Demon Stories

Josephine: Christmas in Spanish Harlem, 1951, NYC

Josephine

Christmas in Spanish Harlem

1951, NYC

The green and red lights blinked softly behind our baby blue polka dot curtains beside us as we cuddled on the couch. The couch was a threadbare brick colored block of a thing, but we didn't mind. It was comfortable and we were comfortable. Cuddled to me was my dear Crystal, and she was currently trying to kiss my neck and I wasn't letting her. A simple little game.

Her large brown eyes were focused on their target and her lips were puckered and pinked to within an inch of their life in lipstick. She was making little Spanish sounds of adoration like humming, like how a loving aunt would do to a baby. 

"No, I don't like that color, its cheap," I laughed, pawing her away. Equally, she came at me, throwing her body on mine and then straddling me. "Oh, I like this pose," I said sweetly, tapping the tip of her nose as she giggled. Finally, her beautiful lips pressed on my neck in a last lunge and I let out a low moan of pleasure.

"Yo tengo a ti, mi amor," she purred, rubbing her face against my neck. I began to rub her back, which caused her body to begin to rock against mine and I melted inside. 

"Mmm, Merry Christmas," I whispered into her lovely chocolate brown hair as she kissed my neck with little bitty kisses, feeling like butterfly wings.

"Feliz Navidad," she whispered back, and I moaned louder as her pearly white teeth bit into my neck just lightly, traveling in tiny bites up to my ear and alighting on my earlobe in nibbles.

"Crystalll," I sighed deeply as her prettily red nail polished hand slipped down my blouse.

"Es bueno?"

"Ye-"

A piercing female shriek filled the room. Crystal jumped back from me and her head snapped towards the window with the blinking Christmas lights. For a few moments, the only sounds we could hear were from our small TV in front of us.

"Was that the TV-" I began to ask, but Crystal pressed her finger to my lips to shush me as she listened and focused on the window. She began to breathe very slowly as the sounds of a feminine sort of soft sobbing began to come into our room. 

"Call 911," she told me with certainty, getting off my lap and running into the bedroom.

"What is it?" I asked, still confused and caught up in the moment before the shriek.

"Just call police," her serious voice said from the bedroom as I heard the frantic sounds of clothes moving around.

I obeyed, and a few minutes later I hung up the phone. I had been unable to tell the operator what the problem was, only that there was apparently a woman crying in the alley between our apartment building and the next and there had been a shriek previously. The operator was just as confused as I was and not at all filled with Christmas cheer, but she said she'd send over the authorities.