She first appeared to me when I was six years old, her long raven hair left to hang in loose curls over her perfect shoulders. Her eyes as black as night and as hollow as a dead tree inside. She was beautiful, but terribly horrifying, looking at her for too long could leave me with shivers down my spine and a feeling of imminent destruction. I was never scared of her though, never felt the need to run away as she ran her fingers through my hair. I did not know who this woman was, what she wanted or why she visited me, but I grew used to her visits.

She used to brush my hair as I fell asleep, telling me stories, my favourite one being about the time she defeated an evil man who was trying to control her. She said he still lives though, but that she won’t go near him any longer.

Once I grew older, about 14, she stopped visiting me at night, I never knew why. I wasn’t a very well behaved teenager from what my mother has reminded me of so many times. She likes to remind me of how I always caused trouble in school, fighting with the boys and pulling on the other girls hair. I just always felt different, like no one else had seen what I saw. My mother never believed me when I told her about the nice lady who visits me at night, I think she played it off as simply a young girls imaginary friend. I learnt never to tell her about it again.

My mother is a strict Catholic woman, who had to raise me for herself after my father passed away. She did an extremely good job, I just never listened. I never took up a religion, even though my mother tried to make me practice the Catholic faith, once I turned 16, she let me decide for myself. So I thank her for that. However, now I think about it, religion might have stopped me from fighting and causing trouble, but you can never know. I found out when I was 16, that I was adopted, it didn’t hurt too much, as my hair is bright ginger, and neither my mother or father have this hair. I always had a feeling that I didn’t belong, but I never said anything.

Why am I telling you about this woman? Well, I’m 27 now, I live alone in a lovely apartment. I have a cat that sleeps at the end of my bed every night, and is protective of me, he found me actually, just walked into my house the second day I moved in and made himself at home.

Enough about my house and cat, I’ve just heard something in the kitchen. I grab the baseball bat I keep next to my bed and head towards the kitchen, slowly, I know where the floor boards creak and I avoid them. I turn the corner from my bedroom door and I stop still. There she is, the woman. Her black eyes as dark as ever and still just as beautiful. She smiles, but not in an evil manner, but with affection. “My child…” she reaches an arm out for me and I find myself putting down the baseball bat and walking towards her. I’m not her child… I haven’t seen her in years. “You’re ready to know…”

I’m both confused and intrigued, still my body seems to walk itself towards her. “Ready to know what?” I ask, completely entranced on her face, no longer feeling imminent destruction. “What you have been prepared for your whole life” I find myself stood right in front of her, her hands reaching for my long ginger hair, I don’t flinch.

I look right up at her, straight into her eyes and I can see everything she’s ever seen, the man who wronged her and tried to control her. The fires she’s seen, the people she’s killed, then there’s me. I’m watching myself getting dropped at the doors of an orphanage, being raised up, taken in by my mother, I see her visiting me for the first time, I don’t remember this. I was so young, she writes something on my forehead and I fall asleep, I don’t see anything else. “What was that?” She smiles at me, “It’s time for you to come home my darling” I look at her, she’s still beautiful, her black eyes still hollow and her hair still strong and raven. “You are my child, I have had you raised by humans so that you better understand them, for when you take over from me.” “Take over?” I frown, “Where is home?” She smiles at me and takes my hand, my cat follows us as she leads me out of my apartment. “Home, is the enternal fire.” And that’s when it hit me…

My mother is the devil.

This is my entry for #Whihalloweenwriting