Demons on her Shoulder

Chapter 1

Chapter 1The figure glowered from his throne in the rafters as the minions circled in the darkness. Submission glazed their downcast eyes. His stone grimace remained fixed on his tiny face but he worked the cavernous space with his personality; dividing and conquering. Anger fluttered on nervous, leathery wings. He dared to fly closer to the stone figure than the other demons, seeking approval but fearing reprisals. Grief and Guilt perched on the head of a nearby gargoyle, bickering and watching through hooded eyelids as they jostled for grip.

The stone figure sat rigid and still, hundreds of years of pent up aggression stored in the grey, statuesque body. Yet the demons remembered his rule well, the sarcastic laugh and terrifying violence. They jockeyed for a position in front of the imp, not caring how they gored each other with knotted, clawed hands. Despair took a clumsy swipe at Bereavement’s gnarled ears, cackling with mirth as distracted, he flew into a stone pillar. Depression hissed a warning, his cloying misery leaving a bitter aftertaste hanging in the air.

“Father Death, what is your pleasure?” Anger asked, bowing low before the statue and folding his tattered black wings behind him like a crow. The sons of Death circled in a moth-flutter of worship and adoration, feeling the vibrations in the atmosphere which signified more demons clattering onto the cathedral’s ancient lead roof. They came every morning before dawn to pay the Lincoln Imp homage in his enforced stasis; understanding his imprisonment wouldn’t last forever. The glorious and terrible day drew nearer when he would flex his arms and shatter his stone prison, unleashing his spite on the world again. He’d rove the earth and pick his own victims like in the old days. Until then, his children continued to bring their morsels of pain for his silent enjoyment.

The drone of approaching wings grew louder and the greater horrors landed overhead. As Murder and Violence folded leathery wings and clattered across the roof, the lesser demons received their orders and fled. The sightless, unblinking eyes of the figure perched high on the stone pillar seemed intense in the dawn light as yet more sons paid homage.

The lesser demons hung together as they flew south in bat-like formation, invisible to the sleeping city. Daylight peeked from behind cloud curtains and their familiar aura covered the area as unsuspecting residents awoke to feelings of inexplicable heaviness and foreboding. The creatures fought and argued for dominance as they landed on a balcony in the oldest part of the city.

“Mine!” Violence hissed, landing behind them on the iron railing. Grief opened his mouth to argue for possession and closed it again as Violence sent Guilt hurtling backwards with a single well-timed blow. A nocturnal ginger cat raised its spine into an arch, hissing and spitting at the demons’ combined foulness. It blocked the glass doorway to an upstairs bedroom, teeth bared and claws ready. Violence swiped at it with a leathery wing and the cat batted back with needle sharp claws which glanced off the armoured surface. It yowled in frustration and clattered against a terracotta pot containing a small tree. The demon cackled with pleasure.

“Nahla.” A woman opened the bedroom door and c****d her head at the ginger cat. “What are you doing? It’s freezing out here. Come in for breakfast.” She opened the door wider, shivering in a silken nightgown. Thin fabric shadowed the outline of a slender female body. The cat picked itself up and shook its thick winter pelt. Damp fur glistened orange in the frosty light. It stalked past the demons, eyes sparkling with defiance as they held their breath. The cat sat in front of the door and inspected a paw as though disinterested, wanting the demons to betray themselves in a white cloud of exhalations in the frigid air. The woman shivered and shifted her bare feet, desperate to lock out the chill. “Get in here now!” She lurched at the cat and seized it in determined fingers, cradling the wiggling ginger ball to her exposed cleavage.

“Why do we have to play this silly game every morning?” she grumbled, pressing her lips into the cat’s furry neck. It growled in anger as the lesser demons, eager to begin their meddling, slipped through the open doorway and into the bedroom. Guilt leapt onto the bedsheets still rumpled from the woman’s disturbed sleep. He rolled onto his hairy back and wiped his scent over the fabric. The cat hissed and flew from her arms, scratching her in the process as it chased shadows. She shook her head and closed the door on Violence, turning the key and peering at the red welt on her forearm. “Not sure why I put up with you,” she murmured at the bouncing feline, watching as the ginger cat performed flips on the bed as though catching moths.

The lesser demons stalked around the upstairs apartment, dogging the woman’s steps as she showered and dressed for work. Her mood became pensive as they began the daily, psychological t*****e on which they thrived, drawing attention to the scars on her perfect skin and reminding her of the past.