“Son of Adam-“
“Just ‘Alan’ is fine, Prim…” Alan grunts past his toothbrush and the foamy toothpaste on his lips. He can already feel the oppressive hands of a clock running short pushing down on him, so the sentient patch of darkness on the wall is only afforded a fraction of his attention. He takes a moment to think over his morning so far.
It started off rather well, in his opinion. Alan slept well enough that he woke up before his alarm, though he found himself confused by the unnaturally dark morning. Then his alarm clock went off, startling the unnatural darkness into receding. Once the window was freed from the grasp of the living shroud, the morning light was finally allowed in.
That’s when he remembered that he apparently spoke to a real-deal demon the night prior, one who… watched him sleep…
Ech.
He lay there for a moment and pondered, wondering if he was actually serious with himself during his closing conversation with the demon. Would he actually be okay with a quiet, painless death at the hands of some kind of inky darkness monster? Or was that merely irritation talking? Alan can’t say he knows for sure, even now. He wasn’t given long to think, as he realized that he’s got to get ready for work.
The Primordial Darkness, or Prim as he nicknamed it the last night, followed him for his morning routine, slinking across the walls and floor like a living ink puddle. Its grin from the night prior was absent, leaving only stark white eyes visible. Thus far, Prim has only been observing quietly.
‘At least it’s Friday…’ Alan pulls himself from his thoughts. After rinsing his mouth and spitting the remainder of the toothpaste into the bathroom sink, he pulls his lips back into a facsimile of a smile and inspects his teeth in the mirror. ‘That should be good.’
“Alan,” Prim speaks up, blinking its large eyes. “We must make time for proper dialogue. I have had much time to ruminate upon our discussion the night prior, and it is evident that much has changed since me and mine have walked this earth. I would know why thou has… seemingly no interest in preserving thine life.” Once more, the demon seems unsettled by such a concept.
Alan sighs and rubs his chin. The stubble on his face can get away with one more day unshaved. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I phrased it a bit like a drama queen last night. I’m not running around looking for something to kill me, I’m just saying that if it happens, then it happens, and I’ll accept it. It would be… You know? A lateral move?” After a moment, he adds: “Besides, aren’t you an ancient demon? Surely you’ve seen people actually do the deed.”
Alan can see the black patch on the wall shift slightly. The round, white eyes look at the floor for a second before meeting his again. “Thou art correct. I hath seen men in both moments of unrivaled glory and moments of unthinkable despair. In the latter, some decided to spurn their Father’s gift and take their own lives, but such men had suffered in ways incomprehensible, all of them losing everything which gave their life definition, or slaying themselves to escape ongoing torment. Their Divine Spark was long gone before the first drop of lifeblood soaked into the earth.”
When Prim doesn’t elaborate further, Alan hums and quickly takes a comb to his short-ish brown hair. “Whatever. If you’re still insisting on talking to me later, then you’re going to have to hang out here while I’m at work.” Once his hair is in a sterile, office worker side part, he checks his button-up shirt, tie, slacks, and shoes one last time. Everything looks fine, so he looks down at his wristwatch and grimaces.
Ten minutes before he needs to be on the road.
“Later?” Prim parrots, tilting their currently 2D head. “I would request we speak sooner, rather than later.”
“And I would be thrilled to skip work and hang out, make no mistake,” Alan nods. Oh, how he does not want to go in today. “But I’ve only got so many days off a year, so that’s not happening.”
The demon doesn’t seem too happy with the news, though Alan only has the narrowing of its eyes as an indicator, so who knows, really? “And how long of a day does thine trade require?”
‘Trade? Ha! If I could go back in time and tell myself to be a welder or something, I would.’ Alan shrugs. “Considering we’ve implemented a big change to client workflow? I have no idea how long this is going to take. Today could be a twelve-hour day for all I know.”
Prim levels him with an unsure glare, as if not believing him. “Very well. Surely thou art granted some respite from your toils, however? May we speak then?”
