Some just show up at the door

These things have no guidebooks to deal with as nobody has to do it on a daily basis, because demons don't just show up in your doorstep asking for food and begging for a place to stay the night and they're not even threatening, they're being weak pathetic and kind of sad really, you can't reject because it's a sad little pet looking at you with cute eyes, also it's got powerful fangs and clearly could take the life out of you and oh yeah it speaks and the horns are real pokey and sharp etcetera. You have no real option is the real truth, but for your sanity you convince yourself otherwise, that it was the kindness of your heart and not the fear of losing the bejeebus out of your life.

And then the trouble begins.

It's not the demon whose antics you have to deal with but your young teenage children who have learned to communicate with the dangerous murderous possibly a rapist demon and use its powers to their benefits. Making things appear and disappear, stealing minor things, playing antics with their classmates, that sort of stuff. You watch over them with eagle eyes for you don't want to have spent all these harsh years raising murderous psychopaths, but deep inside your heart you fear it's becoming likelier by the day. The only way to permanently remove the possibility is to remove the bad company with the powers of a demi-god, just have it be gone to whatever hellhole it came from and never show its face again. Only then will you be able to keep your kids under complete control.

Two weeks pass by and the demon is stronger and healthier as ever, you've devised a way to have a decent understanding with the creature, and you suggest it might be time for it to leave, as the kids have school and you have places to go to, and it's not really tenable for anybody to maintain the status quo. You offer to drive the guy to wherever he needs to go, even buy bus or plane tickets if he can use his magical powers to look like a human being. You want him -- it -- out of your house and out of your life. Your children are your responsibility, and they will not be shown the path of the devil by a literal demon.

Eventually the day comes, everything's been planned out, your children have written heartfelt letters of farewell and cutely packaged gifts for this odorous animal, you give it your dress hand it some money, treat it like a faraway village brother you never liked but who's grown on you over the ages, and drive it to the bus park. Why you're doing that it's unclear, because you've seen it just teleport and fly around, and make things disappear, by magic. It can do magic, it's unclear why it's making you go through all the trouble. It bids you a sad farewell, and as you drive away you feel a pang of guilt, perhaps he wasn't really as bad of an influence as you originally made out to be. You could have afforded a babysitter to watch over the being, so nothing bad was happening, but on the other hand there was nobody to vouch for its behavior. But then, with all the magic it had, it's not like there was anyway to stop it from doing evil things even if one wanted to.

You reach home and take a nice powernap, because all the events that are happening have taken their toll on you. A phone call wakes you up. You groggily ask who the caller is, and the response comes, hey man it's me, you just left me at the bus park. Oh hey, you say, what's up, did you get where you were supposed to be. And he goes, yepp yepp yepp see that's the problem, I don't have any memory of what happened and how I came in front of your house like a couple of weeks ago, and now my wife thinks I'm lying because I was apparently gone for like six months, and she won't stand by y'all vouching for it. She's thrown me out of the house actually and I need a place to stay. Can I crash at your place for a couple of days, could be a few weeks honestly, but I'm going to make up with my wife, really, she's an incredible woman once you get to know her, really, and I'll make sure everybody gets to talk to her later, he says.

You sigh.

Alright, whatever, you say, and disconnect the line.

Five minutes later, there's an impatient guest at the door, furiously banging at the doorbell.

Shit.