I’m trying to pitch this idea to myself to see if I like it, and I think I do. Working title right now is Home Beings. Inked the whole thing with a green gel pen because Why Not.
All demons have a vague sense of precognition, so they only take children as payment from people who would become horrible parents.
I was raised in the Demon Orphanage. You look skeptical. And who wouldn’t be? ‘Tis a rare thing to hear, but it’s true.
I know that sounds bad but really, demons are outstanding caretakers. They don’t need sleep or rest. There’s few beings more patient. Infernal magic is eminently useful. My education was continuous and organic. I didn’t so much attend class as I was simply around beings of incredible intelligence and knowledge who taught us as naturally as we breathed.
You wonder if I stayed all my childhood in the orphanage. I didn’t. But some do stay.
I was personally adopted by an archduke of Hell whose specialty was astrophysics. My mother taught ethical philosophy to other demons. My second father was a polymath and inventor.My boyfriend during my teenage years was raised by an astronomer and a tactician.
You seem to think Hell must be a terrible place for a child. Poorly informed as you are by the Roman Catholic Church and it’s many, often wildly ignorant, offshoots.
Hell is orderly and safe. The souls of the damned are endless and their punishment must be efficient. Those who have not earned punishments must not be punished, and are safer there than any other place in the universe. The darkest, most remote wilderness of Hell is safer for me than in the most heavily guarded fortress or vault in the mortal realm.
So why am I here in the mortal realm? Well, I must admit my second father’s curiosity is quite infectious. I wanted to travel and experience other realms. Those who stay in Hell too long eventually become demons themselves, and many do choose that path, but I didn’t. And Earth seemed a fine place to start. Of course, I had to support myself, so I took a commissions job that pays quite nicely.
You shrug, limited curiosity sated. And put bloody pen to parchment. I was also raised in the old traditions.
I promise you won’t regret this.
My eyes are, perhaps, a bit too bright. There are, maybe, too many teeth in my smile. You shrug these impressions off as illusions. I’m a mortal, like you.
op is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird
unfollow op, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues, for her sins have reached unto heaven, and god hath remembered her iniquities
Aren’t…aren’t you the op here?
sure am! and i have a cup of gold in my hand full of abominations and the filthiness of my fornication, and upon my forehead a name is written: mystery, babylon the great, mother of whores and abominations of the earth
so, like, unfollow, and stand afar off in fear of my torment
demon: *sits there drawing up a long contract for a lawyer’s human soul, working out the loopholes because lawyers are sneaky* angel: i think that dude is on lsd lmao i’m gonna go talk to him in my true form demon: don’t you have burning wings and a thousand eyes or something angel: haha ye deom: *long sigh*
We’ve all heard the “little old lady mistakes Evil Demon for her grandson” story. But what we don’t know is that the little old lady is doing this on purpose. Tricking the demons that arrive into caring for her so as to extend her own lifespan. It’s been going on for centuries, until one day, the Lord of Death himself has to step in and put an end to this lady’s games.
Anette is always cold now, bundled up beneath a giant quilt, and she’s said if the doctors can’t do anything to help her then she’d rather be back home. She’s so weak now, so frail. Todd hunches over her, not daring to leave her bedside, nothing in this world or the next that he can do. Her withered hand slips out from beneath the covers and touches his knee, and he closes his hands over it.
“Toddy,” she whispers. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s been very naughty of me, lying to you like this, but you haven’t been completely honest with me either, so I don’t think you have much room to complain.”
Her toothless lips turn up in a rueful grin. “I didn’t summon you here by accident.”
There is something heavy shifting in his chest: a sudden weight, a sudden absence. He doesn’t know why, it’s not as if he hasn’t seen the clues. The fact that they never returned the occult book to the library, and it’s sat on her bookshelf all these years. The fact that she’d had to speak the incantation in order to completely the ritual. The plastic shaker in her spice rack filled with dried goat’s blood. The fact that she’s never once been anything but kind to him.
