"Use a Napkin"

Napkin sketch courtesy of Wesley Wong

"Oh, come on," Davey's father said. He tugged on the boy's sleeve to try to pull his forearm away from his mouth. "You're too old to be wiping your face on your shirt. Use a napkin already."

"You know why he doesn't want to do that," said Davey's mother. "Let him use the back of his hand. He can wash it off later. There's no harm."

"No harm? Next he'll be seeing the Virgin Mary on the front of a tortilla. You're indulging the boy. Making him too soft to deal with reality."

"And you're crushing his imagination."

It didn't matter to Davey what either of them said. He was watching the low red light from the candle in the jar pulse like a heartbeat over the napkin's folds. With each quick shift in the light, the demon's face changed expression, exposing more or less of its sawblade teeth. "Go on, bring me close, boy," the demon begged. "Let me tell you what to do." Davey didn't want to. But maybe, he thought for a moment, while his parents' voices rose above him like shadows, maybe if he did just wipe his face, everything would finally be all right.