Demon Stories

Diana: Dead Man's House, 1995, California, The United States

Diana

Dead Man's House

1995, California, United States of America

There is something about warm Summer evenings which gets me to peace. You know the night is coming and there is nothing to worry about, no day to spoil your plans which may contain dark things. Dark things need night.

I hear a strange sound outside. Sounds like crackling.  I go over to the balcony, which overlooks the ocean, with a strip of sandy beach wrapping around down below. I see two points sparkling as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Then I hear the laughing, two familiar laughs. One carefree and male in sound, full of deep hearted, crazy joy. The other like an innocent mixture of bells and birds' wings, a cute fluttering giggle. I lean over the railing and finally see their two forms, gently illuminated by the dripping sparks of their hand-held fireworks.

"Wah, its turning green!!" Beau yells in delight, turning his in a circle over and over quickly, dancing around the beach without a care in the world.

I don't want to spoil their fun, but such things may attract unwanted onlookers. 

"I think you've had enough," I call down to them from the balcony.

"Piffle," Violette says with a pout and puts her sparkler out in the sand immediately.

Beau takes a hop in the air and runs to the sea. He stands in the ocean with the sea up to his waist, watching the sparks reflect off the dark water, one last enjoyment before the fun ends. His sparkler burns out on its own and he throws the spent stick into the waves. He trudges up to the lip of the water and plops down like a toddler on his bottom. He swings halfway around with his arms outstretched and Violette's face beams as she joins him in the waves, sitting between his legs and they embrace, watching the ocean together.

Sighing, I sit next to the man on the couch. I remember the days when Beau used to treat me like a child, way back when I was a child. It was when I grew up that Beau got lonely. He is very nuturing, really. Naturally fatherly, doting. Eager to please and easy to please. Sometimes I want to be a child again, to be cuddled like before. I get lonely, too. 

Most times its not good to dwell on the past. Taking my mind off of it, I gather a large quilt from the bedroom. I drag the man from the couch to the living room's floor and on to the quilt and wrap him up. After turning off all the lights, I return to the balcony, holding his body to mine. Out spread my wings, and I take off into the inky night. Beau and Violette look up to me as I fly over them. 

I press the man's body close to mine as I barrel roll over the ocean. He is cold and can feel nothing. I feel cold and empty in my heart. I think of the cold nights of before, Beau taking my small chubby hand and leading me places that I could never have known of if not for him. Tumbling rainbow colored gardens; dark green oasis of peace and calm covered in koi ponds and endless tall ferns which tickled my small, wondering face. These used to be his favorite places. But no longer. Now its all bright lights and buzzing large cities. These are Beau's playground. Where he can melt inside and never be seen, snatching prey here and there and not even having to cover it up. 

How I long for those old days of calm and quiet. Sitting in a garden of a large estate, Beau reading to me from a dead man's book. Fascinating tales which he weaved on his own. I know he did, for I had read all those books. What a brilliant mind he had. Now where is it? Surely he still has it somewhere. He just has no need to show it anymore. Times have changed. Beau has changed. I just have to accept and move on as he does, but sometimes this is harder than forgetting why I must. Unwanted memories just keep flooding back, memories which make my heart yearn for this past which I can not have. The world is continuously changing, and we must, too.

The man crashes into the waves. Waves are darker than the sky. I stare at where he has just been. Sometimes I wish I were dead, too. The dead have no memories. The dead feel no pain, no yearning. No sorrow. I feel jealousy. I look back to where Beau is. I don't want to see him yet. Not yet.