Tag Archives: Demon

Demons in my walls

28 Mar
Image

Drawing by Gus Morgan

It’s March 28, 2012, and this is a true story.

I’ve got demons in my walls.

OK, maybe they’re mice. I haven’t laid eyes on the beasts, but I fear for the worst. I can hear them, scratching like Freddy Krueger on a chalkboard. I’ll bet they have beady red eyes.

Not too long ago, I watched the horror movie, “Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark,” starring Katie Holmes. In the movie, these little gnome-looking creatures live in the basement and come out to kill people. If those things are in my wall, I’ll be dead soon and this will be my last blog.

My two cats believe me. They stare at the walls, listening for the demons. Even the cats are afraid.

The demons are up to no good. I think they scratch to frighten me, an attempt to drive me from my own home. I’m sure they are plotting my death. I know I am plotting theirs.

It’s Gus vs. Demons, the battle of Rollick Drive.

My guess is they will make it look like a freak electrical fire. Channel 13 will play it like this on the morning newscast: “Electrical blaze claims Spring man overnight.” The smiling news anchor will flash on the screen, standing in front of my house, which is a smoldering ruin. The reporter will shove his microphone in the face of one of my bizarre neighbors, who will say in a smoker’s voice: “He kept saying he heard demons in the wall. We thought he was going insane. Poor man. Maybe he’s found peace now.”

How exactly do you wage war against demons?

My brain went into overdrive, and I formulated a plan. Step one: I went to H-E-B and got a nice package of rat poison and some Milk Duds (The Milk Duds were for me, not the demons). I worked hard not to mix up the boxes. Step two: I ventured into my attic, scary as it was, and left my little friends a buffet to die for. And now I’m in the middle of step three: Waiting for the squeals of death.

But here’s the big question: Am I smarter than a demon?

I’m hoping my superior brain power wins out. But I’m not underestimating my opponent. Sure they might have tiny brains, but the beasts are no doubt cunning and ruthless. And they’ve probably got some dreadful disease they would love to give me.

For this, they must die a violent death. The battle is on. I’ll eat my Milk Duds, and they’ll eat their poison. If you don’t hear from me, they won.

Avenge me.

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