Outer Demons by Patrick Lind

The first time I saw a demon I was standing in line at the checkout. It was perched on the cashier’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. I cried out in surprise, but no one else seemed to notice the demon. Not even the cashier. As I got closer I began to hear what the demon whispered.

(Your eyes are too far apart. Your nose is too big. They are staring at your awful face. It makes them sick.)

I quickly looked down, cheeks heating as I placed my groceries on the counter.

‘Did you find everything today?’ the cashier asked when he handed me my change with a smile. (Your teeth are crooked. Your mouth is too wide.)

I nodded, fumbling nervously with the bags before hurrying out of the store. I didn’t hear what the cashier said as I left, but the memory of the demon’s voice followed me all the way home.

The next day I walked into my boss’s office but stopped short, startled by the demon curled around her head.

(You are not good enough to lead. You did not earn this job. Your employees do not respect you.)

I tried to speak but the demon’s voice hissed louder and louder, overpowering my words. Eventually I excused myself, but I don’t think my boss heard me. By that time the demon was all but yelling.

More and more demons appeared throughout the week. They clung to school children (Your parents will not love you if they see your report card) and enveloped strangers on the street (Your wife is in love with her coworker). I had to stop taking the bus; the cacophony of despair was suffocating.

Movies or television were no escape. Even muted, I could hear the voice of the demons whispering to the actors on the other side of the screen (You eat too much. You will never get another part.) I retreated to my bed, eyes closed, covers over my head. Finally alone in silence.

(We are not real. This is all in your mind. You have gone insane.)

The demon sat on the covers. I could barely breathe with its weight pressing down on me. I wanted it to be wrong. More than anything I wanted its words to be lies.

I sat up, throwing the demon off balance as a thought crashed into me. What if I could make them lies?

The cashier was at the same station as before when I wheeled my cart up, his demon wrapped around his throat like a noose. (Your pimples are spreading. Your smile is disgusting.)

‘Did you find everything today?’ the cashier asked, trying to smile despite the demon.

‘I did,’ I replied. ‘You know,’ I continued as if the thought had just arrived, ‘you have a wonderful smile.’

The cashier’s smile grew as his demon shrank, nearly disappearing before my eyes.

I paid and left the store as my own demon spoke (You did not help him. His problems will be back.), but its voice was small compared with memory of the cashier’s smile.

Patrick Lind has enjoyed reading fiction ever since he was young, and loves reading’s ability to let him explore new worlds, meet strange people, and explore difficult topics through a unique lens. His short fiction has appeared in various venues including Every Day Fiction and Flash Fiction Magazine, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. When not writing, Patrick spends time with his wife, exploring the beautiful surrounding wilderness, racing bicycles, and attempting to herd their cats. You can find Patrick on Twitter as @prlfiction.

Photo by Nathália Rosa on Unsplash.