He's The Devil

When Marc was twelve years old the only thing he feared was what the new boy in his class thought about him. The fear of living life without his parents was never in his top 5.

He watched their blood coat the sheepskin carpet in the hallway, he'd felt the warm air become cold as a dark figure entered the house. He's looked into the eyes of the devil and now... he been dragged down into Hell.

Now nineteen and wrapped in a world of Hell, torture and blood Marc's mind drifts back into the past. What he doesn't realised is these memories will shorten his chance of a future.


2. They Always Said Goodnight

Seven years earlier:

My parents had always brought me up with the theory that say goodnight and being tucked in always led to a better sleep. With this theory in mind I was tucked in, with a kiss on my cheek every night for twelve years.


But there was one night that I never got a peck on the cheek or a goodnight.  My father had just been offered a huge promotion in his job and in honour of this my father’s boss was holding a party.

 It was the first time in years my parents ever went out. They fretted over me asking, “Do you want us to stay? We can stay if you want it isn’t that important.” But it was and I’d told them I’d be fine.


Some the night of the party arrived. My mother had brought a new gown and my father a dashing tuxedo. By seven thirty they were late; my mother was touching her make-up up in the hallway mirror and my father was murmuring as he paced back and forth waiting for the car to arrive.

  I’d sat on the marble steps in a shirt and jeans having just finished my homework and was planning to spend the rest of the evening catching up on television.

  A car horn sounded as my mother dropped her lipstick back into her clutch bag. My father paused in his steps and lunged for the door, “finally!” he hissed as he open the door and stepped out.


Mother looked down at me, “We’ll be back at ten or so, make sure you’re in bed by then.”

“I will,” I stood on the step, making me her height. She ruffled my golden coloured hair,

“Good boy,” with that she leant forward and…

“Mother you have lipstick on.” I putted out, not wanting to get bright red lipstick on my cheek. She pulled back with a giggle,

“You’re right,” she sighed and looked down at herself, “do I look presentable?”

“Very,” I smiled. It was clear she was nervous, father’s boss had such a high reputation in the city and connections everywhere.

 The door burst open and father stood there, “Bring the umbrella, the driver said it’ll storm later on.” My mother stepped over to a cabinet and pulled on the floral patterned umbrella.  Father looked across at me, “You behave boy understand?”

“Yes sir,” I replied knowing my father still loved his army days and the formality of it all. He turned sharply on his heels and started to walk down the driveway, calling behind him “Come on dear we’re already late!”

“Coming Christian,” mother hollered. But her form stayed still, facing me, “You will be safe? Lock all the doors…”

“Yes mother I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she then reached across and ruffled my hair, the pearl bracelet on her arm jangling with the rhythm, “Good…”
“Harriet! NOW!” Father’s voice boomed over a clap of thunder. Mother shot up as if she’d be electrocuted, she opened the door and stepped out into a down pour of rain, as she closed the door her voice sounded, “Oh my, the storm’s started already.”




Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...