My entire universe as I wake up is a wad of fabric pressed up against the face.

Why is there a wad of fabric pressing up against my face?

I realize that my hands are keeping it there, so I lift it up.

Ow. Sunlight. Bright. Painful. No no no.

I put the wad of fabric back. Yes, wad of fabric. Much better. Good wad of fabric. Wad of fabric is my friend. “Wad of Fabric” would be a pretty good band name. “Wad of Fabric” used to be good, but then they went commercial, and…

What the fabric am I talking about?

What happened last night?

I realizing I’m still wearing my clothes, which is already a bad sign. Memories of yesterday start coming in. I got fired. Cool. I got drunk. Actually cool, given the circumstances. I broke up with my girlfriend. Can’t even sarcastically say cool to that one. I…

I fumble in my pockets with one hand, still holding the wad of fabric against my face. The first thing I find is my phone which, as I squint out from behind the shelter of my woven friend, I can see is now dead and needs to be recharged. I fumble it onto my nightstand on the auto-charging dock, which is now proving to be a value buy at twice the price as I set my phone on it without needing to fumble with any cords.

The next thing I find in my pockets is a business card.

So that part wasn’t all a dream.

“…What the hell even happened to me?” I say as I start to sit up.

“A lot, it seems,” a familiar voice says.

I yelp, wincing as I do. Sitting on my dresser is the hot guy from last night, now looking roughly 40% more demonic.

“How’d you get in!?” I say, once again wincing.

“C’mon, Jenn,” he says, pointing at his generally-demonic-looking self. “I’ve got powers. If I could disappear last night, I can appear here this morning.”

“…Fair enough,” I say, settling into a softer tone. (My hangover thanks me for it.)

“I love what you’ve done with this space,” he says, looking around. “The floral theme could be gaudy or old-fashioned, but you’ve done it so tastefully that it’s fresh and modern.” I can’t tell if he’s being a sarcastic jerk or if he actually likes it. I think it’s the latter, but I don’t know him well enough to distinguish between the two.

“You’ve worked on your look too, I see,” I say, taking in his new form, horns and all.

“Yeah, this look takes a bit less energy to maintain than the one you saw last night,” he says, sliding off my dresser and taking a seat in the chair at my computer desk. “I’ll disguise myself a bit better if we go out in public, though. Maybe even go corporeal.”

“Out in public?” I ask. “We might be going somewhere… together?”

“Oh, yes,” he says. “I’m going to be sticking close by you from now on, Jenn. A little bit of research has determined that you might be a highly valuable asset.”

“Cool,” I say, wiping some drool off my cheek. “Anything you can do about this hangover?”

“Afraid not,” he says. “Alcohol is immune to our powers. Works as a bit of a dampening field, actually; sometimes very useful. We’re still trying to figure out how Jesus managed that water-into-wine business.”

“So now I get to talk to you hungover and disheveled instead of drunk and in shock.”

“You’re probably still in shock,” he says. “Just for different reasons. I mean, if I’d just learned that there’s these mysterious spiritual realms all around you, I’d be thrown off my game.”

“…Honestly, that’s not the thing that’s getting me,” I say. “I mean, I have read a book before. I’m a bit surprised to find out it’s real, but airplanes fly and I can talk to someone halfway around the world with a device that fits in my pocket, so I figured it was a matter of time before we found out that some honest-to-goodness magic was going on.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “So what is the thing that’s getting you?”

“Why I could see you,” I say. “Like, not why people can see y’all in general. Why I, Jenn Lewis of middle-of-nowhere, Nebraska, can see the supernatural realm. I know you said something about a trial I’m in or whatever, but that doesn’t explain why I can see you. Like, even you said that was weird.”

“I did,” he says. “And… I don’t know. There’s surely an explanation, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, that’s no use,” I say.

“I do know two things, though,” he says, now leaning towards me.

He looks at me expectantly.

“…Am I supposed to guess what they are?”

“It would be nice.”

“OK,” I say. “What two things do you know… Hey, what is your name?”

He blinks. “I didn’t say last night? I could’ve sworn I said last night. I guess I… Anyway. Lethanos. But you can call me Lee.”

“…Lee?” I say, staring at him.

“Yes,” he says, returning my stare. There’s something hopeful in his eyes.

I don’t think he realizes why I’m staring at him.

“…Our ship name’s gonna be ‘LeeJenn,’” I say. “Like the bible demon. Crap, and it slides right off the tongue, too!”

“I… Ah,” he says, flustered for the first time since we met. “That is… Well, is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I’m not fundamentally opposed to you, and you haven’t tried to grope me yet, so… Wait, why did I say that?”

Did somebody try to grope me last night?

“You were going to ask me something,” Lee says.

“Right!” I say. “Lethanos. Lee. Old pal. What two things do you know?”

“Well, now the second one’s gonna be kinda awkward, but… The first one is that I know you have a certain quality that you’ll need in spades to get through what’s coming.”

“Hope?”

“Desperation.”

I think about correcting him, but he’s right. Even before the job loss and the break-up, I was in a tailspin. Maybe whatever this trial is all about will help me pull out of it.

And maybe my mom will stop trying to make the turducken a thing again at Thanksgiving. But the probability of either of those coming true is…

“So what’s the second thing?” I ask.

“The second thing is… I know your eyes are beautiful.”

This time, I’m the one that’s flustered.

“Uh… Excuse me?” I say.

“There’s something about you, Jenn. I know it sounds like a crappy pick-up line, but there’s something enchanting about you. I haven’t met anyone in all the realms I’ve been so captivated by since…”

Something shifts in his complexion. He starts to look a little sad, I think. He’s not letting it show too much, though.

“In all the what now?” I say, shifting topics as best I can.

“Oh, the realms?” he says. “The nontrivially distinct versions of this universe that we have ascertained are safe enough for us to visit? …Oh, right, you’re still on mortal terminology. Hey, I can just show you this to get you caught up!”

With that, he summons a screen out of nowhere and hangs it mid-air. The screen comes to life, and a cheery fanfare from unseen speakers underscores a title card reading “THE SUPERNATURAL REALM AND YOU,” filling the screen.

When was this made, the ‘60s?

Like, maybe the 1860s?

(Don’t at me, I know there weren’t movies in the 1860s.)

“Hello,” a suited man I don’t know says as his image crossfades with the title card. “If you’re 

watching this video, you’ve recently become aware of the supernatural realm. If it because you have recently died, my condolences! However, you are one of only a few individuals who have reached this level of awareness, so congratulations for making it to this point. If you are still alive, then even greater congratulations are in order! In either case, you will benefit greatly from this video.”

“How long is this?” I ask.

“Fifty-five minutes,” he says.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You want the condensed version?”

“Dude, I’m hungover and in a very bad mental space right now,” I say, standing up. “Can I get a shower before we do this? And maybe we can get some breakfast? I’m feeling gross and ravenous, in that order.”

“Sure thing,” he says dismissing the screen. “I’ll wait out here.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You promise no peeking?”

He smiles. “Demon-looking soul’s honor,” he says, holding up his right hand.

I shrug. “Good enough,” I say, pulling some clothes from my dresser. The drawers feel weirdly light under my hands; did I, like, pump weights after drinking last night? “You wanna get on my computer? Catch up on the latest games?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” he says. “No need to entertain me; I’ve been around for centuries. A few minutes is no inconvenience.”

“OK, OK,” I say, heading for my bathroom. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”

I close the door behind me and consider locking the door, but I know he could get in if he wanted to either way.

But… I mean, he seems fine, right? Not great, but better than…

Dammit, who do I keep comparing him to?