Quesadillas and Netflix

Usually, I spend Friday nights alone, a homemade cheese quesadilla in my lap and Glee playing on my laptop. Today is no different.

I sprinkle my shredded mozzarella onto a soft flour tortilla and toss it into the microwave when all of a sudden a dark... thing appears in front of me.

I don't move, and neither does it. It has deep black horns, red eyes, and green goat-like legs stuck onto a human's body. On its chest is a blue pentacle tattoo. It gestures to the microwave, which has stopped heating up my dinner but is now glowing from within.

Slowly, I make my way over to the quesadilla, which seems to be the glowing thing in question. Well, the whole thing isn't exactly glowing, but that same pentacle seems to be glowing from within the quesadilla. I summon a demon with my quesadilla?

Still not saying a word, I grab the quesadilla from the microwave and hand it to the demon. Grabbing the bag of shredded cheese, I go to sit on my bed (which is really just an old mattress with a blanket on top) and open up my laptop. The demon follows me and cautiously sits next to me. Dropping some cheese into my mouth, I gesture for him to do the same. I adjust the laptop so it can also see all the juicy glee club drama, and get so into the show that I end up falling asleep.

When I wake up, the demon is gone, and so is the quesadilla.

I had just started to think it was all a dream when, two days from the incident, my bed suddenly has a frame. The new bed frame is made out of good, solid wood, and makes my makeshift sleeping space into a real bed. I smile and go to make another quesadilla.

A week from then, another demon comes, this time with his own plate. I smile, make him a quesadilla, and throw a couple potato chips onto his plate as well. He follows me to my bed, and just when the show gets interesting, my electricity goes out. I apologize profusely, and the demon frowns before disappearing in front of my eyes.

By tomorrow, my electricity bill is paid and my lights come back on.

They started to come, one at a time, and at least one guest per week. Though they didn't speak for a month, when they did I couldn't understand them. Still, I sat and listened, nodding when it seemed appropriate.

By the second month, they came to parties, and always stayed to chat for a while, if not with me. My kitchen was always stocked with the freshest tortilla wraps, even when I didn't have enough money to run to the store that week.

Eventually, I learned to pick up on a couple of words. Mostly names, but still, I was very proud of myself. It wasn't until I asked to join the conversations when Chayamael, my first "customer", came by with an untitled book containing a how-to guide for a language I'd never seen before. I laughed and hugged him. Chayamael, seemingly shocked, smiled softly and then disappeared.

I read that book through and through maybe a hundred times after that.

Mostly what they talked about was gossip: who's looking great this season, who isn't collecting as many souls as they should be, etc. It was fun to join in, even if most of the soul-collecting stuff went over my head.

They were there for me when my mother died. Though my dad and I were the only ones huddled around the grave, there were large figures in the distance watching us, almost protectively.

When Chayamael, always one to show up alone, came to find me crying on my bed, he gave me a hug. I softly smiled up at him.

My ordinary became demons: my ordinary became not-so-scary creatures that stopped by for a quesadilla and a smile.