John sat in the counselor’s office at the elementary school. Sam was 8, in second grade.
“Your son started a fight with a classmate.”
The woman sitting across from him was a short, blonde, well-dressed woman. John thought she was quite the looker. If he’d met her in a bar, he might have hit on her. But he did not meet her in a bar. He met her here, as she accused his 8 year-old son of viciously attacking a classmate. Dean, he expected this from, but Sam?
John sat in the psychologists office. Sam was 13, in seventh grade.
“Your son displays violent tendencies. I believe he might have psychopathic tendencies. John, I recommend that you have your son committed.”
The man sitting across from him was old, maybe 60, 65, balding, with glasses. If John had met him on the street, he would have thought him a kindly old man, wise with old age. But this man was evil, telling John to throw his son in some kind of insane asylum. John wanted to rip this guy’s head off.
John sat in the police station. Sam was 15, in tenth grade.
“Your son was found at the scene of a double homicide, covered in blood.”
The man sitting across from him was young. A detective. Dark hair, bright eyes, but he looked weathered by knowledge. If John had met him on the road, he would have thought him to be a hunter. But this man was telling John his son, his sweet, innocent Sammy, had been arrested and named a suspect in a double homicide. John just cried.
John sat in an empty pew. Sam was 17.
“Your son is cursed. It’s as if the devil himself has a hold on him. Demons plague him, John. Someone has to end his suffering.”
As John walked out of the church, the priest was stabbed in the back. As Sam twisted the knife, a smile grew on his evil little face. The devil spoke loudly in his mind.
“Kill him, and you will be king.”
yousharknotpass
dededos
jacobvanloon
izzy806
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
2087
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
discoholicmusic
