The Night I Met Satan

We aren’t supposed to talk about our patients for confidentiality reasons but I feel so compelled to write this – if anything because I really believe it could be true. I no longer work as this facility, I quit two years ago because of personal reasons. I was taking care of the mentally ill and I felt I was becoming incapable of doing so. I’ve since changed professions.

What I’m about to tell you is true and it has haunted me every waking day since it happened.

I was a nurse, a good one at that, in a local psychiatric hospital. It was only a year before I found myself promoted , or maybe demoted, to the secure unit at the hospital. It was a nightmarish place to work, to tell you the truth. It wasn’t like the other units, where the people still had some shreds of sanity – no, most of the people in that unit were so far gone that they seemed to be more animal than human. Walking down the halls, their screams and sometimes growls could become deafening. I was almost tempted to bring and mp3 player to work with me but the idea of someone creeping up behind me without hearing them, stopped me.

Nights were the worst. It’s not like the movies, where the lights would be completely turned off but they were dimmed. The noises, though not as loud, were far more disturbing – it was a constant murmuring and humming that droned on throughout the night. My last night there was the most interesting and the most unforgettable. Sometimes patients would get out of their rooms and we would have to force or usher them back in but this was the first night she got out.

The security guard had wandered off, probably sulking because I had turned down his advanced for the hundredth time. I was alone. I didn’t see her after first – she was so tiny and frail…and quite. I’m not sure how long she stood there at the secured office but something caused me to look up and that’s when I saw her. She just stood there, on the other side of the glass, she wasn’t even looking at me – instead she was staring down at her feet. Her shaggy brown hair hung over her face and her gown barely hung from her skeletal shoulders.

We’ll call her Luci, though that wasn’t the name on her papers. Luci was different from the others, she wasn’t as violent but she had the most violent history out of all of them. When I would pass her room at night I would sometimes look in. She would just be sitting there on her bed with her back to the wall – staring. I’m not sure if she ever slept, or even moved from that position.

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, she was so inconspicuous but she terrified me. As frightened as I was, I didn’t call for help. It was the oddest sensation I’ve ever had but… I felt bad for her. There was something there, beyond my fear, which made me have compassion for her. Sometimes security could be overly rough and I didn’t want her to be hurt or punished. Against my better judgment, I got up, walked to the office door, unlocked it and stepped out.

She didn’t move as I approached her slowly. It wasn’t until I placed a hand on her shoulder that she finally looked up at me. Through her messy hair I could see that she had eyes of the loveliest shade of blue I had ever seen. Looking into them was like looking into the ocean. I started for a while, locked on her eyes until something began to well up inside of me. In those blue depths there was something lurking, not dangerous but painful. It made my chest ache, like my very heart was about to explode. I looked away and murmured to her that she needed to go back to her room.

“My door was open,” she whispered in a tiny voice. “I didn’t open it.”

I thought it may have been just my perception of her but it sounded like she was crying. There were no tears on her eyes but the tone was there. I could feel the tightening in my chest grow and grow. I needed to get away from this girl, I didn’t know why but she was heartbreaking just to be around. I placed my other hand on her other shoulder and steered her around – walking her toward the long hallway where the rooms were located.

Her door was closed and locked, which I thought to be odd. I momentarily let go of her to shift through my keys, looking for the one for the rooms – they all had the same lock. It only took a moment to find it but it felt much longer. I just wanted to get the door open, shove her inside, and get away. My discomfort was rising steadily with each second I stood there with her.

Have you ever had someone close to you die? Do you know the moment just before you receive the phone call, telling you that the person is dead. You already know what the call will be about even though you try telling yourself that it’s not true. You try no answering at first but you know you’ll have to and prolonging it only makes it worse. This is how I felt. There was something about this girl that gave me that feeling. Irrationally I felt that if I allowed her to speak or even stay near me, she was going to tell me something – something horrible.

Her door clicked open and she stepped inside. I felt this hope of relief but I knew it wasn’t going to come.

“I want to tell you something,” she whispered.

I wanted to close the door, turn around and walk away but my feet wouldn’t move. Instead I found myself stepping inside with her and closing the door behind me. It was insane, I was terrified but I felt like I wanted to be in there – no, it felt like something was making me want to be in there with her.

