A short story in which a demon is bothered by new worshippers. This was inspired by a reddit writing prompt and was published there first (u/radclyffewrites)
“It’s a bloody mess, that’s what it is. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood out of flagstones? Damn near impossible. And the chanting – I haven’t had a good nights sleep in months.”
“I thought demons liked the chanting,” my companion says.
“You thought demons couldn’t enter churches too, and yet here I am.”
The priest is sitting calmly on the pew in front of me, staring straight ahead instead of turning to look at the midnight intruder. I don’t know why. I am an average looking man, or at least I am currently residing in an average looking body. There is nothing fearsome or demonic in my appearance. But there’s something oddly comforting about not being able to see his face, a sort of lack of judgement that falls over my shoulders like an old blanket.
I take a deep breath. “The thing is, I did all that. In the old days. I fought wars, started a fair few of them myself. I did the whole sacrifices and chanting and goats – who wants a goat scarified to them for Satan’s sake? What bloody use is that?” The priest makes a non-committal “mmm” sound. It is enough to encourage me to continue. “And some of the stuff they come out with. It’s just not right. Even at the height of my power I wouldn’t have dreamed of some of the stuff these guys are asking me to do.”
The priest nods sagely. “Truly, the real demons lie in the minds of man.”
“You’ve got that right.” I sigh, leaning back against the uncomfortable wooden pew. “I miss my statue. It was cold and quiet. A good retirement for a demon who did his part. It’s not fair. You work for thousands of years to make this world a worse place, and when you finally get to retire some bastards start cutting up goats on your altar and asking you to smite their enemies.”
“You sound lost, my child.”
“Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
“Would you like to…?”
The priest trails off. I run my hands back through my hair and for a second feel the horns hiding underneath. It’s now or never. I take a deep breath, hoping the priest knows he’s in for a long couple of weeks.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twelve thousand two hundred and nine years since my last confession.”