Duel with the Devil

Prelude

What was it about Charlie Brown that captured the hearts and minds of children. Was it the lack of depth and considerable negative space on the characters’ faces? Thoughtfully, embellished by rainbow displays of primary colors, those collective traits like crayons and coloring books.

It was Charlie’s circle of friends, so easily a child can relate. We have so many friends when we are younger. Friends we meet on the playground, at school, bonded with on field trips.

Linus and Lucy van Pelt, Marcie & Peppermint Patty, Snoopy and that round-headed kid. Surely, we all had such vivid friends.

But wasn’t it Snoopy who was especially relatable for every child as he sat atop his fire truck red doghouse, flying imaginary airplanes, fighting on countless occasions defeated battles, all while daydreaming?

For what is child’s play without fiction and what is a nightmare without fear?

Part I

In the summertime, bedtime comes early. It feels a lot like punishment without provocation. I’d usually opt for a two-piece PJ set from a themed collection of cartoons, dolls, and toys. Although, ever so reluctantly I found myself lying in bed with the sun rays still shining through thin Charlie Brown themed curtains. I remember the laughter of the children still allowed outdoors, playing, hiding, counting, still soaking up every second of sunlight the day had to offer.

It never seemed fair, especially on days I had been on my best behavior. My mom knew I would never fall right asleep, so mom allowed me to read a book, so long as I was in the bed.

"I will not eat them in a house. I do not like them with a mouse. I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere!”

The letters on the glossy pages began to fade in and out as rays of sunlight penetrate the glass on the windows. A welcoming reddish-orange tint fills the room throughout with iridescence, following a prelude of translucent light. It shines so bright I see stitches of fabric on Charlie and friends’ faces.

Inevitably, shadowy overcasts reach peaks as I begin to feel pages slipping beneath my sticky little fingers underneath the weight of a now much heavier book.

“Hey little girl.”

“Shhhh, be quiet or my mom will hear. I’m supposed to be asleep.”, I immediately respond.

“Don’t worry, she can’t hear us in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Why are you standing outside my window?”

“Because I want to be friends.”

“But I already have friends.”

“Yes, but none like me”.

I was always a curious George, pun intended. I didn’t scare easily, and I loved scary movies. The only thing that frightened me as a child was Michael Jackson in Thriller. I’d watched Silver Bullet and The Lost Boys on numerous occasions, and I never had nightmares because of it.

“You’re right, none of my friends look like you. Why do you look like that? Did something happen to you when you were a baby? You look like a red crayon!”, spatting off questions before even allowing a chance for him to respond while giggling uncontrollably.

“And why do you have horns? I thought only cows and other animals had those?”

“Wait, are you some kind of talking animal like a bird?”

Pure adrenaline and curiosity coursing through me.

He says, “Would you like to know my name? I already know yours.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve known it since you were born. I know it because my Father favors you.”

“Why are your nails so long, pointy, and black? Don’t you ever take a bath? And your teeth are really, yellow, and from the looks of it sharp too. Wait, are you a homeless person?”

“No Sarah, I was sent to protect you as a guardian and a friend. My appearance is but a trivial distraction.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Not from what, from who. Stacy, she doesn’t like you, so she bullies you. The only way she will ever stop making fun of you is if you take revenge.”

“What’s revenge?”

“Revenge is what happens when you do unto others as they do unto you, only better!”

“Moms always telling me something like that, so you must be right?”

“Of course, I’m right! I told you, you’re my friend now and I’m going to look out for you.”

“Okay, well tell me your name. We can’t be friends if I don’t even know your name.”

“I have many names, but you can call me Morningstar.”

“Whoa! That’s a cool name, but it’s also weird.”, I say while laughing about it.

“Now sleep little girl and do not worry, I’ll watch over you.”

Part II

The following morning, I awake with Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham loosely clutched within my hand. Crusted drool situated firmly within the crevices of my mouth. It feels like any other summer morning. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair. I eat a bowl of Trix, while watching Tom & Jerry, then head back to my room to throw on shorts, a T-shirt, and Reeboks.

“Mom, can I go to the park?”

“Yes, and you know the rules. No running in and out of this house. If you are going outside, then stay outside.”

“Okaaaaay”, I replied.

I wouldn’t discover until much later that day, today wasn’t just like any other summer day.

I walk around back to our stand-alone garage to grab my Huffy. Barbie themed with a banana seat, with pink and white tassels dangling from white rubber grips on the handlebars. I tussle with the kickstand for a second or two before steering through an obstacle course of tools, cars, and meaningless things. Sailing down the driveway with legs outstretched on either side, thick, warm winds are felt upon my face.

The long and weathered asphalt is brutal. I didn’t make it a few feet before hitting a pothole and my chain slipping.

“Shit!”

I pull over to fix it. Just as I am done, I hear the undeniable sound of tickers on spokes, but not before it was too late. As I raise up, wiping sweat from my forehead and moving my pigtails out from in front of my eyes, I am met rubber to face.

Smack!

Stacy and her band of misfits soar by on BMX bikes laughing hysterically, yelling out, “Looooser”.

I straddle my bike hastily and begin to give chase. My hair and tassels fly behind me losing the battle against the wind. I peddle hard and fast on my feet. I feel rage like never before, so much I couldn’t begin to understand it. My blood is boiling, it has to be hotter than the degrees outdoors, skin so warm it is turning red!

This wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this, but it’s the first time I’m determined to do anything about it.

Ignoring every sign on the street, I’m not yielding, nor stopping. I know where they are heading, and I am determined to get there! When I get to the playground, I jump the curb and dismount my bike in a single motion, slamming it to the ground, wheels and spokes still spinning behind me like an expensive timepiece.