She walked over to her bed and crawled up on it, taking her usual position. I stayed near the door, whatever was making me have these compulsions wasn’t going to make me get any closer to her.

“Do you know what my name is?” she asked in that same whispered, crying tone.

My mouth opened to tell her…but tell her what? I didn’t want to give her the name she had, no, I wanted to tell her another name. I didn’t know why I wanted to call her that, there was no reason to call her that – but that name began ringing in my ears.

“That isn’t my name,” she hissed, breaking that soft tone.

I felt a bolt of electricity travel up my spine, making my hair stand on end. I felt horrified that she knew what I was thinking – I felt ashamed – I felt…I felt…guilty.

“My original name was Lucifer. That was my name before you took it from me. That was my name before you did what you did to me. I was the bright morning star, that’s who I was. That is who I am, that is my actual name – not the filth you now label me with,” she whispered. There was a biting edge to her voice, though it was soft again and she still sounded like she was weeping.

I looked down at my feet. At the time my mind had no choice but to acknowledge her as though she were speaking the truth. Looking back I can’t tell you why, but I believed every word she said. She was Lucifer, I had somehow harmed her – these weren’t accusations, it was the truth and I knew in my heart and soul that it was. “Why is Jesus praised as a god for hanging on a tree and then having his whore of a mother raise him from the dead?” she bit out bitterly. “Do you think he really did any of that within his own power? Do you really think that something so insignificant should make him so great? Are there not countless others that lived far more excruciating lives, died far more excruciating deaths?”

I felt like a child speaking to an enraged adult, even though I was older than her. I shuffled my feet uncomfortably and thought about what to say to her. My mind wasn’t processing, no, it felt like my spirit was the one thinking of an answer. When I opened my mouth to reply to her I didn’t know what I was going to say but I did feel like I had thought about it.

“He lived a sinless life,” I stammered. “Because we aren’t able to…he took our sins a-and he…”

She was staring at me now. Her eyes appeared almost black, like a storm was moving in behind them. This was the moment I was dreading, this was the moment – the reason why I wanted to get away from her. I could feel it building.

“Who do you think designates what is sin and what is not sin? Who do you think controls our flesh? Who do you think was the original author of physical sin? Who makes you lust, murder, molest, steal, rape…? The whore you call a father, the whore you call a god, the whore who placed her son on the throne…That whore is the reason for all the pain in this world. If it is her desire, can the whore make it so that her stupid son doesn’t commit any physical sin – can she even designate what is or is not a sin?”

My heart was hammering in my chest – I felt like I was about to collapse but I remained perfectly still. She was asking me questions but I knew if I tried to answer, it would only make it worse.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” she said almost bluntly. Something was changing about her, she no longer seemed to be crying – if anything she just seemed annoyed by having to speak with me. “Once upon a time there were two children born, identical twins – a boy and a girl. The boy was lavished with attention and praise, while the girl was cast aside and ignored. She could do everything her brother could do but that didn’t matter to their mother, her son was the most precious thing in existence. In truth, she lusted after him. She hated the daughter simply because she was there – and because the son showed affection for her. I guess these emotions were somewhat new to her but she knew they were wrong. Before her children were born, she had been alone – the idea of right and wrong was still something new to her. If anything she was just as much a child as her children.

The mother knew what she was doing but she didn’t stop… She was the original – if she was capable of such thoughts, such evil, then her children would undoubtedly be the same. It would have been better for the daughter if the mother had concealed her thoughts but she knew that by doing so, she would be concealing the truth… There would also be the temptation – the temptation of allowing the daughter to believe something was wrong with her, that she was as horrid as the mother told her she was.

You see, she isn’t as perfect as she says she is. When there is nothing but yourself, how do you know what is good or evil? There has to be others, when others are brought into the situation then you can see how you interact with them and what hurts you or them. She’s capable of irrational hatred, jealousy, lust, love – everything we are. The only thing that’s different is that she found herself in a position of authority and because of that authority she had to hold herself to higher standards. There was no being nice to the daughter, at least not genuinely. She knew that if she wasn’t in the higher position she was in then she may have gone further than just the “light” bullying.

Then, there was also the son to think about. She loved him more than anything and she didn’t want to ruin his image of her. I think, for a moment, she even considered getting rid of the daughter and locking the son away with just herself for company. He would be miserable though, with just her. There would need to be more – more company meant more happiness, right?

