The Devil's Daughter

By Tyeshia Sturgis

Product description

"This mysterious and suspenseful story had me hooked from beginning to end. There are so many twists and turns that keeps the reader fully engaged. At the end of it, you may start to question your own reality. I highly recommend this book." - W. Rodgers

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyeshia Sturgis
• Release date: Apr 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087957623

Tyeshia Sturgis

Driven by a fiery passion and a solid predilection to hook her audience through exciting content, Tyeshia Sturgis aka T.L Sturgis writes relatable stories that resonate well with young and adult readers. She is an ardent and veteran author who uses writing as a way of escaping reality and exploring the creative world, giving her a chance to carry her audience to momentous exhilaration full of lessons and reflections.In a rich and full-time writing journey that spans more than 10 years now, Sturgis has comprehensively written on different genres and themes, the most outstanding among them being psychological thrillers, poetry, and fantasy. She has several titles under her bosom, making her one of the household names in the current American book readership.Sturgis lives in Kentucky, and through her writing talent, she firmly believes that she will consistently stir the creative world with more interesting and engaging books that will keep her audience reading for life.​​

Book preview

THE DEVIL’S

DAUGHTER

SOME OF US ARE BELIEVERS…

SOME ARE NOT

TYESHIA STURGIS

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Copyright © 2021

Tyeshia Sturgis

THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER

SOME OF US ARE BELIEVERS…

SOME ARE NOT

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tyeshia Sturgis

www.tyeshiasturgis.com

First Edition 2021

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For the ones that suffer in silence…

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To the ones that see the light and to the ones that are still blinded. Some of us are believers, and some are not. For the ones that are silenced when you speak the truth and only wish to be heard... there are others out there. Speak your truth for... YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

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"She was like the moon...

part of her was always hidden."

—Unknown

Table of Contents

The Beginning

The Start

The Middle

The Others

The Continuation

The Crime

And After

The Beginning

F

or months now, I’ve been coursing down this long, dark corridor. The fluorescent bulbs in the ward were dimly lit and gleamed above my head. They flickered like a primitive black-and-white movie projector as we walked past them.

As the guards walked along each side of me—a nefarious criminal, walking the green mile to meet his end with old sparky—I knew that the hair on the back of their necks stood up. Mine used to do it as well, but not anymore.

A sense of uneasiness filled the air. Eeriness. A sensation or acknowledgement that we were not alone. That something unseen to the naked eye stalked us like we were prey but hadn’t yet made its move. Fear. But I already knew we weren’t—we never were.

For I had previously experienced it. The thing that was dashing in and out of the shadows and was all around us. No patient, staff, doctor, or guard in this condemned place was safe. A place like this was the perfect feeding ground.

I could tell that some patients had the sight, the spiritual veil over their eyes, just as I did. Being able to see the unseeable. For when I monitored their behavior, I saw the looks that came across their faces.

The involuntary shaking and the profuse sweating. Symptoms of terror. The quick movements of looking over their shoulders when no one was there.

The rocking back and forth as the therapist spoke—they weren’t present. Maybe physically, but mentally they were not there, lost in their distorted nature. I could hear them mumbling underneath their breath as they cupped their hands and bit their nails.

And now and then our eyes would meet. Their eyes screamed Help Me! Save Me! But no words came from our mouths.

For we all knew what was going on. I knew what was haunting us, terrorizing us, and consuming every aspect of our lives. But there was nothing I could do. I just nodded, giving them some reassurance that I felt their pain.

Then you had some that were blind, like the guards. Not blind in the usual sense, but blind in refusing to accept the unknown.

Yes, they heard the sounds, felt the heavy breathing down their necks, heard the whispers in their ears, and saw the darkness that darted in and out the corners of their eyes, but like the staff and the doctors and the rest, they didn’t want to be labeled as we were—rationalized based on what they had seen or heard.

That didn’t make it go away. But blaming all that on scientific reasons made it easier for them to cope. To grasp what was going on without fearing it. They were not crazy, we were, and they found whatever reason they needed to support that. But regardless of their rationale, it was still there.

Not every patient here is crazy or whatever you want to call us. Regardless of what the court or doctor claims us to be. Some of us are just victims that no one wants to listen to. We are forgettable.

The ones you lock away with a key and hide. Similar to people with tuberculous, taken away against their will and hidden in some far away unit.

We were contagious, the ones that needed to hide from the rest of the world—from what the others already knew to be true. Out of sight, out of mind, whether they admitted it or not.

Yes, we are the ones who have been forgotten by the outside world, and for that very reason, the outside world has silenced our voices—bound us.

It’s sad when I think about it. How society views us. A stain on their precious community—the crazies. No one cared for us—not once you’re locked away—and that’s the way they wanted it.

