Literary Demon by K. J. Watson

I no longer enjoy reading, Carissa thought, and closed the book she’d just finished. She gazed at her crammed bookcase and decided to dispose of its contents.

Rising from her armchair, she yelped in surprise. A man stood by the living room’s open fire.

‘You must cherish your fine collection of horror novels,’ he said. ‘They define your life. Never discard a single volume.’

With nothing else to use against this unknown intruder, Carissa threw her book at him. The man caught the missile before it struck him.

‘Show more respect,’ he cautioned, stroking the book’s cover.

‘What are you talking about? Who are you?’

The man placed a foot in the fire.

‘I’m a literary demon,’ he said and vanished.

Carissa rubbed her forehead.

‘Reading’s unsettled my imagination,’ she muttered.

In the hallway cupboard, she found two bags. She filled these with paperbacks from the top shelf of the bookcase. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she knew the recycling centre would still be open.

Everything can be pulped, she thought.

But the closer she carried the bags to the front door, the heavier they became. She opened the door and tried to drag the bags outside. As she tugged at them, they retaliated by pulling her off balance. As she staggered back into the hallway, the door slammed shut.

Carissa kicked the bags over in frustration. The books sprawled across the floor.

‘You can’t dictate whether or not you leave my home,’ she raged, and immediately felt ridiculous for shouting at a heap of paper and printed words.

She bent down and grabbed a handful of volumes. Marching back into the living room, she tossed them onto the fire.

‘I instructed you to look after your books,’ a stern voice told her. ‘Ignoring me has repercussions.’

Carissa turned. The man who called himself a literary demon sat in her armchair.

I’ve lived alone too long, Carissa thought, running her hands through her hair. My mind’s playing tricks on me. 

A movement interrupted her self-absorption. She looked up and watched the demon pluck the books from the fire. The flames had not even singed them.

‘Bring the rest back from the hallway,’ the demon commanded. ‘Refill the bookcase.’

Bewildered, Carissa did as he asked. When she’d finished, the demon told her to sit.

‘Discourtesy towards books is unacceptable,’ he said, leaning over her.

‘They’re mine and I want rid of them.’

The demon laughed. ‘You believe I’m unreal, don’t you?’

Carissa grasped at this concept and stared directly at her tormentor. ‘Yes, you’re an illusion.’

‘And you’re a deluded soul whose sojourn on earth is done,’ the demon replied, hauling Carissa from the armchair. ‘The afterlife awaits. You’ll spend eternity reading the tales of horror from my master’s library.’

‘But I don’t like books anymore. They’ve deranged me.’

‘So you say,’ the demon replied and disappeared with Carissa into the fire.

K. J. Watson’s fiction has appeared on the radio; in magazines, anthologies and comics; and online.

Photo by Matias T      

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