So, when they say that the world was created for the son – this is what they really mean, even though they don’t even realize what they’re saying.

But, the damage was already done. She was cruel to the daughter, before she could stop herself. She lied about her and the daughter knew. If there is one person you can’t tell a convincing lie to, it would be to the person you are lying about. It’s like trying to convince a person that their eyes are green, when they know they are blue.

It started to get worse and worse – the mother had to maintain her lies, even though she knew how much it was hurting the daughter, because if she didn’t, then the son would know she wasn’t perfect. So, she came up with a plan – a plan that would tie into others, and then other and then others but because this is my story, I’ll only tell you one part of the plan.

The plan was to carry out everything that her wicked mind had concocted. She would do everything she wanted to the daughter, she wouldn’t hold herself back and she would force herself to press forward even in times were she felt remorse. She was going to make an example of the daughter, she was going to show what could happen if one allows negative thoughts to go too far. At first, there was no denying that it brought her joy to think of everything she was going to do to her. She hated her so much that the idea of one day not hating her, made her ill – she wanted to hate her forever. But she knew that was the general plan, if you hurt someone enough, you’ll eventually see yourself to be the monster that you are and you’ll want to change – you’ll eventually repent…maybe.

She carried out her plans immediately, gleefully. There was no visible change, she was already pitiless to the daughter – so it’s not like anything was new but her attacks began to grow in frequency and verbosity. The lies she told the daughter were so absurd at times but the son still believed her. The only thing he knew about truth was what the mother told him. He did pity her, because she did seem so miserable and out of that pity he tried to “improve” her.

He did wonder why she was so bad, why she was the way the mother said she was. The mother easily came up with an excuse, she said that the materials she used to make the son were refined and pure but the materials used to make the daughter were corrupted – something she didn’t foresee. She said that it was regrettable but maybe with time the daughter could change, with time she could become better. They just needed to work on her some more.

This was a lie, one of the best lies she ever told. You see, in the beginning the mother wasn’t female at all, the mother was male. He created himself, a perfect replica of who he was and he gave this replica what he had always wanted – the perfect child. He wanted, more than anything, to be a father. In his mind, at the time, there was no concept of gender or how two natures can be at work in one person. He would be the father, the son would be his spouse and they would care for their baby.

As he was writing all this out, before they were created, he sat and wondered what traits he would want to give this child – the best trait and the most prominent would have to be love and that is what she was. She was love. It was her constant motivation, just to love and to be loved and cared for.

It didn’t work how he had planned it though. When he created the son, he realized how obsessed he was with him – how possessive he was of him. This is where he became aware of his more dominant feminine side; this is where he became a she. It enraged her to see how the son would croon over the daughter, it made her boil with jealousy. But these were attributed that the daughter rarely showed, even when the mother would mock her – she still loved her and wanted her love. She knew where she had gone wrong; she had made the daughter too unrealistic, too perfect.

She wasn’t like the mother or the son – and she hated her for that. She began to think of her as a puppet, something not as real as they were and all she wanted to do was shove her in a closet and forget about her. It was then that she decided that no other children would come from the template used for the daughter – she quite literally broke the mold after she made her. No, any other children would come from the son – she knew the son had flaws and flaws meant that they would be more understanding of her – more relatable to her. Honestly, the idea of being surrounded by anything resembling her daughter made her livid.

That’s not what the mother told the son though. No, when the subject of other children was brought up the mother hummed in disapproval. She said that it was her original plan for the daughter and son to have the next children but because of the daughters unfortunate behavior, she didn’t see how that would be possible. She said that she still wasn’t good enough and she needed to be better if she were to ever have children of her own.

It was something the daughter did want though, so she tried. She stopped resisting the mother and son as much but it was too much to handle. She still knew that nothing was wrong with her and it was impossible to fix something that’s not there. She wanted her own children but she was already losing her sanity.

The girl finally rebelled against the son, even though she loved him. It broke her heart for him to treat her the way he did, to believe the mother and not her. He grew angry and he called her jealous of the mother – prideful is what they called her and she became known for her pride but that wasn’t the truth.

She wandered the earth, looking for anything to keep her company – anything to take her mind off the son and mother. She found animals to be the best companions…so the mother made her look like one.

