Happy Halloween! Unfortunately, I don’t celebrate Halloween because it is not part of my culture. So instead of dressing myself up in costumes and going out to parties, I decided to write a story. I don’t believe in the paranormal because the real monsters are the ones that walk among us. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. The featured image is a picture of my own.

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Turning eighteen does not suddenly make you an adult, especially when you’ve been herded like a lamb for most of your life. Like every other person out there, I had to learn that the hard way. With Eyes brimming with innocence, I was pushed out of my nest to experience the world. For a short time, it was good to me. I had my fair share of obstacles, but they weren’t so large that overcoming them was impossible. That was until I met him. 

Before the man that would change my life forever, I had never experienced anything with a boy before. Being brought up in an environment similar to the military. I was afraid of even being seen with the opposite sex. And since I lived in such a small town, I had to be extra cautious. After all, no boy was worth receiving the leather belt. 

My whole life, I had been taught that God would protect the innocent. And the meek would be blessed, for they would inherit the earth. And like every indoctrinated child would do, I believed. I revelled in the fact that I was pure, unmarred by the hands of the devil. But that’s the thing with innocence. Part of my brain atrophied. I was never taught to comprehend the world. I was taught to swallow. And with that, I created an illusionary bubble I chose to live in, sacrificing the evolution of my mind. I preferred to be static with people who would keep me in check. Having lost the ability to think outside of the confines of my own bubble. I could never see the predator stalk its prey even though it was just a mile away. 

The predator came in the form of a fatherly figure with jet black hair and gentle eyes. A comforting smile always displayed upon his lips. I watched him stand from the pulpit and preach with such passion that his audience couldn’t help but admire him. He looked like a god standing up there, wielding the authority to govern his subjects. His word was absolute. He was the most intelligent man I had met, blessed with unfathomable wisdom. At bible study, I watched him debate others with varying opinions, showing idiots who deviated from his decree their place. Squashing them under his shoe until they never bothered to say a word to him ever again. I was enamoured by this man I believed was a gift from God. And when he finally cast his eyes on me, I felt the butterflies flutter in my belly. 

It started with stolen glances which then proceeded to acknowledge looks. I was happy that I was being noticed by the one man I admired most. I didn’t have the beautiful features that most of my peers possessed, and neither did I have a stunning body. I was a mere simpleton, dressed in the drab clothes passed down to me from my mother. Our acknowledging looks soon progressed to exchanging pleasantries when we passed by each other. Until finally, one day, he told me to stay back after the bible study. 

The first time I stayed back, we had a long conversation about my plans for the future. For the first time in my life, I was talking to someone without the inclusion of religion, and strangely it felt cathartic. Discovering that there was more to me than just my doctrine was liberating. We talked for hours until the sun sunk over the horizon and the stars began to peek in the night sky. After a few more conversations, my trust in him became unwavering. If anyone had the best intentions for me, it was him. After every session, he would demand a hug, and I would return it awkwardly. 

On one particular day, while I spoke about the local college I attended. He bent down to kiss me. The atmosphere changed immediately. On instinct, I moved my head, and his lips came in contact with my cheek. 

“You have a wife,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I kept my eyes glued to the floor while every cell in my body screamed at me. What was happening between us was wrong. 

He cupped my face in his large hands and forced me to look up at him. But my eyes still wandered elsewhere. 

“This is normal, trust me.” He said, his voice soothing my nerves. “No man can love a single woman for the rest of his life. Everybody does it. It’s how the world works.” 

I gulped down, unable to pull back from his clutches. The comfort that I once experienced with him evaporated. He once again bent down, but this time, I pulled back before his lips could even come close.

“Why?” He asked, looking at me, offended by my action. I shook my head, picked up my bag and left.

For a few days, I avoided him. But that longing of spending time with him arose. He was a man of God. Surely he knew better than the rest of us. He was wise, intelligent, and everything one wished to be. He was a saint. I was not. I was a sinner still praying for salvation while he, on the other hand, had received it. If he wasn’t right, then who in this world was? 

“This is normal,” I whispered over and over again. Being the gullible lamb that I was, I could not think further than what he had said. Contradiction was a word I had never come across before. Soon enough, my legs took me to the one place I should have never gone back to. 

I stayed back like I usually did, and we began talking once again. The initial stage of our conversation was awkward, and every cell in my body told me to run. But I didn’t want to leave without answers. I believed when he had said it was normal. The conviction in his voice told me so. But that seed of doubt that had been planted remained. I was trying my best to broach the subject without offending him. But when he reached out his hand to caress my cheek, I froze.

“Your family doesn’t show affection physically do they?” he asked, returning his hand to his side. 

I hesitated for a second before shaking my head in response. My family had always been stern in their ways. And their lack of expressing affection through touch made me hypersensitive to it. The mere thought of hugging a person made me recoil.

“You’re still a child,” he said, his hand still resting against my cheek. “You still allow such juvenile thoughts to govern you. When do you plan on blossoming into a woman?”

