The Day I Learned That Evil Can Live In A Human Body

My mum often told me that my life story is much like watching a horror film. I can hear her words “I cannot believe this” now as I write. I suppose she is correct as I have played certain events from my past on repeat for two decades. Oh, how I wish my memories were only snippets of a scary movie, but the fact remains: all details are actual. My experience has taught me that evil does exist in our world, and sometimes it walks among us wearing human flesh.

Twenty-one years ago, I grabbed my four small children and fled from my home, leaving behind my abusive boyfriend. This man, who I refuse to call by his birth name, is a twisted individual. My family lived in fear of his maniacal temperament, walking on eggshells with the hope of appeasing a softer side of his personality. To say it was a struggle living with this person is putting it in the mildest sentiment. I knew he had problems and anger issues, but I suppose I wasn’t aware of a deeper-rooted problem. Perhaps I was too afraid to confront the darkness. It is no matter because, as the saying goes, “all things done in the dark shall come to light.”

And, oh, boy, did that light come on!

It was an early weekday morning. My two eldest daughters (from a previous relationship) went off to elementary school for the day, leaving myself, my three-year-old daughter, and my infant son at home. The boyfriend already left for work which usually provided me several hours of peace, but not this day. I made up my bed while baby Elijah napped in his crib. My daughter, Blessed, followed close behind me as she always did. When I got around to the man’s side of the bed, I discovered a giant kitchen knife under his pillow. At this moment, while I held onto the blade, little Blessed blurted out the happenings of the previous night. These occurrences were too traumatic for me to think about constantly, so I neatly tucked the memories away into a safe corner of my mind in the future.

My three-year-old daughter proceeded to tell me that while I slept the night before, her father stood over me with the knife in his hand. “Pointing down,” she kept repeating while imitating his actions. I did wake up the night before to my child screaming. She was standing in the bedroom doorway, clinging to the threshold, and her father kept telling her to go back to bed. I did not think anything was out of sorts because she was a night owl and often wandered about the apartment while everyone else slept. I only thought she was acting particularly obstinate, a strong-willed little girl, so I got up, took her with me to the bathroom, and settled her back into her bed.

My daughter’s revelation prompted me into survivor’s mode. I did not mention the discovery of the blade to the man who, from this point onward, I will only refer to as beast, demon, or monster. I no longer afforded him any benefit of the doubt, and at this moment, this very moment of awakening, I realized that pure evil does walk the earth. If my daughter did not interrupt an insane act that no one should bear witness to, especially a child, it is highly probable that I may not be alive today. As difficult as it was receiving such horrific information, I knew that my days were numbered. Everything I thought I knew about this demon melted; the good, the bad, and the ugly. My focus remained on the terror in my little girl's eyes and doing whatever it took to get my children and me out of that house. And so, I did. I bravely put on my best acting skills and, two weeks later, with the aid of my oldest girls' father, stepmother, and their friends, moved from Massachusetts to where I still reside today; New York.

My newfound freedom, starting over in a new place, was the fresh air that my children and I needed. Finally, at last, we could pick up the pieces of our lives and begin to live like ordinary people again. A new chapter of horror was brewing, however, as the demon had other plans.

A Brief Background

The demon did not have the best upbringing. His father was not in the picture, and his mother battled heroin addiction, often leaving him home alone to tend to his little brother. As his mother's lifestyle was unsuitable for children, the grandmother eventually stepped in, claiming custody of the little boys. Many people can relate to these circumstances. Yes, the demon came from a broken home which is sad, but it does not excuse his actions. Most humans do not behave in the manner he repeatedly demonstrated.

In his mind, the demon thought we had a beautiful relationship which I abandoned. Yes, in the beginning, I thought our relationship was beautiful. We met when I was a dancer, and I remember his exact words describing our introduction to friends, family, and so on. He said, “It was like two giant spotlights shined on me, blinding him to everything else around him.” This statement portrayed him as quite the romantic in the eyes of other females. It is funny how the romance dwindled shortly after the birth of our daughter. In this time frame is when I suspect his infidelities began.

His bright smile and jokester personality faded. Jealousy began rearing its ugly head as my attention divided between my older daughters, him, and a new baby. At first, I thought he was acting immaturely and overly needy, yet I tried to understand his feelings. I did not want him to feel left out, so I made extra efforts to include him. Regardless, time and my best efforts made no progress; the monster’s persona only grew.