“You sure are insistent,” Alan idly mutters, checking his watch once more. Eight minutes until he needs to leave. He turns and exits the bathroom, watching Prim follow him along the wall. In the kitchen, he takes a hooded, zip-up jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and throws it on. “I get thirty minutes for lunch around noon. If you think you can fit everything into that, then sure.” He pats his pockets, confirming he has everything he needs to leave. “You’re going to have to lay low in the office, though. I’m pretty sure letting a demon in is grounds for me getting fired.”
Prim blinks, its eyes scanning him for a moment. “I believe I have a solution.”
The muddy darkness on the wall transforms into a thin stream of black, one that flies through the air and into the shadow between Alan’s jacket and his body. The shadow darkens noticeably, and Alan can feel the inside of the jacket grow cool, as if a breeze is constantly circulating within. Looking down, he can see Prim’s eyes looking back up at him from the darkness.
“Huh, that’s pretty nifty,” Alan admits. He pulls the edge of his jacket away from his body experimentally, finding that the shadow underneath is still as dark as ever. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Prim and its powers are forgotten for a moment in favor of getting on with his day. Grumbling to himself, Alan steps outside, locks the door labeled “Unit 67” behind him, and begins the trek down to his car, and it is a trek, because his goddamn upstairs neighbors took his parking spot again. He doesn’t spare the rows of identical apartments behind him a second glance, but after looking around carefully, he lashes his foot out, kicking the door of the rusty truck parked in his spot and adding yet another dent to it. ‘Next time, you’re getting a nail in your tire, you drunken fuck.’
The walk to the overflow parking lot takes a minute, and once there, Alan unlocks his rickety, late-90s sedan and sits down inside, slamming the door behind him. A turn of the key later, and the old car reluctantly groans to life. As Alan mentally prepares himself for another commute, he spies a blobby tendril with two white eyes rising from the depths of his jacket to peer out the window.
“The world of man has faced great and monumental change, it seems…” The eldritch thing seems bewildered as it takes in the passing buildings and other cars. “Before mine slumber, beasts pulled such things,” it says, the tendril turning to follow a passing semi truck. “It would be the height of foolishness to hew them from steel in those days. Such heavy contraptions would need a legion of horses to pull them a single league.”
Alan grunts, focusing on driving. Or, more accurately, he’s focusing on the person in front of him, who must be drunk or playing on their phone from how they’re swerving back and forth. “What’s up with that anyway? I’ve been hearing about more and more supernatural stuff in the news. Is there some kinda…” He lifts a hand and turns his wrist in a circle, searching for the word he wants. “I dunno what I’m trying to say. Is your appearance and all of the weird shit happening recently connected?”
Prim is silent for a moment. “Perhaps. Old and powerful I am, but perfect recall is not within mine repertoire... I do not recall what circumstances led me to sleep for what seems to be centuries. In the weeks before mine eyes shut, many of the Greater Powers began to fall silent, as if gone from the earth. It was at the same time man began to advance forward with haste. I was one of the last, and by the time realization hath struck me, the hour for action had already passed.” The dark, eye-sporting tendril recedes, and Alan can feel it beneath his jacket. “Tis only reasonable to assume that with my reemergence, others shall return as well.”
“Hmm…” Alan lets the conversation lapse into silence as he turns onto the highway. Wasting no time, he gets into the slow lane, and sets his cruise control at exactly the speed limit. In twenty minutes, it’ll be time to get off the five lanes of anxiety around him. ‘That’s something, I guess. I guess I’ll have to tell Chase and make sure that he doesn’t run off and get himself killed trying to rob gnomes or something.’ He sniffs. “Hey, Prim?”
His jacket shifts again. “Yes, Alan?”
“What do I refer to you as?” He begins. “As in, genderwise. He? She? Something else? I don’t want to call you ‘it’.”
From the shadow within his jacket, the white eyes regard him with what looks like a raised brow. “It matters not to one such as I. Such notions are human, and thus are not applicable to me. Refer to me however thou wishes.”
Alan rolls his eyes. “Humor me. I was going to assume female from your little spiel last night, but I don’t make assumptions after my last HR write-up.”
