Daryn's Choice

Daryn Saunders wasn’t able to relax until he heard the click of his deadbolt sliding back into place. He turned around and leaned heavily against the door. The heavy shoulder bag that he carried felt like it was full of rocks and it hit the floor like lead. The entire apartment was pitch black and silent, but instead of being unnerved, Daryn found comfort in it after all of the city noise.

After resting for a moment, Daryn began the painful trek through his small living room and into the smaller kitchen. The soles of both feet felt raw and each step seemed to take him into another level of Hell. Finally, he reached the kitchen and still did not turn on a light. The only one Daryn wanted to see was inside the fridge. He slid his hand over the smooth surface of the refrigerator door until he reached the handle. With one jerk, it was open and the light was blinding.

He pulled out a half-empty bottle and then shut the door again, casting himself back into the shadows. Daryn held the bottle out in front of himself and took only two steps before the table hit his legs. He set the bottle down on it and then reached out for the chair that he knew would be close by. Once located, Daryn fell into it with a loud grunt. The pain in his feet exploded and he became aware of a vague throbbing in his lower back.

Daryn sighed and reached out in the general direction of the bottle and missed. His hand landed on the wood and Daryn froze. The table was wet. He hadn’t been home since before his shift began, almost fourteen hours ago. There was no reason for the table to be wet and he was about to get up when every light in the apartment came on at the same time. Daryn had to close his eyes against the brightness. He kept them closed for a minute until he thought it was safe.

When he did open them, he could only stare at what used to be his kitchen table. The once brown wood was now a solid black and covered in bright red, still wet symbols. He was studying them, trying to find one he recognized when he was startled by an unexpected voice.

“Hello, Daryn. How have you been?”

He was standing in front of the door, his body slick and shimmering in the bright glow from the ceiling light. Translucent, fluid wings stuck slightly to the door when he stepped forward. His arms had been crossed over his chest and now they floated down to hang near his hips. As he moved, his skin, or at least what was covering his body, rolled in gentle waves.

Daryn still hadn’t answered by the time he reached him, so he walked around behind him. A cool, wet finger ran over his neck, making him jump.

“It’s okay, Daryn. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But you did call me.” He pointed to the living room where instead of a coffee table, Daryn had built a small altar. On top of the altar lay the limp body of a cat. A few inches in front of the corpse sat a small silver chalice full to the brim with blood.

“I take it you thought over my proposition?”

Daryn nodded slowly.

“So quiet. I really hope you’re not always this quiet.” He hopped up to sit on the table and crooked a finger at Daryn.

A light began to shine from the symbols on the tabletop. It made his entire body glow in an unearthly fashion. Not that anything about this figure was from this plane. An unmentionable force pulled him to the creature, who opened his legs so Daryn could stand between them. He wrapped his arms around Daryn’s neck and pulled him close. His skin was wet where it touched Daryn and when he put long-fingered, liquid hands on Daryn’s face, he found that it was less like water and more like gelatin. He drew Daryn’s face to his own and as the lips covered his, the light grew brighter until the apartment was like a brilliant star.

A second later, the apartment was once again filled with darkness.

A/N: I wrote this quite a few years ago to a prompt I found in Writer's Digest. I believe it was something along the lines of 'Someone finds something on their kitchen table that isn't supposed to be there.' I still enjoy this story even though every time I do I get this insane urge to rewrite it about a hundred times. This is a bad habit that needs breaking if I'm ever gonna get anything done. :)

Anyway, this is it in its original form. Has not been edited since I posted it on FictionPress back in 2012.