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Love of the Devil isn't all that bad

Short story By: Disturbations of the deep
Horror



When the devil comes, you may get a second chance


Submitted:Jan 30, 2013    Reads: 84    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


I'm dead; I left this world in body but not in mind. I had been murdered by a man I had never met, one I had no grudge against. Yet I am dead. I sat on my stool in my favorite room of this house that used to be mine, a stocky old mansion with cracked windows and creaking floorboards. Standing alone and proud in this busy neighborhood. Even in life I was an outcast, the crazy young woman who lived on her own, who never came outside, and who was never heard of. Now in death I am exactly the same, I was out casted from heaven, and put back down where I belonged, alone in an abandoned house. No one even knew I was dead. So many people tried to get me outside, I never did, and I had my reasons. So the one day I did, I died.

No one had visited the house; no one had thought to check up on me, for I was invisible to everyone now. So of course I was surprised when a tall man in a suit came in, he was handsome and had a pointy beard, that's all I really noticed; the pointy beard. I was too much in surprise that he came into the house alone, that for some reason I didn't register in my brain that he was staring straight at me. He came over into my empty room with one stool and one window, of which I was staring out off. He sat down in front of me and studied me with his deep blue eyes, he went out to touch me, and I let him, he stroked my arm and took my hand. He went from a sitting position into a crouch, as if he was proposing. He looked deep into my eyes, and I felt him tug at my soul, and without any words spoken I had fallen in love, it felt strange, and if had fallen in love before, I would've realized that it was a game, that he was forcing me some way to love him. Yet I had no idea how. He pulled out a knife and cut my finger, no blood came out, and it was to be expected. I lost all memories of when I was alive when he done that, no longer could I recall my towns name. The strange man cut his own finger, and a frail purple ether came out and entered through my own cut, and I felt the light from the window touch my face, I felt the breeze from the cracks dance through my hair. The strange man had disappeared, but I could feel his presence. A chill ran through the room, and then was replaced by the warmth of the summer day. Yet I sat back down, no one had noticed I had died, and now no one will notice that I returned.





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