I remained silent. Sensing the mocking tone behind his words, I wanted to scream at him. But having been beaten into submission, confrontation was a scary thing. Before I could think of a proper response, I felt his lips brush against mine. 

The sensation was vile. Even though I hated every moment of it, I couldn’t do a thing. My body betrayed me, freezing itself from the shock it had received. Taking advantage of my inability to move, I felt one of his hands rest on my breast while the other made its way between my legs. My breathing became rapid as I watched in horror until I broke the spell that came over me. With all my strength, I pushed him back. But he continued to force himself on me, sticking his tongue into my mouth. 

“Stop!” I yelled, fighting against him. But he kept pressing on until I managed to free my hand and land a blow to his face. 

He staggered back, looking at me in disbelieve while I stood there breathing hard. My hand stung, but I forced myself to stay strong. 

“I will report you,” I said in between breaths.

“And what exactly are you going to say?” He asked, rubbing his sore cheek. While he stared daggers at me, he squared his shoulders, rearranged his clothes and stood towering over me. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who came here in the first place.” 

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach hearing his words. He was a pastor with God as his support and the whole town in the palm of his hands, while I was just a girl with nothing. With eyes brimming with tears and a trembling body, I ran back to the safety of my room as fast as my legs could carry me. 

For a few days, I remained within the confines of my room, unable to move. I buried myself in the covers replaying the incident over and over in my head. I should have never gone back there. That was the biggest mistake that I had made. I cried until I wasn’t unable to, screamed into my pillow until my throat hurt. I sat under the shower for hours scrubbing the places where he had touched with stone, trying to erase the imprint he had left. The illusionary bubble I had taken time to build around me popped, and the sins of the world washed over me, threatening to drown me in the suffering that came with it.

After what felt like a lifetime of hiding in my safe place, I mustered enough courage to show my face to the public again. I wish I could have enjoyed that moment of breaking myself free from the shackles of fear that weighed me down. But I couldn’t. The fear of people knowing kept me on my toes. The big ‘What If’ hung over my head. If they knew, no one would side with a powerless girl. That thought ignited a seething flame. I was innocent, and God had not protected me. I was meek, and the powerful trampled all over me. 

With each passing day, the resentment grew. I was used, and that realisation was the equivalent of getting stabbed a million times. Soon enough, I found myself fantasising about plunging a dagger into his heart. To avenge the innocent girl he had corrupted. I wanted to see him dead. There was nothing wrong in wishing harm on someone who had caused me so much suffering. After all, it was just a wish. It was never going to come to fruition. 

Before I went to bed every night, I would think of a dozen ways to kill him. The weapon would differ each time. It ranged from a knife to a baseball bat to a hammer. One time, I even pictured myself clawing his face off with my bare hands. Gruesome, I know, but it gave me respite. All I wanted was to see him begging for mercy as I took back the power that he had stolen. But that’s all they were, dreams and fantasies that would never come true. Or so I thought.

It wasn’t that late in the evening when my legs carried me back to the one place I vowed never to return again. I watched him from the shadows as he bent down to kiss the girl on her lips before he bid her goodbye. He sighed with content, his hands resting in the pockets of his trousers before turning around. I stepped out of my hiding spot, making him freeze where he stood. He looked stunned to see me for a moment before he collected himself. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, giving me his boyish grin that could disarm anyone. “You look well.”

“I never thought I’d never see you again as well,” I replied.

“You know, I never told anyone about us.”

My lips sealed tight. Even though I wanted to yell and scream at him that there had never been an us, I remained silent. What I wanted more was to see him down on his knees, begging for mercy. He approached me with arms outstretched, inviting me in for a hug.

“Considering the fact that you know a lot about me, I’m surprised you got one thing about me wrong,” I said as his welcoming arms wrapped around me. 

“And what’s that?” he asked, pulling back to look me in the eye. 

“I hated hugs,” I replied. In one swift motion, I swung the kitchen knife at him slicing his throat. He stumbled back in shock, hands clasped around his neck. The fear and disbelieve displayed on his face sent an adrenaline rush throughout my body. I smiled for the first time after the incident, holding the bloody knife I had hidden behind my back close to my chest. He fell down on his behind and stared up at me as I towered over him. He tried to speak, but all I could hear was a gurgling noise. His eyes begged me for mercy, just like how I had wanted. 

“Please,” He pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks.

I squatted down to his level. Enjoyed the moment for a few seconds longer before plunging the knife into his chest repeatedly. I cried, but not for him. But for the girl who would be forever scarred by his actions. With each stab, I let go of all the pain and the resentment that had built up within me. By the time I was exhausted, I had lost count of the number of times I had stabbed him. 

Silence filled the chapel once more as I knelt over his body. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, giving them a rest, before getting back on my feet. My clothes were soaked in his blood. But who the hell cared they were not my clothes, to begin with anyway. I wiped away a drop of blood from my chin as I turned towards the pulpit. It was all a lie. The meek would never inherit the earth, for it already belonged to the mighty.