The True Devil

By V. Mylynne Smith

Three unstable teens find a legend about Satan hidden in their school library. Mixing crazy with the occult almost always ends in bloodshed. Mama's-boy-Malcolm seizes a deadly opportunity with an oversized butcher's knife.  Queen of the Goths, Alexandria, unknowingly follows Malcolm's lead. She and her twin brother find themselves with a body to bury. Two-faced-Tanner is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, so he says. 

Suspicious deaths lead heartbroken detective, Silas, to seek out the Satanic legend. He's seen it before, though. He wrote it. Is it possible that the man sworn to keep the streets safe is influencing young people, convincing them to become violent? Can he catch the true devil before another life is lost or will a greater evil be unleashed? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: V. Mylynne Smith
• Release date: Oct 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393740407

Book preview

Prologue

1988

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Silas Hart woke up in a cold sweat, panting and trembling. The nightmares from which he’d woken were dissipating with each blink. His fingers ached like he had been holding onto a rope and dangling 500 feet in the air. Looking down, he found himself clutching a left-handed notebook with a death grip.

The room was dark, and Silas was too afraid to reach for the lamp on his nightstand. It felt like there was a presence in the room with him, something unhappy. Goosebumps covered his skin, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Past the foot of his bed, there was nothing out of the ordinary. A wooden dresser with brass handles stood along the far wall beside the heavy oak desk. The window was closed and the curtain was drawn. Nothing frightening to see.

Shaking, his left hand reached out and clicked on the brass lamp. The red lamp shade tinted the room a warm scarlet color. Silas looked over the room once more, not sure if there was anything to find. Despite the room’s continuous emptiness, he couldn’t shake the nervous feeling making his skin crawl.

The carpet sank below his feet as Silas walked to the oak desk. He couldn’t remember why he was holding the spiral notebook. Some inspiration or other must have struck him. Otherwise, there would be no reason to grab the book in the first place.

Lifting the green cover, he found the first-page blank. The second and third pages were blank as well as the fourth, fifth and so on. No writing appeared until the dead middle of the book.

Eyes scanning pages, Silas absorbed the information as quickly as possible. The story didn’t take long to read, but it was eerie to go over. Some of his nightmares flashed in his mind’s eye, images of dark forces and hellfire.

Reading the story made him feel grimy. Writing was a favorite pastime of Silas’s, but this was far from his usual subject matter. It didn’t seem like he had written it at all, more like he had been possessed.

Closing the notebook, he walked away from his desk and crawled back into bed. The bed felt cold as he laid down, pulling the comforter up to his chin as a chill rolled through his body. He didn’t know the time, but he would need to be up for school soon. Even so, it would be impossible to go back to sleep.

The presence was still there, forcing him to remain anxious. The feeling of something else in the room was like having a spotlight shone on him, as though Silas had an audience. He was either delusional or blind because he couldn’t see anything in the room. There was no need for such nervousness.

He turned off the light and the red glow abandoned his walls like an ember going cold. Pulling the blanket up farther, he rolled onto his side. Eyelids feeling heavy, he struggled to stare into the darkness. Trying in vain to be vigilant and alert. The longer he stared, the more the back of his eyelids looked identical to his surroundings.

The sun rose, doing little to warm the frigid room. A shrill chirping came from behind Silas’s back, and he groaned. Turning over, he smacked the alarm clock and ended the evil shrieking. Tossing one arm over his head, he wanted to vomit at the idea of going to class.

Kicking the blanket from his legs, he hauled himself to a sitting position. A headache pounded to life inside of his skull. This day was going to be difficult, Silas could feel it.

Silas showered and dressed in a red polo and khaki pants - the standard uniform at Elmer Hawk Preparatory School. He combed his dark brown hair, parting it to the left and gelling it into place. The skin below his hazel eyes was puffy from lack of sleep. Half of his heart-shaped face was covered with stubble that he ignored out of laziness. He might look rough, but at least his hair looked good.