“I know,” he says, his voice grating in his throat.
“I hope you can forgive me,” says Anette. “That wasn’t the first time I’ve done it. I’ve had a long, long life before you, you know, Todd?” Her foggy eyes turn up to the ceiling as she smiles in sightless reminiscence. “Oh! I’ve meant to ask you – you don’t want I should still be calling you Todd, do you? Because that isn’t your real name …”
“Of course it is,” he says, and the words come out in a sob, in a sudden jolt of panic, because he cannot lose this, not along with all the delusions he’s let himself believe would endure, not along with everything else. “I’m Todd, I’m your -” His voice catches. “Your-”
“Of course, of course, of course you are,” she says quickly, patting the back of his hand. “I just wanted to know what you preferred, that’s all. I was just worried that … that this might get a little bit confusing later, but never you mind, just as long as you’re happy.”
Her hair is loose, spread across her pillow to frame her face like a bloodless halo. The porcelain angels on her bedside are watching them. “It’s a strange old doctrine,” she says, “where you can be as wicked as you want all your life, and then at the end you repent and are redeemed. Because He so loved the world, isn’t it? And love, love, oh, that redeems everything.
“The cruelest people in the world,” she sighs, “I bet you anything their grandmothers loved them. Or their mothers or their fathers or their lovers or their children or anyone, anyone at all.” Her gnarled fingers close over Todd’s massive claw. “Is there anyone so terrible that they could not be loved?”
And then, almost in the same rattling breath: “And in the end, why should that save them?”
Anette gathers up all the strength left in her body and shifts a few vital inches to the side, breathing through her nose with the effort, and as Todd watches her intently she pats an empty spot on her mattress. “There can be no repentance without acknowledgement,” she says. “There can be no love without being fully known. Come, confess to me your sins.”
It takes a long time. The gas lamps flicker and die out. He tells her about the souls he’s swindled from people and damned for eternity, the firstborns that he’s torn from their mothers’ arms, all the little tasks he once thought tedious and mundane that are now magnified and horrific with recollection, and Anette shudders and sighs and sometimes laughs wistfully along with him.
And dawn comes, and there is a knock on the door.
Todd shudders into wakefulness, a spot on her pillow sodden with his tears and drool. He glances at Anette and she is awake, her breathing unchanging.
“It’s time,” she says, and then: “Oh dearie me, this might get a bit confusing.”
The door swings open and the Lord of Death enters, all clad in black.
“Oh, Todd,” Anette says, propped up on her pillow to greet him. “Finally, you visit.”
Todd the demon startles out of his protective stance, staring in bewilderment. “You? You’re – You’re Todd? The Todd?”
“I’m Tod,” the Lord of Death corrects, and then seeing nothing but confusion, clarifies: “You know, Tod, as in, Im Tod wie im Leben?” Still nothing. “Well, never mind. I’d prefer to be called by my professional title while I’m working, anyway.”
The Lord of Death flows silently across the floor to loom over Anette and clears his throat, reciting: “You have cavorted with the forces of darkness for centuries, summoned demons from Hell, committed countless cruelties just to stave off your death. And now there is only one fate left for you.”
Anette lies back, eyes closed, at peace, and that’s when Todd lunges forward and growls, “Don’t you touch her!”
The walls shake, the porcelain dolls shatter against the floor, and Honey comes running in, flecking sulfur, barking madly. “Don’t do this!” Anette screams. “Todd! Todd, it’s okay! I’m ready! I wanted -“ There is a shriek, the sound of cloth tearing, the shattering of bone. “I wanted you to have a chance.” Her voice breaks. “I wanted – to think – that I could save you.”
