Eyes Of The Devil

I remember when I was little, I used to imagine this field in my mind, whenever I was unhappy of uncomfortable, or even being scolded, I would close my eyes and picture myself there. In my field I saw rainbows of flowers everywhere and a river that would run through the middle of it. I saw peacocks fan out their tails in greeting and butterflies kissing my nose and fluttering off. I loved my field. It was my sanctuary.

That was until he burned it down. Him with his smoldering eyes, eyes that were life ink or coal, eyes of fire. His eyes of the devil. It was that day that I was too foolish to realize what he would do. I look back now and wonder to myself if it was karma that did this to me, because of me misbehaving and not listening to my mami. I was seven when it happened. I was told by only the few people who new what happened that "I was too young."

You see, it happened on a day that seemed painfully normal. I remember sitting and staring up at my older sister while she wore many feathers in her hair and earrings in her ears that shone like the sun does on a river. I remember letting out little huffs and sighs at how pretty she looked. While her hair flowed to her hips in a black waterfall, mine was a wild mane, that curled and was so unruly, all I could do was put it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck and push aside my bangs.

Soon after enough huffing my mami had sent me out to play. I stood and glared at the door as she shut it and stomped my feet and tugged my hair in frustration. "What's wrong little girl?" I turned and looked up at the man who stood behind me. He stood taller than my papi and wore a very nice looking black suit. His hair was slicked back in a way that reminded me of a duck's tail. But his eyes were what caught my attention. His eyes reminded me of a wild dog's or a cat that had been disturbed by sleeping. The reminded me of the ashes produced when my mami put out the fires we would have for our fiestas. But compared to his skin, which was ivory unlike my own tan, they stood out like a sore thumb.

So I stood there staring up at the man who was smiling back down at me. I could have swore his mouth turned and curled at the sides like that of the Cheshire cat's.

I snapped awake as I heard the door open and my mami babble in Spanish frantically, grabbing my arm and yanking me in "N-No habla ingles Senior, n-no habla!" she cried in a way that scared me. Of course me and my sister we're taught English by my mami, her learned it in pieces from the books she had. Book my papi worked hard to buy us. I knew she didn't want to deal with the man so she lied about knowing the language.

The man tilted his head to the side and spoke in broken Spanish, asking if my papi was home. I remember stifling giggles as I heard how funny he sounded, but hushed when my mami gave me her look. She shook her head and slammed the door, towing me into the living room where my sister kneeled, looking up at my mom with a questioning look.

"Do not go by that man mija!" my mami said, looking every bit as flustered as she sounded. I nodded my head and stayed silent.

Over the next few days the man kept on showing up at our doorstep, asking for my papi. Of course my mami would either not answer the door, or tell him that my papi wasn't home. As simple as that. I wasn't allowed out and neither was my sister. I didn't really know why we weren't allowed to see this man.

That was until my papi actually arrived home. I remember peeking out the window to see if the man was there and saw him talking with my dad. My papi was smiling so I figured the man couldn't be too bad. So I opened the door and scampered out, standing by him and holding his hand. My papi smiled and turned, talking to the man again.

My papi smiled and laughed, grabbing the man's hand and shaking it and the man turned and smiled at me, his grin looking more like he was eyeing food.

That night was the first night I've ever seen my parents argue. From what I heard and could tell in English was that that man was a judge who wanted to help out villages in poverty like mine. He said since not many kids in my village could get a good education, he would take me out of the country and into the United States to learn and live better. When I heard that, my stomach turned to mush. I felt ecstatic and scared all in one. But I could never get why my mami was so angry. Soon though she gathered my things in a bag and held me close to her. I remember feeling her tears on my shoulder as she said prayers and blessed me. I remember my sister hugged me tightly and apologized for yelling at me, and I remember my papi patting my head and smiling. My mami had given me a picture, the only one we ever took, and said for me to keep it close. She also gave me a rosary I remember was the one I always wanted to use because of it beautiful ivory beads.

And just like that, I was led to the man's big black car and I was driven off to a place I never even knew existed.

"You're so brave little girl." The mans driver said. I remember liking him cause he gave me candy and a pop, after witch I couldn't sit still in the car and I kept on hopping back and forth between windows and peeking out. There was also a nice old lady who combed my wild curls for me while I chewed on a chocolate bar. She said her name was Agatha, and the driver's name was Jude. Of course the man wasn't in the car with us, so it made me even more ecstatic and giddy. When I saw his house. He lived in a place called Texas, I squealed in delight, praying I would be staying there.

