I wanted to scream at the Devil to be quiet, but he was right. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to begood, I was marked forever by sin. In my parents' eyes, I was the devilish child who ruined their lives.
Disrespectful.
Disobedient.
Disgraced.
I wanted to be good. But was it all a lie? Mrs Hadley believed me to be an absolute pleasure, but my father was right, I wasn’t like that at home. I wore a mask. I was a liar.
At home, I challenged my mother’s parenting of Auden. At school, I obeyed Mrs Hadley’s every instruction. At home, I punched holes through windows. At school, I scrubbed thewindows clean at the end of the day. At home, I talked back. At school, I stayed silent. At home, I was the Devil. At school, I was an angel.
You’re living a lie.
Panic spread through me like a ravenous plague. They were going to find out. Sooner or later,everyonewas going to find out the truth. They were going to realise I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a devil masquerading as an angel.
My parents and Mrs Hadley resumed their conversation, discussing my grades. This was normal for a parent-teacher interview at St Augustine’s Catholic School, but I didn’t understand why I needed to be present. I was eight years old, and what child of that age wanted to be in a classroom after hours, forced to listen to the adults around them discuss them like they weren’t there?
“I am concerned about something I found in his school bag, though,” Mrs Hadley said, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach.
She placed a drawing in front of my parents. I recognised it immediately, confused as to how it found itself in my year three teacher’s possession.
A boy stood in front of a mirror. Inside the mirror, large black eyes spilled blood, wide mouth crawling with spiders. Clawed hands wrapped around his throat, a haunting shadow looming beside him.
Lying was a sin, but I sinned anyway, too afraid of the consequences of admitting the truth. “That isn’t mine.”
Mrs Hadley opened her mouth to speak, but my mother cut her off. “Of course it is yours. You draw all the time. I would recognise your work anywhere.”
I might have been pleased with that statement if she wasn’t looking at me with such disdain.
Chewing on the inside of my mouth, right hand wrapped around my left index finger, I sunk lower into my chair.
“I don’t mean to overstep,” Mrs Hadley said, “but a drawing like this… at such a young age… is quite unusual. Perhaps it might be beneficial for Augustus to have a one-on-one session with the school counsellor, Miss Lawrence. She is lovely, really, and she might be able to–”
“No,” my mother said, snatching the drawing into her hands. “There is no need. He just watches too many horror movies when he knows he shouldn’t. I apologise for any concern this has caused. It won’t happen again.”
The car ride home was unbearable. There was silence. Then shouting. And then silence again.
“If you draw anything like that again, so help me God, I will take away all your pencils, crayons, paint,everything!Do you hear me?” my mother demanded.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“What on Earth possessed you to draw a… a demon?!”
“It’s not a demon,” I murmured. “It’s me.”
My mother laughed as her gaze shot to my father. “See, Marcus? I told you he has the Devil in him.”
“He doesn’t have–Mary, come on. He’s a damn kid,” my father sighed. “Sometimes kids draw weird things. He probably had a nightmare or something.”
My mother shook her head but said nothing further. She was quiet for the rest of the day, locking herself up in her bedroom, emerging only to eat dinner.
“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” were her first words to me since the car ride.
I glanced down at the cracked skin of my hands, red from scratching. They stung, itched. I wanted to tear off my skin and let the cold air kiss my flesh.
“Can I sweep up the kitchen and living room instead?” I asked softly. “The dish soap hurts my skin.”
“Wear gloves, then,” she said dismissively.