Then, two more children were born, again, a boy and a girl. This time, the girl was praised and doted on – receiving everything the first daughter had so desperately wanted. The son even loved her more, saying that she was far more beautiful than the she ever was. But, in secret, the second daughter would come to the first. She would be cruel to her, viciously tearing her apart. She was just like the mother and that was the point. As horrid as she was, the mother was more at ease with her, she even genuinely thought the second daughter was in the right. The first daughter would defend herself, sometime just barely harming her to get away – but that isn’t what the second daughter would say. No, the second daughter would say that she was the one that was attacked and she would cry to the two sons. They grew to hate her because of the lies.

Everything beautiful about the second daughter was a lie but she was loved because of the lies – yet, everything truly beautiful about the first daughter went unnoticed. She hated her existence…it was nothing but pain.

Then, one day, the mother found her and approached her. She was being kind for once and the daughter was lulled by her gentle words. As malicious as she was to her – she still wanted her love…that’s all she had ever wanted. The mother asked her why she was so sad and the daughter replied that she wanted to be loved. She broke down crying, saying that she didn’t understand why she was so hated, why she was treated the way she was. Somewhere along the line, some part of her began to wonder if the they were right – that there really was something wrong with her.

The mother used her insecurity to lure her back. She promised that she would be loved but she, in turn, had to promise to be a good girl…better than she had been. The mother said that the second son would love her and then she wouldn’t be so sad anymore. She followed the mother and she did try her hardest to be better – even though she still didn’t know what she was trying to fix about herself.

She became obsessed with becoming perfect, being everything the mother told her she wanted. She needed to be more loving, she needed to be kind, she needed to be… just like the second daughter. She wasn’t allowed to defend herself anymore, she had to agree when she was told she was being bad and then she would have to allow the second daughter to come and help “fix” her. It became exhausting and infuriating but there was one thing she did look forward to – when she was ready, when she was perfect enough – then the second son would love her…she would finally be loved. He wasn’t very nice to her, if anything he was just as bad as her sister but she still loved him – just with the promise that he would one day love her in return.

He didn’t know about it, not yet, and she was admittedly frightened of the day when he would find out. She was scared that she still wouldn’t be good enough for him – something the second sister, who did know about it, would often echo and reinforce.

Then the day finally came. She was “good” enough for him and he was going to be told of the arraignment. It didn’t go how the first daughter had dreamed – he was angry. He was beyond angry, he called her an animal, stupid, ugly, worthless… he spit in her face. He said he loved the second daughter and that he would never love anyone but her. But the second daughter was to be with the first son… the son also loved her and the mother said that this was how it was to be. The second son said that it wasn’t right, that the first was more favored and that’s why he was getting the…prettier bride.

The mother said that he didn’t have a choice, that this was how she had planned it. The second son flew into a rage and said that he would rather die than be with the first daughter. But there was no death there… there was no getting away, not really. He did his best though and he fled.

The first son and the second daughter…they blamed the first. They said that if she had tried harder, then it would have been different – if she had made herself more attractive, then he wouldn’t have left. And she believed them.

She was heartbroken and weary. She didn’t stray far, there just wasn’t a point anymore. She found a tree and she sat beneath it and closed her eyes. Part of her died there in her misery and it never came back. She thought that maybe she would be able to will herself to not exist anymore, if she tried hard enough but it never worked. Her mind had already been worn down by the mother, then some more by the son, then the second daughter…then second son leaving – that’s all it took to push her to her breaking point but not all the way over. They would still come to torment her but she wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. She used to hold herself back but not anymore. She snapped.

The mother warned the son and daughter not to approach her, to stay away from her – she told them she had become dangerous but the second daughter, the whore, didn’t listen. It was her own fault for coming back; just to bully her one more time. The little bitch could see that she was miserable, that she was losing her mind but she still prodded and poked at her. She whispered her arrogant lies into her ear – she even tempted the son to come and join, which he did and that was enough to finally finish the first daughter off.

The light once in her died underneath that tree – and the son and daughter knew that something was different. There was a new madness in her eyes, there was bitter hatred in her words but there was also a quickness and intelligence to them. They used to call her stupid, but the truth was that she would often censor herself because, as much as she hated them, she still didn’t want to hurt them – not really.

