Rosa slept fitfully, the cold draft causing her to bury her head further beneath the blankets. Her eyes flickered lightly in the upper levels of REM sleep. Images and memories more real than those things she had experienced during the waking day, flittered across her unconscious – her body moved slightly with remembered motion. The draft was so keen, November the fifth had not yet passed – though the rigours of Halloween parties had left her drained.

The metallic twang of ice shimmered purple to her in a precarious dream state. Suddenly a noise disturbed her, jolting her from fitful slumber to full attention. Sitting up staring at her window. Why the hell was it open?

Concerned she got up and closed it – icy fear made her hands shake more so than the bitter breeze that seemed to be caressing her body, clinging her cream pyjamas to her breasts and stomach. Feeling invaded, somehow, she retreated to the apparent safety of the covers.

Exhausted she fell readily into that fitful sleep once more.

The room appeared to shudder and a deep thrumming noise filled the air, but with the icy draft stilled Rosa slept on. The air seemed to condense, darkness grew and swirled, forming humanoid shapes – distorted and grotesque.

The forms grew more solid in the gloomy half light, ‘My Lord?’ asked the middle of the shapes -nothing more than shadow though growing denser and more substantial.

‘You have checked her birth right?’ asked the biggest form, the voice was deep and liquid, heavier than the first, it seemed to boom in the air, Rosa murmured and turned over in her sleep. ‘She can hear us?’ he asked.

‘Many can in their sleep time Lord.’ This was a third voice, wheedling and almost shrill, like the split reeds musicians hate so.

‘She is young still.’ The deep resonance of his voice again disturbed Rosa, her eyes momentarily flickered open and for a split second seemed to focus on the figures but then they rolled back in sleep.

‘She is only a potential Lord, there are others, others more suited to your normal tastes.’ Amber eyes gleamed as the Lord looked down on Rosa, her pale skin seeming luminous in the shadowed room, her dark hair escaping charmingly from a French braid, thick and full that lay on her pillow. ‘Is she innocent still?’ he rumbled.

A sickening laugh, unsure of itself escaped the smallest shape, ‘My Lord has never cared much for such niceties in the past?’ The atmosphere seemed to coalesce into cold stone.

‘You question me?’

‘No! Lord no, never.’

‘Tell me,’ the Lords shape seemed to loom at the middle shadow, ‘what do you think?’ he asked the liquid dark next to him, with its green flecked amber trained on the sleeping Rosa.

‘She is lovely, her soul is fighting itself, she is not whole, twisted – broken. She is perfect.’

The Lord nodded he looked to the slightly smaller pool of darkness, a slighter cut of himself, his amber eyes flared briefly but the other did not notice – too intent on the sleeping girl.

‘The other candidates?’ He asked.

‘Beautiful Lord, just beautiful, and power hungry – oh yes, and malicious.’ Gleeful and almost jubilant. ‘My Lord wishes to see them?’ The dark shape nodded. The smallest shadow detached himself and went to the window. Throwing it open he moved almost cat like to the window sill. Looking back with red coals for eyes, ‘follow me my Lord.’ He jumped out of the window, his hunched shape uncurling.

The large shape of the Lord moved to the window, he smiled revealing little pointed teeth, then like the first he was gone.

‘Rosa,’ whispered the third, he looked upon the silver waif as he had come to think of her, so pale was her skin. He looked at the rough grey of his own and sighed. So beautiful, he wanted her. But he knew the penalties for those thoughts. Still on the window sill he could not help but look back at her, to his surprise she was sitting up looking at him. Fear and wonder looked at him from her large dark eyes. Like the deer he had killed earlier that evening. He smiled at her, he wanted her too much and she was looking at him – she could see him even when fully awake. He felt rather than heard her sharp intake of air. Of course, he thought miserably his fangs. Fear tinged her scent adding a red hue to his vision.

‘I would give you the cosmos my angel,’ he whispered as he jumped.

‘No!’ Rosa called as she dashed from the bed, standing at the open window she saw nothing but the normal street scene – all silver and purple in the golden glow of the street lamps.

Shuddering with more than cold and fright she closed the window – perplexed as to how it had become open once more.

Posted: Friday, December 11th, 2009 @ 12:10 am
Categories: Flash Fiction.
Subscribe to the comments feed if you like. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

5 Responses to “Deamons”

  1. Skycycler Says:

    A frightening and atmospheric story. Rosa is so vulnerable. Good work – thanks for sharing!

  2. admin Says:

    thankyou :)

  3. Marisa Birns Says:

    You bring the menace and shudders to this story quite vividly! Well done.

    You just need to fix a typo: you wrote “angle” and I think you meant “angel?”

  4. Sarah/Saffy Says:

    Opps! Thanks Marisa!

    I shall go and change it forthwith :/

    And thankyou for you comment :)

  5. Magenta Monster » Blog Archive » Best Of Friday Flash Says:

    […] of the best stories. So submissions opened and to my surprise my story got in. It is called Deamons which I’d posted as one of my first […]

Leave a Reply