My situation was a slippery one in that the monster continued to display himself as a family guy to outsiders as the temperament inside our home became darker. His naturally loud talking voice made him the center of attention in any room. He did not need to yell to get his point across, yet this is what he did. Fits of yelling and screaming at regular intervals scared the children and me so much that we froze in silence each day at four o’clock when the monster’s footsteps stomped up the stairs marking his arrival home from work. I can still hear his jangling keys in the door lock and the terror on little girl’s faces as they scattered to their bedroom.

As loud as he was, the beast never hit me. He grabbed my arms and backed me into corners, but he did not physically harm me. Instead, he targeted the three girls during my absence, usually grocery shopping days with my mum. He lined the children up, reliving his military days, and screamed in the manner of a drill sergeant. Sometimes his discipline detailed each girl to place out an arm which he would smack down on, only after repeatedly asking, “Who wants it first?” It is difficult for me to write this part as I did not know of the events in the beginning. My daughters were only nine, seven, and three at the time and never should have experienced such terror. The day I did learn the truth provoked a heated argument between the beast and me, but it did not stop his behavior. He began doing it in my presence while I begged for him to stop. I remember the final episode occurred only days before the life-changing knife incident.

I need to note that the above statements are only highlights of my family's ordeal. The demon’s evolution was not overnight, and he often played cruel tricks on me, which made me feel that I was going mad. He usually spoke of himself in the third person, calling himself "Daddy" and often stared at me, or perhaps I should say straight through me, with eyes that had no light left in them, just two pitch-black coals. Other times, I would hear the same laughter reminiscent of our first days together when his spirit felt light-hearted. With glimmers of apparent hope, I put aside my pressing concerns and thought we would work through our problems. But the reality; his actions were all a facade. He had me where he wanted me, under his control, and his transgressions continued surmounting.

In summation: the demon was crafty, living a dual life. He had the children and me at home living a phony white house, picket fence life which only existed in his mind. He also had a life outside our locked iron gates, wooing many a mistress and dabbling in drugs. He told so many lies that I feel he believed his own stories. The more elaborate his tales became, the hungrier a monster he evolved.

The Chase

Settling into our new home in Albany did not go off without a hitch. The demon crossed state lines stirring up trouble. He tried to use my anxiety disorder against me by filing reports, claiming I was mentally unfit to care for the children. His courtroom performance, however, did not convince the judge that he was an honorable man. Private interviews conducted with each of my daughters confirmed the suspected fears of abuse, and as a result, the judge granted me full custody of our two children. The demon was awarded supervised visitation in a safe court-ordered environment of which he never made good. As for my two oldest daughters, the Family court placed them part-time equally between their father and stepmother’s home and mine.

Life became daunting after the court ruling. The monster continued crossing state lines from Massachusetts to New York on at least a couple more occasions. He chased my oldest two daughters while they were in a park neighboring the private school they attended. Wearing a mask much like the one he wore at home when he used to hide under the beds and pop out to scare us, he pursued my girls with a gun in broad daylight. They recognized his voice and the gold lion ring that he always wore on his finger. My daughters, accompanied by a couple of classmates, managed to stay ahead and make it back to the school. The school filed a police report, but officials never caught the monster. Unnerving, yes, but without surprise because the beast had military training, and in his eyes, he was a true soldier. After this event, school security tightened up, implementing a mandatory password, a safe word only known by people approved to pick my girls up from school. Additionally, a member of school personnel was assigned to my daughters at all times due to the potential threat of future attempts. Luckily, the monster did not make another attempt, but we all lived life looking over our shoulders for the longest time after.

Moving Forward

Just like any storm, silence followed, and my family began the healing process. We had a solid support system in my parents, siblings, and counselors. The process was not an easy one- each one of us, except for my son, suffered from anxiety to varying degrees. My son was too young to remember his father, so I will always be thankful. Nightmares and terrors plagued our minds routinely, and daylight hours were no better. Personally, leaving the house is one of my most significant challenges to overcome. I still have my off days. I remained determined, however, to conquer the lingering effects of the absent demon and one day be completely free from his reign of terror.

