Police Report

I went down to the local police station one morning to report that my wife was being tormented by the Devil.  Naturally, the cops there were more than a little skeptical.  They just kicked back in their creaky wooden desk chairs, scratching their bellies and listening complacently to my story.  I caught a couple of them shaking their heads and exchanging incredulous glances.  They all assumed my wife was crazy.  The warm smell of a fresh pot of coffee hung in the air.

The old brick apartment building where we lived sat on the far corner of the same intersection that the police station sat on.  The building could be seen from the station's window.  I pointed up at it.  "I know for a fact that six other residents have come down here to file complaints.  I suppose they're all lying!?  They're all crazy?"  The cops stared back impassively.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  I didn't want to admit it, but I had to say it.  "I know they're not crazy.  I know...because I've been hearing it too.  Day and night.  That voice, it never stops."

The moment I said that, everything just stopped.  The cops sat like wax figures.  They had gone from bored to deathly still.  One of them sat with their chair frozen in mid-tip.  Then, a man who had been sitting at a desk across the room with his back to me, slowly swiveled to face me.  He looked like an ordinary enough man, but I knew instantly who it was.  A grin spread across his face and he said, "Of course you do.", and then he laughed and laughed and laughed.