If Prim is annoyed or confused by the statement, it doesn’t show. “Female would be the more correct one, if only technically.” She finally confirms.
The rest of the drive to the office is quiet, and thankfully free of any drama on the road. Were it not a workday, and one that’s guaranteed to be bad, Alan might have pondered further on the revelation that all of the odd happenings on the news are likely not bullshit, but the trial to come smothers that curiosity in the cradle.
Much to Alan’s dread, they finally arrive.
Pulling into his parking spot and shutting off his car, Alan holds his hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare.
“Damn it all…” He curses to himself.
He already spies a welcome sign by the office front door, one with an overtly colorful and cheery message asking visitors to come right in and help themselves to some coffee and pastries.
“They’re already expecting walk-ins who want to scream at someone…” Alan resigns himself to his fate. He steps out of his car and slams the door behind him. “Let's get this over with…”
“Enthusiasm for thine trade seems lacking…” Prim comments quietly. A white eye looks up, taking in the bombastically red sign reading West Commonwealth Realty on the side of the brick building.
“Believe me, it’s for good reason…” Alan grumbles back.
Stepping inside the office, the man is once more reminded just how ugly the open-air design is, and thanks his lucky stars that he nabbed a spot by the corner. During the rare times when the office isn’t metaphorically on fire, he can keep his head down and most people forget he exists.
Sitting down at his desk, he jiggles the mouse of his old computer, signs into his timeclock, and clocks in with a few minutes to spare.
“How queer…” Prim mumbles. One of her eyes scans the office discreetly, even if she and Alan are the only ones here. Her gaze roams the desks, the computers, and the papers. Then she moves to the walls, which are adorned with eye-searingly colorful posters, ugly art murals, and award portraits so large, they come across as masturbatory. “What manner of facility is this? I see not tools nor materials to work with, and doubts arise for clerical work with so little stationery.”
“This is a real estate office, Prim.” Alan mumbles. “So this does fall under clerical work. All of this, and all the people who were going to come in here, facilitate third party buying and selling of land and buildings, a.k.a. real estate.”
“…Can the owners of the ‘real estate’ not perform such transactions themselves?”
Alan snorts, a sardonic smile rising to his face. He looks down and aims his smirk at Prim. “We don’t ask intelligent questions like that around here.”
The demon blinks back, and such a simple action easily conveys her confusion. “I see…” She says, not understanding at all. “What function do you perform here, Alan?”
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Alan looks up at the name tag attached to the wall of his half-cubicle.
Alan Conan
Senior Technology Consultant
“My job is nothing, and everything, all at the same time…” Alan’s mouth draws itself into a thin line. “Nothing, and everything.”
[line]
“This is how I’ve done things for thirty years! Do you hear me!? The machine sitting in my office has been doing this longer than you’ve been alive! You high and mighty kids are all the damn same! I cannot believe this! What does it actually cost you to have a working fax machine in here? Ah ah ah! Don’t tell me! I can already hear the inflated number about ready to come out of your smart mouth!”
Alan, standing with his arms folded behind his back and remaining carefully neutral, waits for the woman standing at his desk to tire herself out with her tirade. The various realtors, agent assistants, analysts, and others around the office don’t even look their way.
He knows the woman before him. Missus Hathway, an aging grandmother, and wife of a prominent property investor in the southern part of the state, is never a fun guest to entertain. Like many other clients who frequent the office, she’s far from amused that West Commonwealth Realty will be closing down the fax lines in a month’s time. She’s the third to storm in and demand to see the Head Broker, only to be pushed Alan’s way so he can ‘explain’ the reasoning behind the fax lines going away.
She won’t be the last to come in.
In his jacket, Alan can feel Prim shifting restlessly. He has no idea if the noise is irritating the demon or not, but so far, she’s remained compliant with all of Alan’s requests to keep a low profile. How much longer she’s willing to play along, the man isn’t sure, and he suddenly realizes the folly of bringing a literal demon to work with him.
