Yours, Not Mine
by Hamilton Perez
Demons have been coming to our home for some time now. At first it was terrifying, but now it's just a nuisance--like squat and scarified Jehovah's Witnesses.
Charles was pretty rattled by it. He demanded an explanation and having no one else to turn to, directed this demand at me. Maybe he looked to me because I just sort of took it in stride.
It's not as if I was expecting this. I've just always been better at accepting things I don't have the power to change.
I never begrudged Charles his reaction, though.
They started coming just after we brought home Joshua, our little four-pound tube of poop and giggles. New parents are often a little paranoid, whether justified or not, and the timing did raise some concerns for me as well.
The demons were harmless though. They didn't sneak in through basement windows, creeping up the stairs at night. They didn't hide in closets or under beds. They politely knocked at the door with offerings that, while repulsive, were clearly considered generous to demonkind.
We received everything from cat skull baby-rattles with the eyes and brain still inside, to crocodile intestines tied into an almost beautiful, demonic design (it was intended to be hung over the fireplace).
They didn't speak English, of course. They didn't speak any human language as far as I could tell, but I don't know anything other than English and no me gusta in Spanish, so it's hard to say.