I remember and cherished the first few weeks of living there. I loved it and couldn't get enough. I ate more than I usually did, so my small frame grew out more. I also read the many books Mister (as he told me to call him) had in his library. He gave me pretty dresses made by his wife, who was really really nice and reminded of Sophie, from a book I read called Howl's Moving Castle. She was very good at making clothes, but also muttered while she worked. But soon, I realized, her and Mister were getting divorced, considering the fights I heard them had in my room. Fights about Mister getting drunk too much and that he would always be found staring at me while I was sleeping.

That night I bunched up my covers over my ears and closed my eyes tightly, soon I was lost in my field, swimming in the tiny brook with colorful minnows.

Then things began to rot when Sophie left. At night when Mister would get drunk he would come and lay in bed with me wreaking with alcohol and cigarettes. I would usually try to scoot to the farthest side of the bed, but he would pull me closer and stick his hand up my nightshirt, holding it to my stomach. Then in the morning he would yell at me for reasons I never knew and would punish me by locking me in the servant's room with out food. Then he gave me this really weird necklace to wear, saying that I was still on punishment. For what I never did know.

It was about a month or so later that I went from being treated like royalty, to being one of the maids in the house. But while they had normal meals, I was barely fed. I would also get hit badly, so badly that I would ache all over and scream in pain when one of the maids tried to move me. On nights like those, Mister would come in and slide his hand lower and lower. On nights like those I was in my field. But ever so slowly I began to see him there. His eyes now looked like coal. They looked hard and angry, as if he was angry with the world. I realized something that then I couldn't place about his eyes. They struck utter fear in me.

After about a month of that, he began to carry around a small black remote, and every time I did something wrong, I would feel jolts of needles shoot through my body, making me scream myself hoarse in pain. I made sure never to do what I did when it happened. But even when I did that, I was still electrocuted. At times he would press the button so hard that my hair would become filled with static and I saw blue lightning bolts sparking out my fingers. Those nights I would sleep on the floor, and when the tingling sensation would stop, I would pull out my rosary and pray on it all night.

I found relief when he left sometimes. The maids would rush me food and water, and would wash me good. I remember only telling Agatha what happened and watching her cry as she scrubbed my hair clean. I looked up on her and said "I miss my momma and daddy." She choked back a sob and hugged me to her, stroking my hair as she told me it would get better.

It didn't. I knew that in the pit of my stomach that it wouldn't. It was the calm before the storm, I could feel it.

I was right. That night, Mister did something to me. Mister took my soul from me that night . I remember it hurt very bad, and I remember screaming and crying. And when he was done, I remember curling up and sobbing, clinging onto my rosary and the picture of my mami. That night when I closed my eyes to go to my field, he was standing there. He had a lighter in his hand. He was smiling that crooked, broken, twisted smile he wore when he took my soul from me. Around him flame billowed up in orange curls, lapping at his figure but never burning him. So I did the only thing I could do. I turned and I ran from him. I ran from him as fast as I could, I ran away from him, from, my pain, and from all my misery.

The morning after, I limped around in a daze. I did that until I found his study. I stood before it and then ever so slowly I grabbed the knob and turned it slowly, then pushed it open. This room was very big and had a window overlooking the garden and large gate. It was fall, so the trees were the color of rust and fire. I immediately felt the tears well up and pour out as I walked to the window and pressing my face to the glass.

I pulled my face away and looked on his desk. There was a paper laying on it. I picked it up and looked at the front page then dropped it with a gasp. On the paper was a picture of my family crying and hugging one another. The paper had said that they were the victim of a new epidemic called "invisible children. They said people would steal children from poor villages and use them for bad things.

"What are you doing!?" I heard Mister bellow. I turned and stepped back. He was leaning against the door frame, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He wiped his mouth and stumbled over to me, picking up the paper and letting out a roar of laughter. He put down the bottle and took a lighter out of his pocket. He did something with his thumb and lit it, holding it to the paper, a few seconds after flame began to eat up the paper. He reached out and grabbed at my hair, tugging on it and forcing me to look at it. I felt the heat on my face. "Look! Your precious family is gone! So stop your whining and crying. You are never going back. Your father was too easy to trick into having you." he then dropped the remaining embers on the ground and threw the lighter at me. He laughed again and turned, snatching the whiskey off his desk and chugging it down, stumbling out of the room. I fell to my knees and watched the embers fade into ash. I looked at the lighter and then up to the bottles of empty alcohol. Then I knew. I knew exactly what I was going to do. All I had to do was wait.

