I am cuffed to the bed again, good. I no longer trust my hands, not after what happened to my sister, that’s what they tell me about. I don’t remember doing that. But her broken bones and missing teeth don’t lie.

The fluorescent lights hum like insects trapped in glass, I sniff again, out of habit. The air smells like something is rotting right under my nose. I know he’s here, again. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to deny it’s real, telling myself it’s just my brain playing tricks, but the whispering starts. I can hear “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

As my eyelids fly open, I see this young lady, curly hair, dark eyes. Probably a student. She sits across from me. Flipping through my chart she doesn’t hear it. Of course she doesn’t.

“Pretty things break so easy,” the voice murmurs, slithering up from the base of my skull. Stop. I bite down my own tongue until I taste blood, the pain helps, sometimes. She looks up and asks, “Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”. I swallow hard, I don’t tell her. They will pump me more pills, more needles.

The voice laughs, a wet gurgling sound right inside my ear. “Tell her the truth. Tell her you want to peel her skill off and see her head on a skewer” It laughs hysterically now. “SHUT UP” I had to scream before I could stop myself, she flinched in front of me and the guard by the door tenses. I force a breath. “Not you” I mutter. “Him”.

She asked who… I sniffed again and the stench is worse now. Sulfur, Decay. “The Devil” I reply. I explain to her he’s trying to crawl inside me through my nose. I see her writing something down. “Delusional, probably. Paranoid Schizophrenic. “She doesn’t believe you.” the voice coos. “But I surely do”.

My nostrils flare. Something moves inside them a wriggling, itching pressure. I thrash the cuffs. “Get out!” I roar, shaking my head like a dog with a rat in its teeth. “Get out!” The doctor stands, backing toward the door. “I think we’re done for today.” She doesn’t seem scared, but I know she is. The voice tells me she’s religious somehow. The Door Clicks shut, I am alone, except I’m not.

The itching spread deeper, into my sinuses, my throat. I gag. “Almost in,” the voice whispers. It won’t give up.

The Next day another doctor comes in, an older one. I knew she wasn’t coming back. She doesn’t have good memories of this place. I know, because the devil knows. And this time he starts questioning this demon. “What is his voice like?” “How do you see him, he has a color?”. When he asks me “Why the nose” I just tell him that evil never knocks, it just invites itself in.

I start telling him things about my past. Fragments that brought me here, now. Now the walls are sweating in heat. The restraint cut deeper each time he jerks against them. The Memories come like poisonous stings

“First the hammered the pulpit. Spittle flew from his lips like holy water. THE DEMONS DON’T HAUNT THE RIGHTEOUS! The prey on the weak, THE DOUBTERS! I was twelve and I was picking scabs from my forearm where the visions made me hurt myself. I hear my mother crying as she sees my sores bleeding again. The pastors continues… “IF EVIL TOUCHS, ASK YOURSELF: WHY DID YOU LET IT IN?”. The Nose was already itching. The Congregation’s Amens vibrated into my bones, my teeth. That night, I pressed a stolen crucifix to my forehead until I could feel the blood running through my eyes, maybe if I bled enough, the voices would drown.

I can hear his pen scratching the paper like a cockroach inside dead tissue.

He wants to know when I felt him for the first time. I smile with split lips, he doesn’t want the real answer. The truth writhes under my skin like a nest of rabid serpents. When the pastor asked who let Satan in our church everyone looked at me. I can see him humming “Religious Trauma”. He doesn’t know that every time I close my eyes, I see the choir’s hymns curdling into despair as I pray.

A Perpetual Motion Latrine I say. The Confessional Booth, the rotten wood smell and the pastor’s breath through the lattice saying that normal boys don’t see the devil. After that day, I was terrified and started sneaking into the church during the night so I could feel protected. I wasn’t. Why god chose me to fight all evils on this world? Is god such a coward?

All I know, this place is my tomb. No matter how hard I pray, I am still cuffed to this bed. I have finally found the devil inside and now I even recognize his voice. He’s now more present than jesus ever was in my life. Haven’t I believed enough? Why do I see only the devil and not god? Why am here stuck with bleeding nostrils? When I had finally felt the holy presence, I saw wounds on my feet and wrists and last thing I remember was my sister’s body, unconscious and my family screaming. I am the deaf and mute spirit. I feel like a pig that needs to drown. I am the torment of King Saul. Let me pray until I am no more.