***

Elmer Hawk Preparatory School looked much like a castle from the outside. It was a two-story brick building that spanned 13,000 square feet with steeples pointing into the clouds. There were large windows freckling the walls, dissecting the monotonous beige and brown bricks.

The green grass shined in the sunlight as Silas approached the building. Manicured hedges lined the front lawn. A cobblestone walkway led to nine steps with large landings between every set of three. Traveling the steps brought Silas to the glass double doors of the school.

Navy blue lockers lined the cream colored walls. All classroom doors were open, and teachers stood in the halls greeting students. Silas’s red Air Jordan III’s squeaked over the checkered tile floor as he maneuvered through his peers. The hall formed a cross and Silas went right, toward the library. He walked past another hallway on his right side, busy and loud with Freshmen.

Si! A female voice called. Wait up!

Turning around, he saw Jayla, his girlfriend, rushing down the hall. The backpack on her back bounced as she moved through the crowd to stand at Silas’s side. She wore a khaki skirt and a red polo, blond hair shrouding her shoulders. A smile brightened her face, and her blue eyes lit up as she looked at him.

His heart swelled. Silas hoped she would always look at him that way. As though he held secret wonders she had yet to discover. 

Where are you going? She asked, adjusting the straps over her shoulders.

I have to go to the library, Silas said, You wanna come?

Jayla wrapped her fingers around his hand, and heat sizzled up his arm. She fell behind him as they walked toward the heavy wooden doors of the library. A trophy case rested along the left wall, the pristine glass showcasing polished awards. Plaques and framed certificates were hanged beside the case, shining with prestige.

The library doors were made of oak with a large hawk engraved in the wood, silver glinting on his feathers. The hawk had one haunting, blue eye. Silas tried not to make eye contact as he pushed the door open, gesturing for Jayla to walk ahead.

Spinning book racks covered the middle of the hardwood library floor. A rack of VHS tapes had been wheeled to the left of the door. The two librarians sat at the desk on the right, one of them going through a catalog, searching for something as the other checked in books.

Silas and Jayla walked passed the librarians and the spinning racks, to the back wall of shelves. The books were listed by the author’s last name. Filing cabinets were positioned at the end of every other shelf.

What are we doing here? Jayla whispered.

With a mind of their own, Silas’s feet took him to the religious section. It was filled with copies of The Holy Bible, black covers gleaming under the fluorescents. His left foot shot out, tapping one of the floorboards.

What are you doing? Jayla asked.

I’m not sure, he replied.

It felt like he couldn’t stop moving, his body wasn't in his control. His foot tapped the floor like a horse counting. Suddenly, the floorboard popped free.

Silas knelt, withdrawing the left-handed notebook from his bag. Jayla snatched the notebook from his hand.

What is this and what are we doing? she asked, demanding his attention.

He sighed as her bright eyes chastised him. I wrote it last night, he said, I’m not sure what it is, but I feel like other people should see it. I want to be anonymous, though.

Jayla opened the notebook, skipping several blank pages until she found his handwriting.

You shouldn’t-

Stop. Jayla held up one hand and started scanning the words.

Minutes passed as Jayla read Silas’s writing. Sentences he couldn’t remember constructing, and ideas he didn’t believe. Each time she turned a page, Silas felt like he would die of embarrassment. His tongue swelled in his mouth, the moisture evaporating and causing his cheeks to feel like sponges.

Jayla’s eyes lifted and Silas felt like he might pass out. What is this? she asked, handing back the book.

A prophecy, he said.

You don’t really believe this stuff...right?

Silas shrugged, putting the notebook below the faulty board. I don’t remember writing it, he replied, I woke up holding the notebook.

That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?

He snapped the board back into place. Yeah, he said, That’s why I’m putting it in the library. People should read it. Getting back to his feet, he pulled his bag over his shoulder.

You’re kind of scaring me, Jayla said, taking a step back.

A laugh bubbled up Silas’s throat. It’s just a story, babe.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, they navigated through the library and emerged into the hallway. The first bell rang, and Silas walked Jayla to class. He kissed her on the cheek, and she blushed.

