It’s spooky season, so let’s find out what kind of ghost you’ll be.
In the quiet of the dark room, I curled around my girl’s heart and smiled.
Elise existed in the most delectable state of shame, and had only grown more succulent by the day. She would taste so pretty, writhing in pain within my grasp. And now she was out of my reach, at a hospital somewhere, from what I could gather from the man’s murky thoughts as he shuffled through her closet.
She wasn’t the type to coddle living things. Most people like to have something living nearby — a plant, a fish, a cat, another human. I’d never seen another living being in her space. It was just her and me.
Some people beg for demons. They fall easily, writhing with regret. Even in those who summon demons, attempting to bind us with foul symbols of the false god, there is a frisson of fear. Unbelievers are as easily haunted as the devout. Shame is the only requirement. We always have options, if we’re willing to take them.
It takes a certain type of carelessness to talk to a demon. Elise had that in spades.