Split into 2 parts due to length.

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I stormed into the office of my superior and demanded an explanation. He simply said the contract is valid and I am to honor it. I asked for a new client. He said no, my name came up in the rotation, and everything this child wrote seems legit, and that I need to be her “friend”. I asked if it was a typo, maybe she meant fiend. I can be her fiend quite easily. I’m a great friend. My boss said if I were to dishonor this contract, I would be dealt with. I’m already on thin “ice”, whatever that means. I was to report to be this child’s friend whenever they summoned me.

This tiny human had somehow written up a contract and it was actually signed and submitted for approval by those in charge. I think this is payback for the last contract I was locked into. It isn’t my fault the humans aren’t precise in their contracts. They need to learn how to read the fine print. The contract stated Mr. Garcia wanted to fly. So I bought him a round trip ticket to Columbus, Ohio.

But this contract. This was just cruel towards me. I know this was payback. They said I ruined the company’s reputation. And to leave the “literal wish fulfillment” to the monkey paw department. I should have given him the ability to fly. Most humans die in the first flight. They fly fast and suddenly run into a branch or fly so high up they faint due to lack of oxygen.

It simply said I would like a lifetime friend. And they sent me to entertain this little girl. This child called Angela. Even her name hurts me when I read it. At first, we played tag. I won 50-0. She said there is no score in Tag. But I tagged her 50 times and she tagged me 0.

She showed me her drawings. In my nine-hundred years of doing this, these drawings were in the bottom 5% of “artwork” if you want to call it that. I worked with the greatest artists during the Renaissance age and now I’m working with this child in a house in the suburbs of Chicago or something. I didn’t even bother to look. I kept looking for ways out of this. I tried to be mean to this child and scare her away. But she wasn’t afraid. I tried to call her art terrible and she said “I know but you have to practice at something to get better” and that six-year olds have fun while drawing. She even tried to get me to paint something with her. And I did. A cursed image so terrifying it made Pope Clement XI call for an exorcism and almost declared painting a sin. But she just laughed and called it silly. And that I should use more colors than just black and red and white. She drew a rainbow on it. I almost burned the dwelling down in a fit of rage.

A lifetime of this positivity is going to age me terribly.

At first, our “playdates” (even saying that word hurts my bones) lasted several hours. She would get tired and fall asleep and I’d go back to my realm and start dreading the next summon. They would first be a day or two apart. She said she made a friend at her new school and that she wouldn’t need me as much.

Days became weeks. She told me she didn’t want to introduce me to her new friends because I might scare them off. That…was probably the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me.

“She has a friend! She doesn’t need me anymore,” I shouted at the secretary.

“The contract says a life time friend. She is still alive, so you are still her friend. And whenever she calls you, you are to answer,” the secretary calmly told me. “They are orders from high above. Or down below. Whatever you want to call it.”

“So as long as this child is alive, I’m her servant?”

“No, you are her friend. There is a difference. And before you ask, you cannot harm ‘Angela’. Friends don’t hurt friends.”

I grunted and stormed out of the office. I made sure my tail knocked over a cup of pens on her desk.

At age 12, she moved again, and needed a new friend because the girls in her school were being mean to her.

“Do you want me to terrify them as payback!?” I said. I already began to imagine all the horrors I can do onto this Kaitlyn and Meghan.

“No, they are mean because their parents are probably mean towards them. It is okay. I’m tougher than I look,” she said.

“...do you want me to scare their parents? Because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“No. I just need a friend to talk to right now. Can I talk to you?”

“....fine. BUT DO NOT DISCARD IT AS AN OPTION.”

We talked for a few hours about how hard it is for her mom now that her dad left. She talked about how moving to a new school is like being an explorer finding a new land. You are an outcast. People spread rumors about you because you have no one to fight for you. And before I said anything, she said “No, please don’t fight my classmates”

And like before, the summons started to get fewer and far between. She had a new group of friends, from her art class (she improved from bottom 5% of all art I’ve seen to…maybe bottom 9.3%). The bullies were still there, but she kept being kind towards them. And after a while, the summons stopped altogether. My work put me on short term contracts. They were fulfilling as I was able to do what I loved: Making people miserable.

A few years later, I felt the familiar tug as I was whisked away back into Angela’s room. She was a young woman now. She said she got accepted into a place called “Stanford University” and she just wanted to share the good news.