“Shut up!”

I roll over muttering curses and pulling my blanket tightly around me. It has been a busy night and all I want is some sleep. I can usually put up with this. I can put up with a lot, actually. And I've always been an advocate of the old saying, "Things could always be much worse." In most cases, it's true. But right now . . .

The sheets and blanket are ripped off the bed, and I'm flung into the wall.

"Son of a—, cut the crap!" I yell at the empty room. Standing up and grabbing my blanket, I lay back down in my bed and pull it back over me. It's quiet for a beat but, as I start to drift off, there's another loud crash, followed by whispering in my ear.

"I will show you unspeakable horrors."

That's it.

"Leave me the hell alone!" I yell, going full horror movie monster, the glare from my illuminated eyes shines red on the walls.

Ghosts like to mess with me before they pass on. Doing odd things to let me know they’re there. Things like: throwing me off my bed, whispering threats into my ear or ruining my house. And unfortunately, only evil spirits seek me out.

All spirits seek a beacon when it's their time. Evil seeks me out because of my aura. Y'see, I'm a demon. Well, half demon anyway, but that doesn't really matter to most beings. The dichotomy of good and evil is lost on all but those who are morally gray. I'm not sure if it's because they think I can make a recommendation for wherever it is they're going if they show me their power as a spirit or what, but it's annoying.

Truth is, I have no sway with whatever forces they'll meet, and I have no insight on what happens when they do pass on. So I get the raw end of the deal on that front. But it's nice to feel their energy dissipate when I go all stereotypical demon on them. Movies and TV have made an image of us that everyone expects. Even the dead.

I finally start to fall asleep again when my alarm goes off. I have one on my phone, but I also use a bedside clock so that I don’t start doom scrolling and fall back asleep again. Some days, though, I wish I could breathe fire and melt that clock. I’ve been told that it’s possible for someone of my lineage, but the best I can muster is some sparks and a lot of heat. It’s probably for the best, it wouldn't be good for most of my appliances if I could anyway. Instead of melting the clock, I turn it off and I begrudgingly get up to get ready for work. The water lines creak in the shower and I use the bathroom to let it warm up. But, unfortunately, it’s a fruitless effort, the water isn’t warming up quite right today. And by quite right, I mean at all. That, paired with my multiple rude awakenings, gives me reason to believe this day will suck. I mean, I may run hot being a creature of hellfire and brimstone, but I still enjoy a nice hot shower. What the cold water doesn't give me in comfort, it does give me in startling clarity for the morning. Washing my face, the hair on my chin and neck scratches my hands. Perhaps a shave is in order. I’ve reached that weird in-between phase in my attempt at growing a beard that just looks like dirt is clinging to my face.

I analyze myself in the mirror that, conveniently, isn’t fogged up--I still would’ve preferred a hot shower though. Over the years as I've met more people like me, I've found that most half-supernatural creatures, regardless of parentage, look like mixed race children. I myself have almost black hair and hazel eyes, and my skin looks like I tan without the leathery aftermath. I have a slight scar over my left eyebrow that goes unnoticed by most people. I check for more drastic changes to myself: horns, dark eyes, etc. It's always on my mind, but my features seem normal. Sometimes, I worry that my other half is pushing through and hiding it from me somehow. It's hard to say how it feels knowing there's something inside of you that could take you over if you let it. I guess everyone has that feeling, but my demon half could cause a lot of real damage--and it wants to.

After the vanity check, I grab my razor and run it under the water that, for some reason, decides now it can come out hot. As soon as the blade touches my face, the head of the razor falls off and goes down the drain. Staring at the drain in disbelief for a moment, I slide open the container and connect another blade to the handle then bring it to my face. This one pops off and goes down the drain as well. I rip open a new package and put it on, then hold my hand underneath it, putting the razor to my face. The blade actually slips off to the side, cutting my cheek. Grasping at it, the razor evades me and is forced down the drain. Heat courses through my chest when I hear the laughter around me. The burning flares hot for a moment and all is quiet. I hate ghosts. I sigh angrily, compose myself, snatch another blade then attach it to the handle.

At least the rest of my morning routine goes smoothly. I get dressed after the shower and go downstairs to make breakfast. My preferred morning drink is orange juice, but only before I brush my teeth. No one wants that vile mint and orange combo in their mouth. And the bitterness of coffee is no better. I don’t drink it, which is like the original sin to some. I’ve been called worse things than a half demon when I tell people that, but I prefer to run on my own energy. After breakfast I wash some dishes, brush my teeth, look at the weather for the day–cold–then go to start my car.

