Page 8 of Unleashing Mayhem
3
Nightmare
Nightmare’s smoke and shadow filled the room, obscuring the vision of the human before him but not his own.
Nightmare took advantage of the momentary imbalance between them to feel out the space as best he could from within the confines of the summoning circle.
He’d been summoned into an unfamiliar dwelling, although there were threads of recognition Nightmare could follow. Dream-altered corridors and shadowy corners that had been recreated inside a fearful mind.
Nightmare had walked these halls before, hadn’t he, inside his summoner’s psyche.
They were in a living room, a large space dominated by a long couch and two overstuffed armchairs, pillows and blankets abounding on all of them, with a gigantic, modern television fixed to the wall.
A familiar demonic signature filled the space, though it had gone stale in its owner’s absence.
Nightmare bared his teeth, sending his shadows out into the rest of the house. They returned within mere moments. There were no other humans lurking in the vicinity, according to his companions. Nor demons, for that matter. No threats of any kind.
Satisfied for the moment, Nightmare focused on the human standing before him, the young man craning his neck in an attempt to see Nightmare’s face through the smoke. He was short and slight, with a few inches of unkempt dark-brown hair and enormous brown eyes. Olive-skinned and dressed in a garment many sizes too big for him.
Overall, a pleasing flesh covering for the soul emanating within. A soul that might have been almost cloyingly sweet if not for the sour and bitter fissures running along it. Nightmare inhaled slowly, breathing in its essence.
Tart, sugared lemon filled his lungs.
And what a coincidence, that Nightmare had recently developed such a sweet tooth.
Nightmare let the smoke and shadows fall away, revealing the summoning circle fully to the human’s gaze. The human blinked, those doe eyes of his widening even further as he stared up at Nightmare.
By all rights the little creature should have been shrieking or trembling at the monstrous sight before him. But the human remained silent, and though his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, they were held surprisingly steady.
Nightmare noted the reddened swelling on the human’s lush lower lip, the bit of dried blood there. Nightmare glanced down at the page with his mark, the careful copy next to it, the wilted rose perched above them both.
The human had summoned Nightmare deliberately. That simplified things immensely.
Nightmare allowed his lips to curl at the corners, gracing the human with a rare smile, one that kept his sharp teeth hidden. The human’s face drained of color anyway. He still did not speak.
That was fine. Nightmare would wait.
He lowered himself to sit cross-legged within his summoning circle. The removal of the height disadvantage seemed to give his sweet summoner a bit of bravery. The human stepped closer to the circle’s edge. “H-Hello,” he greeted in a soft, shy voice. “Are you a demon?”
A silly question. Nightmare remained silent.
The color rushed back to his summoner’s cheeks, turning them a dusky pink. “Of course you are. I can see…” He gestured to the top of Nightmare’s head, to the antlered black horns that branched above him. And then he seemed again at a loss for words.
He was struggling. Nightmare would help him.
“I know you,” he told his summoner, watching as the little human flinched minutely at Nightmare’s low, husky rasp.
“Y-You do?” The human unclasped his hands, tucking them into his oversize sleeves and folding the fabric over his fingers. “How?”
Nightmare cocked his head and answered a question with a question. “Do you know what kind of demon I am?”
“No.” His summoner shook his head and then said, as if fearing offense, “I’m sorry.”
“They call us nightmare demons,” Nightmare explained. “We feed off the human psyche, namely fear. We feed most often on bad dreams.”
“You eat nightmares,” his summoner said with wonder. He gave Nightmare a tender, hopeful smile. “I have a lot of those.”
Nightmare wanted to trace the soft curl of those lips with his fingertips, feel the shape of them for himself, but the circle wouldn’t allow it.