She didn’t care anymore, for the first time; she fought back and allowed herself to spew every dark thought that had ever crossed her mind. Every argument they brought, every accusation, every word they spoke – she threw it right back at them and they couldn’t dispute her. It wasn’t enough to just tear them apart, oh no, there was also the mother.

The son and daughter followed her, pleading with her to calm down; they didn’t want their shame to be exposed. They knew now that what they had been doing was wrong. In his mind the son blamed the second daughter and in the mind of the second daughter – she blamed the first. She wrapped herself in her own delusions, telling herself that it was the fault of the fist daughter, simply because she had existed and was there for her to torment.

When the first daughter reached the mother, the second had already resorted to what she did best – crying and throwing false accusations. The son said nothing, he knew what she was saying wasn’t true, but he still loved her and to expose her he would have also exposed himself. He even began to cover for his beloved, defending her, supplementing her stories, justifying her…

It didn’t matter though. It hurt but a heart that has just been shattered – it still somewhat feels. But the pain wasn’t going to stop the first daughter. She accused the mother, attacked her, and fought everything she said. The mother, in turn, brought in the son and daughter – asking for them to tell the truth. Both of them lied and the mother said she believed them.

It drove the first daughter further into insanity.

She stood there, night and day – screaming at the top of her lungs because of the injustice of it all. The mother knew everything, she would therefore have to know that the son and daughter were lying. Which meant that, in her mind, the mother unjustly hated her so much that she would prefer the lies to the truth.

Other children were born, thousands and then millions.

Of course they could hear the screaming, everything the fist daughter would say was audible to anyone who would listen. It was okay at first, she was just a nuisance – something that would eventually give up and go away.

But then some started to believe her screams…they could see the truth in everything she was saying because they were also experiencing the same prejudice. Even the second son heard her, bringing him back. He still didn’t love her or maybe he did now – but at least he believed her. Soon, enough of the children believed her and there was a revolt.

There was hope for the first daughter – not that anything would change because she had already seen how wicked the mother could be – no, there was hope that she would finally get what she wanted… to not exist. She thought that if she created enough of a problem then the mother would have no other choice than to get rid of her. This idea made her fight even harder.

The son stepped up to oppose her, he forgot about his own sins against her – he simply ignored the truth in everything she said. It was his own pride that didn’t allow him to admit his guilt.

In the end, he won. He held the majority and the majority always wins in a vote. But he still needed to get rid of the first daughter, she knew too much. He suggested, with the help of the second daughter, that the first be given what she wanted… but only after a punishment of some kind. She needed to be punished for what she had done.

As for those who followed her, those she had grown to actually love and care about – he decreed that they would share in her punishment but that they could return if they so desired... But only after they acknowledge him and only him as king. That wasn’t enough though, his troops weren’t as strong or as righteous as he was. There were too many who’s convictions weren’t as passionate as his – they needed to be more like him, they needed to learn obedience, they needed to be fixed. Those that didn’t learn their lesson of obedience to him and the mother – they would share the same fate as the first daughter.

There would be a test – a competition, complete with the most elaborate arena ever constructed. The prize would be an eternity of servitude to the “king”…

Those that fought harder in the original war…they would have advantages. The competition wouldn’t be as difficult for them because they had already proven themselves more worthy. Those that didn’t fight as hard… he would make it even harder on them. There would be rules in this arena, the mother would write them – the point of the game was to follow the rules as best you could.

And so it started.

Over time the first son began to see that he had been too strict so… the mother gave him an idea. She told him to go into a arena and share what he had learned and then show his ultimate love in a way that the other children would understand… to die for them.

But a king cannot die, oh no, a king still needs to be strong. So his death was not permanent – he came back.

The rules changed as he changed – at first it was about obedience but as he saw how hurt the other children were, he began to have more compassion on them. He learned that love was more important than obedience and that love is needed to truly make a flower grow.

It’s changed a lot since the very beginning but it’s not something that’s noticed when one is in the arena.”

She broke off from her story and suddenly began to laugh manically. It startled me because before that I had been entranced by what she was telling me. It was the story of Adam and Eve, the story of Cain and Able, the story of Lilith and Adam – all wrapped into one. It sounded like the insane ramblings of a madwoman but somehow I knew that there was truth in everything she was saying. It was like I was remembering something from long again and had just now recalled it with her help. I knew it was the meaning for this existence.

