Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

A Spawn of The Devil

By
More by this author
666, an omen known as the devil’s number. “One shouldn’t be afraid of the devil, as you’re guardian angel is always around,” is what they taught me at Church. But I can never believe that, never again in my life after that night. Like many other children, I was born with a birthmark but not any normal one. Mine formed a circle with three sixes, it terrified my parents. But oddly enough they still named me, Lucifer. I believe it related to my birthmark- as Lucifer is the name of the devil, but they insist it was after my great-uncle, a war hero, a savior to the people of my country. Too bad I never saw him again; I never saw anyone again after that night.
What happened that night, you ask? You’ll find out soon enough. My story dates back to the 1780’s, a time of the renaissance- I make it sound like I have been dead for eternities but it was only a little over three hundred years ago.
As I remember it, the droplets of rain poured heavily down the streets. I can still see myself looking out the window, playing with the small, brown dolls; they were my sister’s favorite. She got them for Christmas with special sown dresses from nana. It was a very special holiday to us, that one especially, it was my very last Christmas.

I recall one of the dolls falling on the ground and my dog Bobo grabbing it with his sharp, pointy teeth then running away. If only I had picked it up fast enough. If only.
I ran out chasing Bobo, hoping to get Anastasia’s doll back. I put my slippers on first of course, I didn’t want mother to get mad because I got ill for not wearing them on my feet in the middle of winter.
The slippers were my Christmas gift, handmade from mummy.
Anyways, chasing Bobo was always a difficult task. Father wanted to send him to a farm because of the ruckus he made at his hiding spots (which we ultimately found). I saw the main door open, and taught he could’ve possibly gone outside. I knew running in the rain to get that doll back was worth is- Anastasia really loved it. But even then I could feel something was wrong. Something was telling me that I shouldn’t go outside. I really shouldn’t have.

It was pouring like never before, with the strong winds gushing through my hair, it felt terrible. From a distance I could see the doll lying on the ground only meters away from me. As I walked forward in the rain (mind you, I was fully aware of the damage I was causing to my slippers), I picked up the doll and instead of getting back up and walking into the house- which now seemed miles away- I fell.
I could feel the pain, the damaged caused to my body; and then I remember feeling better when someone lifted me up. Well then it felt like ‘someone’ was, but I know it wasn’t just anyone- not living or dead, I believe the term for it, is semi-alive; it was an incorporeal being.

I don’t know what ‘it’ did to me, I don’t remember waking up, I just remember turning bonkers. I didn’t feel like myself, I felt a strong force of power in me, but not of my own. I remember taking my fingers and digging my nails into the walls, pulling on my hair, yelling out words I didn’t understand.
Mother and Father looked frightened; I remember feeling satisfied after seeing that.
I threw objects on the cold marble floor causing loud crashes that instantly woke Anastasia up.
I remember taking her doll, breaking its head off and throwing it towards her when she came in to see what the fuss was about.

I remember her crying. I remember me laughing.
I had never felt like that before, I had never felt possessed.

When my aunt’s and uncle’s came into my room, to try and calm me down, I only remember biting into their warm hands, then them yelling in pain.
I remember Uncle Martin yelling in a loud, petrifying voice, “Lucifer, calm yourself down! What has gotten into you?”
I wanted to yell out, “It’s not me! I have absolutely no idea what is happening!”
But my mouth seemed to have a mind of its own and yelled out “It is I, Lucifer, the devil himself in the flesh,” instead.

My mother sobbed, louder than I’ve ever heard her before. My aunts tried to get my sister to let go of her, and to return to her bedroom for some rest and sleep, but she wouldn’t leave and just held on to my mother even tighter.
My father had left the room after my loud speaking, I assume to call the priest? I never found out, because as soon as he walked into the room, my body had reached for the knife that was sitting on the fruit platter near my bedside and raised it high into the air. Screams from all their voices escaped their throats and into my ears as the adrenaline rushed through my veins.
I thought my body would’ve killed them all, but it had other plans. For me.
They covered my sisters’ eyes. I remember just before the knife gushed through my heart, I was able to yelp out a few words.
“Mother, I’m afraid.”





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback