Jake never lied to me either, he is a very honest kid. He's not afraid to show his emotions, either. At first, I was not used to a demon like his kind behaving like this, but in time I started to see how and why he was so vastly different. Sometimes, it hurts me to know that he can not escape his life. The older he becomes, the more dormant his human side shall become. There is only one way to stop it and that is to end his life. Some nights he screams at me, wishing me to go to hell, taking him with me to end his torments, being fully aware that we are both already in a hell, of sorts, but we can overcome it. Other nights, he simply tries to kill me, looking at me with intense, fiery hate in his eyes. And then there are the nights that he sleeps in my arms, his head on my chest and calm as a baby. That is the reason he goes to church, to ask for help. To find a way to not end up like his brothers and father. Trying to find the help of God and the priest, hoping for a spell or invocation of words that will set him free. He is fighting a battle in his little mind, a battle that slowly but ultimately, could turn him insane. He might be strong, but he is still a kid, though, not that his father sees it that way. He already wants to take him on hunting trips. Six days ago he forced him to take his first soul, a young woman. It broke him apart, both inside and out. For two days, he was hiding in his room, crying his eyes out. But I saw the joy in his eyes the moment he took her life, it's true - for a brief second - I saw that fire of the evil in his eyes that dwells within him, usually quelled from its venomous rage. I should not care, but in a strange way I do, and that is why I am going to have a nice little friendly talk with Mister Priest!
I had to wait 36 minutes for Jake to get up, wipe his tears and walk away with his head bent down in dejected woe. His whole body was screaming in unrelenting, sorrowful sadness, a thing I could not bare to see any longer. I know that things will change soon and Jake will never look back, It’s just a phase that he needs to go through. It’s a fable that evil can’t enter a church, not even when it’s drenched with holy water. There is no thunder, nor lightning to impede my entrance, the moment I open the large wooden door, entering the house of God. I will not lie, I do not feel at home in here, the statues, the stories in the colorful windows, the scent of incense, all to tell the story of a great man who attempted to shaped and strengthen the earth as a better place for all, forgiving their sins and conquering death to set them free. Everyone seeking entrance inside these buildings loves him, adores him, worship him and would give their life for him to be held in his large, powerful hands. Some demonic creatures say God is just a fable, I know better for I have seen him many times myself and have the bond of him being my - though reluctant - creator. But the ambiance inside a church I kinda like, for instance, the candle flames dancing like possessed little angels, the reflection of faith.
My heels click on the floor with every step I take as I get closer to the altar, creating a shattering, almost deafening sound in the silence that seems to rule this ancient, almighty house of God. Always, when I am inside a church my nose starts to itch, and I need to touch the altar with my own two hands to stabilize my emotions and stop it. Trailing my fingertips over the holy parts, sometimes the bible as well, blowing out a few candles in the process, though I don't mean to. My little way of destroying the fact that the church brags about evil not being able to dwell on holy ground. I love to leave them all little messages, scary things to let them know evil was here. “Can I help you?” The warm voice of the priest behind me dances in my demonic ears. I do not turn right away, but first, I flip over a few pages in the bible, leaving my imprint in this so called holy scripture book. It just comes mass produced from a printer, but hey, who am I to tell them it's now an original! “Ma'am?” Patience is not the priests best virtue, but his voice is still friendly. Slowly, I turn around with an innocent smile on my face. My red curls dance on my shoulders and in my face as I pierce his old eyes with mine. “Sorry Father, The bible always gets my attention when I see one!” I speak with my angelic soft voice, the words sounding like a little bird who sings it’s song in the sweet morning dew and sunshine. “What an amazing church you have here, Father. I can see you take very good care of it!” I can see on his face that my words flatter him. He takes a few steps closer to me, a kind look in his soft, old eyes. “My child, what brings you here?” Should I answer honest and tell him that I am here to hurt him? That I want to see the pain written on his face when I torture him? That would surely bring this conversation to an abrupt ending, but I have all day! My tongue trails over my lush, pink lips, whetting them before I answer. “I am new in town, and to be honest Father, I have lost my faith in God a long time ago. But something brought me here, pulled me in, as if the church -your church - called my name.” Keeping my sparkling green eyes locked with his during my words, unrelenting as I speak, searching deeper and deeper into his soul. “Please, shall we sit down and have a little talk?” He uses his hand to show me the wooden benches. With a nod I let him know that I agree. I always wonder why they have these wooden benches as such in comfortable seats. Do they really want the humans to suffer when praying to the Almighty ruler? The cold chill found inside is neither pleasing nor inviting and as a snack after listening to a dreadful sermon for fourth five long, dreadful minutes, all you get is a round, dry piece of cracker and one damn sip of awful, bitter, red wine. Lets share the body of Christ and drink his blood! I prefer real blood with my toast. The bench squeaks while we take a seat, I wiggle my ass a few times before I find my spot, settling in and lift my head to look at the priest once more. He now sits next to me. The moment I see that the priest wants to open his mouth and speak to me I open mine, beating him to it.