Little Demons

              Life as a demon was pretty good. Well, it was better than being an angel. White clouds, white wings, white halo, white dress. Life as a demon was far more colourful for a start.

          Now Bert, yes that's right. Bert! You would think 'They' could come up with a more appropriate name for a demon, maybe something long and unpronounceable  with fifteen consonants and two vowels. But no, he'd been stuck with Bert. 'They' had no idea how excruciatingly embarrassing  this could be, especially on team projects.

"Hi, my name's Hellfire."

Hi, I'm Souldestroyer and this is Gznlurhkts."

"My name's Bert."

          He could still see their smirking faces and feel his round face redden beneath the short grey fur.

          Thankfully he was working alone today.  His latest assignment was a nine year old boy, who was currently playing in his back garden under strict instructions not to kick his football,  due to the rather unfortunate incident that had occurred earlier that day.

          The boy knew he hadn't aimed the ball at the gnome,  he hadn't even aimed it at the pond. It was amazing the way it had bounced off that stone then ricocheted off the handlebars of his bike at just the right angle to hit, and unfortunately knock the head off his mother's favourite garden ornament. You could almost believe that someone had set it up, like one of those trick shots in snooker.

          Unluckily for Bert, the boy had decided to obey his mother's orders and was currently sitting on the back door step, chin resting in his hands, sulking. Hopefully his mother would relent and allow him to play again when she returned from her trip to the supermarket. But it didn't look promising.

          Undeterred, Bert wasn't about to let all his hard work go to waste. He closed his small, red eyes, focused hard and materialised right next to the football, where it  lay hidden amongst the colourful foliage in the mother's carefully tended flower bed.

          This mode of travel had  presented problems for Bert right from the start, consequently it now caused a wave of nausea as his stomach knotted up nervously just before each materialisation. There was always a sense of both pride and surprise when he opened his eyes to discover that he was actually where he had intended to be.

          Peering through the mass of flower stems between him and the boy, Bert positioned himself next to a daffodil that stood slightly above the sea of colourful blooms. He determinedly wrapped his skinny grey arms around the thick  green stalk and shook it. Not an easy task when you are only five and a half centimetres tall. However, what he lacked in size he made up for in determination.

          The boy looked up briefly as the movement caught his eye but then went back to staring morosely at the paving slabs in front of him.  Firmly grasping the stem again, Bert shook the flower with all his strength, making the yellow head wobble around like that annoying dog in the car insurance adverts. This time the boy stood up and, curious as to what was causing this single flower to move on a breezeless summer day, walked towards Bert who quickly dived for cover beneath a broad primrose leaf.

          The boy peered down through the mass of flowers and much to Bert's relief, spotted the football.  He could almost see the battle going on in the boy's mind, willing it to go the 'right' way, or more precisely the 'wrong' way. After only a few seconds though, and with a quick, nervous  glance around him, the boy leant down, picked up the ball and headed towards the back gate to check on his parents' whereabouts.  Bert grinned, revealing two rows of small pointed teeth. 'Disobedience!.  Now for phase two.'

          Bert reckoned that he had covered every possibility, quite a feat in a garden this size, but the vast amount of toys and gardening paraphernalia scattered haphazardly had been a tremendous help. Now all he had to do was wait.

          He wasn't good at this bit. Most demons wait for days, weeks or even months, watching their meticulously laid plans unfold, tweaking things a little here and there along the way.  Not Bert, he paced anxiously up and down the flower bed, hands clasped behind his back, taking care not to bump into anything in case the movement distracted the boy.

          A couple of flower pots had magically appeared earlier at the far end of the lawn to create a makeshift goal and the boy was dribbling the ball carefully across the grass, then taking shots from a distance safe enough to guarantee the ball would go between the pots and not end up somewhere it shouldn't be. As his confidence began to grow and he became more immersed in his goal scoring, the boy began to take his shots from further down the garden, cheering at his own success every time it rolled between the pots. 'Come on! Come on! Bert urged the boy on, hopping agitatedly from one foot to the other, He was running out of time. He continued to watch with increasing frustration as the ball was manoeuvred, still with a degree of caution, up and down the garden.

He had to buy some more time.