By: D.A. Henneman
It isn’t as though I asked for this job. Possessing someone and tempting them to do evil isn’t what excites me. As a matter of fact, as a young demon I dreamed of being a rock-star. You’d be surprised how many of us make our livings doing that. But the incubi have no choice, our destiny is fated. We answer to a higher power that frankly doesn’t believe in failure. As a matter of fact, the Boss can be a real bastard if you don’t make quota.
After a very low volume of quality possessions over the centuries, he gave me one more chance to prove myself worthy. Is it unfair? Yes! I mean really, who the hell would have been able to convert Jesus Christ, Gandhi and Mother Teresa? But am I going to say anything? Hell no! I might have been given impossible jobs, but I’m not stupid! I saw what the Boss did to the last guy that bitched.
So here I am, inside my next prospect with three chances to darken his soul. I’m not doing so great; I’ve used up two and have only one to go. It’s like this guy has a guardian angel or something. Crap! Can’t the universe cut me a break? In the past my method was to ruin the host’s life slowly, starting out small and picking away at their souls until they cracked. In hindsight that probably wasn’t the best thing to do in this case.
When I forced my host to march into his boss’s office, tell him he was the worst manager on the planet and that he needed to retire, I was not prepared for the reaction. His Boss got the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, laughed heartily and patted my host on the shoulder saying something about waiting for the day he “grew some balls.” My host left the office with a promotion and a corner office with a view. Unbelievable!
My next attempt was just as much of a failure. I had my host pull on a ski mask to hold up a local party store. I was thrilled to see the terror in the cashier’s eyes and thought for a moment I had it. Then the stupid twit behind the counter reasoned with my host telling him that a deposit had just been made and there wasn’t any cash in the drawer. She tossed a stack of lottery tickets at him, which my host took with a shrug of his shoulders. I mean what else could I have him do? I forgot to have him load the frickin gun! And the tickets? Yeah, let’s just say he won’t need the promotion he just got.
This is my last chance and I know one thing for sure… if I don’t get this guy to do something truly heinous, I can kiss my scaly ass goodbye. I wonder if getting him to cheat on his taxes will help. I mean…it worked on Capone after all.
This was something I wrote for a micro-fiction contest, and the idea was stay under 500 words. I rose to the challenge, and while I didn’t place, I am still proud of the piece I ended up with. Thought it would be fun to share… Enjoy! DAH
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D.A. Henneman - Romance Author 
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