The Demons

For as long as I could remember, I could see them. The demons. There were four of them who visited my family: Anger, Hate, Malice, and Depression. They all looked the same as well. Like men with snow white skin and obsidian hair wearing dark, torn clothes and silver chains. Attached to their mouths was a strange metal device, which looked almost like the headgear some teenagers wear at night, but instead of making them look silly it only made them look more imposing. I never truly knew what they were used for. Possibly to help them feed. That seemed to be the most logical reason. To anyone else, I assume these creatures would look frightening, the stuff of nightmares. But, as with every other emotion, I was unable to feel fear. It's ironic really, with my family being so very controlled by their emotions, however irrational they were, that I couldn't feel any emotion at all. At the most, I would get a little curious about something. I couldnt even feel pain. Maybe thats why I could see the demons. You see, over the years of watching them, I came to realize that they fed off of emotions. And since they couldnt feed from me thats possibly why I could see them and why they left me alone. But the demons werent the only thing my lack of emotion allowed me to see. It also allowed me to witness the downfall of my family. They never

paid me any attention (aside from my sister during certain moments, but Ill get to that later). They never talked to me or interacted with me. Just provided me with the necessary things with which I needed to live as if I was some dissapointing pet they didn't really want to deal with but had to. I suppose I should have felt saddened by this. But I didnt. Or I should say, couldnt. Our house was a normal average house, looking almost exactly like the others in the small suburb with the exeption of the colors. I hardly ever left. I think my family was happy with that. I knew they were embarressed by me. I spent almost all day every day in the corner of the living room, sitting in a large oak chair with crimson cushions. It was covered with intricate, almost arcane designs. Ever since I first sat in it when I was the tender age of three, it had become known as my chair. Sometimes, I even slept in it. It was from that chair where I watched my family talk, laugh, and watch television from time to time. More importantly, it was from there where I saw their darker sides come out. When they were under the influence of the demons. Mother drank sometimes. She would come home, stumbling and slurring, blonde hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot, with the smell of cheap alcohol on her. Whenever she came in like that she was never alone. Malice was always with her. I knew it was Malice because of its eyes.

Malice had yellow eyes. Mother never saw Malice; I doubt she or anyone else even knew of the demons existence. As far as I knew, I was the only one able to see them. In my chair, I would watch as Malice would whisper to Mother, words too soft for anyone else to hear, as the metal device on its mouth glowed a faint orange color. Those words would make Mother violent, almost animalistic. It was Ella, my sister, who paid for it. Mother never attacked me. I couldnt feel pain. I imagine to her it would have been like attacking a stuffed animal, unresponsive and unfeeling. Malice didnt like that (I dont think any of the demons did), so I was always safe from my familys dark sides. If Ella came into the living room, Mother would jump at her and brutally beat her. She never said anything while she attacked Ella. Only snarled and growled like a wild animal, either not realizing or not caring that it was her own daughter she was hurting, her own daughter who was reduced to a sobbing bleeding mess by her own hands. When she was done, she would leave (as would Malice) and Ella would lay there on the floor, waiting for the salty rivers to stop flowing, not caring that her blood was pooling around her. Should Ella not come downstairs, Mother would go to her room and beat her. The sound of snarls, cries, screams, and begs (as well as the occasional broken object) carried all the way down to the living room and

to my chair. Afterwards, when Mother became sober once more, Ella would smile and laugh with her like nothing happened, with everyone simply ignoring her obvious cuts and bruises. Shed continue to try and please Mother and make her proud, as any good daughter does. Though she told me once (for Ella liked to confide in me because I wouldnt be able to judge her) that she wished Mother would show just a little remorse for her actions. But Mother never did. And we both knew she never would. Father was a man who loved perfection. Everything had to be just right in his world and if it wasn't it was as if life as we all knew it would come to an end. In my moments of curiosity I sometimes wonder why, if he loves perfection so much, he never simply got rid of me. Maybe because of what his family would say. Or maybe deep down he actually does feel something for his unfeeling offspring. I'll never know. Another thing about Father, unlike Ella and Mother, was two demons visited him. Anger and Hate. Angers eyes were red while Hates eyes were black. Every time Ella made a mistake in front of Father, whether it was breaking something, forgetting something, or getting less than a B on her schoolwork (Ella wasn't homeschooled like me) Anger and Hate would appear beside him. Theyd whisper words in his ears (like Malices device theirs glowed softly too) and Father would then scream at Ella.

Though Father's actions were much less brutal than Mother's, that didn't mean they didn't so obviously hurt Ella any less. She would start to cry and apologize, blaming herself for Father's irrational anger, but this just made Anger and Hate whisper things to Father faster. And when they did that, hed yell louder. It only stopped when Ella managed to escape to her room. And as soon as she left, Anger and Hate would too. Father would eventually calm down and Ella would once again put up her happy faade. She only showed her true self whenever Mother and Father left the house. Ella was what some people call a cutter. Most likely, her cutting came from the combination of our parents treatment of her as well as the fact that she was Depressions favorite. Depression was the blue eyed demon. I think if anyone else could see them, they might be startled by how similar his eyes were to those of Ella's. But I merely calculated this detail and stored it in my mind like a machine. Ella always cut herself in the living room, right in front of me. She never told me why. Maybe she just needed to be sure that even in her darkest moments, someone was still there. Even if that someone wasn't even able to care what happened. However, I wasnt the only one who was there. Depression always was too, standing by her shoulder, whispering words to her while its device glowed and she ran a razor across her wrist, letting the dark, crimson liquid run down her arm and to the floor. Sometimes Ella would look at me, eyes filled with pain and suffering, after she cut. Almost as if she was trying to will some kind of emotion to flicker in my

