For the first time since this thing started, I'm grateful to be in Damian Bradely's body. Why? Because he's not squeamish and he's fast. Well, not that I was easy to intimidate or slow #girlpower #workingoutismandatory, but if it were me, I'd probably be wearing a cute outfit of babydoll dress and stilettos, so chasing a tiny demon in an open living apartment could've proven dificult.

As it is, Damian's muscles tense and the body just bursts forward like an explosion of energy and manliness. The little chuaua demon darts under the coffee table and scrambles towards the nearest corner.

Fifi shrieks, because why would she try to be proactive anyway? Truth be told, I was always the proactive one. #getagripgirlfriend

I go around the table, since I can't jump it with Fifi on it, and charge at the red grotesque cherub. It dives between my legs and hightails it into the kitchen, its tail swishing behind it. I'm aware I should be freaking out more over what I'm seeing, especially since I'm about to catch it and touch it, but it's more important that I get the job done.

The little monster keeps twirling around, and I'm reminded of watching Tom & Jerry as a kid. I've always rooted for the little mouse, like I assumed all kids do, but now I'm stuck being the cat.

I tell you, the cat has the rough deal. Because once you grow up you realize no one wants a mouse in their house, touching and stealing their food. I mean... Ew!

Poor Tom grabbed the short end of the PR stick. And as I struggle to do what he does repeatedly in almost every episode, I decide a blog post on how unfair he's been treated is beyond necessary.

But until then, I have a tiny little demon to catch. Fortunately, Damian has done this before. Or so I believe. There's no other reason he'd anticipate the little bugger's movements correctly. As it tries to go between my legs again, I move my foot and step on its tail.

"Ouch," it wails, but I have no mercy.

I twist like a professional soccer player and kick his little red butt right into the counter. The hit dazes him long enough for me to grab him. Thank God I'm wearing gloves, because even if Damian has a hard stomach, the idea of touching that thing makes me want to screech. Fortunately, I don't, so I stare down the little demon. Unfortunately, my plan stops here. I have no idea what to do with it.

"Lemme go, ya dumb hunter. Lemme go!"

I tighten my hold around it because holy hell, I did not expect it to speak, especially not with a cartoon gangster accent.

"I am most certainly not a dumb hunter," I say affronted.

"Omigod Carolyn. It's talking." Fifi points at me, her hand in tremors. "The little hell puppy is talking."

"I'm no dog, ya dumb broad! Seriously, do I even look like I have four legs?"

I turn it over in my hand. It does not have four legs. I has two fat little feet, a round butt and the front like a Ken doll, which I'm actually grateful for. Seeing demon genitalia isn't high on my must-have experiences list. It actually looks like an evil little boy with pointed years and a tail.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"My name," the creature coos. "Seriously, Bradley, what's wrong with you?"

Riiight. So maybe I've seen this little fellow before. I shake him to shut him up, because it seems like something Damian would do.

"Alright, alright already," it screams and I stop shaking. "It's Butch."

Butch? What a total lack of originality. It must be showing on my face that I find the name appalling because the demon narrows his tiny eyes at me.

"The stupid broad called you Carolyn."

Indeed she did. I mean, no, yuck, Fifi is definitely not a stupid broad. 

"Quit being insulting to women," I say in my best serious Damian voice.

The demon does not listen, just knocks his puffy cheeks back and laughed. It's so weird to hear such a grownup sound coming out of a thing that can stand in the palm of my hand.

"I mean it, demon. Shut up, already."

"Shut up already?" he mocks me, laughing some more.

That's it. I'm a lady and I've the patience of an angel, but this guy just broke the limit. I fling him into the nearest wall. He hits it with a satisfyingly loud splat.

"You listen here, you little cartoon piece of shit," I say between my teeth, letting Damian have his way with the language. "I have questions and you're going to answer them."

The little cartoon piece of shit slides down the wall exactly like a cartoon. The situation is so hard to stomach, but with every movement he makes, it becomes increasingly hard to consider him a creature of evil we summoned using on Ouija carpet.

He stands, brushes imaginary dust off his pot belly, then throws me one ugly look before darting off.

"It's running again!" Fifi says, pointing towards him.

True, and both me and Damian have had enough of this. I pick up a heavy scented candle Fifi bought on a trip to Belize and throw it at the demon. It hits Butch in the back of the head and sends him flying into the refrigerator.

I'm not sure if it's me or Damian, but the cartoon feeling is getting on our nerves. I stride to him, pick him up, then use kitchen foil to wrap him up and immobilize him. The wretched little thing starts spitting and cursing at me.

Damian is aching to backhand Butch across the face, but I'm above that, so I smother the impulse. Instead, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hum. #imbetterthanthat

"What the hell?" the demon mutters. "Were you possessed by a socialite or what?"

"Influencer, not socialite," I snap, opening my eyes. "And before you start snickering like a tool, it takes a lot of work to amount to the level of exposure and success I have."

"That's true," Fifi pipes in from the coffee table.

The demon starts laughing hysterically, so I let Damian have this one and punch him in the face. His tiny head snaps back and he starts choking and splattering.

"Damn it, you almost made me swallow a tooth."

"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous.

"Why am I here? You summoned me, pal."

Right, true. Though I was actually hoping to summon Satan. Does that mean I could use this twerp to get the devil himself here?

"And as an FYI, amateurs, next time you want to summon anything, how about a salt circle first? Or they just run around the place. You were lucky you got me--"

Damian then decided to punch the thing in the mouth again, and I don't argue. I need to process this and figure out what to do with this tiny, annoying little demon.

"Hey, what I do?"

"Shush, I'm thinking."

"Huh, that's rich."

