Writing Exercise no. 4: There's a demon under my bed!

[StillStunned]

Sorry folks, I can't help myself. I'm bored. At least this one isn't E&V-themed.

The prompt: "There's a demon under my bed!"

Same guidelines as my other Writing Exercises. Write around 250 words as a snippet from a longer story. It can be from any part of the non-existing story. No need to start at the beginning, just jump in wherever you want. Just show us how you'd approach this theme.

So what kind of demon is it? Malevolent or harmless? How long has it been there? Where did it come from, and what does it do? That's all up to you, if you even decide to participate.

(And while we're here, remember the Pandemonium challenge that's coming in September.)

 

[StillStunned]

Here's mine:

===

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed. The Thing might be an amorphous blob with two glowing red eyes cowering under my bed, but it’s voice was deep enough for a man’s. Now that the initial shock had passed, I began to worry about the no-boys-in-the-dorm rule. Especially with holier-than-thou, no-sex-before-marriage-and-preferably-none-after-either tattletale Talia in the very next room.

“Don’t hurt me!” the Thing squealed – but in a whisper.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I tried to sound reassuring. The truth was – I had no idea what the truth was. But I needed to coax the Thing out, so I could kick it out of my dorm room.

“Really?” It actually seemed eager to believe me, and a few minutes later it was standing before me in the middle of my room.

Out in the open it was even less impressive. A bulbous black shape on a pair of spindly legs, with matching arms. Its red eyes were its only distinguishing feature.

Feeling bolder – certainly much bolder than my uninvited guest seemed to be – I settled myself down on the bed, making sure that my nightie covered my legs. “What are you?”

“A demon.” It looked as if it might scurry back under the bed at any moment. “I– I take on whatever shape you want. Do whatever you want.”

Demon! Even as I gaped, my mind raced with possibilities. “Where did you come from?”

“I escaped. Please don’t make me go back! The things she made me do…” The creature – the demon – gave a shudder. “Don’t send me back to Talia, please?”

 

[Agent0069]

Sight. "Hey, big brother, there's a demon under my bed, again!"

The creature kept growling, but now - with more confusion. It wasn't the kind of reaction it used to getting - usually there were way more delightful fear it could feed on.

"Demon?! Where?! O-ho-hooo, and I thought my day couldn't get any better!"

It heard slapping on wooden floor, the source of noise getting closer - before coming into sight in form of two, rather large and hairy human feet.

"Under the bed you said?!" it saw knees dropping on the floor, and then the light dimmed, covered by the large face, whatever was visible beneath the messy beard full of food leftovers, eyes burning with madness.

"Oh, and it's a physical one!" the face proclaimed, stench from it's mouth reminding the creature of it's place of birth - which was on the lowest pits of hell, by the way.

"Urgh! Can't you just throw it away?"

"And loose our reputation of a demon fucking family? Never!"

A large hand reached for the creature. It roared, attempting to bite, but its teeth just couldn't pierce the mystical aura surrounding the hand. "A shield of insanity!" it realized.

"Now! How do I fuck you?!"

"Not in my room again, you sick fuck!"

"Don't fuck me!" squirmed the creature.

"Where have you said that from?! Where..."

 

[TheLobster]

There was a knock on wood, right under the spot where her butt lay.

"Calm down," she said in monotonous voice, eyes shut as she tried to fall asleep. "I've fed you today already."

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then, the insistent knocking repeated.

"I told you, no more." She was getting irritated. "It's almost midnight and I've got to wake up early tomorrow!"

"But Mistress!" it hissed.

She sighed. This whole imp business, despite obvious perks, was starting to get on her nerves. She crawled to the edge of the bed and looked beneath. "What?"

In the darkness, she could barely make out the long, fox-life ears above large eyes that shone with green fire. The creature looked at her with a smile on its snout.

"We're... We're hungry, Mistress," it whispered.

"You've got more than usual, you gluttonous rat!"

