Plasmanian Devil Chapter 1: Gin Spirit

Finley Allen glanced up from his homework to stare out of his window and look at the sunset. A pink flame ignited in his pupil, and he immediately regretted his decision. The demon staring back at him, though predictable, was still unnerving. A slow, cruel leer spread across its face, burned into Finn’s eyes, worse than the tingle of his flames. Some people might have run away. Instead, Finley drew a finger across his throat as a threat and pulled the shades down. The demon disappeared along with the flames of his eye. Without a second thought, he got back to work.

Soon, though, he found that the only work he could manage was scratching an imaginary itch behind his ears. Eventually a grumbling in his stomach brought him out of his sluggish daze. Looking down at his watch, he saw the time was already past 8 p.m. Close to an hour and a half zipped past him while he was staring at a single question.

No, he had not solely been staring. He was daydreaming about how to kill that demon. He put his books away to work on later and turned off his tabletop light. Pulling up the shades revealed that the sun was setting. The demon was hidden, but a few rays still peeked through the pines. By focusing on that faint natural light, he could see the outline of the demon, and that hideous smirk. The thought of it alone sent chills down his spine.

But there was no time to sit shivering. Finn got up, grabbed his phone, and headed to the main floor. A hop, skip, and a leap down the flight of sixteen steps sent him hurtling into the kitchen counter. Clutching at his stomach, he fell backwards. Minutes spent in agony kept him on the ground. At least, until an alarm clock rang once from a different room, and he knew that he could not waste another second. He jumped up, but that brought the pain back and he stumbled back to the ground. A light from his parents’ bedroom turned on, so he tried getting up again. This time, he took it slowly. With his stomach throbbing, he was unable to run around the kitchen like his usual self. Still, Finn prepared breakfast.

First, four eggs went into a pan. Finn stepped away for a second, dropped a bagel into the toaster, and grabbed leftovers from three nights before and set them in the microwave. Ten minutes passed before his father walked into the dining room. By then, half of a cream cheese-topped bagel, two sunny-side-up eggs, and a bowl of dry cereal was waiting at the table just for him. The same dishes were set for his mother. Across from their breakfast saucers was a plate piled with roast beef and mashed potatoes.

“Good morning, Finley,” his father said, stretching as he walked out of the master bedroom.

“Sure, Dad,” Finn said, irritated.

A deep chuckle rose out of his father’s chest at his son’s annoyed tone. “Ah. Another beautiful night, and what are you doing with it?”

“The same thing as every other night I’m home,” Finn answered. “Schoolwork.”

“Why not get outside for once?” his father asked, the intensity of his voice rising. “The fresh air might do you some good.”

“I’m afraid of the dark, alright?” Finn felt miserable. His deepest secret, and perhaps the one thing his father could not comprehend. Finn could not tell his father what was really on his mind. He was afraid of the dark – or at least, what could come out of it.

Suddenly, his father’s voice went just above a whisper. “I’ve got quite a bit of work to do myself, actually, so I’ll be going,” he said, opening the door to the garage. He walked out with a bright, almost fake smile.

A second later, Finn called out mockingly, “Wait, Dad! You haven’t eaten any breakfast!”

The door closed slowly and his father walked back in. He peered at the food on the table and said, “You know what? I’m not really hungry.” With that hanging in the air, he walked back out and slammed the door behind him.

Fury swelled up from the pit of his stomach. Finn ran to open the door and shouted after his father, “And I get plenty of fresh air!” He slammed the door, then sprinted into the kitchen.

The sound of the garage door opening and closing accompanied the shower turning on again. This time, his mother was getting ready for the work. Finn opened the fridge. Reaching to the back, he grabbed a can of beer from his father’s 12-pack. The nerve on him – Just what I need – a lousy, ungrateful family… As he was pulling it out through the maze of foods, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Once the can was out, he shut the fridge door and pulled out his phone. A notification popped up. It was from Amber Baum, a friend of his. Check that – he wanted her to be more than just a friend. Anger from seconds before began to settle, and Finn calmed down.

What’d you write for #13 on Chemistry work?

He set the can on the counter and his free fingers jumped immediately to the screen.

Nothing – haven’t finished yet. He sent back. Seconds later, he added, How about you? Got any ideas?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the shower turn off, but he was too focused on the phone screen before him to take notice. He was waiting for a response, desperately wanting to carry on a conversation with her.

Still no text had come back by the time his mother walked out of the bedroom a few minutes later. He shoved the beer back in the fridge before she could see it. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket he sat with her at the table. The bagel was already in her right hand, with a newspaper in her left. As she took a bite, he asked her, “Does Dad hate me?”

It seemed that she had not heard him, because she went right on chewing. So he asked her again, this time with more intensity, “Does-”

Before he could get through his question, she had dropped the newspaper and put her pointer finger up, telling him to wait. Her chewing and swallowing seemed to take forever. When she had finally finished her first bite, she said, “No,” and went right on eating.

With his former anger returning, he picked up his fork and began stuffing his face with dinner. From his pocket, Finn felt his phone buzz once more. He could not check it at the table, and he was not allowed to get up, so he sat and waited. The rest of their meal went on in silence. His mother glanced at her watch, and the smallest hint of surprise flitted across her face.

She got up in as much of a rush as she could manage, then grabbed her briefcase and hurried through the door. The whole time, Finn was staring a hole in the back of her head. Good riddance, he thought as she shut the door gently behind her.

The second he heard the garage door close, he checked his phone.

Oh, the new message read, never mind.

Finn stomped back up to his room, scribbled some nonsense on the school papers, and hopped into bed. He laid there for a second, then jumped up and marched over to his window one last time. Once he had pulled off his shirt, he stared at the moon. His eye lit up, and he pushed open the window. The only thing dividing his world and the night’s was open. The demon edged closer. Finn reached out, and the demon came ever closer. It was nearly across the threshold of his window, then the pink flames suddenly grew. The entire right half of his face was covered, and the fire spread to his right hand. Any previous fear of those creatures of the night was gone. Before the demon could turn away, Finn punched it. He stared with cold eyes as the creature fell to the ground, then closed his window. With some confidence restored, he went back downstairs, only to throw away his father’s uneaten breakfast, run the dishwasher, and get ready for sleep. Around ten o’clock, when his teeth were brushed and flossed and his pajama shorts were on, he got back into bed.

Finley Allen’s sleep that night was light and fretful.