The Lord of Death is gone, a long strip of black fabric dangling from Honey’s jaws, and Todd comes stumbling over to her. Anette’s face is gray, her breathing shallow. “Todd,” she says. Her words come in gasps. “You – you silly boy. You could’ve -” Her hand comes up to stroke his face. “It’s too late for me. Far, far too late. You couldn’t -”
“Shh,” he whispers, and bends over her. “It’s going to be okay.” She is so frail, her skin translucent, and he gently lifts her soul from the ravaged flesh, as he has so many times before, and cradles her to his chest.
“There’s only -” he says. “There’s only one place left. One place we can go.”
“Of course,” Anette whispers, and she is brilliant now, despite everything, as is every human soul he’s ever handled, the core of them shining through despite their stain. She reaches up to touch him on the cheek. “You’re such a good boy. No, wait, that’s a lie, isn’t it?” She shakes her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Whether we’re good or not. Just as long as we had each other.”
They are between realms now, the warmth of her home gone, and the bleak and desolate landscape materializes around them, and he clutches her to his chest and walks, through the shrieking winds that slice through bone, the wailing of the damned, one foot after another, off into the cold and eternal dark.
You wake up with two small lumps on your back, just around your shoulder blades. Your friend has a similar dilemma, however, theirs are on their forehead, and look like zits. Small horns protrude from theirs, while feathers come from yours.
Within a month, you have large, white, dove wings, while your friend has long, curly horns. Turns out, you’re an angel, they’re a demon, and you’re supposed to fight. But you both’d rather just go see a movie.
“We just, like, really bonded over growing mysterious additional appendages,” the angel tries to explain to the Heavenly Agent that comes to ask why they are not in the process of thwarting their enemy. “And, like, she’s not really doing anything evil? Besides, you know,” the angel continues, almost under her breath, “being hella cute.”
“What,” the Agent says. “What was that last part?”
“Nothing,” says the angel unconvincingly. She squints up at the sky and then back to the Agent. “Must have been the wind.”
The Agent wishes that they’d just use heaven-born angels, like in the old days. These earthly messengers are…tedious.
The new angel looks at the Agent guiltlessly and stubbornly doesn’t think about how cute her friend’s butt is in case they can read minds.
Judging by the look one the agent’s face, they can.
————–
“Why aren’t you out there tempting humans?” The Demonic Agent demands of the newly minted demon. They feel their rage growing hotter as they watch her spin again in her desk chair.
“Don’t want to tempt humans,” the demon says. She appear to have been using her new horns as receipt spikes. There’s one for fro-yo for two.
“Then attack your nemesis,” the Demonic Agent tries.
The demon gives them a very dry look. “Go fuck yourself.”
The Demonic Agent wants to cry. “You’ve been given awesome powers, respect, a title, and the duty to do what you ALREADY do– fuck with people. Why. Aren’t. You.”
The demon makes another slow rotation. “Got stuff to think about.”
“What. Stuff?” Asks the Demonic Agent through gritted teeth.
“Nunya,” the demon says.
“What?”
“Nunya fuckin business is what,” the demon says. “Now get outta here, I gotta seduce this chick.”
The demonic Agent feels his hopes rose. “You’re going to tempt a human?”
“I’m thinking more along the lines of a long-term committed relationship with an angel,” the demon says, grinning a sharp grin.
The Demonic Agent buries their face in their hands and wishes demons were less obstinate creatures.
While putting your favorite condiment on a sandwich, you accidentally make a magical occult symbol and summon a demon.
You silently take two more slices of bread out of the package and make another sandwich. You put it on a plate with a handful of potato chips and hand it to the demon. He takes the sandwich, smiles and vanishes in a puff of demonic smoke. The next day you get that job promotion you were after. There was no contract. No words spoken. You owe nothing. But every now and then, another demon pops in for lunch. Demons don’t often get homemade sandwiches.
Can I keep this going? I’m going to keep this going.