She stopped laughing a little and looked at me again. This time there really were tears in her eyes as she spoke.

“Do you want to know what the first daughter was screaming? Do you want to know what the first son was fighting for? She wanted everyone to be loved equally, she didn’t like that some children were more loved than others, she didn't like that they were treated badly because they weren't as beautiful as some. The son – he believed that it was right to hurt them. He said that children should be obedient and if not, then they were better off not existing.

As for the punishment of Satan and the other children. Who is to blame for all the evil in the world? What story would be complete without a bad guy? If a mother is drowning and torturing her children but still desires for them to love her – doesn't she say that it is someone else doing it?

You need some kind of opposition, right?

Who better to use than those that are already detested by the majority ?

Let me ask you something. In all the books, all the religions, all the movies – demons are always portrayed as evil. How did they come to be that way?

If you have a bunch of spiritual corpses laying about, why not string them up as puppets and continue the war you had already been fighting. You labeled us evil, so she made us evil. You blamed us for all the trouble, so we became to blame. You like to tell yourselves that you’re fighting for love but in the beginning, you were fighting for obedience – for glory.

It’s only now, in the last few thousand years that you’re beginning to see that glory isn’t everything you thought it would be. Now, you see why we were so willing to die for what we died for. Now you understand the screams of the madwoman.”

I could feel my gut begin to twist and I felt like vomiting. It wasn’t because of what she was saying, no, that would be something I would have to digest later – it was because I could feel what she was about to say next. I didn’t know what it was but I knew it would be hard to hear. I had been a devout Christian all my life and everything she was saying should have seemed blasphemous but, once again, I knew it was true. I resonated with my very soul.

“Have you ever read Revelation?” she asked me softly.

I nodded.

“I want you to read it again. This time, when you read it, I want you to read it from the perspective that it has already happened. The Anti-Chirst, the one that people live in such terror of – the one they anticipate…he already came…and you followed him into hell.”

My heart literally stopped.

“The true messiah, the one carrying the real message – you voted and you damned her and those that followed her. You persecuted them, spiritually tortured them, and then damned them – because the Anti-Christ promised you glory. Now, you’re here – you’re here to see where you went wrong and to learn the lesson I tried to teach you at the beginning… to love.”

I felt like falling to my knees – felt like screaming – I felt like begging for forgiveness but whatever had hold of me just made me stand there and silently suffer in the influx of emotion I was feeling. It was like her ‘insanity’ was reaching out and taking hold of me. I just wanted it to end. I wanted, more than ever, to just get away from her but I knew I had to ask one last thing.

“Why are you here?” I croaked.

At that she smirked, a sick sort of twisted smirk that darkened her features and took away the innocent look that usually graced her face.

“From the very beginning I was a tool to separate the wheat from the chaff. The mother purposely drove me mad so I would rebel. She opposed me and allowed her son to threaten death to make it all more realistic. She wanted to see who would be willing to follow me into the abyss because those that did, truly believed in what they were fighting for. I envy them…because I am still…only a tool.

Don’t misunderstand me, the mother truly did hate me…she still hates me actually – but she can’t dispute me. Everything she did to me, has done to me, is still doing to me… are things she wanted to do.”

Her voice was fading and she looked sadly at the wall across from her. I couldn’t see what she was staring at and I realized that from the door – you couldn’t see the other wall; it was obstructed by another wall that came out from the doorway. I never really thought about it till then – was she actually looking at something?

“Why am I here?”

She laughed bitterly.

“His punishment is simply seeing the truth and finally admitting he was wrong. I used to feel sympathy for him, as absurd as it is. I used to care that seeing me caused him such great pain. Till I realized that that pain was – just his pride.

I’m here, because when I look away, they hurt me. I have to watch him and he has to watch me. I don’t care anymore, sitting here… I gave up but I can’t leave until he admits he was wrong.

I didn’t want to say anything to anyone because I knew his image mattered so much to him. Like I said, I was a fool and still felt sympathy for him…even after what he did. I didn’t want him to be hurt and I guess some part of me still doesn’t but I don’t…can’t care anymore. I want what I’ve always wanted…I want to get away from him. I want to sit down somewhere and just disappear. But I still can’t, I’m still just a tool, still just shit in her eyes. If her poor precious son has to sit in some kind of punishment, then so must I.

