Ella's Point of View
It was 3:07 a.m.—peak chaos hour. The witching hour, but for dumbasses.
Kalix sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a circle of Pringles cans, chanting in a fake Latin accent, "Sacrum snaccum demonium, yeet us into the voidium."
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, already regretting the question.
"Summoning a demon to help us find the remote," he said with zero irony. "We haven't seen it in hours."
Kieran, half-asleep and burrito'd in a blanket, muttered, "Just use the buttons on the TV, you gremlin."
Kalix stared at him like he just suggested tax fraud. "That's barbaric."
And then—THE LIGHTS FLICKERED.
No wind. No explanation. Just flash-flicker-click.
Kalix gasped. "I did it. I summoned Kevin."
"What kind of demon is named Kevin?" I asked, clinging to a half-empty soda like it was holy water.
"He's the Demon of Minor Inconveniences," Kalix whispered. "He steals one sock from every load of laundry. He makes your phone battery drop from 80% to 2% in three minutes. He moves your charger two inches to the left so you can't find it in the dark."
I blinked. "…So basically my ex."
AND THEN THE TV TURNED ON. BY ITSELF.
Static. Loud static. Like "shove a fork in your ear" loud.
Kieran screamed. Not a normal scream. Like a princess-in-a-tower scream.
I hurled a pillow at the TV. Kalix threw a banana. Kieran threw… Kieran.
He straight-up yeeted himself behind the couch.
"KEVIN, YOU BITCH!" Kalix screamed.
The static stopped.
Now the screen just said:
"HELLO."
"Bro, it's polite," I whispered. "Maybe he just wants snacks."
"WE HAVE SNACKS!" Kalix yelled at the TV. "DON'T POSSESS US! TAKE THE DORITOS!"
Kieran peeked over the couch. "If this is how I die, please delete my search history and bury me in Crocs."
The TV blinked again.
Then switched to a cooking show.
We all stared.
Kevin, apparently, wanted to learn how to make soufflé.
We sat down. In silence. Watching Gordon Ramsay roast some poor chef while Kevin the Demon chilled in our flatscreen.
"I feel like we just emotionally bonded with a minor demon over badly cooked salmon," I said.
Kalix nodded solemnly. "He's family now."
Kieran stood up, still wrapped in his blanket like a cult member. "Kevin stays. But he pays rent."
Then—THUMP.
A loud one. From upstairs.
"Kevin has legs," I whispered. "KEVIN HAS LEGS."
Kalix grabbed a spatula like it was Excalibur. "I shall duel him in the kitchen of destiny."
"No, you will not," Kieran growled. "You'll sit your Pringle-circle summoning ass down and let me handle it."
We crept upstairs like idiots in a B-grade horror movie.
The door to the attic was open.
None of us had opened it.
Kalix swallowed hard. "Plot twist: Kevin brought friends."
"I'm too pretty to die," I muttered. "I haven't even had my main character moment yet."
We peeked in.
Darkness.
Cobwebs.
And a random inflatable flamingo.
"…Okay, I'm out," Kieran said. "That's too cursed. Flamingos don't belong in attics."
"Maybe Kevin just throws weird parties," Kalix said.
THEN THE FLAMINGO MOVED.
Like—floated. In the air.
Spun slowly.
And gently booped Kieran on the nose.
Kieran fainted.
Just collapsed like a Victorian lady in a corset.
Kalix and I screamed. Like banshees. Like toddlers at a haunted Chuck E. Cheese.
We dragged Kieran back down the stairs with zero grace, every step sounding like a piano getting drop-kicked.
Back in the living room, the TV turned off.
The lights came back on.
Everything was calm.
Too calm.
Kieran woke up and said, "Did I dream the flamingo?"
"Nope," Kalix said. "Kevin's real. And he floats party birds."
"I hate it here," Kieran mumbled.
We sat down.
A single chip fell from the ceiling.
Kalix caught it.
A gift from Kevin.
"I think he forgives us," Kalix said, eyes shining with spiritual clarity.
And that's how we ended up sleeping in shifts, with one eye open and a protective circle of Cheez-Its around our couch fort.
Because in this house?
The snacks aren't the only things watching.