Stabenaw's Demon

The demons arrived flat-packed, much to Stabenaw's chagrin. Thirteen long black boxes chased in silver crosses. The UPS guy did his best not to grunt and swear but boxes like these are what grunting and swearing were invented for. He left the boxes upside down.

This wasn't why Stabenaw did not tip the man. In a few minutes . . . a few hours . . . unfolding the instructions, pictures of tabs and slots and curling horns and blister-packs of virgin blood, he thought maybe days might be more like it, but, fuck it, at some point this millenium tips were going to become a thing of high irrelevance.

"Oh, honey," Janice said when she saw the wreckage spread across the living room floor. "You know the Hendershotts will be here in fifteen minutes, right? I told you not to start this until--"

Janice was a sweet woman, beloved wife and mother to Stabenaw's seven amazing children and he wouldn't trade her for a buschel basket of Bündschens, but the allen wrench had recently skinned his fingertip and the last fucking thing he wanted to hear about right now was Clarence Hendershott's latest hemorrhoid lasering and the most recent car their juvie spawn had stolen.

Consequently, he invited her to leap from the nearest window. The Blasphemous Heart of Hrrjen (M) glistened with fresh dripped blood (not shown), and Janice did not bother putting on her shoes before she leapt. So that was settled.

Part of Stabenaw was appalled, but as he'd already gotten so far as to insert Talons (V) into Toebones (Q) and wrench them into place, the greater part thought that the Hendershotts would make a pretty fine meal regardless of whether Janice was there to cook.

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This came out of a BoingBoing discussion thread.