A Story Influenced by Cold Medication and Bourbon that Defies Ordinary Reality About a Demon

Sniffling away, while plugging pink pills into a cottonmouth, I wonder about the horned creature sitting somewhere out of sight. Not far out of sight, mind you, but just on the edge of the periphery.

It wasn’t long before the pills start working. It never takes very long. Medication is funny like that, especially cold medication.

The demon doesn’t do anything that you could put your finger on directly. You certainly can’t catch the demon red-handed. It does things like re-arranging papers in your desk when you aren’t looking, e-mailing ex-lovers, it calls those in your address book. It never makes sense.

This bloody cold will be the death of me.

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