Chuck has us writing about Right vs Wrong. He put down two choices: 1. Doing a good thing sometimes means being evil, and 2. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I picked the first one - I think.
I listened at the door of my bedroom as my folks sat down with their financial advisor, Christopher, and realised with dread that they couldn’t afford to keep the house anymore.
It wasn’t late, but I had been sent to my room almost after dinner.
Dad was on his fourth scotch for the night.
Mum looked like she had been crying all day.
I had finished my homework and didn’t need to study for anything important. So listening at the door was my way of keeping in with what was going on in the place.
“I’m sorry. But you’ve stretched your money too thin. Marcey is going to the local high school. You’ve paid off your debt and the new car was something you shouldn’t have bought.” He said.
“It’s a company car.” Dad muttered.
“Oh... I see. So, the other one is the family car?”
“Yes.” Mum whispered, “I don’t understand where we went wrong. Darcy told us last year that we were going well... really well. After he left the company, and you took over our account, we seemed to be losing money left and right.”
I wondered about this too. How could my folks be floundering so much in just one year when they really didn’t spend any money on big things? Sure I was only seventeen, but I knew my folks weren’t big spenders. Dad was always fixing things around the place. Mum was forever pointing out that second-hand clothes were groovier than brand new (and sometimes she was right). Our whole house was filled with pre-loved items from all over the city; and Dad had built my bedroom frame from leftover steel pieces he found at the dump – and I loved it!
I had to find out why we were so damned broke. Peering between the door and the jamb, I saw they had finished up for the night and my folks were alone.
I packed my backpack with my ritualistic witchcraft things; along with a knife, a wand, blessing crystals and my spell book; then walked out to the living area towards the front door.
“Where are you going? It’s late.” Dad’s voice asked.
“I’m going to Tina’s house and it’s only 7:30, Dad.” I said.
Mum nodded, “It’s on the calendar. They’re going to study.”
“Oh... keep your phone on you.”
I walked out to the footpath where Christopher’s car was still parked as he leaned against it. In the dark, I thought he was as creepy as he was in normal light – so it wasn’t just my imagination.
“Hey, kid.” He called out, “Can we talk for a bit?”
I stopped, feeling nervous, “I don’t see how you’d be interested in me. You’re an adult here talking about adult things.”
“You’re almost an adult.” He grinned, “We can talk.”
I shrugged, “What about?”
“You’re folks don’t have any money.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m the financial advisor, not you.” He snapped, “But they could be swimming in it if you do a little something for me.”
“Get your Dad outa the picture and the money will come flooding back in.” Christopher said.
“As life insurance.” I retorted, “And no.” I turned to leave, when his hand landed on my shoulder, gripping it hard as I felt the heat emanate from it and smelled my skin begin to burn.
“Now, we’re going to make a deal and you’re going to say yes, you little witch.” His voice growled into my ear.
“How did you..?” I turned to find not Christopher next to me, but a demon. His grin wasn’t the only thing lighting up his face. His eyes... oh my god, his eyes were... “Christo.”
“Oh the little witch has done her homework alright! You know my name in Latin, wonderful.” He chortled.
Shoving his hand off me, I backed away, “I make no deal with a demon.”
"A little late for that, young lady... your mother already did. Why do you think she looks so tired all the time? I’ve been showing up here during the day when you and your Daddikins have been out at work... at school... and well, now, she’s...” he turned smiling, “...you know.”
“No... not that.” I dropped my bag and the first thing that fell out was my ceremonial knife. It was long, and shining and beautiful. But it wasn’t until the streetlight caught its blade that I noticed it and I picked it up.
“Oh... you’ve got a knife.” He made fun of the athame until he spotted the dark jewels and hilt of the weapon, “Oh shit.”
Making a lunge for my hand, I swept my free hand in front of me, “Protectis!” and a force field surrounded me as he ran straight into it, bounced off it and onto his arse.
“I hate you witches! You don’t fight fair.”
Letting down the force field, I nodded, “Neither do you. But then my folks don’t know about me.”
“Marcey?” Dad’s voice asked in the darkness, “Did I just see you create a force field out of nothing? And what are you doing with a knife?”
I glanced his way just for a moment.
It was just enough time for Christopher to make his move.
I saw him...
... there was blood
The courts told my parents I wasn’t in my right mind to answer any questions. The police told the lawyers I had been under the influence of drugs – or something – and yet they found nothing in my bedroom to show of that fact. The financial company told my folks they had never heard of Christopher before and Darcy never left the company (my folks just didn’t call for another appointment). Their money was fine and there was nothing wrong.
I was put into a heavy security psychiatric hospital for the rest of my life because I kept on seeing Christopher – Christo – in the court room.
I still see him.
He keeps me awake at night...
....trying to make a deal with me...
...this time, he wants me to do something for him...
he still wants me to kill for him.
I must be getting better...
because I still say no.
because I still say no.