“What’s wrong?”, Gabby says. “Why are you all wet?”

“Stacy! She hit me in the face with a water balloon.”

“Well, what you wanna do?”

Gabby and I met in kindergarten, and we’ve remained best friends ever since, so I knew when she asked what I wanted to do, it wasn’t passively.

“Nothing, yet!,” I replied.

Gabby placed her arm around my shoulder as we set off to find Jacob, our other friend since kindergarten. He is a bit of a nerd, but mostly he’s picked on because he’s an orphan. We caught up with him over by the monkey bars and filled him in.

“Just look at her, she is nothing but a big bully and big dummy. Nobody cares she rides a BMX and that she is popular, pretty, and privileged. She’s still a turd. A lumpy little turd! Someone should teach her a lesson and give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“You know what Jacob, you’re right!”

Hours passed and although I did not mention it, I was plotting my revenge. Plotting while I was running, plotting while I was jumping, plotting while I was swinging, and plotting while I was smiling.

Towards the end of the day, I put my arms around Gabby and Jacob for a quick huddle on the bench.

“Listen you two, I need you guys help.”

“Help with what?”, Jacob said.

“PAYBACK!”

I lay out details of a well premeditated plan and Gabby kicks it off approaching Stacy and challenging her to a race in front of her brainwashed groupies.

“If I win, you leave Sarah alone, forever!”

“And If I win?”, Stacy begs the question.

“If you win, I won’t kick your butt for what you did earlier.,” said Gabby.

“Ooooooh.,” kids on the playground sound off in instigation.

Stacy chews her Hubba Bubba positioning her hand on her hip while rolling her eyes with both arms folded across her budding chest and training bra before responding.

“Okay, let’s do it! Cannot beat me anyway!”

By the time Gabby walks back over the news of the race had made its way around the whole of the playground. Kids begin lining up on either side like a Soul Train line.

Gabby lays out the rules, “We race to the big tree. Whoever gets there first, wins the race.”

I begin making my way to the end near the finish line because I need to investigate her face when she loses. Being the best and having the best of everything is what fuels her self-importance and hatred towards others less fortunate. Her ego is as big as her face! Humiliation is the name of this game.

Cyclers on your mark. Get set. Go!

Part III

“Hey little girl.”

I roll over slowly, and here he is standing once again at my window in failing light just as before, but only this time I truly see him for what he is, a fallen angel.

“Go away and never come back! You are not my friend, and I do not want you here.”

“What angers you so little one? Is it guilt, shame, regret, sorrow…resentment? Weak emotions that only serve to undermine righteousness. You resent me for what I encouraged, for how I baited you to feel envious, jealousy and revenge.

But why little girl? Have I not protected you? Have I not shown you the path to your glory?

You wanted everything she had and now that you have it, worship me. Worship me and I will grant you everything you desire, anything you could ever want or imagine.”

“Shut up! Just stop it! I know who you are now.”

“Who am I, little girl?”

“Stop calling me little girl! My name is Seraphim, and you are the Father of lies.”

This angers him immensely as his eyes begin to glow like a blazing flame. He positions his head in such a way that his horns, for the first time are perceived as a threat. The sound of his nails as he claws the chipping paint and cracked wood on the exterior of the house sends chills throughout my body. Suddenly, I feel the warmth of pee running down my legs.

I slowly get out of bed dropping my knees to the floor. His shadow hovers upon the wall like a monster drawing nearer. The palms of my hands meet in prayer as I begin reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

The fear I once felt starts to fade and hostile defensive mechanisms begin to take its place. I arise from my knees and slowly turn towards him. One foot in front of the other I begin approaching the window without consideration of consequence.

I slowly lean in and whisper, “Leave this place, for you are no longer welcomed here DEVIL.”

I slammed the window shut, severing all ten fingers.

That demon never visited me again.

Part IV

Years passed as I aged into adulthood, still haunted by the reality that my vengeance played a role in a little girl being paralyzed for the remainder of her life. During the last moments of the race Stacy Jones hit a pothole that caused her to flip over the handlebars and land in an awkward position, breaking her spine.

For a long time, I thought I would never see him again, but as it turns out, he is patient. Although now, he no longer comes seeking companionship and when he comes its just as intense as the last. Familiarity has no say in the face of fear and panic.

Now, when he comes, I am unable to move.

Now, when he comes, I am unable to speak.

Now, when he comes, it is without form.

But the fear is not due attributed to what I can't see, but what I can sense that frightens me.

I can sense his presence.

I can sense if he reaches me, I will suffer.

I can sense captivity.

I can sense he wants dominion over my soul.

I can sense it.

What may be more disturbing is the fact I can attentively recognize it as a nightmare when it’s happening. These feelings, these emotions are inherently lucid. And because I recognize I’m inside my nightmare, I can begin to control my thoughts and reactions.

“Lord Father, help me.”

It is with the same call to a power greater than he; I can feel the fear fleeting and acquisition of bravery. It felt the same, all those years ago. Bible says, "I shall fear no evil."

“Mortal enemy, you have no power over me. You will never have the control you so relentlessly seek. I shall never serve you. You shall never be omnipotent. Now release me you ugly muthafucker!”

Finale

2 Corinthians 11:14 says, “Satan who leads the fallen angels, masquerades as an angel of light and the angels who serve him, masquerade as servants of righteousness.”

As I grew older, I came to a realization that spiritual warfare is a very real thing herein the natural world and if you are not receptive, aware and guarded against it, you too might be fooled into letting him in.

Practice discernment over people, places, and things; be slow to anger; practice good judgement and be of good moral character; and never ever seek out revenge.