I work quickly, having learnt my lesson already. There’s been a time or two where they’ve woken up in the middle of me tying them up, and it was so annoying to knock them out again. Ropes are stashed behind the stairs, ready for when I bring a demon back here.
I tie each of his legs to the wooden chair leg in an intricate knot. It took me a bit, but after the first year in Satan’s Affair, I mastered tying a knot so well—they had no chance of escape. I tie his arms behind the chair’s back, and then I pin his torso to the chair by wrapping a larger rope around his chest.
His head lolls and drool gathers in the corner of his mouth. Soon, it’ll start trailing out. Curling my lip in disgust, I grab my roll of duct tape, tear off a strip and slap it on his acne-ridden face. His screams won’t be completely silent, but they’ll be muffled enough that they’ll be swallowed up by the other screams going on around the house.
No one has ever heard a demon calling for help in my house. And they never fucking will.
I bound off towards the room I know Jennifer is working in. I want to stay close to her to make sure she’s doing okay. I don’t know her, nor does she even know of my existence, but I feel the need to comfort her. So badly, I want to tell her that I’m taking care
of her—that she no longer has to worry about her rapist.
He’s getting exactly what he deserves.
After I extinguish her shitty boyfriend—I know in my heart she’s going to heal and find someone better. How could she not now that the soul-sucking leech has been ripped from her body and soul?
I find her in my playroom, hiding under the bed. Once a group arrives, she’ll crawl out from under the bed, her limbs distorted as she chases after them. I overheard her saying before she used to be a gymnast. No one does this job better than her.
We wait for a few minutes before we hear a loud group coming down the hallway. I press myself against the peephole, keeping my eye on the space Jennifer is going to crawl out of.
The group barrels in the room, stumbling like a bunch of drunk fools as they scream and push each other to get away from the monster chasing after them with a chainsaw. They’re guaranteed to come in this room since Jackal is posted up at the end of the hallway, keeping anyone from wanting to come near him.
On cue, Jennifer’s distorted body comes crawling out from under the bed. A redheaded girl screams, the pitch of it making me cringe away from the wall.
That was fucking obnoxious.
Good thing she smells like petunias or I’d kill her.
The group of girls push and shove at each other as they run towards the exit, avoiding Jennifer like the plague. They fling up the other door, the wood bounding off the stopper. If there wasn’t one, the wall would have a permanent imprint of the door in the cheap drywall from how hard people open the door.
Once they’re out, Jennifer gets up and softly closes the doors again. Her face is hidden from view as she does, her movements slow. I hold my breath, hoping to see her normal happy face. But when she finally turns, tears are gathered in her lids.
I frown, my heart dropping.
Why is she crying? I saved her! She should be rejoicing.
She sniffles, carefully wiping her eyes before the tears fall and ruin her makeup.
Is she… she couldn’t possibly be upset that her boyfriend didn’t show up? He raped her! How could she be upset over something like that?
I snarl, her ungratefulness releasing a black cloud of ink inside me. I made sure her rapist didn’t come near her. He would’ve only hurt her if he did. He would’ve spun her back into his web again, and she would’ve fallen victim to a black widow that would slowly poison her until nothing good is left.
Until her flower is wilted.
I stay by the wall for hours, watching Jennifer’s attitude increasingly decline as the night goes on. Every time I see a tear drop from her eye, I see Mommy before me, crying into her hands as Daddy punishes her.
The second the last guests of the night leave her room, she sits on the bed and sobs. Holding her face in her hands like a small child, black tears trailing down her cheeks from her makeup.
I reach toward her, but the wall hinders me.
“Mommy?” I whisper. Jennifer’s blonde hair bleeds to Mommy’s dark brown hair, and all I can see is a woman sobbing her heart out, praying for death. And then her blonde hair is back, and I can’t tell if the lone tear that trails down my cheek is for Jennifer or Mommy.
It doesn’t take long for Sarah to come looking for her. The second she sees Jennifer’s state, she sits on the bed next to her and cocoons the weeping girl in her arms.
“What’s wrong? Did he come see you?”
Jennifer drops her arms and wails, “That’s just the thing! He didn’t show up.”
I can only see their backs, but Sarah’s silence is weighted.