I don’t care what you do with this story… I just wanted someone to know I was here… I was getting desperate. What do you do when a god hates you so much? I could try committing suicide but I would just be born again and it would happen again. I guess…it’s somewhat comforting at least…just to know that someone knows. I don’t feel so alone then.

The mother promised me that you would believe me. I guess it’s her small kindness to me, something to bargain to make me stay. Not that it matters, I would have to stay anyway.”

Unwillingly my feet began to shuffle forward, just enough that I would be able to look around the corner and see what she was starting at. What I saw was truly horrific but it didn’t affect me at first. There, in the corner, hidden from view by the other wall, was a hunched figure. He looked like those pictures of Jesus that you always see but he was warped and twisted – his features pulled back into a disfigured and silent scream – his limbs and neck were bent at strange angles and they were longer than they should have been.

I got the feeling that this thing wanted to charge at me, to harm me but it was being held still. Panic began to set in but I couldn’t move or look away – not until she spoke again.

“He looks better than he used to,” she whispered.

It was like her voice broke the ropes that were binding me and I fled the room. I’m not sure if I even locked the door. I left early that night, saying that I wasn’t feeling well… and I never went back.

I’ve done everything I can to forget what happened that night because my mind simply can’t handle the information – but tonight… I felt I needed to share it and so I have.

I can still see that frail woman sitting in her room – doomed to wait for that thing to… repent, I guess. I want to help her, am driven to help her. It’s like sharing this story… I don’t know, maybe I am just losing it.

But I had to write this – I had to get it out there.

--- A note from the author.

I like to take real stories and I like to make them into creepypasta. I’ll add a few gruesome details here or there, just to make it more interesting but not with this one. A friend of mine told me this story, about five years ago. He really was a nurse at a mental institution but he later became a teacher – something I never understood. One day, over drinks, I asked him why he changed professions like that. He had thrown years of college out the window for seemingly no reason at all.

Then, he told me this story.

I wasn’t going to write it as a creepypasta because I didn’t think it was all that frightening but I thought it would be a good theory. It wasn’t until I re-read my own words that I realized how disturbing this actually is. Not only that but the detail of which I was able to recall his story in was…weird. Like I said, it’s been five years… I didn’t think I would be able to recall everything.

It bothered me so much that I put off posting it and I called my friend. We hadn’t spoken in a while but I asked him to read what I wrote, to see if everything was there. He said the part of why he was alone that night wasn’t accurate, nor was my understanding of how the rooms were set up – but Luci’s story was perfect. There wasn’t a single thing missing from it.

Then, he told me more about why he had actually quit. He said that, entering that building again would be too much for him. He believed her story and to this day he believes we all live in some form of hell – he said that the people in the institution must have it far worse than anyone. He said he couldn’t stand being there – knowing that their conditions weren’t just physical. He said that when he thought about them, all he could think about was some god silently torturing them. To hear their screams, even once more, would be too much for him.

There was a long pause as we talked and I could tell there was something else he wanted to say. I urged him to say it and he finally did. His voice was so small and it sounds broken, like he was about to cry.

He said “I know that image I saw that night was him. I knew it was him and it was…I don’t know what the feeling is. It makes me sad but it makes me feel like I’m going to get in trouble just for speaking of it. The truth is, I didn’t tell you what I saw but you still wrote it…perfectly. Not only that but… some parts of the story shouldn’t be there because I didn’t tell you about those parts of the story. I didn’t tell you why the mother did what she did, I was too scared to repeat that part… you still wrote it.”

I didn’t sleep the night after he told me that. I haven’t been sleeping well since writing this. It’s been saved for who knows how long… I get the same feeling he described, like I’m going to get in trouble if I think about it or speak about it. Yet, I also feel like I should write it. In a way I feel the same attachment to that girl…

I know this was a lot to read but…now I want to take even more of your time. Think about what you just read – think about her story again. Some part of you will feel that it could be true. Just remove any belief system you cling to, any doubts…and just think about it.

After talking to him, I did remove some parts of the story. I want to see if you can complete it…I want to see if you’ll also know…Just like I did…

I want to see if you get the same feelings…