Daemonicus Anonymous

The assortment of afflicted souls gathered for this weekly meeting of Deamonicus Anonymous was shaping up to be the usual suspects. Pazuzu, the Assyrian demon, was lying on its back, legs in the air, wings twisted in unnatural angles. Pazuzu seemed lost in its own world, repeating, “I am Pazuzu, son of Hanbu.” Dave, having experienced Pazuzu’s peculiar behavior, gave it a wide berth. It looked like it wanted belly rubs and chose the coat rack to entice unwitting victims.

Dave mutters to himself, “I’m not a tree, I’m not a tree” as he navigated the room. Other participants cast wary glances at Pazuzu, and like Dave, carried their coats into the community room. Most in the meeting had grown accustomed to its odd antics. Its host, Sarah, didn’t know why she was lumbered with Pazuzu. She wasn’t sick, so the best they could think of was Pazuzu wanted to spend its retirement pretending it was a wire terrier. It was classed as one of those quirky “benign” demons. Lucky, Dave thought.

He paused to allow his eyes to adjust from the glare of the lit anteroom to the dim community hall, lit only by a handful of flickering battery-powered candles with flecks of streetlights. The wavy wall length windows had the external shutter down, which was nice, hard enough to bare one’s soul with just the people in the room. Today they looked like a large maw with a wash of sickly green from the green emergency exit sign.

He suppressed a reflexive frown at the pluggable air freshener. It didn’t translate the effect of scented candles. Last year, the scented candles were only used because they were on sale at Walmart. So why fake the smell?

For obvious reasons, open flames were banned in the hall. Though he suspected the prohibition had less to do with accidental blazes and more to do with mischief of the Boy Scouts who had the Hall on Tuesday evenings.

Dave ambled over to the refreshments table with its perpetually steaming electric kettle and picked up a Styrofoam cup. He peered into the cup quizzically after adding a splash of chocolate powder. After a quick stir, flecks of chili powder floated to the top of the chocolate. The aroma was muted but sweet, with only faint notes of spice. The flavor wasn’t really his thing, but he’d give it a try.

With a resigned sigh, Dave cradled the cup close, warding off the early fall chill. The questionable beverage had become a ritual part of his weekly gathering. Symbolic comfort of familiarity, not unlike the cracked plastic chairs arranged in a circle within. A meager but sincere attempt at sanctuary and support amidst the chaos.

“I am Pazuzu, son of Hanbu.” A muffled cry from Pazuzu with its face buried in its crotch.

Dave settled back into his usual seat, tucking a stray peanut butter cookie into his breast pocket for the imp perched on his shoulder. He felt a swell of pride thinking about the wisdom he would impart today. These poor saps, still struggling to contain their chaotic companions, had no idea the breakthroughs he had achieved with his imp Zazel. He had a few wisdom nuggets to dole out today. Why, thanks to his ingenious system of distraction and redirection, he had that little monster perfectly controlled! No more unfinished home projects or lawn mower mishaps for him. Dave cracked a smile. He had outsmarted the cosmos itself! Dave straightened, imagining a round of applause for unlocking the secrets of domestic bliss with a demonic roommate.

Across the faded linoleum, the session leader, Paul, called the meeting to order with a half-hearted ring of the prayer bell.

Dave had found his flock among these fellow troubled souls, still seeking salvation from the infernal influences in their lives. And despite the brimstone tainting the stale coffee and wonky ceiling fans sputtering occult murmurings, Dave felt at peace here - a demonic den of understanding he could truly call home.

Everyone stood.

Zazel made a lunge for the cookie, scattering crumbs down his shirt. Dave swatted its hand.

Paul clasped his hands. The familiar Serenity Call filled the room. “Demons great and small, grant me the serenity to accept the mischievous things I cannot banish. The courage to banish the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference between a harmless prank and a chaotic catastrophe.”

“And now Curtis,” Paul said, “You can lead the reading of the Eight-Fold Path.”

