Click here for the original story posted by Yólotl in Spanish
“Be good buddy, if not, the little red-coloured one could drag you down with him to hell”.
I’m tired of being sent to hell all the time. First, you want my people be with you in your orgies, at the time you decide to lie and kill. Then you wash your hands and say you really did not want anything that you asked for before.
And there is no age or profession for this. I have been called by children, women, businessmen and spiritual folks, skeptics and mystics. Yes, human beings, all of you have a time in your life when feeling disappointed because goodness is not rewarding, you break bad and shout the prohibited names.
Once, from a little village, I was called by a tiny and respected old woman. She prayed to me, very dedicated to her rosary, invoking me like I was Him, you know, the Merciful Lord in person. “Come to me” she repeated whispering very convinced, while her fingers slipped from one bead to the next, but in the counter direction that she always used to do when someone else was watching.
I decided to visit her. She was the idoneous prey. One of those mothers who never wanted to be mother, covered by gray hair, problems, and fantasies that I could bring life to. “Come to me” she said, sure that my answer would be immediate.
I arrived just before dawn without anyone having recognized me on the road. She met me at the window clutching the rosary. When she felt my presence, all the fear came to her, she was about to repent, but her desires had been kept for too long and they fought against her to go on with what she had started. Her hands, still hooked to the lace of beads, slid anxiously.
I waited at the foot of her window, smoking and watching sideways the shadow walking behind the curtain. Inside, the rest of the family slept, but not for long: they would soon get up to start their day in the fields; children and grandfather would plow the soil, girls and women would dry the grain. The old woman knew that she had to hurry up or would never see me again; those who call me know that the first ray of morning sun marks the deadline.
“Come to me,” she said suddenly and opened the window. With her broken teeth, pursed mouth, sunken eyes among wrinkles, and with the extended string, she stared at me.
A few seconds after, the cock crowed, It was her last chance, I was about to leave and she had not asked yet for anything. She felt depressed, confused; trembling, she approached my ear and finally dared to ask for my help.
─ I want to be strong ─ she said – I want to have a loud voice, that people hear me when I speak. She took my hand: “I want that nothing hurts me, nor my body, nor my bones, nor my sadness. I want to be yours – she said finally panting and squeezed me with all her soul anxiety.
Oh yeap, human beings always do such kind of requests. You prefer to live condemned than die. You believe that sacrifice is a way of soul purification… but not if you ask for this to a devil, man! Not if it is someone like me who sells the cure…
I touched each of the beads of the rosary that the old woman had prayed to me. Then I caressed her pupils with my breath, I shook her in my chest, and I got into her body with a flaming kiss.
At dawn, we jumped up. There was much to do in town! My new wrinkled hands of old woman were dedicated to rip up the divine images hanging everywhere. My withered old woman pursed lips slandered with piercing screams those who passed outside the house. My feet of crazed old woman killed chickens and injured children, and my eyes, bulging and burning, frightened men and women. One of the ladies who ran to the temple brought with her a priest.
Oh poor little and weak God servants! They always punish themselves with devotion every time they dare to imagine us. We scare them more than anything even when they have been banned to believe in us. This one, brought with him a bottle of holy water, his white robe and an aura of fear. He was pretty nervous to see me in the eyes in this old body, to feel my strength in these wrinkled hands.
The entire village gathered around us. I heard children singing praises; I saw churchy women brandishing pictures of the Virgin Mother against me; and the goody-goody men trying to impress me with prayers to the Sacred Heart. They were all against me. The priest headlining the group of sanctimonious, was sprinkling his harmless stupid water over me and moistening the dry skin of my old lady-mount, cooling both of us.
I decided to have fun, enjoying all the fear I caused with my presence. I used my old skinny arm to throw the priest over and over against the walls. I laughed when I managed to spit with my grandmother’s tongue one liter of nasty foam and when I changed my old nostrils in a pair of spooky bleeding gutters. I made a doctor doubt his science. I played to create mystery, leaving the old body asleep for unpredictable moments and then shaking it violently. I groaned, cursed, I gave them a good clawing and swipes. I mourn many of them and made faint down the others. Everything from the body of my great old lady who was feeling really in fullness.
Desperate, those people chose to take drastic measures, and as I was really tired, I got rid of my old worn suit and I slipped out making them believe that they were able to exorcise me. The village mayor ordered some buddies to shoot, and the old lady body fell down beside me without breath. She has no more pain in her body, her bones, or her sadness. It was done; I had done it. Once again, I went back to hell… but those people… they are still having trouble to explain why the mayor ordered to kill that so sweet and beloved grandmother.