Have you ever stood somewhere surrounded by fog? The dense silver lace of weather that shrouds your eyesight and every other sense you might have, so lost you couldn’t find your left hand with your right.
That’s how the inside of my mind feels right now. I do not know what’s going on. It seems I just keep plunging into boiling water, never reaching the oasis of contentment, and like a screaming lobster getting cooked alive ,I call for some advice, I need someone to throw me a bit of salvation painted in vivid red with a white marked “HERES YOUR HELP” Pronounced all over.
But let me start from the beginning.
We had to run, my daughter and I. Disappear and wipe out every molecule of our existence, we took off to the smallest, most secluded town I could find, with two main roads and one convience store, but three churches.
We escaped from the devil himself, fleeing suffering and detangled ourselves from the black, viscous tar that was my ex-husband.
But that’s a story for another time. This day, by itself, has its own horrors and abominations.
The time me and Gracey moved into our new little home, was the day my world was illuminated in yellow. Happiness was what I felt, and I never once closed the curtains on it again.
The promise land of freedom after so many seasons of abuse, after so many years of purgatory, was surely over. My devotion was answered.
There was, in fact life after wickedness for myself and Gracey, and I filled every nook and cranny, crammed rapture and love into every crevasse I could find, and drew flowers and butterflies all over new life.
But what is empty can’t be emptied, and it seems, no matter how much faith I had in our new existence, it was just not ment to be.
After two months of bliss, I got a letter in our blue paint cracked mailbox letting me know the beast has once again fallen and made his move back to hellfire, six feet underground where the earth will in case his damned soul for eternity
However, dullness and bitterness slithered its way into our little home even though I kept the curtains open for our Yellow. The night after I received my deliverance in that letter was the night Gabriel blew his trumpet in warning.
I just got Gracey to bed after she was complaining about a headache. I gave her some water, and we prayed to God,” Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise.” I made her repeat after me, three times, for the holy trinity.
After crawling into my bed and speaking to the lord, I went to sleep. Dreaming of the blurred, twisted face of Satan, my husband. His decaying hand reaching out and jabbing his needle like fingernails into my body, rotten skin slipping off and dribbling down my face. I could taste the bitterness of him coating and invading my open mouth, before he baptized me in a perpetual soup of his purifying, blistering bodily fluids, the force of the pressure staining the gigantuous white marbled room I found myself in.
“Not Gracey…” he screeched. It sounded like glass cutting into every nerve.
That’s when I woke up. The smell of feces and sickness hung heavy in the house, clinging to the walls and plopping off like globs of slime, droplets of white, green liquid stained my mattress but it was the little pinpricks of blood coming from my skin that made my heart stop and start up again like stampeding horses.
The devil was here, his back.
Thump…
Thump…
Thump…
The sound of our kitchen cupboards groaning from strain, as if someone was trying to open it but couldn’t, gagging and muttering God’s word” My lord, my savor, you are my shepherded, save me from the enemy” I made my way to the kitchen, and there was Gracey…
My sweet little baby, my Grace.
She was hanging onto the kitchen cupboards, yanking and pulling. Her small upper arms bulging In strain and coated in sweat, pale and outlined by witches, bulging full moon.
My beautiful Gracey, with her eyes closed shut and trying with all her might.
She must’ve been sleepwalking, she did the same when we were in Lucifer house, but this was the first time in months. I don’t know, I don’t understand, I don’t understand.
Our life was yellow, not black. Why is God weeping at our home?
She must’ve felt my presence in the kitchen, for she started mumbling and moving away from the cupboards: “Mommy, Mommy” she whispered.
“Don’t worry Mommy’s Grace, Mommy’s Here, you’re just sleeping walking again” I cooed at her. I picked her up, and she started crying. She did not want to go back to bed.
But she’s a big girl now, and big girls sleep in their rooms, so I tucked her in, and we spoke a little bible verse “Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare, Jesus our God is our bread and wine, pray for he will fill us with all our needs”.
Little Gracey repeated after me with a hiccup, before I gave her a kiss and closed her door.
The sickening slick hug of the stink that was floating around the house did not leave, in fact it seemed to bond itself into every crack of paint and corner it could squirm into.
And yet, I could not help but think about the Demon that gave me my sweet child. I could picture his body being eaten by rats, wriggling with worms, forever haunting my dreams. The way he used to force things on me, the way he forced needles into me that made me feel tired and drained, so he could do Sinful and ungodly things, he would take my heart and soul with him, my Grace.
After getting back into my bed, I started up at the cross on my wall. Thinking, how lucky I was that I locked all the food cupboards in the kitchen, after all I did not want Gracey to hurt herself.
But I can’t help but feel the Devil has embraced our little house, and snaked his way back into our lives, the smell of his festering body leaving the impression of
“Honey, I’m home”