Curtis looked a bit confused at first. Marcia swapped her copy of the handbook open to the correct page for his closed copy. Curtis cleared his throat.

“I am Pazuzu, son of Hanbu.”

Pazuzu got hushed by Sarah. It nuzzled in her hand like a young dog.

Curtis began, “Acceptance of Attraction:”

Everyone except for the new girl responded, “Acknowledge and accept that you have attracted a demon into your life.”

“Recognize the unique characteristics and quirks of your demon companion.”

Curtis continued, “Understanding the Reflection:”

As the responsive reading of the Eight-Fold Path continued, Dave allowed his gaze to roam across the motley assortment of fellow demon-afflicted before him. The new girl was shaking her demon. It seemed to like the rough attention. Weird she’s not put it down.

“Taking Responsibility:”

Dave murmured along by rote, gaze wandering the worn community center meeting room. His eyes snagged on the faded banner tucked into the corner - “Troupe 440B” embroidered under the pretentious Boy Scouts crest. He scowled, remembering the Scouts’ controversial decision to ban any child “afflicted with minor hellspawn”. As if these chaotic creatures were something to fear, rather than manifestations of inner turmoil. He was sure some scouts were hiding their demons

“Embracing Chaos:”

Why just look at Marcia. Her reptilian glare matched her demon’s. A transparent manifestation of years spent battling the bottle. Or Roland, eyes closed in bliss while his frosting-faced cupcake goblin crammed sugary treats between his lips…clearly a stand-in for his less visible but equally destructive food addiction.

“Letting Go of Control:”

Dave knew the Scouts were missing out by rejecting those kids who, if given support, may find healthy ways to confront their personal demons early. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the responsive reading with the principle, “Understand that some chaos is inevitable, and learn to go with the flow.”

Easier said than done, Dave thought, living harmoniously, bah.

“Commitment to Positive Change:”

He looked over at little Angie again. Dave heard her introduce herself to Marcia, all sunshine curls and rainbow barrettes, fussing over the eldritch knot of tentacles in her lap. She’d pulled her seat out of the circle by a few feet. She couldn’t be but ten years old. So young to be saddled with such a beast already. Didn’t her parents try to intervene? Though he supposed such meddling was futile once a demon chose its bonded human.

“Forging a New Path:”

Dave mouthed the response. “Forge a new path for yourself, independent of the chaos caused by your demon.”

Zazel darted from between his legs and motioned for Dave to get up.

Dave knew better. Zazel had tied his shoes together. So Dave bent over, trying to untie them with one hand, while holding the hot chocolate in the other.

“Seek out positive experiences and relationships that contribute to your well-being.” Dave put his chocolate on the floor and used both hands to undo the knot.

“Living in Demon Harmony:”

“Learn to coexist harmoniously with your demon, finding joy in the unique aspects it brings to your life.”

“Strive for a balanced and fulfilling life, demon and all.”

Dave peered around suspiciously as the ritual reading concluded, wary of judgmental gazes. The exit sign flickered and died.

Dave settled back into his chair, allowing his shoulders to unlock from their tense hunch. Here, among fellow marked souls struggling under destiny’s irregular burden, he could exhale, could ignore the scampering imp now digging for treasure in his trousers’ pockets for a few moments. Here, he could simply be—connected by the slender strings of karma that drew demons and humans together in an awkward but intimate dance across the voids of time and space.

Dave ran his finger over the pale band on his ring finger, remnants of a cursed past. He remembered his last argument with Tess. He couldn’t recall what it was about—there were so many. Still, he winced at the memory of her comparing him to Stan-the-ever-capable-neighbor, who swooped in with his power tools and regulation crew cut…

Angie yanked on a feeler caught in her demon’s dripping maw. “Who’s Mommy’s precious quantum singularity? You are Yoggy-poo!” She punctuated her cooing with a sharp slap to a questing pseudopod. Dave shuddered and quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere. The overly sweet demon attachment phase rarely lasted long.

