Satan's Affair

Momentarily, I feel awful. The father’s soul isn’t rotten and evil, though. He’s a strict father, but he loves his kid. That I can tell by the worry etched into the corners of his eyes as he walks away. His soul smells of a bonfire. Smoky, but not rotten.

He just doesn’t know how to love the right way. But he’ll learn one day, when he pushes his son too far away and learns to regret his actions.

Turning away, I order and pay for my philly cheesesteak with the man’s credit card, along with a massive lemonade that my tiny hands have trouble holding onto. I’ll toss the card when I’m finished and pocket the cash. There are no cameras in a place like this—no one will be able to trace who exactly used the card. By the time they try, Satan’s Affair will be gone.

I park my butt on a bench and watch people pass by as I eat. It’s not until I’m sucking down the last of my lemonade that I smell a hint of rot.

Closing my eyes, I lift my chin in the air and try to pinpoint where exactly the smell is coming from. Minutes tick by, and the smell increasingly becomes stronger. Whoever they are, they’re coming closer to me.

I open my eyes and focus on each individual. The ones that pass me by, and the ones far off in the background unaware of me. No one escapes my judgment.

A few more minutes go by before the smell of rot is so overwhelming, I nearly upchuck the delicious phillysteak I just ate. The food settles like rocks in my stomach as my gaze desperately seeks out the source of corruption.

There.

An older man, with white hair on the sides of his head and an ugly combover. He’s wearing a suit that’s tailored to his body perfectly. I would bet fresh cotton candy that his cufflinks are more expensive than his life is worth. Wrapped around his wrist is a gold Rolex. And on that Rolex, barely noticeable, is a small drop of blood.

My eyes narrow into thin slits. He sits down on the bench one over from me. Next to him must be his wife. She looks frail and timid. With freshly dyed red hair, and lipstick to match. Her face is covered in powder, but she didn’t bother to extend that make up to hide the bruise on her collarbone.

Maybe she wants others to see. A subtle cry for help.

I turn to blatantly stare at him. My face is blank as I watch the abusive prick sit next to his wife, pointing at random things to attempt to bring a smile to her face. She acquiesces, but the smile is brittle and cracking at the seams. She’s dead in the eyes.

Just like her husband will be if I manage to get him inside my house.

Feeling my stare burning into him, he twists his head until his gaze clashes with mine. I suck in a sharp breath, taken aback by the utter emptiness staring back at me. I’ve come across a lot of evil, rotten souls in my time. Souls I’m certain are burning in the depths of Hell.

But this man… this man’s soul was forged in Hell. This… thing was never human. Not in this lifetime.

A smile cocks on his saggy cheeks. He likes my attention. I may look like a demented, broken little doll, but underneath the makeup is a young girl. I think I’m in my twenties, but with the amount of makeup layered on my face, I could easily pass for sixteen.

Sick, sick man.

I smile at him, showing him my pretty smile. Mortis always says I have the smile of an angel. Demons love angels. They always want what they can never have. They love to taint what’s pure. Like picking up a white bunny with hands covered in blood. Angels are used and discarded to the side when they’

ve served their purpose.

Just like Lucifer with Eve. She didn’t eat an apple. Lucifer fucked her and ruined her for all men. And then tossed her aside because she could never be Lilith.

The evil man responds in kind, his smile widening so big—even his wife takes notice. She glances at me, her gaze drifting away before snapping back to me, now wide with fear. Her rounded eyes bounce between me and her husband. She’s watching her husband prey on another woman, and instead of her burning up with jealously, she fears for me instead.

My dollhouse is only about a hundred feet away—well within sight. I stand up from the bench, offer him a wink and then walk back towards my house. His eyes never waver, I can feel them. Watching me walk into my dollhouse, where he thinks he will find me, drag me off into a dark corner and fuck my innocent little pussy.

How wrong he’ll be.

I will be the one to find him. And I will make sure to fuck him just as brutally as the woman he’s abused.

Just as I sneak behind the walls, the overhead lights shut off, and the strobe lights turn on. Thick smoke filters out of the machines and slowly builds up in the rooms, filling the room with every color in the rainbow. Phantom fingers curl in the open spaces, masking the monsters hiding within.

It takes another twenty minutes for the doors to open to the public. In that time, as the monsters creep into their hiding spots and wait, there’s always a tangy anticipation that settles in the air. The calm before the storm. The silence before the screams.

A group of girls scuttles in first. Hunched together and clasping each other’s hands tightly. I inhale deeply and cast my judgement. A garden of flowers greets my nose. I smile, my eyes rolling from the mix of petunias, tulips, and daises.

On cue, the monsters jump out and give chase, forcing them onto the path they’re supposed to take.

Familiar screams decorate the poignant air. I shift on my feet, eagerly watching the door. The monsters—a clown with peeling skin and a woman with her chest torn open—get back into their spots and await the next guests.

The front door creaks open, but instead of the sinister older man, it’s two beautiful girls. My smile drops and I feel disappointment for a moment before their smell fills the air. Immediately, I’m hit by the smell of jasmine and roses.