"Well, yes, but," it began, then hesitated for a moment, "but it was impure! Contaminated! Too much sacred energy! It burnt us!"

She blinked in confusion, until she realized what the infernal creature meant. It made her groan.

"Fuck, today's Sunday," she muttered. "He must've gone to church in the morning..."

"Nooo! Don't mention —"

"Oh, be silent!"

She sighed. The demon was right. When her boyfriend came around in the evening, she should've sucked him off before she let him cum in her pussy. Now, she'd have to feed it again.

"Alright, fine," she said, sitting up and taking off her nightie. "Dive in, but be quick!"

 

[Bazzle]

Lying there, my heart is racing, thumping at a rate of knots. The lights are off, the power went an hour ago. The wind is howling outside. The shadow of leaves of the large tree in the back garden is dancing along the wall.

Thud, thud, thud.

Its rhymical with the howling wind.

The sound is coming from under the bed. I don't dare move.

Thud, thud, thud.

I shouldn't have got into bed naked. I need to get up and out.

Thud, thud, thud.

I don't dare move. My fingers are gripping the duvet tight. Eyes darting around the room.

What is under the bed?

Thud, thud, thud.

I can't look there. I look to the ceiling and hope.

Thud, thud, thud.

I look to the bedroom door. Then scream.

Bang goes the door.

Blinking hard there is bright light pointing at me.

"Why didn't you let me in, blinking key wouldn't work!"

Oh it was Brian coming back from the pub.

 

[mildlyaroused]

I had some fun with this, though it is non-erotic. These exercises remind me that it's okay (and beneficial) to just write something short and sweet when I feel like it, rather than slaving over my main projects all the time.

-

Something rolls out from under my bed. It crosses one floorboard after another with rhythmic clunks, rather like the sound a train makes over sleepers. It comes to a rest against the leg of my desk chair. I sit up, flung by sweat, squinting to make out the rolling item’s form.

It’s a glass—the water glass from my bedside table, now empty.

Slowly, as to not rustle my covers, I cringe away from the edge of my bed and press myself against the wall. I strain to listen for sounds over the rustle of the orchard outside. Plick. Plick. My oil heater is on. I don’t remember turning it on.

Aunt Mable always called me a Light Sleeper. She’d called me that from when I was little, as though it were my title. Light Sleeper. Whenever we had guests around, she would warn them of me and my light sleeping. She said if they heard noises, it was me tossing and turning.

None of my protests dissuaded her of this assessment.

“Oh, don’t be silly. You are a light sleeper,” Aunt Mable always said. She ruffled my hair. “You’re always sleep-talking in that room of yours. And up and down the hall every night to the bathroom.”

“I don’t go to the bathroom.”

“Of course you do. I hear you leave your room. And it isn’t any wonder, drinking all that water…”

She was referring to the glass of water she left for me each night, in case I got thirsty. An hour after tucking me into bed, Aunt Mable went to sleep herself, but she always tiptoed into my room to leave me a glass of water—or so she said. Whenever I woke in the morning, I found the glass quite empty.

Now I watch the glass lying on my bedroom floor. The glass which had come rolling out from beneath my bed. I watch it, and I listen. Sweating in the dark. As I do, I come to a realisation, though I am not entirely sure how I reached it: there is something here with me, listening for my noises just as I listen for its noises.

I am sure of it.

 

[TarnishedPenny]

Not under the bed, but on one. And definitely demonic. From my entry for the Pandemonium event:


Peering gingerly through one corner of the window, my first sight was that of a striking set of female buttocks.

Firm, perfect in their shape, their owner was rolling her hips forward and back over a man’s sizeable and very rigid cock. The man’s pendulous balls hung between his legs against the rumpled sheets of the bed. A layer of shimmering female honey had coated cock, balls and bum equally; the couple had obviously been busy for some time. Even from outside, I could catch the smell of a zoo’s lion pen on a hot summer day.

