It was the usual demons that came for him that night. They sat him up on the mound of trash that served as his pillow, and helped him reach for the half empty bottle.

      He asked them for the hundredth time how long he’d been drunk, and they responded as they always did, by telling him it had been many years.

      In these rare moments of clarity when his senses were not not completely dulled by the booze, the fog lifted just enough for him to notice his surroundings. His eyes welled up with tears.

      Maybe there was still time. I had a daughter once he thought. A beautiful wife too. Or maybe he had dreamt all of those things. He was not sure anymore. How old would his daughter be now? How long ago had it been since he’d lost his mind? Did he really have a daughter? He tried hard to remember. But the effort made his head hurt, as it always did.

      One of the demons was very impish. Short and squat with thick matted hair sprouting over two little horns. Its eyes were as bright as a cats, and as yellow as a junkies with jaundice.

      The other was tall and gangly. Its arms were so long they nearly touched the ground. It had the horns of a ram, and its eyes burned like two red coals floating in the sockets of its skull.

      When they moved the tall one would simply sweep the impish demon up in its arms and walk with it perched upon its shoulder.

      He could always sense their arrival before he actually saw them. They would come for him through the fog of his mind, up through those depths, he shivered and sweat as they drew closer, until they appeared before him.

      The tall one knelt to the right of him, and the impish one stood to his left.

      Their purpose and presence in his life was singular. To ensure he took his medicine at the proper times and in the proper doses.

      This he understood, but it did not stop him from trying to get more information out of them.

      “Am I in hell?”, he asked.

      “Not yet.” The impish demon said. It gestured the bottle closer to him.

      “NO! I’ve had enough of you! I’m serious this time. I’ve had enough. I’m not drinking that vile shit anymore.” Both of his demons remained, unperturbed by this outburst. He was shaking now. With rage or sickness he didn’t know. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD,” he screamed. They sat there patiently, waiting for him to finish. He tried to scream at them again, but he was sobbing now. Snot and mucus filled his throat until he choked. “Get out of my head,” he repeated meekly. The tall demon looked at the impish one, and for a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of sympathy in its eyes. Moments later, it returned its fiery gaze to him, and continued to stare impassively.

      The impish demon, once again gestured the bottle towards his lips, but he did not resist this time.