Lost To The Devil

Chapter 6: The attacks

By the time the house fell silent again, I wasn’t sure what was worse, the noise or the quiet that followed.

I dragged myself to bed, every step heavy, my body aching in ways I didn’t think were possible. The sheets felt cold against my skin, and even that hurt

Sleep came quickly, too quickly, like something pulling me under.

The next evening I tried to pretend everything was normal.

The bruises looked even worse now, but I tried not to look at them. I ran a bath, letting the hot water fill the room with steam, wrapping around me like a fragile kind of comfort. I climbed in, and for a few minutes I almost relaxed, the heat easing the tension in my muscles.

I was only in for fifteen minutes when I heard the stereo blast on, and a shiver of fear slithered through me, cold and sharp. I climbed out of the bath, barely drying myself before throwing on my clothes, hands shaking. Slowly, I crept forward and peeked round the bathroom door, only to slam it shut again when a black shadow darted past and into my bedroom.

My heart pounded violently in my chest.

“I can’t stay here forever,” I whispered.

But Mum had told me off for playing the stereo so loud; apparently the neighbours had been complaining. So, taking a deep breath, I braced myself and opened the door. The music was deafening. Each step towards the bedroom felt heavier than the last, like I was walking towards something waiting for me. I felt like I was being watched from behind too and panicking, I ran to turn it off until I was left in silence. Only two days left until Mum would be back.

I tried going to church again; I don’t know why— hope, maybe? Desperation. The moment I stepped inside, the nausea hit again. Violently, my stomach twisted so sharply I doubled over barely making it back outside to throw up and get as far away as possible before the nausea eased off.

I got beaten again by the demon Belial, but I was a stubborn girl, and damned if I was going to lose myself to something demonic, and so I tried again the next day.

I was in the church sitting on the pew, hands clasped tightly together, trying but failing to pray. Every time I tried, I would forget the words or forget what I was even thinking or doing there; I couldn’t focus. It was like something inside of me was interfering.

I was still wearing my sunglasses to hide the bruising when an older lady came over and asked, “Are you ok, dear?”

I guess I couldn't hide my fat, cut lip. I was going to say yes, but it was like my whole body was paralysed; no matter how much I tried to command my limbs, they wouldn't respond, at least that was to me.

A cold, heavy sensation spread through me, like something pressing down from the inside. No, God no. I tried to move, I tried to speak, but I couldn’t.

I felt myself turn towards the lady and look her full in the face. I felt my lips move, but the voice that came out, that wasn’t mine. I hissed, “f***k off and mind your own business, w.hore. You think I don't know what you get up to behind your husband’s back?” I felt myself smirk.

I screamed inside my own head, trying to stop it, but I couldn’t. If I could have turned red from embarrassment, I would have, but I couldn't. It was like a numb feeling; my body didn't respond to my commands, but I could still feel it move, just not for me. I was very much wide awake and aware of everything going on, and it was terrifying not being able to stop myself from acting.

The lady paled, fear on her face, and she whispered, “Your eyes are jet black.” Then she fled from me.

I felt myself calmly get up and walk from the building until I was back home. When I was inside, I, or rather the demon, started clawing and scratching at my face.

I screamed out of my own mouth but still had no control of my body as my fingers dug into my skin, pulling, scratching, tearing at my hair.

I just managed to scream out, “Get out of me NOW!” As I fell to my knees, and then I screamed again. This time it wasn't myself but the demon using my mouth. It tore from my throat, deep and distorted, as he threw us to the floor violently.

I felt a sticky or staticky sort of feeling as he slowly came apart from me, but I had to keep fighting as he was struggling to stay inside.

When he came away from me piece by piece, it was like a force being ripped from my body; my back would rise from the floor until just my feet and head were touching it, and then my body would slam back down again as he tried to force himself back inside.

It felt like being ripped apart.

Eventually I felt the stickiness rip right from me as I finally got my body back. I collapsed completely in despair, my body limp, soaked in sweat, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

Silence filled the house, true silence. For the first time in a long time, I was alone.

I was still shaking in fear when Mum got back home. I had dragged myself to the sofa and stayed there ever since in shock; if that was what it was like to be possessed, I never wanted to experience it again.

“Grace, what the hell happened to you?” Mum cried when she saw me.

My hair was all ragged, my face was a bruise of black, blue, and yellow, and I had a swollen cut lip. “It was the demon in this house.” I whispered, knowing she wouldn't believe me.

She shook her head, her expression torn between fear and disbelief. “Grace, don't be silly, there's no such thing. Who did this to you? We should call the police.” I just kept repeating, “the demon, the demon, the demon.” It was the only truth I had left.

Mum shook her head sadly and sighed, but realising she wasn't getting anywhere, she ran me a bath, had a hot chocolate waiting for me in my room, and tucked me into bed, and held me until I fell asleep.

Halfway through the night I dreamt of him.

The forest again. Darker. Closer.