Missus Hathway finally pauses to take a breath, so Alan quickly plants a well-practiced smile on his face and interjects.
“Missus Hathway,” he simpers against his will, “I understand your frustration with all of this, and I understand that during these stressful times, this decision is not helping. I want to assure you that we at the West Commonwealth Realty family did not make this decision lightly, and that our traditional fax lines will be replaced with a newer and even easier-to-use e-fax system. We didn’t want to decommission our faxes, but our telecom company informed us that they would no longer be servicing traditional phone lines unless used for emergency services, like security systems and fire alarms.”
That is absolutely not the case. Someone upstairs is pocketing kickback money from an e-fax provider, and the fax machines, as a consequence, have to go so they aren’t a drain. Alan is well aware that nobody upstairs is going to care about his lie so long as it’s kept consistent and can’t be proven.
“I want to apologize on behalf of the entire West Commonwealth Realty family for the inconvenience.” Alan renews his smile when he realizes it’s falling. “We’ll do everything in our power to make it up to you as a valued client, Missus Hathway.”
The old woman scowls and steps into Alan’s personal space to tap his chest with a gnarled finger ending in a red, elongated nail. “I. Don’t. Think. You. Can!” She punctuates every word with another tap. “I’ll be talking to Mindy about this, and about that rude smile of yours!”
Missus Hathway finally turns and marches away, making for the front door.
Alan keeps his smile planted on his face until the old woman finally exits the building. Once she’s gone, he sits down, opens the time clock on his computer, and marks himself as “On Break” before standing up and quickly walking through the rear door of the office.
Outside and away from any prying eyes, Alan’s pleasant visage morphs into a scowl that can only be described as “homicidal”. “That fuckin’-!” He stops himself short and takes a deep breath. His hands come up and massage his temples, trying to rub out the swiftly building migraine.
“Alan, we need to talk.”
He looks down at the shadows within his jacket. There, he can see Prim’s blazing eyes and, for the first time today, her gleaming white teeth. Her face is drawn back into an ugly grimace. “What was that I just witnessed?” She demands. “Why did you not defend yourself in the face of such disrespect?”
Alan shrugs, his anger beginning to dissipate. “That’s customer service for you.”
“Customer service?” The demon’s jaw drops a little before she catches it. “In what way was that service?! That was the most blatant disregard of courtesy I have seen in the entirety of mine life, and that is not an inconsiderable sum of years, Alan.” She glares up at him. “That woman openly humiliated you before all of your peers, going far beyond any sort of protections that would be granted to her by the morality of others. Thrice you have been abused, and thrice you have done nothing. I demand an explanation for this.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Alan shoots back with more hostility than he intended. He lets a breath hiss out between his teeth and reminds himself to calm down. “I wanted to belt Hathway across the mouth, yeah, but if I so much as talked back, my job would be on the line. Hell, I’m probably going to get the third degree from the Head Broker of the joint for not being ‘sensitive’ enough to our clients or something, so I need to toe the line, or my dressing down will turn into a documented reprimand.” Alan looks away and digs in his jacket pocket, drawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one and taking a drag, he sighs the smoke back out. “I don’t know how things work for demons or whatever, but I need a job, okay? My refrigerator doesn’t fill itself, and my bills sure as hell do not pay themselves.”
Prim has no reply for a minute, letting Alan smoke half of his cigarette in peace. Finally, Prim speaks up once more. “Was this not a profession you desired?” she asks, voice oddly soft.
Alan huffs out a laugh. “No. Not even close.” He leans back against the brick building and stares up at the cloudy sky.
“What do you want to do, then? Why be here if this isn’t what you want?” Prim asks, her perfectly round eyes staring up at him intently, as if trying to understand him.
“Huh. I think you’re the first person ever to ask me that,” Alan mumbles. “Shit, if I’m being perfectly honest with you, Prim, I don’t even know what I want to do. I went to school for economics because I thought I could make a boatload of money offering my talent to a big bank or investment firm or something, then I found out the hard way that’s not how it works.” He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Moving money is a club kinda thing. You don’t get in unless you know somebody. I tried being an analyst for some smaller financial firms for a while, but that just burned me. The economy is just too volatile for small guys to stay afloat, so I had to pivot and learn something new. I went back to school for two years and got another degree in computer science.”