eyes. Depression looked at me too (it was the only demon that ever acknowledged my existence). Its eyes were just as dead and expressionless as mine. I think thats why the demons needed to feed off emotions. Because they had none of their own. Then, one night in October, everything changed. All the demons showed up that night, which was something that had never happened before. First, Anger and Hate came. They came when Ella accidently dropped a plate of food. When the plate shattered into many jagged pieces on the floor with a loud, echoing crash, Fathers face turned a deep red. He started screaming at Ella. As usual, Ella just stood there and cried, tears streaming down her face like endless rivers. But after a few moments, something flashed in Ellas eyes. I couldnt name it, but it was there and it was different. She stood up to Father for the first time in her life, screamed right back at him. A second later, something else flashed in her eyes. I knew this emotion, I'd seen it in her eyes so many times. Regret. It was too late though. Unfortunately for Ella, Mother was in the room as well. And judging by the way she looked and smelled and how Malice stood by her shoulder, I knew she must have been drinking. Mother attacked Ella viciously. It was more brutal than any attack she had ever done. She hit Ella, kicked her, clawed her, threw her into the broken glass, and pushed her into the walls, dangerously close to the windows.

Ella did nothing. She couldnt do anything. Father simply watched, as did I, though our reasons differed. He watched because he was still under the influence of Anger and Hate. I watched because I didnt feel anything. I wondered later, in a small moment of curiosity, had I intervened, would things be different? I have no answer for this. And I never will. When she was done, Mother and Father stormed out of the house, acting as if they were the real victims of the entire episode. They left Ella lying there, in front of my chair, sobbing and bleeding heavily from multiple places. When she didnt move to get the first aid kit for herself as she usually did, I slowly slid out of my chair and walked to the bathroom down the hall to get it. To this day I dont know why I did it. But I did and I guess my reasons, if I even had any, will remain unknown forever. When I came back, I wordlessly handed Ella the first aid kit and sat back down in my chair. Ellas head snapped up in surprise. Her teary, azure eyes searched mine. Slowly, a small, sad smile formed on her face. I think she smiled because for the first time I had actually helped her. But it was sad because once again she found absolutely no emotion in my eyes.

Shakily, Ella stood, the first aid kit clutched tightly in her hands. Leaning over, she placed a small kiss on my cheek and then ran off without a word. I didn't follow. I didn't even move, I saw no need to. I dont know how long I sat there in silence until Father and Mother came back, calm and sober, and without their demons. Probably a few hours. They must have come back due to the fact that it had been getting very late and very cold. When they came in my parents gave me strange looks when they noticed the smear of blood on my pale cheek. Wheres Ella? asked Father. He sounded worried, which was new. Usually it took at least a day for him to start caring for Ellas well being again. If he ever truly did. Her room, I replied, as tonelessly as ever. Together, they ran up to Ellas room. A few seconds later, I heard Mothers loud, shrill cry and then the sound of her sobbing. Never had I heard or seen Mother cry before. I thought her incapable, like me. In another moment of curiosity, I stood for the second time that night and walked upstairs. In Ellas room there was Father, a stricken expression on his face, looking down at Mother who was sobbing uncontrollably and cradling Ella in her arms. Ella wasnt moving. Her eyes were closed. An empty bottle of pills lay close to her and in the corner of the room stood Depression. It looked

at my family and then at me, though I noticed that its gaze lingered on me longer. Then it disappeared into the shadows. The day of Ellas funeral was dark and gray. It looked as though it would rain, but the rain never came. Maybe it didn't want to add it's own tears to the ones already pouring down people's faces. Many people were there, almost none of which I knew, and if they weren't crying, they at the very least looked very sad. Everyone except me that is. It earned me a few odd looks, but I didnt care. I couldnt care. I tuned out the words people were saying about Ella and about death and after what felt like a lifetime they finally lowered the casket where Ella lay into the ground. Dirt fell over the casket pile by pile until it couldnt be seen anymore. The only thing that let you know Ella was there was the large stone with her name on it. Mother, Father, and I stayed there long after everyone else left, giving us words of comfort, and throwing a few suspicious glances at Mother and Father and some confused ones my way. We stood in silence for a long, long time. The stars were finally coming out when Father pulled out a gun. He looked at it for a moment and then he shoved the gun into my hands without a word and looked away, more tears glistening in his eyes. Mother smiled sadly at me. Her eyes bore into mine and I knew what it was they wanted me to do. Who else would be able to end their pathetic,

miserable existence other than their unfeeling child? In the corner of my eye I could see Depression, standing by a nearby tree, watching us. Malice, Anger, and Hate had left permentantly the night Ella died. Only Depression remained. Slowly, I lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. One, two shots. The noise echoed through the graveyard, as loud as thunder, causing a multitude of crows to scatter. Mother and Father fell to the ground, their blood spilling out around them and staining the green grass crimson. Some of it had gotten on my face and the hand that still held the gun. I didnt move to wipe it off. Instead, I turned to look at Depression, still standing by the tree. Our eyes met. Blue and gray. Slowly, Depression disappeared into the wind. My gaze went from where he once stood to my parents bodies, then to my sisters grave, and finally up to the dark, starry sky. And then, for the first time in my life, tears slid down my face and I smiled.