LITTLE DEVIL

Ashe Ward

Abraham held, in his hands, a creature of the night. A writhing, squirming, cackling thing that wrought destruction wherever its grappling hands endeavoured to touch. Peace had not been known to him for many months now. Even in the depths of night, when the beast supposedly rested, he dared not sleep, lest it wake and find its immediate whims not met.
       He had decided, with little fanfare, that this torment would end tonight. No longer would he be held captive by the small demon in his home. He had bundled it in layers of cloth and now held it close to his chest. The creature knew not, it seemed, the difference between one environment and the other. If it desired to scream it would scream, if it desired to claw it would claw. This, Abraham found, was to his rare benefit; it rested in his arms just as it would in its bed.
       It only stirred at the sound of waves. Abraham held the thing at arm’s length, over the wall that separated their town from the vast sea next to it. He watched its face morph, as it was wont to do. Scrunching then smoothing out then scrunching once again. It opened its mouth in a dreadful wail, one that Abraham knew by heart, though it was drowned out by the crashing waters’ bellow.
       And then it opened its eyes and Abraham cursed the heavens themselves.
       They bored into him, big, blue scrying-orbs sat in its red face and brimming with tears. Just like hers. The creature howled to the song of the waves as Abraham held it to his chest once again and cried.