You're nothing but a distant memory, and once you get to this point, they have branded you like a wild animal—a problem the world is better off without. But those people, the outsiders, the liars against our truth, are clueless.

As they continued to escort me down the long hall, I pondered my life here. How I got here and why they all wanted to know.

I could hear the cries and screams coming from other rooms as I passed each door. It’s here! Help me! Stop! Leave me alone! I knew they were being attacked by something that they could not control, and the guards didn’t even flinch.

Hell, they didn’t even care. Those patients—the crazies—were nothing but lost souls, locked away in the dungeon of their minds, or worse.

I must admit, I myself am guilty. Of tuning them out as they we dying. There was nothing I could do to ease their pain. The sorrow, the misery, the agony. After all, I knew what I had to do.

The unthinkable, the crime of all crimes, just to rid myself of my demon that had latched onto me. Hell, I was no one’s savior. I couldn’t even save myself.

Instead, I focused on the lights that continued to flicker as we passed, hoping that they would just fix the damn things—change the bulbs if that was all it was.

An icy chill came over me and goosebumps formed on my arms, causing my hair to rise. But it wasn’t my feelings or my emotions that caused such a reaction. It was the guards that were on each side of me.

I sensed that, even though they kept their faces stone-cold and seeming unbothered, deep down I gave them the jitters. I was the craziest of all the crazies.

The unknown. The story behind my story made them nervous, and even though I hadn’t yet told my truth, my horrendous acts of violence—according to them—made them uneasy.

I knew they despised me. Hated me. I represented something they couldn’t mentally process. But regardless of that fact, this was their job, and they had no choice but to walk alongside their greatest nightmare.

I turn the corner of my lip, forming a small grin. They didn’t know what I was truly capable of, and I knew they had heard the stories in which my name was whispered. For some odd reason, I found delight in that thought.

But the stories that they were told never came from my mouth, nor did they even bothered to ask me my story.

That’s the problem with society today. Everyone is so quick to jump to judgment before they even know the truth. Just because they assumed something didn’t mean that’s what happened or make it true.

But then again, I didn’t make it easy for them either. But why should I? What they accused me of baffled their minds, and they could not understand the reasoning behind it.

Would they have believed me if I had told them the truth? No. People are simple-minded, stuck in their little box.

Why should I waste my breath on something they were only going to weave into the story they wanted? My circumstances would’ve still been the same.

I’m sure of it. I would have still ended up here and would never walk free in society ever again. But I knew this much before I even did what I did.

I felt the guards firmly grip each of my arms as we got closer to our destination. Securely held by the guards, I looked down at their free hands. And as I did, they placed them threatening on their guns. An intimidation tactic, I presumed.

Something about that tickled me, how they thought I could harm them. After all, they had my hands tightly handcuffed behind my back and I had no weapon.

I couldn’t have escaped, even if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t even want to escape. Where would I go? What would I do? I would only run from the very thing that got me here. This had always been my destiny.

But the fact they thought I was that dangerous made me feel invincible—proud. After all, I considered myself a fighter. But not against them. What I had fought against.

A hero. Regardless of what the outside world may think, I was the heroine of my story, and for that I am proud. Proud that I dared to do what others could not and that I was different—a true solider against the devil’s army.

Thinking of what I’ve been through and how I overcame it made me feel as if I was in control. Not physically, but mentally.

I felt grounded by the certainty that what I did was right. And while you could lose your sanity in a place like this, feeling empowered kept me focused and strong.

Having a stable mind, not listening to others or worrying about how they would persecute me, sticking to what I knew to be true—these things have kept me alive this long.

I once again looked at the guards by my side. I knew that with one wrong mov, they were ready to end my life and would probably feel relieved to have me gone. But I didn’t care either way.

I already knew where I was going, when death would come knocking. I knew it doomed me to hell and that the devil, patiently waiting, had a room waiting just for me.

Pondering on it all, deep down I knew my demon hadn’t quite left me alone. Being isolated in here, it didn’t fully attack me. Maybe a couple of voices that I would hear now and then. I’m still here and You have not escaped me would ring in my ears.

But not as loudly as before. It only needed my soul now, but it couldn’t get it without my death. And trying to push me to the brink of suicide has not worked. As long as I have breath in me, I will continue to fight it. I will not give up. Not now. Not ever.

I’m not saying that I didn’t have thoughts of mayhem. Stealing a knife from the cafeteria to slit my wrist or taking my bed sheet and forming a noose to hang myself with.

Yes, chaotic thoughts like those ran through my head, but it was pointless. I shook it off. I knew what my demon was trying to do, and I refused to let him win.

I felt the guards grip me even tighter. The tightening of their grip around my arm only seemed to be an attempt to show dominance. They didn’t need to do any of that.

Maybe their grasping my arm this way was a way of