Above the two dimples on her lower back, slender, athletic flanks rose to broad, shapely shoulders. As I watched, the woman flung her head back and a cloud of ebony hair erupted about her head before drifting down over perfect, silky skin.

I could see neither her face nor that of, presumably, James Fergusson. Come to think of it, I could see very little of the man other than his legs, feet and sex. That in itself struck me as odd, for every man I could imagine would be dying to run his hands over those perfect thighs, perfect buttocks, perfect...

That was it – perfection!  No real person, no human woman could be so entrancingly desirable, so utterly without flaw as the one I was watching.

This then was the succubus, this was my prey.

I heard the unearthly chorus inside grow, Satanic voices raised in unholy jubilation. Were they merely echoing the physical pleasure I was witnessing or were the words the cementing of yet another demonic brick in the wall being built around a good man’s soul?

 

[SimonDoom]

"Pssssst."

I sat bolt-upright in my bed, heart racing. The voice came from inside my bedroom. But from where? The room was dark, but it afforded few places for someone to hide, and I couldn't see anyone anywhere.

"Who's there?" I tried to disguise the fear in my voice.

"It's just me," the voice said. It sounded like it was coming from under my bed.

"Who are you?" I asked, peering over the edge of my bed to see if I could see anything below.

"Just a sec," the voice said.

A slender hand emerged from under my bed, fingers crawling over the wood plank floor. Then another hand, and a head full of long dark hair, and shoulders, and more, until the entire nude figure of a strange pale female lay crouched on my floor next to my bed. She stood up and faced me.

My eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness in my room. I could see her in front of me, barely. She presented her naked body, thin but with full breasts and hips, to me with no sign of shame or nervousness.

"Who . . . who are you?" I asked again.

"Well, I'm a demon."

"You don't look like a demon."

"They all say that," she said. In the darkness I could see her eyes roll. "I'm a succubus."

"A succubus. You mean . . . ?"

"Yep. I'm here to suck your dick. I have a monthly quota to meet, and I'm behind. It's your lucky night."

She crawled on top of my bed and sat on her knees in front of me, breasts swaying. She drew closer.

"Wait, I didn't --" I started to say.

She touched her fingers to my mouth.

"Don't say anything. It's not going to help."

Her hands went to the fly of my boxer shorts, and after a moment's hesitation, I decided I didn't have anything worth saying.

 

[Bamagan]

"But if you can teleport, or manifest between worlds, or whatever... why would you choose to do it under my bed? That's just ridiculous," the sleepy young woman said.
"What do you mean?" asked the voice from below, sounding affronted. "It's a classic! It's terrifying!"
"Terrifying to a child, maybe," the bed's occupant scoffed. "I'll grant you that it's creepy to have someone unexpectedly in the room with me, and it's kind of alarming that you can apparate or whatever. But you're lurking next to a bunch of shoes, and the box with with my dildo, which makes you seem kind of absurd when I mentally picture you down there."
"It's not my fault that you use this space for storage!" the voice said, sounding exasperated. "For that matter, why do you have a bedpan? This is the 21st century!"
"I was convalescent for a while and needed it," the woman said, rolling over onto her side. "It seemed wasteful to throw it away, and kind of weird and icky to donate it. I have vague ideas of maybe hiding it in a garage sale one day and just pretending it was there all along."
"That's sneaky," said the voice, with a tone of begrudging admiration.
"As long as you're down there, can you see where the cat barfed?" the woman asked before yawning.
"This is ridiculous!" the voice snarled. "Why wouldn't you clean it up immediately if you knew there was cat-sick under your bed?!"
"Out of sight, out of mind," the woman replied sleepily. "Anyway, it's not my fault you decided to use that space for transportation."

 

[MajorRewrite]

I sat on my bed and poured bourbon into two glasses on the nightstand. One inch for me; two for her.

“Here, kitty kitty,” I called.

“Don’t call me that,” Cera replied and slid out from under the bed with supernatural grace.

