But my lips wouldn’t stop flapping. Of course, I’ve never come across a fleshling I could actually converse with, so my curiosity got the best of me. I hoped curiosity doesn’t kill Demons the way it does cats.
“If you don’t like it, why do you go?”
Etta didn’t respond, but her eyes widened and her body froze. I waved my hand in front of her, but she didn’t even blink. Then out of nowhere, she began screaming and jerking around as if she were being gutted. John burst through the door and jumped on top of her, trying desperately to pin her limbs down.
“Stop! Stop! C’mon, Etta!” John used everything he had to hold on to her. After a few short moments, Etta’s body went limp. John scooped her up into his arms and disappeared from the house.
Chapter Five
I’ve seen what happened to Etta before. Hell, I’ve done it to people before, but I didn’t do it this time. He’d arrived. Whatever Demon haunted her before finally caught up to her. I didn’t know how long he’d been around. Did he know another Demon inhabited the house? Did I let my guard down for a minute, allowing him to see me? Why didn’t I sense him? I let my head get too wrapped up in this girl and my own curiosity, a mistake I couldn’t afford.
I was too low on energy to go looking for the new houseguest right now. René was so drunk I’d barely pulled enough energy from her to flash into the bedroom. I retreated to the attic to rest.
The house filled with the sounds of the rats scavenging for food and René’s muffled snores. The woman didn’t even stir when John barreled out of the house with Etta. I doubt she would have cared if she had heard. I usually sat on the prickly pink insulation in the attic at ease, enjoying the stillness the night brings, but tonight I was far too on edge. Every creak of the house caught my attention. I waited to hear the familiar electrical humming sound Demons give off. Most people, no matter how hard they try, can’t hear it even when a Demon is so close he’s practically on top of them. The ones who know what they are listening for describe it as the loud buzz you hear when standing next to high voltage power lines.
The obnoxious metal music of Etta’s alarm going off broke my meditation. Two days I sat listening, but detected no sound of another Demon roaming the property, just René waking up, getting drunk, and passing out. Every now and then I caught John’s voice on the answering machine. He was visiting Etta or her doctors somewhere after work and they would be home in a few days. But that’s all I could get before Rene would delete the message and go back to more pressing matters, like her date with the vodka bottle.
With what I’d learned about the Divads so far, I could only assume that John had taken Etta for her emergency psychological evaluation. Maybe Etta was simply some crazy girl with a vivid imagination, and I gave her more credit than she deserved. Maybe I just got too tied up in what she wanted me to see: a pathetic girl who had already been tortured so much she had nothing left to give or that I wasn’t able to see that there was nothing here for me but the rats. I wouldn’t risk my territory on theories though. Just to be on the safe side, I decided to search the house, look
ing for any sign of another Demon.
Starting with shutting off Etta’s alarm, I traced my hands across the unmade light purple cotton comforter on the bed. Nothing. I then did a once over across the hardwood floor around the bed. If it were another Demon that caused Etta’s freak out, he would want to be as close to her as possible. The closer you are to an object or person, the less power you use controlling it. The larger the object or person, the more energy you use. Since energy is what keeps Demons alive, we tend to reserve as much as possible.
Demons normally give off an immense feeling of coldness, but if you’d feel where a Demon’s feet have touched, you’d find that the heat can cause third degree burns. I made it to the end of the wicker table next to the bed when the door suddenly opened. I waited for the humming, but heard nothing. It wasn’t him. Getting up off my hands and knees, I was surprised to find René looking around the room with a glare in her hooded eyes.
You didn’t need to be a Demon or even smart, for that matter, to see that René truly despised Etta. She walked around the room examining every knick-knack, flipping open books, opening drawers, and even looking inside a few shoes in the closet. She hadn’t gone downstairs for her bottle yet, so her visit hadn’t been a drunken mistake. She seemed to be looking for something in particular. Was she such an alcoholic that she hid booze among her daughter’s belongings? As she turned from the closet to exit the room, she stopped. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the drunk saw me.
Was there something more to this woman? Could it be the ability to see my kind the reason she took so kindly to the booze? I wondered what she searched for until she spat on Etta’s bed. It wasn’t the drink that fueled her hate for Etta. No, something entirely different was going on between mother and daughter. I hadn’t done a walkthrough on her because I didn’t see the need to waste my energy on it. Alcoholics were usually so easy to read from the outside. I could see now that had been yet another mistake on my part.
The Demon Side Page 3
