A Scary Short Story by Mark Watson
Jenny sat with her demon, combing its hair. The old wooden brush scraped through the demon’s knotty, tangled mass, snagging on dead strands, pulling loose clumps of rotting scalp. The demon grumbled but tolerated it, for now.
It had been a fun day. A wicked, howling, cackling kind of fun. They had terrorized the locals, sent the baker’s wife into a catatonic state, and made the priest wet himself before vomiting up black bile in front of his horrified congregation. The day had been filled with screams, shrieks, and that delicious moment when the town’s dogs all began howling in unison, sensing something unnatural in their midst.
But it was ending now.
Jenny knew it. The demon knew it too…
One day a year, on All Hallows' Eve, the rules of torment bent, just a little. A child who was haunted, who had been claimed by something from the depths, was allowed a brief reprieve. For a few fleeting hours, they could walk side by side with their tormentor, as equals. No pain. No fire. No unending screams. Just play.
But at the stroke of midnight, the truce would break. Jenny knew what that meant. The hot irons. The flaying. The nails under her skin. A year’s worth of suffering packed into every waking second, for daring to have fun with the thing that owned her soul.
The demon grinned, baring its jagged blackened teeth, its lips curled in gleeful malice. It was already savoring tomorrow.
Jenny exhaled, watching the last embers of the sunset die behind the trees.
"It's a shame this has to end," she murmured, dragging the brush through another tangled knot, feeling the strands snap under the strain.
"Not for me," the demon crooned. "I hate this day. The waiting. The pretending. I can't wait to get back to making you scream." Its voice was silk and smoke, thick with anticipation. "I've spent all day thinking of how I’ll peel you apart."
Jenny didn’t flinch. She had spent all day thinking, too.
The demon chuckled, a low, rancid noise that sounded like laughter through broken glass. "By the end of tomorrow, you'll know more about suffering than anyone, alive or dead."
Jenny sighed.
"Yes," she agreed. "Unfortunately, I think our relationship is done."
The demon frowned. "What?"
"It's been fun, but... I'm afraid you're going back to Hell."
For the first time that evening, the demon faltered.
And then, it laughed. A cruel, jagged sound that echoed off the darkened trees.
"Good luck with that, foolish girl," it sneered. "You can’t banish me. The only way to send me back is if you know my true name, and I’ll never tell you that. Not in a million years."
Jenny smiled.
"That's the thing, Gabriella," she said lightly, "you already did."
The demon froze.
The color drained from its already cadaverous face, its yellowed eyes going wide with something that might have been fear.
"Wh... What?" it rasped.
Jenny reached out and flicked the tag on the demon’s ragged, filthy dress.
Gabriella – Size XS.
The demon let out a choked, strangled sound, as if it had just been impaled.
Jenny stood up, brushing strands of dead hair from her lap. She felt lighter.
"You should really be more careful," she said, stepping away.
The demon clawed at its own throat, writhing. "No! NO, YOU CAN’T… "
The wind screamed. The earth shuddered.
Jenny watched as Gabriella's flesh peeled away, her form collapsing inward, dragged by unseen hands into the abyss below. The ground beneath her cracked open, spitting fire and something far darker, something ancient, that had come to collect what belonged to it.
The last thing Jenny saw of her demon was its face, twisted in pure, wretched agony, before it was swallowed whole.
The ground sealed shut as though nothing had ever been there.
Jenny stood in silence. The brush was still clutched in her hand.
She turned toward the house, toward the warm golden light of the porch. Her mother would be inside, humming as she made cocoa, thinking Jenny had just been out playing all day.
For the first time in seven years, Jenny was free.
She smiled.
And somewhere, in the depths of Hell, Gabriella screamed.