Perhaps an unlikely ally I had in the demon's mother helped my family turn the bend, so to speak, on the winding road to recovery. Despite her continuous struggle with addiction, she tried to make amends with her children and strived to be a better person for her grandchildren. I never once blamed her or held her accountable for the actions of her son. Her time with my children was all about laughter and warm bonding moments. There was a certain amount of peace, a strength deep within her that she drew upon even in times of weakness that motivated my family to keep smiling on days when all we wanted to do was cry.

For a decade, my children and I slowly transitioned, adapting to a quieter life. The demon moved on too, getting married and rejoining the army. His mother kept us apprised of his status without making him the center of all conversations. Instead, she mediated, giving him updates on the kids. In turn, he left us alone. I reunited with the self I knew when I was twenty-five. I returned to work and became a functioning member of society once again. The children and I participated in activities outside of the home, and the shadow that once followed us appeared shorter.

A Shot At Redemption

I will never forget a phone call from my parents, the news that the monster whose army career sent him to Iraq resulted in a near-fatal tank explosion. His injuries warranted an honorary discharge, and the beast longed to see his children, hoping for a shot at redemption. But, according to him, witnessing the death of comrades and a close call with his own life made him see the errors of his ways.

For the sake of fairness and the part of me that wanted to believe in second chances, I chose to provide the monster with the opportunity to know his children. Speaking on the phone with him brought back a complexity of emotions, and my heartbeat pounded through my chest as panic set it in. Deep breathing techniques that I learned in therapy guided me through the conversation, and listening to the demon speak about penance convinced me he was ready for atonement.

The reconnection process did not fair well, and for the next few years, there was minimal interaction between the demon and our children. There were only a handful of visits, and the rekindling of "family" did not manifest in the way he set his hopes. The demon could not forge a bond with our son, which frustrated him, and our daughter's uneasiness in his presence proved to be much more than she could handle.

The demon divorced and married again, but he approached me about rekindling our relationship multiple times, uniting our family. I denied him each time he brought up the topic and soon realized that he wanted forgiveness despite our feelings and to erase the past like it never happened. I knew that PTSD from the war set in. Aside from this, his overbearing and demanding nature boomeranged, a blast from the past.

The monster's mother, again, played mediator and tried to reason with him. She was probably the only person who could ever talk some sense into his thick skull, but her time was limited. She had fallen gravely ill. In her final days, she made the monster promise to keep his cool and encouraged me to always call upon my inner strength.

Eight years have passed since her death, and the demon did not keep his promise to no surprise. Instead, his words to my children became degrading and brutal, and he spoke ill of me to them in ways which I will not repeat. It became clear that his talk of redemption was only the lies of a beast hell-bent on revenge. He did not want to talk about people's feelings. He was only concerned with himself. When confronted by my daughter about her memories, he claimed the memories were falsely implanted or that she was mistaken.

The knife incident came up after I became secure enough to unwrap the memory from my mind safely. Finally, I was ready to deal with it, so my daughter confronted him head-on. She chose to engage him on the phone to avoid the predicted reaction; full-blown rage. His exact words: "My memory bank is intact, and that never happened. It was someone else." The response felt almost inhuman. Who the heck says memory bank? Nevertheless, a unanimous decision by my family followed. We knew what had to happen.

My son and daughter blocked the monster from calling their cell phones and social media accounts, but not before telling him that they no longer wanted to communicate. They wanted answers, not lies, and for me, their mother, to be shown some respect. But, unfortunately, the monster had not changed; if anything, he became more delusional. The resentment was evident in his voice, that loud, obnoxious display of barking we all once shuddered. Demanding forgiveness when it is not that simple never produces the results one seeks.

Today, I am happy to report that my children are adults, alive and doing well. My youngest two still live at home with me, partially because they worry about me. The anxiety and nightmares do not happen as often, yet they haven't completely vanished. My daughter, Blessed, and I seem to experience our terror in cycles. Over the years, we have identified the triggers such as loud voices, for example, that set off episodes of fear. Elimination of such stimuli and coping skills like meditation and soft music help with the intensified flashback moments.

As for the demon, he lives in Texas with his wife and stepson. Our decision to shut him out has not or will ever waiver. He has my cell phone number, and every great once in a while, he will text to see if his children are ok. I reply out of courtesy using short sentences, giving the least amount of information possible. Otherwise, anything that he can perceive as "extra" causes the illusion of engagement. A demon always looks for a crack in the door, you know, but I have had years to learn how to close a door politely without making any unnecessary noise. I am learning how to feed him no longer my fears, which he needs to thrive.