November 2024’s short story of the month

I was eight years old the first time I met the devil.

It was the worst day of my life, or at least at the time I thought that.

I came home from school. My parents sat me and my sister on the couch and told us they were getting a divorce. I didn’t understand. Not really. An eight-year-old doesn’t understand when their family falls apart. Not at first anyway. Later, much later, they understand what is happening, and years later, they finally get why it happens. But on that day, it was the worst.

My world was ending. How could my family not be a family anymore? It was too much to process. After we “talked” about it, which was really the parents talking at us, and my sister and I sitting there in silence, feeling a numb paralyzing sensation spread through our bodies, we went outside.

Neither of us could stand to be near our parents. We went out the back door of the house, and then we ran. We ran as far and as fast as we could. At some point, I ran further than my sister, but I didn’t turn back. I kept running. I made it two streets away from our house where a canal, which never had water in it, became the place of my first meeting with the devil.

I should explain. I’m not being figurative or metaphorical. I actually met the literal devil. I was sitting with my legs hanging over the cement edge of the canal. I was staring listlessly at a puddle about thirty feet from me. There was a single frog hopping in it trying to cool off. I wasn’t thinking anything but wondered how the frog got there. There was never water in the canal. It had rained the day before, leaving the puddle, but where did the frog come from? Did he come with the rain?

A very tall, thin man sat down next to me. I wasn’t even startled. Something about him prevented me from leaving. It crossed my mind. My parents taught me about stranger danger, and I wasn’t dumb. I was eight and sitting alone not in view of anyone. I was in danger, but in the time it took me to think that, it also occurred to me that I couldn’t just leave. It was strange.

I looked up at him, and he smiled. He had too many teeth. That’s the only way I could explain what I saw. He had three times as many as he should; it was like looking into the mouth of a shark. I still didn’t leave.

I shouldn’t have been so calm.

Finally, he spoke. “Rough day?” he asked.

I stared at him, still not speaking. I knew it was considered rude to not answer a grown up when they asked you a question, but I also knew this guy shouldn’t be sitting next to me talking to me. I shrugged.

He nodded as if my shrug explained everything. “I’ve had days like this too.”

Again, I hadn’t said anything.

“It’s like all the joy has left the world,” he added. He stopped looking at me and stared at the frog in the puddle. “Like that,” he said, pointing at the frog.

I didn’t want to contradict him. I wasn’t supposed to argue with grownups, but I couldn’t help it.

“The frog has joy,” I said.

“You think?” he asked.

I nodded. I didn’t explain. He could figure it out for himself.

“What would you give for joy like that?” he asked.

Even as an eight-year-old, I knew that was a strange question for a stranger to ask me. “I need to go. I think I hear someone calling for me,” I said, standing to leave.

He nodded. “See you later.” He didn’t watch me leave, and he waved at me over his shoulder.

I ran away from him once I was on my feet. Back at the house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just gotten out of something really treacherous. I couldn’t sleep that night because I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who sat down by me and asked me the strangest thing ever. I didn’t tell anyone about him. I normally would have told my sister, but she was crying. I didn’t want to add to her plate.

After that day, life went on, as it tends to do. The next few months were a blur. My family changed, and then a while after that, it changed again. I stopped thinking about the man by the canal. I had other things to think about. I had to think about navigating a stepfamily and moving and graduating from elementary to middle school. I didn’t have time for things that had no explanation anyway.

The second time I met the devil. I was having the worst day of my life, or at least that’s how it felt at the time. I realized later that in reality, it was just an average day for someone my age, but it felt world ending at the time.

This time it was moving day, and my life was over. I had just finished eighth grade and was on the verge of starting my freshmen year of high school. My family was moving out of state. I was devastated. I would have to find all new friends, at a time when my friend group was my whole life.

But, that’s not why I thought my life was over. My life was over because my boyfriend was now going to be in one state, and I was going to be in another. I learned as an adult, that my first boyfriend was not going to be my forever person, but at the time, I thought I was losing the love of my life.

My family drove off as I was sitting in the car trying not to cry. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and I maintained my sullen demeanor no matter what was said to me.

We stopped at lunch time on the first of our three-day drive to our new home. To save money, our family was making sandwiches from things in the cooler at a rest stop.

I made a turkey and cheese sandwich and walked as far from everyone as I could get. I could not be comforted and didn’t enjoy being near anyone who wanted to cheer me up. I sat facing away from my family at a picnic table surrounded on one side by trees.

I didn’t hear him walk up.

“That sandwich looks pretty good,” he said.

I didn’t turn around at first. I knew his voice. It all came back to me about the day we sat by the canal. I turned around to face him. I didn’t like the idea of him seeing me, and me not being able to see what he was doing.

When I turned, I noticed that the trees covered his side of the table, but there was no way he could have walked up to the table without crossing into my line of sight.

“Where did you come from?” I asked, ignoring his statement about the sandwich.

He shrugged. “Rough day?” he asked.

I stared at him. It occurred to me then that maybe he was a figment of my imagination who seemed to manifest whenever I felt the worst. I couldn’t think of a good way to test my theory, so I chucked my sandwich at his face. It hit him and then fell onto the table.

He smiled his toothy, shark-like grin. He picked up the pieces of the sandwich and restacked it. He took a bite.

“Not bad,” he said. “Could use mustard.”

“You ate my sandwich,” I said in shock.

“You tossed it at me. I figured you were done with it,” he said.

Just then a dog started barking.

“Now that is joy,” he said as he pointed at the dog that went running somewhere behind me.

I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw a family running after the dog.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, now that I believed him to be real.

He asked, “What would you give for that kind of joy?” He watched the dog, and I could have sworn his eyes were glassing over like he was filled with blissful happiness.

“Are you okay?” I asked, ignoring his pointed question.

He shook his head. “Not today then,” he said followed by a sigh. He got to his feet and walked away towards the dog.

I didn’t see him again until I was in my twenties, but by then, I knew what to expect. I also had a better idea of who he was.