“You have cat eyes.”

The lithe red naked demon sat beside me, crossed her long legs and reached for her glass. “Other than the eyes, do I look like a cat to you?”

I gave her a good long looking over and admitted, “No, you do not.”

“Damn straight,” she said and sipped her bourbon. “Ahhhh. You humans are shit, but you make the best booze.”

 

[intim8]

315 words. So sue me.

Todd Is Harmless
=============

When Todd invited me into his bedroom to 'show me something', I giggled at how suggestive that would sound coming from anyone but Todd.

When I went in, the room was frigid and a feeling of dread smothering me like a body bag.

"Close the door," he said, "Don't let the cold out."

He dropped to one knee next to the bed and reached under it. Wailing rose from where his hand went. It came out clutching a tangle of dark black hair with a pair of feet under it, soles up, toes catching in the carpet as he dragged it.

I suddenly lost my capacity for mere horror. Dread turned to feeling that my soul had been crumpled into a ball like a scrap of paper to be binned. The already frigid temperature fell thirty degrees.

I gawked. She was bent double... backwards, her neck bound to her ankles, her breasts justting into the air, her mound and labia thrust out from the grotesque hinge of a body bent the wrong way. Her eyes bored into mine, hungry, predatory.

"Who is she?"

Todd bent and breathed on her sex. It moistened and her nipples stiffened. Her eyes flared a purer red than I had ever seen in my life, and she hissed a gutteral growl that rose to a shriek of inhuman pain.

Todd stepped closer to me. Heat radiated from him, a heat I had to be closer to, and a glow of peace, joy... and arousal.

"Not who, what. Her human form was a mistake, an attempt to get to me. She is the opposite of pleasure, of warmth, of kindness and tenderness. The opposite of intimacy."

I stared at him, longing to feel my skin against his. "What will you do with her?"

"Destroy her."

"How?"

"You and I, together." He stood against me and began unbuttoning my blouse.

 

[joy_of_cooking]

Mine's about 600 words, but it started off at 2k so I'm pretty proud of myself for cutting it down as much as I did. It's the first chapter of a story I doubt I'll finish in time for Pandemonium.

I can now see my mother as a tragic figure, as much a victim as a villain, worthy of empathy if not sympathy. This was a view that took time and distance to develop. As a child, I saw her as nothing more than a violent, drunken slut who resented every moment of my existence.

But I guess you don't care about that. You want to hear about Germaine. Okay, I'll tell you about Germaine.

We first met the day I shoplifted her pocketknife. You know it. The worn bone handle, the two-inch blade, the words engraved on it: Quid fluat, ea bibit.

Of course, I cut myself with it.

I've learned to tell a pretty story about control and displacement and unhealthy coping behaviors. At the time all I knew was the peace that washed over me when I put a razor to my thigh, high on the hip under my underwear. Doing it with my new knife was a no-brainer.

It was then that I heard them, a thousand voices shrieking and bellowing and gibbering silently in my head. "Who dares disturb my rest?"

Being a good Catholic boy, I yelped, "Jesus Christ!"

"You jest?!"

Kids like me learn to tell who's safe to piss off. These voices were not safe to piss off.

"No, no, my name is Robby and I'm very sorry to take the Lord's name in vain and even more sorry to disturb your rest!"

Suddenly, there was only one voice, scornful and definitely female. "Your name is Robby and you're sorry to take the Lord's name in vain? What are you, eight?"

"No, ma'am! Er, I am sorry. I'm not eight. I'm twelve."

Chagrined, she said, "Oh. Well, what do you want, little boy?"

I wanted her out of my head.

Luckily for me, I didn't have the good sense to say that out loud.

"I want my mom to stop being so mean to me."

"And how has your mother been mean to you, hmm?" That was scorn again.

I told her. I shouldn't have. That had been the first of my mother's lessons. But it was a relief to tell someone, even an imaginary voice in my head.

"Can you make her stop?"