I clench my fist and the thing pulls away as much as the foil allows him. For some weird reason, I like that reaction. Maybe because I've never met anyone more annoying in my life. Which makes me realize something.

"Are you the demon of annoyance?"

"Am I the what?" I think Butch wants to spit in my face again, but the last punch is probably still fresh so he reconsiders. "I'm a demon. We're all nasty and annoying."

"You don't seem too nasty." Fifi finally gets off the coffee table and joins me. "I mean you're the size of a medium china doll. What could you do?"

Fifi has tempted fate, so the demon bites her nose. She pulls back screeching and Butch and I both wince away.

"Now look what you've done," I say before I can help myself.

"I'm with you on this one, brother," the demon mumbles. "Awful screamers on this one."

"You little waste of good shade of red!" Fifi yells as she dances away.

"This one's heavy on the insults," Butch mutters. "Best stay away from her."

Damian wants to laugh, but I stop myself out of loyalty to my friend. So I let Fifi curse and focused on the strange demon Damian was forging a bro-connection with.

"I need information," I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Butch squints at me. "You summoned a demon for information?"

I have never interacted with a demon before, but something tells me that admitting I made a mistake wouldn't go well. I am not happy that I've been reduced to lying and scheming, but getting my body and my real self back demands sacrifice.

That's right, Carolyn, stop fighting your impulses.

Shut up, Damian, you're still in the dog house so you get no say. #busted #sogrounded

"Why not?" I say with a shrug. "You're around the big guy, you might know something useful."

The demon squints some more. "What's in it for me?"

"You're wrapped in plastic foil. What do you mean what's in it for you?" Despite my better judgement, I bristle. "I let you go and I don't gut you with my Demon Slayer."

"Your what now?"

Butch sounds just about ready to laugh, so I take out the dagger from the sheath strapped to my calf and I point it at his neck.

"I decided to give my dagger a nice name. Got a problem with that?"

His eyes widen, the pupils becoming pin tips as he glances at my weapon. I'm a little shocked that he wasn't expecting me to pack it. I mean it was just naturally there, so I assumed everyone has one of these.

"Did that witch make it?" he whispers, his tone almost reverent. 

I have no idea who that witch is supposed to be, or that there might be real witches out there (nothing would surprise me at this point), so I nod.

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

I need to phrase my question accordingly, but Fifi is still screeching about her bitten nose, so it's a little distracting.

"Whose piece of soul does the Devil want?" I finally asked, because there's no other way I can think of asking this.

"Ah, the promise of a soul," Butch breathes. "The underworld is in hysterics over this. They all know about the race, but few know what it's really about."

"Do you?"

Before he answers, I can tell he doesn't. His eyes shift and he looks seriously concerned about losing cool points.

"You don't have any cool points to lose. You're tiny and you look like the fat demon from Hercules. The Disney version."

This shuts him up, and I'm not sure that's a good idea. Damian's snark is not helping, so it's time for some Carolyn charm.

"Look, Butch. If you help me with this, not only will I not kill you, but I will make you a PR campaign to die for."

"A what now?"

"A presentation. So you will stand out among the other, boring demons in Hell." I'm tempted to ask if all demons are as small as him and look like a recycled muppet, but I decide I don't want to know. I'm good with avoiding scary stuff until I really have to face it.

"That ain't half-bad sounding," he says, his gangster accent back on.

I shake my head. "Nope, lose the gangster talk. You remind me of the Ant Hill Mob." He looks confused, so he probably didn't grow up watching reruns of The Perils of Penelope Pitstop, but whatever. "It's not doing you any favors. You need your own persona."

"Ah, okay."

We both fall silent. In the background, Fifi finally shuts up, too.

"I'm going to let you go now," I say. "And you're going to tell me whose soul the Devil is interested in. Then I'm going to find it, grab it, and win the contest. Then, once I'm inside my own gorgeous body, I will make you the most popular demon around."

His eyes brighten and I swear, for half a second, he looks adorable. But just half a second. He nods vigorously and I grab a pair of kitchen scissors to set him free.

Make him take an oath.

Damian's voice reverberates around my head so loud it hurts. I want to snap at him to go away again, but this could be important, so I grin at the demon instead.

"Take an oath."

"Yeah, right! Would you like my number as well?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

"I was being sarcastic."

I pull my dagger out again, and he heaves a sigh. "Fine. I take an oath to respect our deal and yadda, yadda."

"Use your words," Fifi says, joining us. "Yadda, yadda does not sound like an oath to me."

Butch glares at her, but complies. "I vow to respect our deal and return with the information you require."

"That's better." Fifi crosses her arms over her chest. "Now your number."

"It's 4627 HGRY."

"What kind of number is that?" she asks, picking up a meat hammer.

The demon glances from her to the Ouija carpet and I get it. I now know what I have to do. So I cut him loose and don't even flinch as he scurries to the carpet and disappears in a  puff of orange smoke.

"What did we just do?" Fifi asks.

"I hope we'll get some information."

But the idea exhausts me. So he will tell me whose soul I need to find. What if it's someone on the other end of the world. What if it's a celebrity? The idea excites me for a second, but the thought of all the security makes it less appealing. Scaling the walls of the Kardashian mansion isn't worth the hassle.

Then what am I supposed to do? Pull the soul out of some people?

I'm terribly and utterly unprepared for this.

👸👸👸

Word count: 2240

Total word count: 11,927

So much throw back to old cartoons in this one. Couldn't help myself.

Hope you're still having fun with this. Carolyn has hit a bit of a dead end, but maybe it's time to think harder and discover the way to succeed. Not even Damian can help her now.

What next? Stay tuned to find out.