Paul spread his hands. “Today’s discussion topic—finding meaning amidst the madness-inducing revelations of demonic knowledge. Who’d like to share first?”

Dave shifted in his seat, sensing the broad theme might unfurl into esoteric tangents. His suspicion was quickly validated as Carmine, the eccentric retired secretary, accompanied by her bickering Siamese twin demons, seized on the topic.

“All this newfangled technology, messing with things humans weren’t meant to know,” she declared, knitting needles clacking emphasis in time to her demons’ squabbling. “Why, just look at that science experiment at CERN! Black holes and time travel and whatnot. We’re tearing the very fabric of reality apart, I tell ya!”

Inkwellius—half of her ink demon—nodded vigorously, chaotic black splotches blossomed across Carmine’s knitting project, earning it a swat with a needle.

With an apologetic shrug, Paul interjected. “Ah, yes, fascinating points, Carmine. Perhaps we could explore a more internal perspective…"

Dave caught Paul’s eye, then raised his hand. Paul looked relieved. “Dave, you have something to add?”

Dave took the cue, nudging his imp away from a now popcorn-strewn manifestation of Andromalius’ Serpent. He’d have to work out where Zazel got popcorn and a bottle of white glue. “If I may, I’ve been reflecting on embracing one’s unique demonic companion of late…”

Dave watched little Angie burrow her face into the fuzzball creature in her lap, its coat rippling subtly…like a thousand tiny insects swarming just below the plush pink surface. The loving coos she punctuated with angry shakes sent visible quivers through the now vaguely pulsating form. Dave frowned as one beady black eye seemed to swivel independently, fixing on him.

Paul waved his fingers in front of Dave’s eyes. “Yes, please Dave, the floor is yours!”

The group’s attention mercifully shifted from a swirling discussion of chemtrails onto Dave’s insights about dancing with chaos rather than resisting it outright.

Dave gave his imp a gentle nudge from his perch atop his shoe. “Yes, hello all. First, Hi, I’m Dave and I’m a demon-host”

“Hi Dave,” the group said in unison.

“Today I wanted to talk about finally embracing the tunes of the demonic karma jukebox inside us…” Dave tossed the Rubik’s cube to the scampering imp, hoping to distract it from exploring his socks. He cleared his throat, gaze lowered.

“For years, I struggled with Zazel here.” He gestured at the imp now gnawing intensely on a cube corner. “I’d try to mow the lawn and the blasted contraption would splutter out. Every home repair project ended half-finished. My life ground to a halt, couldn’t work, couldn’t pay my bills. My wife grew so tired of my excuses.” Dave’s voice became strained. “When our neighbor offered a hand, well. She took much more than a hand…”

Dave trailed off, old bitterness swelling in his throat. The imp cackled, morphing its face into a caricature of the pompous neighbor.

Paul coughed mildly.

Dave took a deep breath, then paraphrased the Bardo Thodola. “Like the turning wheel of karma, my thoughts came full circle as I pondered the consequences of my wife runnin’ off with the neighbor.” Dave blinked, anger dissipating.

The Rubik’s cube, disassembled into components, clattered to the floor. The imp beamed proudly at his puzzle solving prowess.

Dave tossed a fidget toy at the imp. “What I discovered was to turn into the chaos.” His eyes opened wide, crazed, bloodshot. “I built a business testin’ products. Figured, embracin’ Zazel by keeping his fingers busy.” Dave wiggled his fingers. “I stay up to all hours making new things to break. Spent all my savings on a 3D printer farm just to test other folks’ designs. I feed my demon, all hours, and that’s how I have peace.”

The attendees glanced at the pile of cube parts skeptically, but offered polite applause nonetheless.

In the following silence, a sharp crack cut through the room as the retired policeman’s chair collapsed, a leg pin mysteriously missing. His demon serpent chased after Zazel.

Dave lunged for the imp vainly as it scampered away, cackling. Dave’s face burned as the group turned to stare at the imp gleefully clutching the chair pin.