"We can't guarantee outcomes." But she said a lot of words after that, detailing what she could do.

"You can be my guardian angel," I summarized.

"No," shrieked the entire chorus. Then, just her, "I am not, nor have I ever represented myself to be, your guardian angel. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Robby. You don't have to call me ma'am. I'm not mad at you. I just needed to be very clear on that point. Okay?"

"Okay. You were. Um, what do I call you?"

"You can call me anything you want."

"I guess you wouldn't like Angelica?" I joked.

"No." I could hear her smile.

"How about Germaine?" I pronounced it like Sister Germaine did, not like she said they would have pronounced it in Pribac.

"Well, I suppose I have no objection to being relevant."

"Sorry?"

"Germane. It means relevant."

"I don't know what relevant means either." And apparently my Germaine didn't know about Germaine Cousin, patron saint of abused children.

"Relevant means...it matters. I'm saying, I hope I will matter to you."

That she did. Over the next few years, Germaine would be my constant companion. She would whisper in my ear all day, every day, from dawn to dusk. She was my confidante, my mentor, my friend, the first person I greeted in the morning and the only person who bothered to bid me good night. Everything I am today, she made me.

No, she wasn't my guardian angel. She did more for me than any of you fuckers.

 

[Erozetta]

From the same story as my anonymous entry.
__________________________________________________

Keres spent many hours peering under her daughter’s bed. She'd been taught that demons always came from darkness. They emerged from shadows like wicked children who'd been playing in mud. So, night after night she fell asleep staring into that abyss, conjuring her worst fears from the depths of pitch-black hidden beneath a fluffy unicorn blanket.

Then came a night when the weight of a hand lay against her cheek. “I need to teach her how to be safe around you." His voice was deep and familiar, but she couldn't place it.

It wasn’t her daughter’s hand. It was much larger, and warmer. A soft pair of lips pressed to hers. Unwanted tears curled along the side of her nose. She knew in that instant that she’d failed and he would take her daughter with him, just as she’d been warned.

"I don’t want her to hurt you, Keres. When she comes back it will be as if she was never gone.” His tone seemed genuine and that just pissed her off more.

He placed another tender kiss on her lips.

An image of lying in his arms, his skin charred, his embrace warm and true, flashed in her mind. Keres wanted to say something, but her lips wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t, open. He wiped the tears from her eyes and she wanted to scream at him, demand to know who he was, but only a muffled whimper emerged from her sealed lips.

When she could open her eyes again, her daughter’s bed was empty, the blanket crisp and singed along the edge.

What kind of mother couldn’t protect her own child?

 

[joy_of_cooking]

Wait, were you the one who wrote a story about being Satan's lover? Is this a sequel? They had a kid?

 

[Erozetta]

Wait, were you the one who wrote a story about being Satan's lover? Is this a sequel? They had a kid?

I did (Morningstar is what it was called), but no, this isn't a sequel, completely different story, lol.

That 750 is going to stay a 750, I don't think I ever want to get into their backstory or how long she's been trying to die while he won't let her.

 

[mrs_mackenzie]

Here's 250 words exactly (probably).

---

Any demon released from the Doom Dimension must be bound to create evil in the world. Azhnakaztheth, Fifth-Level Demon of the Pit of Screams, coalesced into a solid form, her scales cracking and steam escaping from her gaping gills, empty eye sockets staring with otherworldly sight. Evil must be created.

“Oh God, oh God, yes.”

Azhnakaztheth paused. Who dared invoke a higher deity in her presence? She slithered slightly, sensing her surroundings. She was beneath something in a kind of cavity space, and whatever was above her was moving up and down with a repetitive motion.

“Mm, fuck, yes that’s it, oh God yes.”

Invoking the deity again. Had she been detected? Was this how the human race repelled demon spawn, with incantations such as this?

“Yes baby, yes baby, that’s the spot.”

