It's In the Eyes

“They’re here,â€? he whispered, his bloodshot eyes darting around the dingy subway station. “They’re among you, all of you.â€?

The people walked past him, seemingly oblivious to the muttering man in soiled clothing. A few threw spare change down on the cardboard mat he stood on, but most just averted their eyes, quickening their steps to reach the escalator more quickly.

Every day it was a different message. “Don’t let them inside you. They take you, desecrate you.â€? I told myself he was crazy, told myself to ignore him like everyone else.

“It’s in the eyes,â€? he whispered one day as I walked past. “Watch for the eyes. No soul…nothing. Can’t hide the eyes. Empty.â€? That day I found myself watching the other passengers on the train more closely; a prick of fear when somebody would meet my gaze. I went out and bought a rosary that I could carry in my pocket. Of course it was foolish. Who actually believes in demons?

Then one day the muttering stopped. Glancing over at him, I met his eyes.

They were empty.

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