The Imp strode toward the circle, taunting the serpent with the pin. Dave made a sudden jump towards Zazel,

The group’s eyes and smug smiles dug into Dave’s confidence. He had so recently touted his mastery over the creature, and now, this!

With a groan, Dave crushed the imp under his shoe, its cackles muffled. He realized his breakthrough was nothing but hubris. No one could truly contain these agents of chaos. One simply needed to adapt to the pandemonium, finding moments of connection and meaning amidst the unrelenting bedlam. Well, he considered wryly, the cosmic tune was unlikely to dim to a dull roar anytime soon. At least he was learning to dance to it.

Behind Dave, Angie stroked the fuzzball creature whose plastic coat now appeared wetly matted. Was that viscous oozing from a jagged seam? He cringed as the saccharine murmurs shifted to a guttural crinkling.

Dave wrestled the imp, still clutching the chair pin, onto his seat, plopping down heavily on top of it. He shot an apologetic glance at the policeman, attempting to right his furniture.

Paul cleared his throat. “Thank you for that candid share, Dave. Now, our new member Angie has offered to introduce herself.”

Dave took a long draw of tepid chocolate, nose crinkling at the odd chemical taste. He plucked out the soggy cigarette butt with a sigh. Zazel snickered from his pinned position.

Across the room, little Angie beamed, cuddling her demon that, from a distance, resembled an innocuous pink puffball balanced on octopus arms. “This is my Yoggy-woogy-kins, Yog So-Soft. Isn’t he just the cutest?” She punctuated her fawning with a sharp shake of the creature.

As she described her affection for “Mister Fluffy,” her voice took on a shrill edge. Dave leaned forward, a feeling of unease building. The creature appeared to…pulse. Dave clutched his cup tight.

“He’s just so snuggly-wuggly, I can’t help but squeeze his little face! But mom says cookies are bad for his bott-bott.” Angie’s eye twitched at the injustice. “And I shouldn’t let him eat any more neighbors, so now we’re here.”

Paul stood abruptly. “Er, Angie, dear, let’s just set our friend down for a moment…” But his warning emerged too late.

With a shriek of inhuman delight, the cotton-candy shaped creature expanded, colors dissolving into amorphous flesh, pseudopods erupting to engulf Angie in a hellish embrace.

Dave stumbled back with a cry as his cup dropped to the floor. The cosmic tune screeched into maddening cacophony and the dance whirled into chaos.

Staring, dazed at the pooled eldritch horror ensnaring Angie, the group was frozen in stunned revulsion.

Dave felt a foreign sensation rising from his gut - incongruous laughter. The cosmic dance had sent a tentacled jitterbug whirling past his feet, but at least he knew the steps better now.

The screaming started, and it wasn’t just the humans.

Zazel scrambled up his leg. Dave grabbed the cackling creature in calloused hands. No escaping fate’s fickle rhythms, but they could supply their own tune.

Carmine was lifted up by her waist. She tried stabbing the tentacles with her knitting needles.

The dripping mouth of Yog-So-Soft opened with a wail. Dave took aim and chucked Zazel as hard as he could.

His anxiety vanished with the strained squeak from the imp slipping into teeth within teeth. Dave felt good, for once in his adult life. He said, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank Yog the mighty, free at last!”

Amidst the swirl of tentacles, his eyes caught Angie, suspended in the air like a lantern fish lure in the abyss. The revelation struck him like a thunderbolt. Angie, the innocent-looking girl, was the true embodiment of chaos. The cosmic dance had led him to this moment of profound understanding of the Eight-Fold Path. Let go of control, embrace chaos. Peace flooded Dave, his demons without and within, integrating at last.

Dave began whistling Dixie as the room descended into chaos. He didn’t have a reason. It just felt right.

“I am Pazuzu, son of Hanbu.”

The tentacles were everywhere. Chilli flakes separated from the spilled cocoa. Angie glowed a deep cosmic not-purple.

“I am Pazuzu, son of Hanbu.”

The mouth inverted, pink fluff unfolding….

“I am Pazu—“