Azhnakaztheth froze. Was this human calling on Behbhi, Ninth-Level Demon of the Burning River? If she’d accidentally encroached on Behbhi’s territory there would literally be Hell to pay.

“Mm, yes, fuck mommy, fuck mommy, fuck mommy’s pussy.”

‘Mommy’, Azhnakaztheth thought. This word felt out of place.

“Fuck your cummy-wummies into mommy-wommy’s pussy-wussy, baby. Fill me up with your delicious hot rock-hard dick soup: mommy’s hungry.”

An unholy shiver ran through Azhnakaztheth. She could feel instinctively that an aberration was occurring. This was too strong for a mere Fifth-Level Demon.

“Mm yes that’s it, pumpy-wumpy my pussy-wussy with your wet stick, mommy’s creaming for you, mix mommy’s cream, churn it to butter-”

Azhnakaztheth returned to the Pit, defeated.

 

[StillStunned]

I have another one. I thought it would be interesting to write from the demon's perspective (although @mrs_mackenzie beat me to the idea), with a bit of voyeurism. It went a different way, though, and I'm not entirely happy with it. Still, I think it's typical of some of my stranger writings, so I'll post it here anyway. No kink-shaming intended.

===

Other demons seduce their victims physically. They fuck them, in other words.

That’s not me. It’s crude, I always tell them. It makes it about the demon, and the demon’s pleasure. The victim is a passive participant.

My way is better. I let my presence seduce them, and they define their own pleasure. They test their boundaries and I nudge them across.

Masturbation is the gateway to all kinds of kinks. It’s private, it’s secret, it does no-one any harm.

Except it’s not secret when I’m under the bed. I know what you’re doing. I encourage it. I’m the voice in your head whispering that it’s alright. It’s your pleasure, so why deny yourself? Go on, explore a little!

The first time you let a finger slide down to tease your arse, it’s me telling you not to feel ashamed. And five years later, when you’re drugged out in a Bangkok hotel room being spitroasted by two ladyboys, you’ll have forgotten how it all began.

A clothes peg on your nipple, and before you know it you’re hanging from chains with someone in a leather mask flogging you. A string of anal beads and next thing you’re naked in a carpark surrounded by strangers, being fucked in every hole, again and again.

That’s what I do. Nudge you towards depravity. I’m good at it, because I love what I do.

I love lying there, under your bed, listening to your moans, the sounds of your sex, waiting for that slight hesitation as you decide to take a tiny, innocent step outside your comfort zone, and into a life of pleasure…

 

[lovecraft68]

Cheating a little as this isn't part of a story. Saw the thread and decided to challenge myself with an off the cuff, just start typing snippet.

There's a demon under my bed. I hear its voice in my head. A sibilant hiss promising solace and comfort. Telling me only he has the power to save me.
It's my own fault, I should have cast him out, but instead I was arrogant, playing into the self-delusion that my will was stronger than theirs.

I foolishly kept him around, a constant temptation, a challenge to myself is how I saw it. But was it my eyes that saw it that way, or the demon's manipulations telling me that was the case? As I lay there, my body trembling and my mind filled with the memories of how wrong, yet sweet, it felt when I surrendered and let the demon have its way.

I was already damned, is what it whispered in my mind. My soul tainted, my mind in turmoil, life in ruins, and that maddening feeling of emptiness that only seemed filled when I let the demon take control. There was nothing left to lose, now is there? It asks. I argue there is nothing left to gain, and it agrees, but what it can do, if I let it in, is make me forget by providing the pleasure of numbness to dull the pain of existence.

I roll over, reach under the bed, and grab the bottle, the one I told my sponsor I'd thrown out. I take several long swallows and possessed once more, I smile.

 

[Lifestyle66]

Demons don't need to hide under a bed. Sometimes they're in our past.

From my story "Lifestyle Ch. 11 - Demons Past":
*******************************************
I struggled to stand straight up, picking my wife up with her ass still impaled on me.