He stepped out from between the trees, those golden wings catching the dim light, his beauty as overwhelming as ever.

“Belial,” I whispered. He smiled, but not kindly.

“You really hurt me today, why?” I asked nervously.

He moved closer, still smiling—no, it was a smirk, definitely a smirk. Those almond green eyes and those red, rosy lips were distracting.

He whispered in my ear, “Because I love you, Grace, and I know you love me too because you hurt me also.”

“How?” I whimpered as he wrapped his arms around me and then his golden wings. “You forced me into the church with you. You know I'm always by your side protecting you, loving you, but when you go in there, it hurts. Their lies burn me, and when I tried to protect you by being inside you, closer to you, you pushed me out, and that really hurt, Grace, not just physically. But I know you love me, so I will forgive you. Do you forgive me?” He whispered gently.

I found myself nodding as he lay me down and took me deep and slow for the second time. I wrapped my hands in those perfect white blonde curls. He was so beautiful, and he loved me; of course I forgave him.

I woke up next morning and felt all the fear slam into me, heavy, suffocating, like I’d been dropped back into my own body after being somewhere else entirely.

Whenever I dreamt of him, he always had a way of wiping the fear away, of smoothing over the horror and making me feel safe. He made me believe every word he said with all of that beautiful deception.

Morning came, and Mum tried to get me to tell her what happened over breakfast. I noticed she kept glancing at me, her eyes searching my face like she was trying to find something familiar there and coming up short. “Grace, talk to me,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

I stared down at my cereal, the spoon trembling slightly in my hand. “It’s the demon,” I said quietly.

She sighed, shook her head, and muttered, “I wish you would open up to me like you used to; I just don't know what's gotten into you lately.” Then she left for work.

Time stopped meaning anything. Days blurred. As the months went by, Belial was getting closer and closer to taking me over to the point we were almost sharing our emotions.

I would want to give Mum a hug before she left for work like always, but the demon would sense this, and the next thing I would find myself picking a fight with her so we would both argue and shout until she slammed the door shut instead.

I would try to say, ‘I love you,’ and instead said nothing and thought, ‘why the hell should I say that?’

The whispering returned at night too; it would start off quietly and build up to a crescendo until I had my hands clamped over my ears, hidden under the covers in fear and trying to drown out the deafening noise. I could never make out what the voices were saying no matter how hard I tried to listen at times.

The nightmares were back too. Horrific images that would haunt me for days. I didn’t just see them anymore; I felt them, the heat, the pain, the fear. I knew deep down these weren’t just dreams; these were memories, his memories, and wherever he came from, it was horrifying.

I started seeing the shadows more and more too. I would see one rush up the stairs from the corner of my eyes, then the stereo would blast on. I would rush upstairs to turn it off, only for the TV to explode with sound behind me.

It became a pattern. A game. One I was always losing.

I saw another black shadow flit past in the living room mirror and heard smashing and slamming from the kitchen.

I tiptoed quietly in there, slow and careful. The air felt thick again, heavy, like I was being watched. When I stepped inside, I found all the drawers ripped, and knives, forks, and spoons were scattered across the room. Paperwork was crumpled and torn, lying all over the floor.

The cupboard doors were hanging wide open. Luckily, no plates were smashed, but there were four smashed cups and one cereal bowl. I stood there staring. I was exhausted, tired, lonely, and scared, and I burst into big, heaving sobs as I got onto my hands and knees to clean the mess up.

Halfway done, I was still crying, my hands trembling as I picked the pieces up. “I can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed quietly.

I felt something slap my face, sharp and sudden. My head snapped to the side from the impact. A few seconds later my hair was yanked hard enough to make me cry out, then I was kicked and pinched.

“Please, just leave me alone, Belial. I'm begging you.”

I heard him inside my head cackling before he bit me hard on my thigh. The attacks were random, sharp, quick, and deliberate. I was s.lapped, and my hair was pulled again, like he was reminding me he was still there, still in control, still watching me.

I tried to ignore him after that and carried on cleaning and crying. The demon obviously didn't like to be ignored because I was on my knees cleaning up the last of the glass when I suddenly felt a strong force push on my back, throwing me forward, I collapsed on my belly, the air rushing from my lungs.

I struggled to get up, but he had me pinned; invisible pressure pressed down on me, heavy and unyielding. “No, please!” I begged, panic rising.

He bit my inner thigh and then my arm. Next, I felt my trousers and pants being yanked down forcefully, the bottom half of my body being lifted until I was on my knees. I realised to my horror what was going to happen and screamed. “Please! No, please!”

I heard his voice inside my head, calm and sounding satisfied. “Say it.”

My breath hitched. “I… I love you. I promise I won't go to the church ever again; just please stop, I'm sorry.”

The pressure tightened briefly. “Say it properly, b.itch.”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I won’t go back. I won’t fight you anymore. Just please stop.”

Suddenly all activity stopped, and I collapsed to the floor in tears, left alone once more in the silence.