You know what George said earlier? About doing almost anything to sleep peacefully for the rest of his life? Scratch that. Sometimes you've got to ask yourself, what am I willing to deal with today? For George, the answer was not this.
In his dreams, he was in his own house, but some things were off. His mother and father's faces were all scratched out of the broken picture frame, and all the vases were shattered on the ground. All of the metal objects were twisted and bent, and all of the couches, pillows, and blankets were ripped to shreds.
As George made his way upstairs, he knew what to expect, because it always happened. But he was caught off guard at what he saw.
That would be his downfall.
When he saw a dirty blonde man, probably about his age, tied up and struggling so hard that his bindings were tearing through the skin on his wrists, George just had to help. It was too real to be fake. It felt too real.
He ran up to him, looking around for anything sharp to undo his bindings or to take out the gag, trying to tell him that he'd be okay. Trying not to tell him that him just being in his dreams was usually a death sentence.
But when the boy started screaming and looking over his shoulder, George was too late to turn around.
From one second to the next, the air was knocked out of his lungs and his spine felt like it would snap in two. He had been thrown against a wall without even being touched, and yet it didn't hurt. It just felt like his spine was straining, like it would hurt if there had been just a little more power behind it.
And then there in front of him was his demon, fully visible. Not just his striking green eyes.
His demon looked like the living embodiment of smoke and stars. It looked like aerogel almost, just a tiny bit see-through but undoubtedly solid.
Its body was a dark grey that faded to green near his hands and feet until they were a slightly muted neon. Any defining features of the human body were reduced to just rounded off edges.
It had no wrists, just a smooth slope from his elbow and into his fingers. It had no nails, just a slope into where his fingers became sharp. Smoke rose off of his shoulders and elbows in short streams, tipped in green where it blended into the air.
Its face was off. It's being looked like it was wearing a mask, a Stark white in contrast to the green and black, but George watched it blink, and he knew it was its face. It had a large pool of smoke coming from behind its face, more transparent than the rest of its form, almost like hair.
And it had flecks all throughout its transparency. If George tried with all of his might, he could pretend that he was stargazing. But he had no control over this dream.
It chuckled darkly, and the familiarity of it shook George to the bone.
"I'm not your demon, vollidiot. I'm not it either. I'm a male." It crossed its arms. George's stomach twisted in distaste at the thought of a demon having a gender.
A look of rage filled its expression, and in a flash, it was right next to him, it's hand on his throat, squeezing tightly, its nails digging into George's flesh.
"He. He, you vollidiot." He said, and it- his voice was sickly sweet, even while he held George's life in the palm of his hand, constricting his breathing until it was ragged.
"That's better." He grinned, pulling his hand away and brushing his hands together as if just touching George was like laying his hands on something dirty.
"So, you want to save this waste of space?" He said, approaching the man in the chair, who's eyes were blown open in fear. He leaned as far away from the demon as possible, turning his head away and starting to cry.
"Just let us go, demon." The supposed to be insult only made the demon smile.
"I have a deal to strike with you." The demon claimed, getting in George's face.
"As if I would bargain with a fiend." George hissed in response. The demon just turned away, shrugging.
"Even if it meant sleeping peacefully for the rest of your life?" He said, without turning to him. George's face was one of pure shock.
"What?" The demon turned around again. It looked like it already knew it had won.
"You heard me. If you agree to this deal, I let him go, and you won't ever have another nightmare again, and I'll let this sorry sap go." He motioned to the tied up boy. George narrowed his eyes.
"What's in it for you?" The demon cackled, and George flinched back again.
"All you have to do..." It leaned in close, and suddenly George couldn't move. It whispered the next part into his ear.
"Is invite me over for tea." George blanched at the suggestion of inviting a demon into his home. He growled, grabbing his throat again.
"If you say no, I'll slit his throat and throw you back into hell right this second." George started to sweat, clenching his teeth.
The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and George had to remind himself that this was a dream, and by morning he could hopefully just forget about it.
"Yes. Okay? Come over for tea tomorrow morning and we can talk then, just let me sleep." The demon started to laugh, and eventually, he was laughing so hard that a neon green tear rolled down his cheek.
When he finally got a breath in, he caged George in with his arms, one on each side of his head. There was laughter in his green eyes and George swallowed at the sight of sharp teeth mere inches from his face. It was too familiar.
"It's already morning, sweet cheeks."
YOU ARE READING
For the past two years, the only dreams George has had the pleasure of having were horrible, horrible nightmares. These nightmares always had five things in common. In every one, each and every person he cared about died in an excruciatingly painful...