Demon Stories

Saya: Spare the Child, 1801, France

Saya

Spare the Child

1801, France

It was another late night, and I waited anxiously. Uncomfortably, I felt as a wife must feel on a cold lonely night. Indeed it was cold. A light, yet fluffy, snowfall had started while I was caught in my reverie. I thought of the white snow falling into his hair, making it as a veil. Causing a lace effect to make a prettiness where there was none. Not anymore. Yet my heart breathed inside, to think of such things.

Gently, like a whisper in itself, came small foot falls crunching just barely in the virgin snow. I cupped an ear to hear it better. Those black leather shoes. I pressed my face to the window with hands shielding to cut the glare. And to my tired eyes did I see an impression in the black beyond. 

He wore a long white coat, cream colored pants. With these, he looked as a creature of the winter, a frozen figure. To my relief, I breathed a calm breath. His long hair, the sweet long curls to his waist, were black still. Black as coal, yet the light of my heart. A warm feeling rushed all over my body, from my toes to my fingers, at this welcome sight. He had not eaten this night. He had kept his promise. 

I met him at the door, and when he came in he took off his coat and just let it drop to the floor. Though it was wet and not good for the wood floor, I paid no mind. This happy was I just to have him back, and with that color! But the next moment, I knew there was something amiss. His brilliant green eyes looked up at me slowly from under eyelashes which had snowflakes still stuck to them from the outside. With melancholy.

I took his small hand in mine and led him to our small sitting room. There was a roaring fire already on the hearth, as I had made sure. I had known he would be cold when he came home. Yet I was not prepared for the coldness of his heart. Still not prepared though it was foolish not to be after these many long years.

Patiently, I just waited for him to open his mouth as he was usual to do when he had that look in his large beautiful eyes. In the meanwhile, I wiped away gently the wet from his hair with a small cloth as we sat together silently. 

Suddenly, I heard his breathing change just slightly, and for this I stopped my mission and lowered my hand with the cloth. Seeing his hesitation, I grasped his hand closest to me in encouragement and love. At this warm gesture, he turned his face to mine, but it was a deeply sad face. 

"We can't stay in this town," he said quietly, with the voice of a sad little boy.

Lovingly, I swept my thumb about the back of his creamy soft hand. 

"Why is that, my love?" I asked almost in a whisper, matching his level of quiet.

He paused, and then looked down to the floor in front of us, then to the fire. He was silent a few moments, then spoke again, carefully. 

"...There is a fever this night. It has started again. This town will be gone soon, starting with the children. There are some children who look sickly, their skins paled and their eyes starting to sink. I saw through their windows. There will be the stench of death..."