“Computers, as in the so-called ‘networked thinking machines’ you showed me earlier?”
“The same.” He nods along. ‘She referred to me as ‘you.’ Is she picking up on some vernacular that isn’t from ye olde times?’ He sets the idle thought aside to continue talking. “I thought that maybe a job isn’t an end-all-be-all, but a means to an end for something I actually do want to do. I tried to get a cozy position in some company’s technology department, but it looks like I ran out of luck at the worst time, because the tech boom came to an end, and places all over were slashing employee counts, usually starting with their IT.”
Alan takes another drag of his smoke, easing his nerves a little more. “What a fuckin’ mistake. Now I’ve got two degrees worth of debt that I can barely pay back. I’ll be working all the way up to my 70s if I’m lucky. If not…” He trails off.
Prim interrupts him before he can continue. “Debt? Degrees?” She seems confused. “Do you owe your mentors something? Whatever it may be, surely it’s not so grievous?”
The man stops, a smirk appearing on his face. He covers his mouth as his shoulders shake in laughter. “Oh, man… If only it were that simple.” He clears his throat. “No, no, the schooling I got wasn’t from individual mentors or anything. The ‘degrees’ I mentioned are certifications that I completed special schooling, then they come from higher education facilities like universities or colleges. The problem with these degrees? They’re god damn expensive, and the only way to get them is by getting a loan, paying the school, then gradually paying off the loan over a period of years, usually a few decades considering the amounts you have to borrow.” Alan watches Prim blink, seemingly not comprehending what he’s saying. “These loans accrue what’s called ‘interest’, which tacks on more money that you need to pay the longer you have an outstanding balance, and the interest is usually percent based.” Alan takes one last drag of his cigarette.
Prim’s eyes narrow, then shoot wide open. Once more, her jaw drops. “But that’s usury!”
“So you see how it can spiral out of control.” The man snorts. “I’m not going to get into what happens if you don’t pay them, or we’d be here all day. Do you understand why I need my job?”
The demon remains silent, merely looking up at him.
A thought suddenly strikes Alan, and he looks back down at his jacket stowaway. “Say, Prim? Did you choose what you wanted to be? Like, did you have to train, or take your position from someone else?”
Prim works her jaw, seemingly rehearsing her answer to herself. “No. At my inception, I was always me. I am the only Primordial Darkness, and I did not have to search out my destiny.”
Alan hums and tosses his cigarette butt away, watching it bounce in the rear parking lot. “I envy you.”
----------------------------------------
At long last, the day is at an end. Alan, along with Prim, pull to a stop in front of Alan’s apartment. His parking spot is blessedly free, so he takes it and tells himself not to move his car all weekend.
All in all, Alan endured eight unruly clients in the office, each one on the older side and upset that a change was forced upon them. The Head Broker of the office, one Mindy Caldwell, didn’t call him to her office, and Alan was thankful for the blessing as he clocked out. Mindy must have just gotten her Xanax prescription refilled and enjoyed her drug-induced good mood too much to bother him.
“Huh, shit…” Alan frowns when he realizes his stomach is growling. “I didn’t get to take lunch today. Sorry about that, Prim,” he says down to the demon riding in his jacket. “Once I have some dinner in me, we’ll have that talk.”
“I’ve been feeling your stomach spasming in hunger for several hours…” The shadow monster says, her airy voice as dry as sand. “To my knowledge, forgoing sustenance is not conducive to human health.”
Alan simply shrugs. “It happens,” he says, stuffing his keys in his pocket.
“Alan.”
Prim stops him short of opening the car door.
Inside his jacket, Prim’s eyes blink, seemingly conflicted. “I still wish to form an accord with you, but I feel as if such a thing would be ill advised on the part of both of us after today. There is much around me I do not understand, and it is clear that humans of this era have long since forgotten my ilk. I would form a shorter-term contract with you, a sort of ‘trial basis’ to use one of your terms.”
