Demons

Occasionally, their whispers seeped into the astronaut-themed bedroom through the ventilation system. Sometimes I could hear their cries, sobbing with the most heart-wrenching pain a seven-year old boy could bear.

It rarely happened, but before sleeping I always feared the sound would come and haunt me.

When it did, the sobs screeched like nails on a blackboard for hours and deepened by early morning, before the sun could go up. Then the weeping turned from resembling that of a woman’s or a little child’s to a man’s.

Sometimes the whispers could be understood. Only sometimes. Whatever lived in the basement wanted to be accompanied. They wanted flesh and blood. They wanted to be fed—not only physically, but spiritually.

They wanted to eat the flesh and drink the light. And then it would be over. Then the weeping would stop forever. The demons would hush.

Father said they weren’t ‘they’. They were ‘she’, but it was impossible to believe that one single living being could make such noises. Let alone, a female.

At three A.M., before its cries could go from screeching yells to demonic sobs, father opened the bedroom door and stood still on the doorway. He smiled.

“Leon,” he said, his voice only shaking slightly, but not in horror. He was eager. He was happy. His arm reached out, waiting for me to hold it. “Leon. It’s time now. Come meet her. Hon väntar dig.”

A loud chuckle echoed in the ventilation system—not only the screeching woman’s now, and not only the demon’s: it was both. In perfect synchronicity, the demons laughed.

And their laughter was worse than their cries.

Father’s smile weakened in a small gesture of sympathy when he saw fear flicker in my eyes.

I clutched the cool bed covers tightly, face crumpling.

Father shook his head firmly. “Don’t be afraid, Leon. Du föddes för detta.”

I was born for this.

After a large tear drop ran down my cheek, I stilled. My shaky hand removed the spacecraft bedcovers from my legs, and I walked towards father.

My trembling hand was held by his firm one as we walked out of my room, towards them, and the cackle of manic laughter rumbled against the walls downstairs, rattling against the windows.

They would be fed tonight.

The flesh and the blood they longed for were mine.