I sat in a cheap bar, the kind with flickering neon lights and a sticky floor, nursing a glass of lemon juice. Night had fallen, the air outside thick with city smoke and low conversation.
Why lemon juice? Simple—I don't drink alcohol. Never liked the taste.
So why am I in a bar at all?
Because of the woman sitting across from me: Carla. My team leader, magical girl enthusiast, and, apparently, cursed individual.
"…Then I started chanting this weird phrase—don't ask me what it meant—and next thing I knew, I woke up in the middle of a forest. It wasn't too far from my apartment, though, so I managed to walk back," she said casually, as if waking up in a random patch of woods was something that just happens.
Carla was filling me in on everything that had led up to her finding that strange, cross-shaped stone. After sensing the demonic presence in her earlier today, I'd made plans for us to talk somewhere private, away from the office.
She took a sip of her drink, then continued, "And after that, I kept getting this creepy feeling. Like someone was watching me. Then this morning, just before work, I tripped over this rock and almost got hit by a car!"
She reached into her bag and placed the object on the table between us again. That weird, vaguely cross-shaped stone.
"I'm telling you, Briar—this rock is the real deal. It has to be connected to my curse."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, disbelief bubbling inside me as I tried to make sense of her story.
"Carla… before we get into anything else, I need to ask you something. Why did you even perform that ritual in the first place?"
She went quiet. Her eyes dropped to the table, then to the half-empty glass of whiskey she'd barely touched.
"I… I thought it would give me magic," she muttered, barely audible.
Of course.
Yep. She's officially delusional.
You'd think someone with her brain would know better than to follow instructions from a sketchy website promising magical powers in exchange for chanting nonsense at midnight.
But here we are.
"Okay, first of all—you really are cursed. Second…" I picked up the stone, holding it lightly between my fingers, "this thing has nothing to do with it."
Before Carla could protest, I quietly activated my magic. The stone disintegrated into a fine dust in my hand. Without a word, I brushed the remnants into my pocket.
"Ah! The stone!" Carla lunged toward it, reaching across the table—but it was too late. Her hand closed on empty air.
"Carla," I said, firmly. "Listen to me. You trust me, right?"
Her eyes widened, startled by my sudden seriousness. "Y-yes. Of course."
"Good. That stone was just a rock. I need you to repeat that. Over and over, in your head. And don't stop until I tell you."
"I get that, but why should I—"
"Just do it," I said, more sharply this time.
"O-okay…" She closed her eyes. "It's just a stone… It's just a stone… It's just a stone…"
I watched her carefully as she chanted. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.
This is step one in dealing with demonic influence. Demons don't show up in fire and brimstone anymore—they blend in. They slip into the cracks of your mind when the conditions are right. And once they're inside, they start planting suggestions. Sometimes it's just enough to trip you up. Sometimes it's worse.
In Carla's case, the demon hadn't fully taken control—but it had managed to seed a mental anchor. A false connection. A planted belief that the stone was important.
That's the trick. Demon influence works like a psychic scam. They trick people into believing nonsense so strongly that it starts to shape their reality.
So the first step is to overwrite the false cue. Reprogram the mind, gently.
"It's just a stone… It's just a stone…"
Carla kept repeating it, her face softening, some of the tension in her shoulders slowly unwinding.
I watched carefully.
Nothing yet. No backlash. Is the demon really going to let this slide?
Normally, when you try to remove their influence, demons react—withdrawal symptoms, panic, headaches, even hallucinations. It's like cutting off a drug they've hooked someone on.
But this time… nothing.
"Okay," I said at last. "You can stop now. How do you feel?"
Carla opened her eyes slowly. For a moment, she looked around like she wasn't quite sure where she was. Then she looked at me, calm and clear-eyed.
"I think… I feel a little better," she said, offering a faint smile.
I nodded. "That's good to know."
For now, the worst was avoided.
But something told me this was only the beginning.
---
I sat quietly in the passenger seat of Carla's car, watching the city lights drift by as we made our way to her apartment. I'd asked if I could stay the night to keep an eye on her, and she agreed without hesitation—maybe even a little too happily.
With a demon still lurking inside her, things were far from safe. I needed to find a way to get rid of it soon, before it tightened its grip.
We pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex—a modest, mid-range building tucked between a line of similar ones. Clean, a little dated, but nothing unusual.
