A Weighted Visit

The dented bell above the door alerted his entrance to the establishment. Even at a quarter to midnight on a Thursday night the diner was almost full. Truckers spread out across the bar with their steaming cups of coffee and greasy burgers. A group of teenagers smushed into the corner booth sharing two milk shakes and a mountain of fries cackle at nothing in particular. A couple sit one booth away from the door with the air of tourism thick about them. The man clears his throat and a small blond haired woman pokes her head around the bar.

"Take a seat anywhere hon and I'll be right with you." She reaches through the window and grabs two trays from underneath the heat lamps.

The man, seeming to be in his late twenties, is not remarkable at all. He wears a simple black tee shirt, dark charcoal jeans and plain hightop sneakers. In fact, all of the patrons in the diner forget about him entirely the moment they look away from him. Except for the blond woman that is. She sets the trays down in front of the tourists absent mindedly asking if they need anything else but wracks her brain trying to recall why the man looks so familiar.

Walking over to the booth where the familiar man sits, the blond woman takes out her pen and notebook ready to take his order. When she steps up to the table she freezes. His eyes have become black pits without any hint of light or color. His light brown skin has turned red and horns have curled up from his temples.

"It's rude to stare."

The woman jolts and drops the items in her hands. She must have fallen asleep on the bar again. Some nights at the twenty four hour diner could be endless. She was just dreaming. It couldn't be time already could it?

"Have I something on my face?" His voice was milder than she remembered. Gritty and deep but no booming ear-splitting echo. There was a sound of a small sharp objects puncturing wood and her eyes snap to the staff that has appeared in his hands, his long black nails gouging slightly into the wood. Leaning closer to the woman, he cocks his head to the side.

"Well? Have I?" Through the pressure gradually building in her chest she whispers that no, he did not have anything on his face.

"Then you do not have a reason to stare. Though I must say, it is rather dingy in here. Let’s brighten it up a bit." A loud series of cracks sound and small fires burst to life around the perimeter of the room washing it in a bright orange glow. The woman looks around wildly but all the customers seem not to notice. She opens her mouth to scream when she is suddenly knocked to the ground. The man-no, not a man at all, settles onto her chest, legs crossed.

"Now now, Martha. Is there really any need for that?" Martha closes her mouth as her breaths begin to come out in labored bursts. Satisfied, the demon settles down farther into the woman's chest. She begins to wheeze.

"Oh I am not that heavy, Martha. Breathe normally or I fear your eyeballs will pop out of your skull. No doubt that would be a most amusing sight...I need your eyes where they are at the moment." She does as she is told and the burning in her chest diminishes. Martha longs to stretch and move, to get up and get away but she is completely paralyzed and most certainly trapped. After all, she had gotten herself into this situation. The demon shifts from side to side as if she were a sled and he was about to ride her down a particularly steep hill.

"Shall we begin?" He rubs his staff between his hands excitedly. "I assume you know why I am here? As for introductions, it only matters that I know who you are and you know what I am. You do know what I am now don't you, Martha?"

She nods positive.

"Well done! I knew you were a smart one. As for why I am here...Now that may be harder for you to remember, seeing as you were so young-"

"I remember," Martha cuts him off. The fires around the room blaze brightly and suddenly the demon is inches from her face, fangs bared.

"Do not interrupt me, Martha. That is very rude." It was hard to understand how he could sound so blasé yet so terrifying all at once.

"Of course, sorry." She mumbles as the demon rises to stand on her rib cage. He flicks his staff around and lets the end rest between her eyes. To her surprise, it's ice cold. A strange divergence considering the demon's place of residence. His eyes close and he begins humming to himself, as someone would do if they were looking for something they had lost. Suddenly, images are flashing across her vision. Memories fly by too quickly for her to comprehend but then they slow enough for her to recognize.

Her wedding day, she and her husband crying in a hospital room, a dark night, the long awaited joy of holding her only son in her arms and the tucked away secret of the price she paid.

"Ah," the demon chuckles low and it sounds like bones breaking. "So you do remember. Good girl, Martha." The demon sits back down on her chest and this time he is so heavy she fears her ribs will snap like dried twigs.

"Not so inviting now am I? That is because the hour glass has run dry. Time is up, it has run out. I am here to collect."

In one swallow, Martha disappears down the demons gullet and the fires snuff out.