The Treasure

The Treasure

Herb’s fingers were nearly frozen together as he dug through the moist trash pile. The aromas: paint, coffee grinds and others more fowl were all invigorating. They spoke of hidden treasures. He looked up at the house every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. These people had a dog, but he didn’t think it had heard him. Not yet.

As he searched, an empty pained feeling began to rise in Herb that told him he wasn’t going to find any food here. Perhaps these people licked their plates and ate the bones too, he wondered with longing as his gnarled hand scraped the bottom of the barrel and pulled out the last piece of garbage: and old ripped shirt. He shoved it in his pocket. Rags were always useful. At least it was something.

Herb shoved the rest of the trash back in the can and was about to slink away when he noticed it. Even in the waning afternoon light its sheen glistened. He did a double take and picked it out.
T
he box was small and heavy—much more so than Herb would have thought. A thin fissure told him it had a lid. He opened it.

There was a puff of darkness as the demon ensnared Herb’s hand. He tried to shout, but his mouth was taken over too quickly for him to defend himself. Soon his vision blurred, doubled, blacked out.

He woke under a bridge with bloody hands and horrible memories. The little girl had been so soft and delicate and far too willing to die. Now, she was out there, attached to a demon and ready to kill. Herb knew why she had summoned the demon. And though he didn’t know how, he knew that he had to stop her.