I'd been here before, but every time I saw it, I still wondered why someone like Carla—a team leader with a solid salary—chose to live here. She could've easily afforded somewhere flashier.
We stepped out of the car and headed inside. As the front door opened, a voice greeted us.
"Welcome back—Ah! Mr. Briar's here!"
A small figure sprinted toward me and latched onto my knees.
"Hey, Luck," I said with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. "Long time no see."
This was Carla's son—Luck. Still in elementary school, but sharper than most kids his age. Way sharper.
"Mr. Briar, let's play a game! I've got this new combo I wanna show you—it's super cool."
Before I could answer, Carla stepped in.
"Hey, Luck, didn't you say you had homework? No games tonight."
"I already finished it," Luck replied without even looking at her.
"W-well, what about dinner? You haven't even eaten yet, right?"
"I already ate. Don't you know what time it is, Mom?"
"A-ha… well…"
Luck crossed his arms and gave her that no-nonsense stare only kids can pull off. "Mom, you should go get some rest. You look tired."
Carla blinked, flustered. "…Uhh. Okay…" She turned and walked off, clearly outmatched.
Oof. Brutal. But yep, definitely her kid.
As Carla disappeared into her room, I watched her closely. Then, with a subtle gesture and a flicker of will, I planted a spell. Something to lure the demon out.
The bait's set. Now we wait.
Before I could even settle in, Luck tugged at my sleeve.
"Mr. Briar, come with me. Just for a sec."
"Alright, lead the way."
Something about the way he said it made me pause.
Hiding my surprise, I quietly followed Luck's lead. He didn't say a word, just kept walking with a determined pace until we reached the far edge of the apartment's parking lot—well out of earshot from the building.
There, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, he finally stopped.
Then, he turned around, and I saw his eyes glisten.
"Mr. Briar," he said, voice trembling as he clutched at my shirt, "there's something wrong with Mom. I need your help—I don't know what to do anymore."
I froze, watching as tears welled up in his eyes.
"Every night... she leaves her room and just stands in the kitchen. She just stands there… facing my room. I try to talk to her, but she never responds. She just stares at me."
So he was holding it together this whole time.
"She gets closer every night," he continued. "At first she stayed in the hallway… then she got to the door… and last week, she was inside my room. Just standing there, watching me. She looked like… like a completely different person."
My hands clenched. I hadn't realized it had already gotten this bad.
"I lock my door now every night," Luck said, voice cracking. "But then she started trying to force it open. I'm scared, Mr. Briar. I tried to tell my teacher, even the police. They just gave me weird looks. My teacher yelled at me for locking the door on my mom."
His small fists tightened around my shirt.
"I-I know it sounds stupid, but… there's something wrong with Mom."
I crouched down beside him, placing a hand gently on his head.
"I believe you, Luck. I already sensed something was off with your mom. That's why I came over tonight."
At those words, he broke down. His tears flowed freely now as he buried his face into my chest, clutching me tightly.
"Ahh… Mr. Briar… I'm so scared…"
I let him cry. I held him close, letting him soak my shirt if he needed to. He'd been carrying too much for someone so young.
After a few minutes, his sobs faded to quiet sniffles.
"Luck," I said, brushing a tear from his cheek, "you're a strong kid. You've done more than most adults would in your place. Now, leave the rest to me, okay?"
He nodded slowly, wiping his eyes.
"B-but… please," he whispered, "don't hurt Mom."
Even after all that, he was still worried about her. That kind of heart—maybe if he had my magic, he'd have used it better than I ever did.
"I won't hurt her," I promised. "Not a single scratch."
"…Really?"
I smiled. "Really. Don't you trust me? Weren't you the one who said I was the best combo teacher in your game?"
"Mr. Briar, that's completely unrelated!" he snapped, cheeks puffed as he started punching me in the stomach with his little fists.
Light punches… or so I thought.
"Ow—hey, take it easy!"
I'm using a barrier and that still kinda hurts.
"Alright," I said, standing up and brushing off my pants, "let's head back in. We'll play a bit before bed, alright? Tomorrow's a holiday—so we can stay up late."
"Yay! Got it, Mr. Briar!"
As we walked back together, I instinctively glanced up toward Carla's apartment window.
There, framed by the dim glow of the room behind her, stood a silhouette.
A woman. Perfectly still. Watching.
Her gaze locked onto us—me and Luck—with unnatural focus.
I met her eyes without flinching. Then, I smiled.
So you took the bait… Demon.