Sympathy from a Devil
A Midnight Vault II Story
In a dark basement, a dying woman makes a final plea. No gods have ever answered her prayers. No angels have appeared to save her. In the last moments of her despair, she summons the only creature willing to help. What happens next is yours to witness … when the Midnight Vault opens…
Getting summoned willy-nilly was so irritating. Especially after I had settled down with my favorite snack (crispy bat wings, if you wanted to know) and the newest season of Divine Demon Divas (think The Real Housewives of Hell meets RuPaul’s Drag Race).
I mean, really. It’s not like modern-day humans understood ancient summoning symbols for devils.
Most of the time, they found a dusty book or unreliable website or, worst of all, some moronic ghost hunter spouting nonsense on Season 23 of No Ghosts Here Because Ghosts Aren’t Stupid Enough To Interact With The Living, or whatever the hell they’re calling their fake shows these days.
Soooo when whoever cast the summoning spell rudely interrupted my “me time,” I appeared in my most fearsome demon form.
She didn’t scream, which was unusual.
My pure black gaze, over-sized horns, bared fangs, and sharp claws usually inspired piss-your-pants fear. But she looked at me with dull eyes, completely unaffected. It was as though I was the least scariest thing she’d met all day.
I looked around the creepy, dark basement. Brick walls. No windows. A big, ugly door that was no doubt locked from the other side. On the floor, a sleeping bag. In the corner, a bucket.
That’s all she had? A sleeping bag and fucking bucket? Barbaric.
You should’ve seen her, poor darling. She wore a ripped and bloodied nightgown. She looked malnourished, her cheeks sunken, her limbs thin and frail. Bruises and burns and cuts filled nearly every inch of visible flesh.
I honestly didn’t know how she’d managed the summoning spell.
“I want you to kill … him,” she rasped.
“The one who did this to you?” I asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Murder is costly. The price you pay directly reflects your ask.”
“What’s a soul worth?”
“Nothing. I’m afraid you don’t have much to bargain with, honey.”
“That figures. If you can’t kill him then kill me.” Her fingers trailed her neck, and I saw the finger-shaped bruises unfurling from her throat like the wings of butterfly.
“You don’t need me to kill you. You’re nearly dead now,” I said. “What if I heal you?”
“Refill the human punching bag with new life? No, thanks.”
“I could heal you and help you leave this place.”
“No point. He’ll just find me. Or another woman.” She tapped a piece of torn paper by her hip. “Found this in the wall.” I followed her gaze to a crumbling brick that had been removed.
I reached down and speared the yellowed note on the tip of my claw. When I lifted it, I saw my symbol written next to a summoning rune. Underneath was 9-1-1.
“You’re nine-one-one.” She laughed, but it turned into a rough, prolonged cough. Dark blood dribbled from her mouth. “Hell can’t be worse than this,” she whispered.
Offering a metaphysical lesson to someone whose death was imminent probably wasn’t the move. But…“Humans don’t go somewhere else after death. That’s not how existence works. What you do here only matters … um, here.”
She nodded, but her expression was every inch of I-Don’t-Care. Her chest heaved and tears rolled down her face. She somehow managed to keep her sobs quiet, a lesson she’d no doubt learned from her psychotic captor.
“I’m so tired.” She patted the spot next to her. “Sit with me. Hold my hand.” That’s when I noticed she’d written the summoning spell in her own blood. It had dried almost black on the concrete floor. This horrible basement was her tomb. My bloody symbol her epitaph.
I sat down next to her and she laid her head on my shoulder. She didn’t complain about my knobby bones or leathery scales. Instead she treated it like the softest pillow she’d ever used. She took my hand. Large as a frying pan. Rough as sandpaper. Claws black and sharp. Her tiny little human digits threaded through my thick beast fingers. She held on tightly.
“The bargain I want to make is that you stay with me until I die.” She closed her eyes. “What’s the price?”
“Your corpse.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “For what? Dinner?”
“Ha, ha, ha. That’s dark, honey. I like it. No, I want to possess your body.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to know why?”
“Nope.”
“Very well. The bargain is made.”
Her eyes closed again.
I don’t know how long we sat there. It could’ve been five minutes. It could’ve been five hours. It could’ve been forever.
Her breathing slowed.
Her grip on my hand loosened.
She released a final shaky gasp.
Then she was gone.
I don’t know what was wrong with me. I … I kissed the top of her head. A good-bye she didn’t even feel.
And…
And…
I didn’t cry. I didn’t. It was the dirt from this filthy place that irritated my eyes. And no, that feeling squeezing my chest wasn’t my heart aching. I didn’t have a heart. I was a demon. A big, scary, evil demon.
I carefully put her on the sleeping bag and sat next to her, holding vigil, until I heard her tormentor moving around upstairs. Doors opened. Floors creaked. TV blared.
Heavy footsteps clopped on the stairs. I turned into inky black mist and sank into her body.
He unlocked the door and opened it. He stomped across the floor and kicked her … well, me … until my eyes opened. She was weak. No strength in her muscles at all. But I didn’t need to rely on her puny human body. I had demon energy.
I stood up. Punched him the stomach. Laughed as he flew across the basement and hit the wall.
Stunned, he rose to his feet. His light blue eyes were icy. Soulless. He roared and rushed toward me.
I let him get closer. Even let him put his hands around my neck. Then I shoved my knee between his thighs and crushed his jewels.
He yowled as he released me and dropped to the floor.
Snort. What a baby.
I picked up him by the throat. Held him in the air. “I could’ve been in the group chat dishing on Divine Demon Divas, but no … I have to be here dealing with your cruel, dumb ass.” I smacked him across the face. “That’s for ruining my evening.”
“And this…” I squeezed him like a tube of toothpaste. Larynx cracked. Spine shattered. Blood and brains leaked from his eyes. Nose. Mouth. I dropped him. He landed with a wet splat on the concrete. “This … is for her.”
In a world where cruelty is the point, compassion can still find its way into the darkest of hearts. What is evil? What is good? Those are questions with answers that might surprise you … in the Midnight Vault.
This is my favorite midnight vault entry yet!! Pleasee write an entire novel about him
I have, and always will love your characterisation.