You’re okay, right? she asked, You’d tell me if you needed to talk or anything?

Silas smiled. Babe, I’m fine - I promise. Go to class. He kissed her again. I told you, it’s just a story. He offered her a small smile as she walked away.

SIGN 1:

Self-Governed with no other Master

Chapter 1

2018

Malcolm Farley’s parents, Ben and Jayla, had a habit of fighting every week. His dad traveled a lot for work, but each time he came home it was a new brawl. This time, instead of taking place upstairs in their room per the usual, the pair had chosen to battle in the living room while Malcolm sat on the couch.

His eyes passed over one parent to the next, listening to them trade insults. Ben was short with red hair and a blond mustache. There were freckles covering his forearms and splashed across his nose. Malcolm looked nothing like him. He didn’t mirror Jayla’s blond hair, pointed nose, and thin lips either. Malcolm seemed to have materialized from nothingness inside his mother’s womb.

Ben jabbed his finger in Jayla’s chest, yelling with enough force to fling spit from his open mouth. Jayla’s fists knotted in her hair as she cried, red-faced and sniveling. Watching his mother’s pain was the worst part of his parents’ fights.

Growing up listening to disagreements like this had left him desensitized. Typically, he didn’t care that they were fighting. He didn’t worry about what might happen to their family. Malcolm just waited for the loud noises to stop, and for his parents to move so he could watch television.

Eyes glued to his parents, he watched as his dad swung with his right hand, connecting with his mother’s eye and knocking her to the floor. Her sobs were soul-crushing to hear, and Malcolm felt chest pains like his heart had broken. His dad kicked her in the ribs, shouting for her to be quiet.

This had happened before, but never directly in front of Malcolm. He’d seen bruises on his mother, and she told him to let it go. It was his mother’s business, and he tried to stay out of it. He couldn’t, though, not when he had to watch it first hand.

Malcolm climbed over the back of the couch, trying to make slow movements that wouldn’t draw his dad’s attention. He slipped through the living room and into the kitchen while his mother’s screams echoed off the walls. Going to the sink, he opened the top drawer to the left. Silver utensils gleamed below the white lights. Malcolm grabbed the meat cleaver and walked back to the living room.

Ben was panting in the middle of the floor, hands on his hips as he walked in circles. He rotated toward Malcolm, his tongue stuck between his gums and cheek. Jayla was cowering in the corner, leaning against the wall with her hands over her face. Her sobs were physical pangs Malcolm felt lashing at his insides.

The silence around Jayla’s cries was thick. It seemed to amplify her woeful sounds. Ben’s dark eyes dragged away from Jayla, landing on Malcolm’s face. Looking down, Ben’s eyes locked onto the cleaver in Malcolm’s hand.

What are you doing with that? Ben asked, planting his feet. What do you think you’re gonna do with it? He squared his shoulders, posting up like he could stop Malcolm with some wrestling move.

Malcolm positioned himself in front of his mother. She was crying in a heap on the floor, covering her face with her hands. It was a strange feeling to look into his dad’s chestnut eyes, knowing the light was about to leave them.

It felt like his body was moving without any guidance from his brain. He felt detached from his movements, as though his true self hovered in the kitchen while his body wreaked havoc. Right arm raising, Malcolm brought the cleaver down, swinging at his father’s neck. Ben tried to dodge the blow, but Malcolm connected - metal sinking into flesh and blood spurting onto Malcolm’s face.

Ben gagged with an open mouth, blood visibly pooling in his throat. The cleaver was wedged between his neck and shoulder, stuck in his collar bone. Rearing back with all his might, Malcolm yanked the cleaver out of his father’s body.

Like Malcolm had imagined, he saw the light in Ben’s eyes fading out. Ben staggered, lingering on his feet for a few moments before dropping to his knees. Malcolm raised the blade again, striking Ben’s neck once more. The gurgling noises continued as Ben fell, face first, onto the hardwood floor. Deep red blood oozed around the body, covering Ben’s face and seeping toward Malcolm’s mother.

