Umbrella
I entered the shop to take shelter from the rain of boiling blood and saw a crowding mass of demons from different clans in its interior.
“Demons,” I murmured, more an oath than anything else.
A black elf, eyes as red as burning coal, came closer to me.
“I guess, like this whole bunch of loafers, my dear sir won’t be buying a damn thing,” he whispered with its bifid tongue.
“On the contrary, poor little fiend,” I answered. “Truth is I was looking for an umbrella.”
The elf smiled, showing its perfectly sharpened teeth, and led me to a showcase. There laid a beautiful human-skin-made umbrella, its ribs created out of shinbones and fibulae, a femur its handle.
“It will scarcely cost you a few souls, and yet it is maximum quality,” he rustled.
I nodded, then signed a bill with my blood, and, after taking the umbrella, I left towards the street. On opening it, a squeal of pain came to my ears. Surprised, I turn around and my eyes met the elf’s.
“I suppose you wouldn’t have thought we made them with dead people, would you? I told you its quality was the highest,” he whispered.
“You are plenty right indeed,” said I, and went on walking about Hell pinching occasionally the skin of the umbrella, just to hear it moaning anew.