Alan raises an eyebrow. “See, that’s what I’m confused about. I’m just some guy, and you‘re an ancient demon. Why do some kind of magic contract thing with me?”
“Why else do two parties come to an agreement? Each has something the other desires,” she says. Alan feels her shift again. It’s an odd feeling, like a waterbed moving against his shirt. “I desire your knowledge and experiences, and I’m certain I can repay the favor in kind. As you have said, I am ancient, and thus learned and powerful. Yours is not an unpleasant personage, and I would rather form a contract with you than make an attempt to find another agreeable human.”
Drumming his fingers against the car door, Alan mulls it over. “I don’t know what I could need you for, but…” He thinks back over his day and shrugs. It might be his exhaustion making thinking unpleasant, but he can’t see why not if it’s just a mutual favor trade with no soul-stealing kind of thing. “Fuck it. Why not? Having a contracted demon sounds cool. Just please don’t ask for my soul, limbs, firstborn, or whatever, okay?”
“‘Cool’ indeed…” Prim agrees unsurely. “Why is a synonym for cold used in lieu of ‘admirable’ or another fitting word?” She mumbles to herself. “We will finalize the rites another time, Alan. For a true contract to take place, there are procedures to be upheld.”
“Goody, more paperwork…” Alan rolls his eyes.
As Alan opens the car door and steps out, Prim plops out of his jacket and onto the ground, forming an inky puddle. Considering the sun is nearly gone from the sky, she is nearly indistinguishable from the shadow under his car. “I shall honor our covenant now and grant you another boon, Alan. I will retrieve something for you to eat. Wait here, I shall return shortly.” With that, she seemingly melts into the darkness and disappears from sight.
“That’s nice of her…” Leaning against his car, Alan waits and thinks over the day.
Having Prim with him in the office made his day slightly more bearable. Slightly. Between explaining parts of his job and probing her with questions, it seems to him like Prim ‘went to sleep’ somewhere after the dark ages and before the Industrial Revolution, so there was plenty around her that she was curious about. She certainly proved her experience with a number of insightful tidbits and questions that forced him to stop and think for a moment. She turned what would have been a terrible day into… Okay, it was still a terrible day, but at least it was broken up by distractions.
What really stood out to him, though, were the times she would ask about him personally. The conversation after Hathway stands out above the others in his mind.
What do you want to do, then?
‘I… I don’t think I ever remember someone asking me what I want, not since I left my parents, anyway.’ He isn’t quite sure if he wants to frown or not. ‘Kind of pathetic of me to like the attention I get from a literal demon, isn’t it?’
As the last rays of the sun vanish over the horizon, Alan continues to wait for Prim to return.
Suddenly, there’s a great thump that sends a shock to the ground to his right. Alan’s head whips around, and he can’t help but tense up a bit.
Standing there with the bleeding carcass of a deer in its mouth is a wolf of simply titanic proportions. The beast is pitch black and almost invisible against the backdrop of the night. If not for the light radiating from its luminescent eyes, it might actually be invisible. The monstrous thing must be at least six-and-a-half, or maybe seven feet tall at the shoulder. Its black pelt makes picking out details impossible, but the behemoth must be supernaturally muscular from how easily it carries the deer in its jaws. The jaws and teeth themselves are another macabre marvel, for the blood of the deer seems to be unable to stain the teeth. The rivulets of red run down the pearly daggers without sticking at all.
Alan blinks, his fight-or-flight instincts sending an adrenaline-borne jitter throughout his body. “Prim?”
The wolf drops the deer to the ground with a splat and licks its blood-stained lips. “I saw what your compatriots ate within your office.” The wolf’s jaws articulate beyond what a canine should be able to do, producing Prim’s voice. “I would hardly call such things ‘food’, and although scrawny, this kill is fresh and natural.” Prim leans down and pushes the dead deer towards him with her nose.
Staring down at the corpse, Alan reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling his migraine return.