My still damp hair nearly freezes to my head when I walk outside. Snow has gathered on the sidewalk, and the ice hiding underneath it is slippery. I take it slow on the sidewalk, with my legs spread apart for balance and arms spread out for extra stability. I take stunted steps, like a fat baby and manage minimal slipping while getting to my car and unlocking it. The handle lifts, but the mechanism inside must've frozen as well. I've had this happen before. Last time, the handle never worked again. I had to buy a new door and if I didn't want to do that, I'd have had to rip off the inside of the door to get at the handle. And of course, if I did that, the contents wouldn't have fit like the factory seal ever again. I crouch down and take a closer look. I test my not-quite-fire breath on my hands a few times to feel its warmth. On the fourth time, a bit of smoke escapes. I cup my hands around my mouth, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly toward the lock. The air ripples, and the ice on the handle melts. Unfortunately, so does some of the dark blue paint around it..

"Crap," I say aloud, rubbing at the charred paint with my sleeve. It's not coming off. That's what I get for playing with fire. Almost literally.

The drive is slow going as well. I probably didn’t need to leave so early–trucks have plowed and laid a layer of salt, but people are still very cautious. Driving in the winter is a study in constant frustration. People never remember how to drive when it snows, even though they deal with it every year. My road rage manifests in a lot of eye rolling, steering wheel pounding, and bird-flipping, but I finally make it to work. I like to get there early and relax before the pressures of dealing with self-important customers who think they're smart. I work at a bookstore. Most people think as booksellers, we deal with a higher caliber of customer. They are wrong though, as I discovered–within my first week–when someone made eye contact with me while trying to poop in a urinal. I should have quit then. In actuality, you deal with an obscene amount of adult feces and just as many thieves and idiots as in any other retail position. At least that’s how it is in my city. There is no escape.

As soon as I sit down in the back office, our resident over-sharer walks in the door. She starts talking as soon as she sees there’s someone in the breakroom. I ignore her, but she talks anyway. She puts her things into a locker and prattles on about her life. When she starts going, I think about what punishments in hell must be like. Is something like this on the torture agenda? I know there is a person or persons like this at every job, and I can't be the only one who feels this way about them. I walk away from her, but she continues talking to the empty break room. I pass another coworker on the way out and shake my head, trying to silently tell him not to go in there. He doesn't get it. He raises an eyebrow and continues walking. I glance back and see him catch the door, look inside, then try to turn around.

"Ah, Geoff!" I hear her say, and he stares daggers at me as the door closes. I'll hear about it later, but I let out a small laugh. I walk to the front registers and see who's working. It's the new girl. We've talked a few times and from what I've gathered, she's slightly younger than me and has a very bubbly, cheery personality. You know, someone whose innocence hasn't been destroyed by retail yet. She doesn’t look over when I walk behind the counter to a nearby register, because she's talking to a customer.

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Well, he seems like a customer to her.

I can tell he’s more.

I'm not normally a guy that gets in the way of someone’s flirting, but this guy--I hate him. I don't know him, but I hate him with every available fiber of my being. I can tell just by his aura: seduction, lust, and hunger

Incubi.

Natural roofies.

Women, and sometimes men depending on the Incubi's persuasion, often think that they've been hit by a pickup artist or something after being tricked by an incubus. And that's only if they survive the encounter. I hate watching it. People have no idea that it's a supernatural being's will that is invading their own. I've seen this guy before. He's been around the store a lot lately but never actually buys anything. I notice him because of his hair.

It's silver.

On purpose.

What a fashionable leech.

Maybe he’s just been watching Anna, and that makes this worse in my eyes. Not all demons are predators. Some, like me, just want to live our lives. But this guy is clearly on the hunt for someone, though it’s not through stealth.

Most demons hide their aura. It has a way of inciting certain emotions based on the demon's desires. Sometimes, that would bring unwanted attention if the demon has a goal in mind, but he seems to employ it constantly. He walks around with a smug air of self-righteousness that any retail worker can recognize as the worst kind of customer. He’s manipulating his energy and using his power to break her will, so I walk over and exert my own form of supernatural will. It's sort of like a negative zone. It's not as good as it sounds and sometimes it doesn't work, so I don't usually use it. If she’s actually into it, my one won’t do anything and I’ll leave it at that. If she’s not, it will break the connection. He must really be laying it on, because her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glazed and unfocused, and she is starting to touch his arm. A lot. Just as I figured, it's noticeable when my zone takes effect by the way her eyes focus. She looks around quickly like she doesn't remember how she got here. She withdraws her hand and looks at him.

"Can I help you find anything else?" she asks, taking the opportunity to extract herself.