In the days to follow, Mister would have the maids, butlers, and all the other staff of the mansion leave out. Every last on of them. Including Agatha. Those were the days he would do to me what he did to me that night. Whenever I closed my eyes to see my field, all I saw was ash. I spent majority of my time plotting. Until finally, a full two months after he burnt the last of my innocence, I decided what I would do.

It was of course on of the days that everyone was forced to leave. I went straight to his study and reached my hand up, tearing down books from the bookshelf. I opened up books and tore out pages. I took papers from inside his desk and threw them over to the pile of rubbish also. I searched on top of his desk for bottles that were filled with alcohol and found a huge bottle of bourbon. I pulled off the lid and headed out of the room. As soon as I found my way down the hallway I began to gingerly pour out the liquid in a line leading back to his study, dumping the rest on the pile, then dragging the bottle over to the fireplace and finding a way to climb up it and hop onto one of the tables by the door.

Then I simply waited. I waited for a long time and the whole time I did I was praying to the saints to forgive me. Forgive me for everything. I prayed for my mami and papi and sister to forgive me. Then I heard what I was waiting for. I heard him calling my name and opening doors. I then saw his shadow from under the study door. He opened it, and I raised the bottle above my head. When he closed the door he still hadn't noticed me. I slammed the bottle down onto his head, using all my force. He fell and hit the ground hard, knocking himself out cold. That when I took the time to drag him to the pile of rubbish where I continued to tear out pages from books.

It was an hour or so when I heard him groan in pain, but ignored it. I knew myself he made noises when he slept, so I continued with what I was doing. But a few seconds later he stood himself up and grabbed my hair, slamming my face into the ground. He turned me over and screamed at me, wrapping his hands around my neck and squeezing.

I choked and gagged, tears welling up in my eyes and I reached into my pants for the lighter. He shook me and I began to feel dizzy and light headed. I ran my thumb over the switch and tried my hardest to light it. Now everything was getting dark. I was dieing. I tried to suck in air but couldn't, that's when I heard it click, and warmth near my finger. That's when I brought it up and burnt his sleeve. Fire erupted and he let go of me, making me drop to the ground hard. I sucked in air and panted, watching him pat his sleeve. Fueled on adrenaline and fear, I ran over to the pile and lit it. The flames roared up in a way that made me imagine Calcifer, one again from my favorite book. I turned and saw a line of the flames head towards the door, catching the pieces of furniture on fire also, then catching the walls and bookshelves on fire. I began to panic and scream, same as Mister, who lunged at me. My reactions turned quick as I dodged out of the way, making him fall. I didn't turn back. I began to run. I ran quickly as I did in my dream, I ran quickly as I watched the mansion around me burn and crackle in flame.

I felt the flame singe my arms and I felt the heat on the back of my neck as I ran. Pushing myself faster I felt my lungs cramp and my stomach hurt, but I kept on pushing forewords. I slammed my body into the door of the entrance and pushed hard, stumbling into the night air. I looked up as I ran. It was snowing, all around the compound was a blanket of snow. I ran and ran, huffing and puffing hard, looking at the stars and crying.

I could feel the cold air around me and it felt so nice. It felt like the greatest thing that I've ever felt in my life. Wedging myself through the gates I trudged onto deeper snow. Snow that froze my legs. Finally, I couldn't go on anymore. I collapsed and panted, the light from the fire reflecting off of the snow. I curled up feeling frozen and alone. I felt full of pain and sorrow. I began to cry again. Cry in relief, in fear, in pain.

No one should die like this. No one should ever ever die like this. No one disserved this type of suffering. I realize now that there are people who've had it worse. Who've died worse torturous deaths than this, but to me, for a girl to die without her soul, her innocence, to me that is the worst any girl can get put through.

3 am Pacific time

A young girl was found in hypothermic shock with second degree burns on her body and he hair burnt short in the back. She was found outside of the estate of Mr. H. Thompson, the greatest judge in this city. On accounts from interviews with the staff of his mansion, Mr. Thompson used the girl in sexual, mental and physical abuse. It was said he bought the girl from Mexico in an adoption, but after his wife had left him, he began to drink. The girl was air lifted to the hospital and is said to make a full recovery. There has never been, and hopefully never will be a case as bad as this one. In all my years as a newspaper reporter, I have never wrote about anything as bad as this. This just goes to show, even justice can be corrupted.