It would be a little annoying, if they weren’t so nice about it. You don’t know what you expected demons to be like, but you certainly didn’t expect them to be nice about it. There’s no demands, no voices like wailing babies, no blood on the walls (well, there was that one time, but Balthazak was very apologetic about the whole thing and cleaned it up right quick). Just the occasional demon stopping by for lunch. In fact, you could almost forget that they weren’t just ordinary people, the way they act. Nice people, too.
You start talking with them, as time goes on. In the beginning you carefully pick your words so they couldn’t be spun to even imply a contract or reference a soul, but when they seem politely eager to have a normal chat, your words become a bit looser. You even begin gossiping with them – turns out, demons have breakroom gossip just like anyone else. You listened to Rek’ththththtyr’s account of Drokyarix’s torrid affair with Irkilliz, and Ferkiyan didn’t even know what Drory was doing behind his back, poor dear, and you kept quiet and let Ferkiyan cry on your shoulder after Drokyarix finally broke up with him (the shirt was a bit of a loss, demon tears are ruinous to cloth, but Ferkiyan’s a good sort and you couldn’t just turn him away). You even managed to talk him down from going and starting a fight with Irkiliz, who didn’t even know that Drokyarix was in a relationship, and who was almost as horrified as
Rek’ththththtyr.
After that event in particular, you start to get a sort of a reputation as a place where a demon can come to relax, talk, and – of course – get a sandwich. Your sandwich-making skills have really improved since this whole thing began. Your luck seems to have improved too – you’re not sure if you can attribute the whole thing to the sandwiches and the reputation, but you don’t really want to know anyway.
One day, there’s a bright flash of light from your living room. Nothing unusual in itself – most of the younger demons haven’t quite got the style of their elders, and usually just go for a materialization in a flash of hellfire over your fireplace – except that it’s white instead of the usual red. You look up, and who do you see but an angel looking at you with a spear in his hand. Shrugging, you tell him to sit down and you’ll have a sandwich for him shortly, and meanwhile he can just tell you all about what’s on his mind. This clearly is not at all what he was expecting, but after a moment’s thought, he decides to take you up on your offer and starts talking. Apparently, he’d been dispatched to take care of some demon summoner in the neighborhood, and while he’d evidently got the wrong house the right one shouldn’t be hard to find – have you seen anyone practicing satanic rituals nearby? You laugh, a little, and tell him that you don’t really summon them, they just come on their own. They do like their sandwiches, and they’re quite nice folk.
The angel’s jaw drops, and you remind him to chew with his mouth closed.
And I’m going to take this even further. Here we go.
It took a bit of explaining with the first angel to arrive. Telling him about the first accidental summoning and then how the demons just started stopping by around lunch time on your days off. But once he understood what’s been going on (and finished his sandwich) he nodded solemnly and said he would get this all straightened out “upstairs.”
You eventually start getting more angels coming around for lunch. Sometimes they bring a small dessert for you to share after the sandwiches, and the dishes are always magically clean and back in the cupboard when they leave.
You lean that angels don’t have much of their own drama, but they do know all the truths about human tabloid drama and they’re more than willing to dish on what the Kardashians have been up to.
The first time an angel and a demon show up for lunch on the same day is a little tense. You tell them that ALL are welcome for lunch in your house and that you would prefer it to be a no-conflict zone. It takes a while for them to settle, but eventually they grow comfortable enough to start chatting. Which is when you learn that because demons are technically fallen angels, you’ve been having two sides of an estranged family over for lunch regularly.
Soon, you have an angel and a demon at every lunch. Old friends and estranged siblings meeting up to reconnect over a sandwich at your dinning room table. You help the ones who had a falling out reach an understanding, and you get to hear wild stories of what the “old realm” was like.
One day, as you’re pulling out the bread and cheese, a messenger demon appears. You greet him and tell him a sandwich will be ready soon, but he declines. He is here on behalf of Lucifer to ask if it’s alright by you for him to “enter your dwelling so as to meet with his brother Michael over sandwiches.”