When Jan stopped her spasms and calmed, she regained her legs and stood, straightening her back as I pulled out. We silently took some toilet tissue and cleaned ourselves, dropping it into the toilet and flushed it away. I pulled my pants back up and Jan straightened her panties and dress.

Jan turned to me and wrapped her arms around me, leaning her head on my shoulder. I held her close, and I felt her shake a little as she held back a sob. So, I pulled her tighter into me.

She only needed a few seconds, then pulled away from me. I watched as she stretched her neck looking up at the ceiling and twisted her head around, as if stretching out after finishing some exercise. She regained her composure and self-confidence, pulling her shoulders back and looked at me, the wild woman gone and my wife again standing in front of me.

"Thanks," she said, as she put a hand on my chest, then she looked down, now suddenly shy again. She quietly added, "I was twenty-one. And after you went away to the university, he was my first, other than with you.... I wasn't ready, and I didn't want him to do that. But it was my third time coming here. And I wanted to be with him,... even after that.... I'm glad you came with me this weekend. I didn't realize how much I needed you to do this with me."

Reaching under her chin, I tilted her face up toward me and leaned down to kiss her. "Let's grab a drink," I said "and go back to our room. I think you might want to talk a little more in private."

"Ya think?" she said sarcastically, as she laughed then smiled at me. "Let's go, geek!"

I laughed a little with her. "The bitch is back."

"But I'm your bitch!"
****************************************************

 

[Devinter]

"Honey, we've got a human on top of the bed again.."

Sabnock's frown could not have been deeper. The disdain in his wife's tone made it clear that, despite the demonically romantic evening they had shared - feeding chocolate covered souls to one another by the lava lake, then snuggling up together beneath a beautiful rain of fire and brimstone - he was not getting lucky tonight. Not unless he did something about the human.

"I'll take care of it, my little she-devil," he said in his smoothest voice. "Have you seen my human repellent spray? I could have sworn I left it by the locker of infinite suffering?"

She made a face. One that suggested, at best, that her husband was a damned fool. "I told you to buy a new can," she replied sharply. "Over a week ago. When you ran out."

"O-Oh.. Right.. Yes, I remember," Sabnock lied. He had completely forgotten.

"You're just going to have to manifest and scare the human away the old fashioned way," his wife concluded. It was clearly not up for debate.

Sabnock sighed. "Right."

He got up and began to stretch. The last thing he wanted to do was to pull a muscle while traversing worlds again. He was no longer the young fiend he had once been, with flames in his stride, exuding an aura of confidence. Now, his hips started to ache if he made sudden moves, and his back complained when he stood up too quickly. Manifesting was a real pain these days. "I'll be right back then, my little hellspawn."

With great discomfort, he pushed his way through the veil, and into the mortal realm - appearing right underneath the human's bed. "The things we do for love and lust," he lamented as he stood up on wobbly legs, baring his razor sharp fangs at the intruder. His eyes lit up like two bright suns as they bored into his target - an old bald man watching Netflix whilst eating Dorito's in bed, crumbs everywhere. "GET OUT! YOU'RE COCKBLOCKING ME!"

The man eyed the demon from top to bottom, as if to assess how serious Sabnock was. Then he scoffed. "Naaah. I'm watching my show," the human said dismissively, his cheese-dusted fingers already wrapped around another chip - which he then chewed loudly, mouth open. "You get out, dude."

This meant war.

 

[StillStunned]

@Devinter has entered the lists... This is the first of these writing exercises you've participated in, isn't it?

 

[Devinter]

@Devinter has entered the lists... This is the first of these writing exercises you've participated in, isn't it?

That might be true. I did do a second-person-POV story when that forum challenge was issued, but that was posted as an actual story. I do like the exercises though, getting out of one's comfort zone and trying new things. That's a big part of why I enter the competitions and author's challenges when I get the chance. Got something cooking for nearly every such event coming up for the next handful of months, so provided that I can get them finished on time, there should be plenty of variety in my collection of works! (More than one story may contain demons, however..)

