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“In the name of Jesus, I command all demons that could have any influence over me to leave me forever. By his scourging, his crown of thorns, his cross, by his blood and resurrection, I command all evil spirits to leave me.
“By the true God, by the Holy God, by God who can do all, in the name of Jesus, my Saviour and Lord, leave me. Amen.”
My knees grow cold and numb as the sun shifts in the sky above, clock hands circling as hours pass while I pray to God for his guidance and forgiveness.
“I hope you’re happy,” Jessica spits as she storms up to my lunch table, her two best friends at her side. The town has a small Christian college that most teenagers attend for two years after graduating high school. After an isolated high school existence, I wasn’t keen on remaining in education, but it’s not like anyone in town will hire me.
Her words are loud enough to carry, drawing the attention of the rest of the room. “My daddy says we might have to sell the farm if the crops keep dying.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, unsure what else to say.
Jessica is my opposite. Blonde, angelic face, popular. I used to envy her, but that’s only the Devil talking in my ear, corrupting me. I work extremely hard every day to keep him at bay and prevent myself from committing any sins that might open me up to his influence.
“Why do you hate us so? What did we ever do to you? We are good, Christian people. We have done nothing to incur his wrath!” Her voice rises until she’s yelling, and I notice other students moving to stand at her side. All of them wear similar expressions of rage and fury as fear skitters down my spine in realizing what I’m faced with—an angry mob.
Murmurs of agreement ripple around the room and I notice several heads nod.
“At this rate, there won’t be enough food for the winter,” someone shouts pleadingly.
“If you don’t stop, we’re all going to starve,” another student states in a panicked voice.
“I’m not doing anything,” I attempt to reason. “I have no idea how to stop it.”
Jessica’s hand smacks against the tabletop. “Then figure it out. We won’t let you run us out of our homes or pick us off one by one.”
They make it sound like I’m trying to chase them out of town or kill them all off. Subconsciously, is that what I’m doing? Do I truly hold such power?
My eyes fall to my hands, wondering if they are really capable of wielding such strength.
When you’ve spent your whole life being told you’re to blame for everyone’s troubles, you don’t question it. However, what I have always wondered is how. How do I have such power, and how do I learn to control it? I don’t want to cause these people hardships. I don’t want to be feared, to be looked at with disgust, or to have people cross the street when they see me. I don’t want my parents to hate me, to look at me as though I ruined their lives.
I don’t want to be locked in my room every night for fear that the devil will take control of my body. I don’t want to punish myself daily to keep him from claiming the rest of my soul.
I want control over my life, to be an ordinary woman with friends and a family who love them. I want to be rid of this curse that has been placed upon me.
I want to be free.
CHAPTER THREE
Tensions fester with each day that passes and there’s no sign of crops rejuvenating or a solution to our growing problem. I’m forced to spend more and more time praying to god for absolution and making reparations for my wrongdoings. My father takes the discipline whip to my back every morning until my skin splits and my throat is raw, and I wear the cilice until both my thighs are punctured and bruised.
Still, my pleas and acts of contrition go unanswered.
Despite my grueling week, thoughts of the mysterious man from Sunday stay with me. His face comes to me in my dreams, those obsidian eyes boring into me with such a fiery intensity that I swear they are real. That he’s actually watching me. I find myself searching for him during the day, but I catch no sign of him. He must be keeping a low profile as this is a small town, and gossip runs rampant. If there was talk of someone new moving to town, even I—as the town outcast—would have heard about it.
In the dead of night, when I’m haunted by my mysteriously dangerous interloper, I wonder if his lingering presence is the Devil’s way of tempting me. Men like him are built for sinning and capable of corrupting the most pious of women.
Encouragement by the Devil is the only reason I can think of as to why I find myself shoving open my bedroom window and sneaking out of my room on Friday night instead of going about my usual nightly routine.
“I’ll see you there, my little devil.”
His words chase me down the street, his gravelly voice nipping at my heels as I practically run through Main Street before climbing up the steep walking path that leads to the cliffs. I kick up dirt with each step, building up a sweat the higher I go. I’m alone in the darkness; everyone else is likely going to the cliffs via car.
I’ve never been up here on a Friday night, but from what I’ve heard, the others my age like to blast their music, sit in their cars or on the back of their trucks while drinking beer and talking. There are constant whispers about who does what with whom. One time, Becky Winters let Freddy Duneth come all over her tits in the woods, and I’ve overheard more than one story of girls losing their virginities up on these cliffs.
I know that won’t be my fate tonight, nor do I want it to be. I’m not entirely sure what I’m hoping to get out of this act of rebellion. Perhaps it’s simply a needless act of anarchy. The stranger's mysterious eyes come to mind, peering at me with that intensity, and I know for some reason I can’t fathom, it’s the drive to see him again that has me breaking all the rules tonight.
If I’m caught, my punishment will be severe, and yet I barely spared it a moment’s consideration before slipping out that window.
