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Let Me Tell You a Story About an Apartment Demon

Shannon Smith
May 26
2 min read

Following deals with suicide

Catherine sat on the milkcrate within her apartment, furnished with nothing but milkcrates and a mat on the floor as a bed. In front of her two milkcrates stacked on top of each other as a makeshift table to go with her makeshift chair. On this table sat Christmas Dinner - cheap Chinese takeout of noodles and sesame chicken. She ate while looking out the window of the cold apartment. Overlooking the snowy streets steam emitting from tents in a nearby park.

“This isn’t rock bottom, sweetheart.” The demon whispered in her ear. “You can fall much farther down.”

She ignored the rambling monster and shoved chopsticks into the box of noodles in a dark room. She ate with purpose while looking away from the window.

“Much... farther...”

“I don’t need to be reminded.” She spoke between mouthfuls of processed chicken.

“Then do not go into the closet.”

“I have to. Everyday. Everyweek.”

“It will remind you.”

“I need to remember.”

The demon sat on the floor in front of her. Within the dark she saw the glowing red eyes of the beast and the faint outline of it. With teeth so white they reflected the dim streetlights the demon said “There will be a place reserved for you in the park with the junkies. Assuming, of course, you don’t take the easy way out.”

The demon stood to look out the window. With a boney talon it pointed towards the snowing outside. Catherine ignored it as she finished her meal. “Things will be... better.” She said, a quiver in her voice.

A twisted grin came onto its face: “Tell that to your electric bill. Tell that to your fridge. Tell that to your couch, table, and TV. Tell that to your bed and your computer.”

“I’ll get a better job.” She said.

“Doing what? Turning tricks? Selling drugs? Employed and still begging for what little welfare you can get... which is never enough. Never.”

Catherine rose to her feet and walked towards the closet by the front door. Her hands shook as she placed her hand on the door to give it a slide open. Staring at her a framed picture of Ronny, cracked from age. With the picture clothes, bits of hair, a tissue with blood on it slowly crumbling away.

“He had the right idea.” Said the demon. “It was nowhere but down. So he ended his misery.”

“He isn’t dead. He is here.” All Catherine said before knelling before the shrine and cried.

Written as part of the Let Me Tell You a Story series curated by Lillian Wong. More flash can be found here: https://letmetellthisstory.substack.com/