 

[pearlsenecio]

“You're not real!” Lucy shouted out loud.

The demon met Lucy's wide-eyed stare with its startled glowing eyes. She wasn't supposed to be able to move, why was this happening? Instead of trying to overpower the waking woman, the demon hopped off the bed with a loud thud. It was much bigger than Lucy realized, and stood upright, towering over her.

The demon smiled a wide grin, exposing a mouthful of rows of razor-sharp teeth. Before Lucy's legs could obey her brain's commands, the demon began to shrink in size until it was small enough to fit underneath the bed. It slid quickly underneath as if floating, leaving a sticky trail of slime in its wake.

Lucy sat in her bed and slowed her breathing. She focused on the beat of her thumping heart and reminded herself that it was merely a nightmare. A side effect from the accident. When she had feeling in her legs and feet again she slid them over the side of the bed to get a glass of water. Her feet landed in a puddle of sticky goo on the floor and her breath caught in her throat. She thought she could hear laughter, but couldn't discern where it was coming from.

A deep, low voice entered her mind and whispered, “I'll be back Lucy. See you soon."

 

[shelleycat1]

I saw this thread, then a part of a story came into my head. So here it is. And then I found the rest of a story appearing. So thank you, AH.

250 words.

"There is a demon under my bed."
"Confirm security prompt."
"There is a demon under my bed."
"Look at the green light and relax. Programming starting..." said the machine.
I jolted awake. It was like I had just dropped asleep. I was always surprised, even
though I had been programmed many times before. Then I remembered why I was
here: I recalled that my family, that I had trusted, had abused my trust. I felt the
bitterness of rage, the regret of loss, the sting of tears that threatened to spill, and
determination never to let this happen again.
"Ready for further programming," the machine said. "Be aware that you cannot tell or
write that phrase to anyone else now."
"I don't have to worry about unreal demons. I need to deal with the real demon."
The machine made no reply; it didn't know how to deal with demons. I had just
closed one door. Now that I was an adult, I had at least placed one barrier to
anyone else ever programming me.
"Now, machine. Tell me of the other programmes you installed in me?"
It replied flatly, "You have 'dutiful daughter' and 'no-potty mouth' installed."
"Well. I want to change that. Uninstall 'no-potty-mouth'."
"Look at the green light and relax. Programming starting..."
"Now fucking uninstall 'dutiful daughter'."
It finished that too.
Then I said, "Install the strongest assertion you have. And if you have a righteous
rage, I want that too. Then make me hate both my parents.”

 

[onehitwanda]

Constrained by the format, but I've always had a soft spot for her

“It's not really that different down there,” she said. “I miss the greenery, though. Everything's shades of red and violet; it palls a bit.”

“So what made you go there?” I asked, as I poured her her tea, careful as always not to bang my head on the bed slats above me.

She moved Miss Poppy's head so that Miss Poppy could talk to Ragamuffin the bear.

“Oh, boredom, mostly. Limbo's just full of old, stuffy stiffs. Honestly, throw in a tour bus and a seaside resort and it would be very much like Blackpool.”

I laughed at that. We'd been having these tea parties since I was seven; she wasn't generally very forthcoming with things about herself.

This was novel.

“Were you ever human, Izzy?” I asked, curious.

She grinned. “Me? I wish. No; I've always had a touch of the diabolical, even when I was divine.”

“So you were a god once?”

“Oh, yes. Long, long ago. But then the Church got hold of me and, well... those guys had a weird aversion to powerful female figures.”

She pillowed her head on her arm. Her eyes were an almost turquoise blue, and her beauty put most supermodels to shame.

“So... happy birthday, Rachel,” she said.

“Thanks. I'm getting kind of old for tea parties, I suppose.”

“Childhood always ends eventually. I will miss this.”

I reached out to touch her cheek.

“I'm eighteen now,” I told her.

And Ishtar's eyes widened as I shifted closer and kissed her.