The Devil is a Woman

It all started just after my family and I moved to a sleepy little town in Florida. I was 16 at the time, still carrying the scar from that terrifying encounter with Madam Louis four years back in Louisiana ( Check out my Voodoo Summer story). You'd think I'd have learnt to control my curiosity after that, but apparently, some lessons take a while to sink in.

Our new town was like one of those places you see in postcards – quaint, peaceful, the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else. Among all the friendly faces, there was one that stood out – Miss Marcella. The lady was like a movie star among extras, dripping charm and grace from every pore. She was always there at every charity event, town gathering, and was beloved by all. It was like she had the whole town wrapped around her little finger.

But to me, something felt off. There was a glint in her eyes, a smile that never quite reached them. I recognized that look, it reminded me of Madam Louis. Despite the years and miles between Louisiana and now, the memory of that summer day still ran a chill down my spine. The more I observed Miss Marcella, the more my gut screamed at me that something was wrong.

Curiosity got the better of me. I started doing a bit of snooping, tried to find her online. But all my searches hit a dead end. She had no social media profiles, no photos, no record of her before she moved to our town five years ago. It was like she had appeared out of thin air. This weird discovery only stoked the fire of my curiosity.

I began watching her more closely, like a detective in one of those noir movies. I noticed how she was always alone, even when she was among people. And more curiously, after sunset, she was never seen out of her house. This was more than enough to rouse my suspicion.

One night, under the cloak of darkness, I decided to follow her. I knew it was risky, possibly stupid, but I was desperate to know the truth. After midnight, she slipped out of her house and walked towards the woods. I trailed behind her, careful not to make a sound.

The woods were silent, the moonlight casting eerie shadows. She reached a clearing and stood there. Suddenly, she started chanting, her voice echoing through the still night. Before my eyes, flames sprung from the ground, forming a fiery circle around her. Her face twisted, lit by the dancing flames, looking not quite human. She was summoning something, something not from this world.

Panic filled me. I must've made a noise or something because she stopped, turning around to look straight at me. Our eyes met, and I swear I saw a devilish gleam in hers. I was filled with terror. I had seen something I wasn't supposed to.

I bolted from there, ran as if the devil herself was on my heels. Because, in a way, she was. I managed to make it back home, my heart pounding and my mind spinning. I was a marked man now, I had seen what no one should have.

Days turned into weeks. I lived in constant fear, expecting retaliation, but it never came. She continued her charade as the perfect lady of the town, while I carried the terrifying secret. I wanted to shout out the truth, but who would believe me? Who would believe that the charming Miss Marcella was something more sinister?

I continued living in the town, seeing her often, her secret always between us. It became a part of my everyday life, the fear, the suspicion. It was a twisted version of normality, but I adapted. I learned that silence was the key to survival. And so, I kept my secret, keeping my eyes wide open for any sign of danger. Because I knew, I knew deep down, that the devil was a woman, and she lived next door.