Tuesday 3rd November 1992- Ash

Whack.

"Now remind me, just so we are both clear, what did I tell you?"

Strickeon whimpered but said nothing.

Kick.

"Urghh!"

"No, that's not what I said. Try again." Ash pulled his leg back for the second time.

"Okay, okay." Strickeon panted. "You told me not to approach her." His voice was muffled as he lay curled in a ball, his arms covering his head for protection.

Ash kicked at him again in the centre of his leather-jacketed back. The demon howled.

"So, you clearly heard my instructions, but chose to ignore them. Insolence!"

"Sire, it was but a moment. I did not reveal anything to her. I am, as ever, your obedient servant."

"When it comes to obedience, it is evident that I need to make my expectations of you, a little clearer in future."

"It won't happen again, Sire."

"That, I very much doubt. I think a period of self-reflection would do you well, right now."

"No Sire, truly that isn't necessary."

The demon picked himself up onto his knees and began to plead. With a wave of Ash's hand, the demon was lifted off the ground and propelled backwards through the portal, screaming.

Ash looked down at his black boot. It had a scuff mark on the toe. He lifted his foot and rubbed it on the back of his other leg, inspected it and then repeated the process twice more until he was happy. Readjusting his tie, he left the kitchen, and its infernal décor. For thousands of years humans had sought out ways to repel demons, using prayers, spells and amulets, to name but a few. If only they really knew how much simpler it really was—a few pieces of chintzy crockery here, a Michael Bolton album there—Ash and his kind would quite happily vanquish themselves.

As he re-entered the living room, the girl was seated on the armchair, staring vacantly at the television, unaware of the garishly coloured and quite deafening breakfast program being televised. Ash took the seat to the left of her and put his feet up on the pine coffee table and found himself enjoying the comfort of the olive-green Winchester chair. Choosing this location as his temporary residence, was one of his better ideas. He'd only intended to spend an hour or two there, researching his current quarry, but when word came that his current abode had been discovered, he'd no choice but to find an alternative quickly.

How he envied the Seven, each holed up in their respective lairs beneath. They'd no need to live among the humans, when demons like himself provided them with a home-delivery service. Unlike them, Ash had to seek out misery, and then live amongst it in order to get by. There was no greater abundance of energy than amongst the used-up and hung-out-to-dry elements of humanity. Tower blocks, prisons and retirement homes were his preferred choice, but this house had just the right amount of family discord and teen angst to keep him ticking along for a short while.

"Eat," Ash ordered.

The girl leaned forward, picked up a bowl of cereal off the coffee table and lifted a spoonful to her mouth. She didn't open her mouth though and the cereal fell back into bowl and partly into her lap. She repeated the same action.

She was strong-willed, that was for sure. Possession was always nearly one hundred percent effective. Mind control at a distance, however, was always trickier and this one was a fighter. It was certainly not evident on the surface, but deep down she was fighting and that amused him greatly.

"I think, dear girl, it's time you went to college. We don't want you to fall behind in your studies, do we?"

Ash stood up and stretched out his back and neck, for things would become even more cramped in just a moment. With ease, he slid out of his existing host, who crumpled and fell back on the sofa. The man would be fit for nothing for at least the next two days. Even so, he would have the house guarded as usual. Ash walked towards the girl, taking the bowl and spoon from her hands, and instructed her to stand. She did so, and the stray cornflakes fell from her lap to the floor. He moved so that he was directly in front of her.

Fear flickered in her eyes. Frozen and remote within her own being, she had now seen Ash for what he really was. He could even hear her silent, terrified screams. Touching her cheek, his skin abrasive against hers, he offered her a small apology, for he always prided himself on his manners; just because he was a beast didn't mean that he had to act like one all the time. Summoning up a surge of energy, his form entered hers and settled in for the duration.

Standing in the large reception area of the college, he took in his surroundings and inhaled deeply. The scent of young life was intoxicating. Surrounded by happy, sad and anguished teenagers was quite the tonic, and he berated himself for never having done this before now. While the first lessons had just begun, he wandered the corridors, soaking up the atmosphere and some lost soul energy along the way, until he located the girl. He was in the Humanities wing of the building and now standing outside room 2C2. For all Strickeon's recent inadequacies, he had a least remembered to find out the girl's timetable for the remainder of the week. He took out the Chap Stick from his jeans pocket and applied a light covering of the waxy, cherry-flavoured substance. With an uncharacteristic giggle, he smacked his lips together and sashayed into the classroom, trying to ignore how the tight jeans were beginning to chafe.

The girl was seated to the rear of the classroom. With a brief apology for lateness made to the drab-looking teacher, he made his way over to the free seat next to her.

"Hello," he whispered as he sat down. From his rucksack, he took out a folder, some paper and a pen with a fluffy pink pom-pom attached to the lid. When this was all over, that pen would be cast into the fires of hell, along with the Wonderbra he was currently wearing. He really hoped the Seven never caught sight of him dressed liked this. For one thing, he'd never live it down, and secondly, Asmodeus' lustful tastes for young women would make for a very awkward conversation indeed.

"Hi," the girl, Becca, replied curtly, giving him a tense smile, then turned her attentions back to the teacher.

"Sorry about yesterday, I really wasn't feeling well and didn't want you to catch anything."

"Fine."

"How are things?"

"Good, but can we talk about this later, I'm trying to listen."

"Uh, okay."

Feeling slightly affronted by her dismissal, if he'd listened to his primeval self, he'd have ripped out her heart and shoved it down her throat by now. But he had developed beyond such primal urges. Now, he was now an eighteen-year-old girl called Lauren, who had to endure a ninety-minute lesson on the events leading up to the holocaust. He smiled to himself, reminiscing.  "Good times," he muttered.