Sitting Room Citings, A Flash Fiction

I am being watched.

I'm not quite sure how this happened (nor do I really care at this point), but all I know is somehow this... Thing.... Popped up out of nowhere and decided to camp out in my sitting room. And I don't even know what the friggin' hell it is. It almost looks... What's the word? Daemonic, I'd say.

And it's staring at me. Why? Maybe I should talk to it?

"...... Hi."

"Hello, sir."

"Can I... Help you with something?"

The thing's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye.

"No, sir, but maybe I can help you! I see here," and with a flash of curiously blue fire, a rather thick dossier appeared in his right hand and a pair of old-fashioned bifocals appeared in the other. "You are a former Marine Corps veteran? Served in the first Gulf War?"

"Yes..." I said tentatively.

"And," he continued, propping the bifocals on his face in a grotesque mockery of intellectualism, "You received the Purple Heart award from President Bush himself for your troubles?"

I puffed my chest out, my pride about receiving that particular award having grown over the years, and said, "Yes sir! Got to shake the man's hand and everything! Proudest day of my life!"

"Of course it was, sir! Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but," and at this he opened the dossier and rifled through its contents until he found a particular page, and proceeded to read aloud, "it says here that you, and I quote, 'sold your soul for the chance to live long enough to see your grandchildren after being mortally wounded by a hidden sniper'?" Finished, he lowered his bifocals and stared interestedly at me.

My face blanched in an instant.

A thin smile formed on the Daemon's lips.

"I understand your trepidation, sir, but please allow me to finish. Your exact request, that you 'live to see your grandchildren' has been fulfilled as of yesterday morning at Ten Twenty-One AM, has it not?" Again, the Daemon glowered at me expectantly.

I didn't think it was possible for any more blood to drain from my face. I was very, very wrong.

"But... But... I..." I stammered foolishly. I looked around, hoping to find something, anything to help me in this situation. I came up blank.

"Sir, with all due respect, nobody will be able to help you. Your wife is not due home for quite some time, having gone to visit the new child, has she not?"

I felt a cold sweat start to work it's way down my graying temples.

"I thought as much. Well sir, as you may have guessed by now, I am indeed here to collect on your debt. My name is Masach, pleased to make your acquaintance!" The Daemon held out his hand, obviously hoping for a handshake. I settled on an incredulous look.

The Daemon returned my look after a moment, and I knew, in that instant, that I had indelibly sealed my own fate.

"Well, good sir, since you seem to want to skip the formalities, I would think it's time to get right to business," the Daemon said. He slowly removed the glasses and placed them on top of the dossier, then set both on the coffee table before him.

I gulped and gripped the armrests of my chair with white-knuckled intensity.

“Now we have three ways in which we can proceed. Would you like me to outline them for you, sir?"

“Is there anythingI can do to get out of this?” I blurted out unexpectedly.

The Daemon stroked his chin thoughtfully, then looked up brilliantly.

“Actually, sir, there is! Would you be willing to trade someone else's soul for yours, par chance?”

“Yes, I would!” I half-screamed, almost leaving my chair in the process, “Anything! Just spare my life, please!”

“Excellent! I'll be back for your granddaughter soon.”

Then, along with his dossier and bifocals, he vanished. And I wept.