A little stunned, you agree. The demon disappears and you prepare three sandwiches, setting them at the table.
When Lucifer (the actual devil!) appears in small puff of smoke, you welcome him and ask what he’d like to drink. As you’re fetching the apple juice, a blinding flash of light comes from the dinning room indicating Michael’s arrival. You grab a second cup and walk back in to find a tense stand off between the brothers. You set down the cups and juice while calmly reminding them that this is a conflict-free zone, and if they are going to fight, please take it to an alternate plane of existence.
They don’t fight. They sit and enjoy the sandwiches and talk about what happened. You learn a lot about why creation started, what the purpose of humanity was and what it’s grown to be. You only have to diffuse two arguments. And at the end when it’s time for them to leave, they hug each other, agreeing to meet up again somewhere else.
In the following weeks you have the usual assortment of demons and angels stopping by. The regulars ask how you’re mom is doing and if your friend is settling in to their new apartment nicely. At some point during each visit though, they ask if it’s true. Did Lucifer and Michael really come for lunch? You tell them yes, but won’t say what was talked about. They’re disappointed, everyone likes the gossip, but they understand. Before they leave, you ask each angel and demon about this idea you have for the summer, what if you had a barbecue on the back patio for everyone who wanted to come? They think it sounds like a fun idea.
Yep, I’m picking up, here we go!
Everyone had a lot of fun at the barbecue. There wasn’t much fighting, but some sparks and noises made you grateful your neighbors were either out of town or older/deaf. There was a great three-legged race and a small football game with parties on all sides involved, you’d never fixed so much food before.
Then, two latecomers. Angels and demons alike gasped in shock and parted like the Red Sea (Which, apparently, is a VERY exaggerated story) to let them pass.
You smile warmly and ask what they’d like. Both decline to answer that, looking at each other awkwardly. The demon bows its head to let the angel speak first.
God Himself heard the fun and wanted to come join the barbecue.
You look at the messenger demon, the same one as before, and as you insist that “Oh, you really should stay this time!”, you’re told that Lucifer ALSO wants to come to your barbecue.
You look between the two. You tell them you won’t deny one or the other, but that they must keep in mind that this is a neutral zone and you won’t have their conflicts interfere with the atmosphere.
Both vanish momentarily (after each taking a plate of food). There’s a long, awkward silence.
Lucifer arrives first, flash of fire in the firepit, coming over to get a burger. He doesn’t look… displeased. But he’s not necessarily happy.
There’s a beautiful flash of white light and a rainbow, and then God descends onto your back porch. Your long-dead flowers spring back to life in His presence. Shit, now you actually have to go back to taking care of them.
The two regard each other from across the backyard. There’s still complete silence from the crowd of angels and demons.
You clear your throat. “What do you two want to eat? I have burgers, hot dogs, chicken, and some vegetarian alternatives.”
They slowly look at you. You return each of their gazes. “This is a no-conflict zone. We’re all here to have a good time at a good barbecue.”
More silence. Then, Lucifer dishes himself a burger and goes to prepare it the way he wants. God approaches calmly and looks over your vegetarian palette (Not the best, but it would do in a quick pinch, you found out just yesterday that some of the attendees would be vegetarian), fixing Himself some food as well.
As this goes on, the others begin to relax, and soon, everyone goes back to having a good time. The food is great, desserts brought by your angelic guests really compliment the meals you cooked, nobody starts sacrificing anybody or arguements (except later there’s a massive water gun/water balloon fight that knocked Michael into the fire pit and got ashes all over his bRAND NEW ROBES, DROKYARIX! but everyone laughed it off and carried on), and as you sit on your porch, taking in the sights, you wonder to yourself if you should do this kind of thing more often, and if you would have had this situation any other way.
Nope, you decide, when God hits Lucifer with a water balloon as he’s trying to refill his super soaker, you really wouldn’t have this any other way.
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
Question of Smoke 