Walking at night, it takes you like a victim. The demon natures comes out, can’t hide it because it doesn’t want to hide anymore. I’m one of them, got my face open and got my teeth out. It looks like a smile. Some of them who come along haven’t played with the devil so well, they lost. They are under the drink or the drug. They may have lost their mind. I sat outside at a bar and ordered a red wine, lit a cigarette. The warmth of the moon, the silence of the night broken by humans with their words full of ssss. Their hissing annoys me: “SSShe sssaid there’ssss sssstill a chan-sss”. There are two devils next to me and the hair on the back of my neck bristles, I appear relaxed but am wary of their presence.

Across from me this couple look at me and I can’t catch them but I know they are whispering about me and wondering about me. My pale skin, my dark eyes. They have black eyes too, they are playful little imps. I shoot them a smile and they go about pretending they are lost in their own world again. The veil comes down. Good for them. Us beasts need to stay the fuck away from each other. I decide to observe them openly, seeing as they don’t want to play tonight. They appear as though they are talking and enjoying the conversation. Luckily for them it is the end of their meal and they can go without any discomfort. The male looks over and catches my eye as they are leaving.

Another male, much older than me sits on the table next to mine. I instantly feel his presence and decide not to look at him. He feels old. He has about him a darkness that makes me feel uneasy. His hands are a little unsure so I relax, allow myself to study him: he is wearing a black suit, white shirt and a black tie, and long thin shiny black leather shoes, too formal for this area, a little out of place. I am wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, got a thin grey leather jacket hung over my chair and tight silver boots. After a few moments of him acting nonchalant he leans over, looks directly at me and them down to my possessions on the table and asks “got a light?”

I slide my lighter over to him, his bony hand takes it away and I know I won’t get it back so easily. He breathes out the smoke in a great purple plume that smells like cloves, honey and death. “I am Frederic. what is your name?” he says in an accent I can not classify, except by guessing it is an ancient combination of Slavic, French and English. “Emmanuel” I answer, hearing my voice sound sweet.
“Ah Emmanuel, I knew someone with that name once”.

“I didn’t know it was so common”

“It’s not”.

We talk, he flirts with me too much, I am buying him wine after wine. He pulls my lighter back from his pocket and places it on the table. I instantly take it and light a cigarette. He knows I wanted it but I wanted him to know I wanted it yet did not push him for it. I want him to fall in love with me. I want him to think I am falling in love with him. His lips are smooth and fixed in a slight grin. I don’t know what my face is doing but I know my eyes are visible to him. There is a thing inside of us that wants to destroy the other one. His face has the sick grey pallor of death and he speaks in a way that makes me think he is either dying or already dead.

He tells me “I have something you will want to see” and I tell him I have seen enough already. He sits back, staring at me in a new way, its horrific, like I have insulted him or as if I was incredibly stupid for saying what I said.

“I’m sorry” I offer, “I was playing”.

“Don’t play with me. We have been talking haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have”

“Ok then. I want to show you something. I live just…” and he turns and extends his arm and points, “just over there”

“On the docks?”

“Docks? No.”

The young imps have gone, holding on to each other and closing the night around themselves. They become invisible after about ten paces, succumb. I am walking with my new friend, he is looking ahead with his thin face downwards. I walk alongside closely watching his face. It seems to hold together in the moonlight, fades and reforms into a face, melts and sets. I can tell he is sick of it.

“Shall we say a prayer?” I ask.

“Why?” he says, challenging me back.

“Our father, who art in heaven…”

“Stop it”

We walk some more, the cats on the periphery, standing and staring them moving behind us to form a posse.

“Where are we going?”

He asks me to walk down a black corridor between buildings leading down to the shipping yard. I refuse. He shrugs and says it’s ok. I don’t know whether I have failed a test or missed an opportunity that he had no intention of giving me anyway. All of these things perhaps but I have started to feel sick and annoyed and distracted and safe so the illusion was wearing off.
“Goodnight” I say, casually. He says something that sounds like ‘yes’ but I can’t be sure because he has turned and five steps into the shadow has disappeared. I can hear his shuffling feet so I am relieved he is a real thing after all. I look back and seven black cats are staring at me and there is a bright green light in the eyes of three of them and it’s perfect.

I slowly walk home, savouring the fresh quiet cold night, passing by those who are lost and taken, passing by the bright fresh ones who are still living, coming back from their bright happy places to bright clean homes with carefully placed objects and a softness to all their possessions. Everything encased in a certain kind of manufactured comfort. They don’t notice anything because they are simply navigating streets, not knowing who they pass, it’s just a road and there are trees and houses and people. Not monsters and demons and angels and choices that affect your soul. Just a street.