He seems taken aback by her sudden need to bring their conversation to a close, and I smile to myself. "Maybe," he says but trails off. I can feel him pushing against me. "Would you want to--"

My negative zone is flimsy from lack of use, so I don’t think I can hold it for long. I have to find a way to interrupt their eye contact. If I don't break their focus on each other, he’ll regain control.

"Hey Anna," I say as I approach her. They both snap their heads toward me. The strength of his will fades from his aura and from her.

"Hey, Mike!" She says, and then looks back toward the incubus. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" she asks him.

He looks me up and down.

That's right assbag, the jig is up. Move along.

"No," he says, still looking at me. There is a look of confirmation on his face, and I don't really like that. "I think I've got everything I need here." He turns and walks away. I've got everything I need here? What the hell does that mean? I watch him walk away, and Anna says something that I don't quite hear. She shakes my arm and I turn.

"What?"

"Do you know that guy?"

"No . . . I mean, I don't think so."

"Oh, it seemed like he knew you."

"Yeah . . ."

I muddle through my work day, doing my tasks and helping customers. An hour before I’m finished, Anna walks past me on her way out, and I wave to her. She looks a little paler than before and her bangs are matted to her forehead. I make a mental note to see how she’s doing next time we work together. Bringing books into the receiving department, I do some returns before calling it quits. I actually don't have to clean up anyone's bodily fluids today. We mark that in the win column. However, I do end up hearing it from Geoff. He calls me a few choice names and tells me to 'use words' next time, like I am a child. I laugh it off and tell him I’ll buy him a beer. That seems to quell his anger somewhat.

I'm about to leave the building for the day when I feel a scorching hand lightly touch my arm.

"Mike," the hand is Anna’s, and as her grip slowly tightens, it feels hot even to me. What is she doing here? She got off nearly an hour ago. She’s sitting in a chair in our entryway to the store, and I hadn’t noticed her. I survey the area quickly to see if the incubus is still here. Maybe she’s creeped out?

“Hey, what’re you still doing here?” I ask. She is visibly dripping with sweat now and as pale as ever.

"Sorry to ask, but no one else has left yet. Could you walk me out? I'm not feeling so well."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth feel like they're about to crack. I know what's happening. She's coming down with spell sickness. It means she really didn't want to talk to the incubus. He put some serious mojo on her to get her attention, and now her body is rejecting the residual effects. She could get a slight to severe fever, maybe a rash of red blotchy skin or a headache and dizziness; common symptoms that regular people would attribute to coming down with a cold. I take her hand and try to get her to her feet, but she sits back down when she’s only halfway up. She shivers, even though she seems to be getting even warmer. I help her stand, her clothes and visible skin are covered in sweat too. This is a severe reaction.

"Do you mind if I just take you home?" I ask her. I don’t think she should drive.

She has trouble focusing as she looks at me. Her eyes glaze over, then snap back to attention multiple times in a matter of seconds.

"Where do you live, Anna?" I need her to tell me quickly before she passes out. If she lives with someone–great. If not, her threshold will relieve some of the effects, but only some. She tells me, but slurs badly. I think I have it, though. She passes out right when we reach my car. I get a few weird looks as I'm getting her into my car, because it's clear she's unconscious. A guy walks past, and I think he is about to approach by the way he is looking at me. I expected someone to, but he gets out his phone and tries to hide the fact that he is taking pictures of me and my car and continues walking. It's a decent strategy, but if I was just going to murder her, having that info wouldn't save her. I buckle her in and get in on the driver's side. After making sure everything is alright for her, I take my phone out of my pocket and make a call.

"Hello?" He sounds groggy. It's like five o'clock, and he's sleeping. I hate people that don't have to actually work for a living.

That's not fair. He does work–just not much.

"Hey, Kai, it's Mike."

I have known Kai for a while, we met in my younger days. We'd gotten into a few fights–over what, I can't even remember anymore–and when I met my mentor, I'd gone through a change of heart. I made amends with him by assisting in some of his jobs.

"Who?" he asks at the end of a yawn.

"Mike. Don't be a dick."

"Oh, hey. Sup, brah?" Ugh.

"I need some leech detox, you got any?"

"Vamp?"

"Nah, incubus."

"Did he finish?"

"No, he didn't even start, really. But the girl was resistant and he put out a lot of power."

"Ugh. Aiight, man, you comin' here?"

"No, I'm gonna get her home. She'll need to be there for what she's about to go through."

"Yeah, the healing power of home and all that. Tell me where I'm meetin' ya."

I give him the address, plug it into my maps app, and make my way there.