Looking to the corner of the room, he found Jayla sitting on her knees, hands clamped over her mouth.

You okay? Malcolm asked, staring at her swollen eye.

She nodded, removing her hands and placing them in her lap. I can’t believe you did that, she said, You saved me.

I can’t believe you didn’t try and stop me.

Jayla got to her feet, leaning on the wall for support. Well, she said, I felt like you were doing the right thing, if I’m honest. She smoothed her blond curls back from her face, tying her hair in a low ponytail. Ben wasn’t your real father, she admitted with a hushed voice.

Malcolm’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. He was glad to hear it. It was fairly obvious, though, and something Malcolm had always wondered about. Ben’s red hair and freckles looked like the opposite of Malcolm’s dark hair and creamy complexion.

When Malcolm started high school, he found a left-handed notebook in the library. It talked about the devil leaving hell. Malcolm had always identified with the things in that book. It seemed like it had been written about him, and killing Ben proved it.

Staring down at Ben’s bloody corpse, Malcolm didn’t feel anything. He wasn’t sad or upset. Thankful, was more so what he felt. Glad the deed was done.

Malcolm thought about the four signs written in that left-handed notebook. He was showing them all. He had all the characteristics required.

Self-governed with no other masters.

Malcolm was independent, now more than ever. He had killed an abuser, ended a master. Jayla’s mothering style wasn’t controlling, and she had never tried to rule over Malcolm before. They shared a mutual trust and respect, he thought. Malcolm was free to be his own man now.

2.  Merciless when antagonized.

The term merciless seemed accurate for his crime. It was surprising the cleaver was sharp enough to cut through so deeply. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was stronger because Malcolm was wielding the weapon.

3.  Impervious to the laws of man.

Whether he could escape the law or not remained to be seen. However, he was going to try like hell to avoid attention from the police. Jayla was a tidy woman, and Malcolm expected she wouldn’t mind helping him clean up. A favor for a favor.

4.  Unremorseful.

Malcolm wasn’t sorry about anything other than the mess.

Chapter 2

Tanner Fox woke up with his pants off and his older brother, Duke, sitting on his chest. Duke was facing Tanner’s feet, holding a lit cigarette. His greasy black hair hung to his shoulders, his grey sweater was stained and dirty. Duke put one of his hands on Tanner’s left thigh.

Don’t scream, Duke said, If you scream I’ll kick you in the face.

Gritting his teeth, Tanner felt hot pain searing into the skin of his right thigh. Closing his eyes, he held his breath until the pain lessened. Duke’s weight shifted, he lowered and Tanner felt the stinging once more. He groaned through gritted teeth, releasing a slow breath.

This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through, Duke said, picking up his cigarette and leaning back, pressing on his brother’s chest. Mom never helped me, and now she can’t help you. It’s funny, isn’t it?

The pain returned, scorching and radiating over his skin. He gritted his teeth again, trying to move his arms but Duke had trapped them below his legs. Picking up the cigarette, Duke got off of his brother.

This never happened, Duke said. He slapped his brother in the mouth with an open hand.

Tanner nodded as his brother turned and left the room. His legs shivered, and he took a few deep breaths. Tanner tried to calm himself, sitting up to look for his pants.

Leaning over the side of his bed, Tanner grabbing his pajama pants off the floor. He slid his legs into them, covering himself despite the irritation it brought to the new wounds. Laying back, he closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep.

Soon, his brother and everyone else would see the truth. Tanner was the true devil, and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before other people started to realize.

His older brother might have control for the moment, but it wouldn’t always be that way. Duke would falter eventually, and as soon as Tanner found a weak spot he would strike. Tanner had to bide his time until then.

***

The morning came, and Tanner’s eyes were still open. Picking up his phone from the bedside table, he texted a mature acquaintance. 

Tanner: Are you available?

7:45 a.m.

He waited a few minutes, wondering if she was awake. This acquaintance was somewhat of a mutual friend if you were twisted. Tanner went to school with her