The Diabolical Gift.

It all began with the horse in my living room on Christmas morning. Now, I admit that it is rather alarming to wake up and find a horse in one’s living room. But that was the least of my problems considering that the “horse” was six feet tall, had razor sharp teeth, and its mane and tail were on fire.

No, wait. Its mane and tail were made of fire, and its eyes glowed like burning embers. My five year old daughter hugged one of its legs and called out to me, “Mumma look! Pony!” The “pony” neighed softly and gently nudged my daughter with its head. I wanted to rush over, grab her and just run but I was afraid any movement would startle the beast and Tamara would get hurt. My daughter looked at the beast once, as if in a private conversation with it and waddled over to me. “The shadow man left you a letter, mumma.” Tamara said handing me a black envelope, and started going back towards the beast. I quickly grabbed her hand and said, “Tamara, sit on my lap and tell me about the shadow man, sweetie.” Tamara looked at me with her innocent, soft brown eyes and gave me a toothy, dimpled smile. She had been wearing pink unicorn pyjamas and fluffy slippers. Her messy, curly hair formed a brown halo around her head. “Okay mumma.” She said, happily climbing onto my lap as I sat on the sofa. I wrapped my arm around Tamara’s waist protectively and glared at the beast, which promptly chose that exact moment to empty the remnants of its dinner in the form of thick tar onto my carpet. “So, we both hate each other.” I muttered under my breath.

“Mumma, the shadow man said he got my letter and he gave me a pony! I’m going to name him Peaches and I’ll love him forever and ever.” She said happily, and “Peaches” whinnied as if the was in complete agreement with Tamara. I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by a loud yell. “Jesus Christ! What is that thing?” My husband stood near the door, backed up against the wall in a black robe, shorts and neon pink slippers; his eyes were practically bulging out of his head. One may have found the whole scene rather comical, but I was in no mood for jokes. “Sameera, take Tamara and run. I’ll go get my gun.” He said, but I found it rather difficult to take a fully grown man in Iron-Man shorts seriously. “Karan,” I said, “Firing a gun at a potentially supernatural beast will be equivalent to putting fuel on a fire. So, sit down and help me deal with this situation in a more... tactful manner.”

The beast neighed angrily as Karan took a step towards us, causing him to back away. That made me extremely angry. “Hey!” I snapped, causing the beast to look at me, “What makes you think that you can be in MY house and threaten MY husband? Didn’t you ever learn any manners?” The beast glared at me for a moment, then looked down and pawed at the floor, neighing lightly. “That was awesome.” Karan whispered as he took Tamara into his lap, tickling her and making her giggle. I smiled a little, and proceeded to open the envelope. The writing was in reddish brown ink, or so I thought. I was afraid of considering any other alternative.

Sameera,

It is nice to hear from your family again. Tamara has grown up so much since the last time I saw her. I got her letter, and there are a few things you must know about Soul-Eaters. They generally feed on the souls of the damned. Since these are hard to come by on earth, you may feed him chocolate and milk. If you can gain his trust, he will protect you as long as you live. He has already imprinted on Tamara, and will always protect her.

XOXO

Lucifer
(Master Baker, Pottery Enthusiast, King of Hell.)

P.S. – Let Karan know that I hear everything.

“Oh god. No. This isn’t happening.” I said rubbing my forehead as the letter and the envelope dissolved into smoke. “What’s happened?” Karan asked, cradling Tamara, who was fast asleep, in his arms. “Your little praying sessions have caught up with us, that’s what’s happened, Karan.” I hissed. For years, even before we’d met, Karan would “pray to Lucifer” for assistance. I had found it rather funny and somewhat satirical all these years. It was even funnier to us when Tamara was born on 13th May, 2011 considering it was Friday the 13th. But now, as I recalled seeing a shadow near Tamara’s crib that night, goose-bumps covered my skin. Everyone I told at the time, including Karan, had dismissed it as an effect of the medicine I was on. But now I knew. It was real, all of it. And considering we were the only non-Christian family in an extremely conservative, Catholic neighbourhood, the whole state of affairs could turn deadly for us very fast if anyone found out.

My internal freak out session was interrupted by the sudden sound of the doorbell. I quickly looked Karan, “Take Tamara upstairs. NOW.” I whispered. I looked at Peaches and said, “I know you hate me, but for Tamara’s sake, you have to hide.” It looked at me sensing the urgency in my voice, and disappeared in a puff of smoke. I took a deep breath and quickly sprayed the room with air-freshener before plastering the most genuine-looking fake smile on my face and walking to the door to greet my oh-so-very religious neighbours who had begun their daily campaign to put me and my family on the path to holiness and save our souls from eternal hellfire. Oh, the irony.

I really needed to teach Tamara to spell properly, especially the word “Santa”.