The visitor

I met my first demon last night.

I woke soon after going to bed to a noise from outside. It wasn't much of a noise, the kind I imagine I must sleep through all the time, but I had only just drifted off so it was not far up to rise.

A warm night, the bedroom door had been left open. That's where he was. Not in the doorway, but atop the ajar door itself, crouched between it and the ceiling.

He was incredibly white all over - there was a slightly grey, decayed tinge, but certainly with a lustre as though he were bathed in light from the moon. There's not a lot of room up there between door and ceiling, so he was curled up and over himself. His wings, extending from his shoulder blades, were folded in but still readily perceivable.

I remember thinking at the time he looked a lot like he had just hatched from an egg and still had that shape, the telltale hint.

He was highly displeased that I had woken and seen him there and his face twisted into a scowl. His hairless body had very smooth skin, glowing faintly as I watched. Nevertheless he felt incredibly old, a creature for whom the passing of a lifetime was merely a trifle.

When he realised I was awake and watching him, he swivelled his body very slowly away, but kept his eyes on me.

Flames danced in his eyes - even from that distance I was able to see my own reflection in them, the flames consuming me. I could feel the heat of the night pressing in heavily and I don't mind admitting my heart beat as though trying to hammer its way out of my chest and out into the room. Still not sure what else I should do, I concentrated on slowing it down and easing its violence.

The door was about three-quarters open, close to the wall-to-ceiling wardrobe mirror. I flicked my eyes to the mirror to see if the daemon had a reflection. He did, but it was very faint - I could make it out, but also see through it. He had no such transparency himself, as fleshed and real as I.

His top lip curled and revealed a number of needle sharp teeth, four of which extended past the rest and are probably best described as fangs - two near the front, two closer to the back. Two small horns, bony and upturned, emerged from just beneath the scalpline.

At this stage I realised I was unable to move - my arms pinned to my sides. If he had wanted to, I'm sure he could have done anything to me he wanted. But I think the fact I had woken dampened whatever resolve he had and he decided now was not the time. He continued to swivel and his back was almost to me now. His wings lifted from his back and he slowly pushed away from the door, passing right through the wall in the corner of the room.

I was deeply unsettled by his grace, the smoothness and control of his movement indicating he could effortlessly do anything he wished.

I watched where he had passed through, wondering whether he would be back. My heart slowly returned to normal. My arms returned to my control. I thought about what I had seen and what it might mean. I wondered, and still wonder, whether he was there for me, or if he was there for another. Or if he was even, perhaps, just passing through, if his interest had been in another apartment and we were merely a resting point. I don't think so though; I think he knew exactly where he was and why he was there.

Intriguingly, I am yet to work out if he was arriving or leaving when I saw him. If, perhaps, he may have been with me all along and this was in fact a farewell.

I know his name, but I'm not ready to say it.