The Devil's Curse by C.A. Riddell

The devil jumped into Geoffrey's mouth, prodding his tongue with a pitchfork.

"Go on, say it, I dare you. Come on, Geoffrey, where's your..."

"B-bollocks," Geoffrey spluttered and the devil did a little dance.

"What was that, Geoffrey?" Darren Finley mocked. "Don't tell me the little Mammy's boy's finally got up the courage to swear. Oooh, next thing you know he’ll be telling us how he shit in his pants before fucking his slack bitch’s cunt."

With Darren's and the other boys' laughter echoing around the school hall, Geoffrey felt his cheeks turn red.

"But that's not true," Geoffrey continued. "I didn't do anything with Celia Dodds. I didn't kiss..."

"Ah, ah, ah." The devil probed his tongue again. "Remember what the boy said. He didn't once mention kissing, now did he?"

"I didn't f…fuck her." Geoffrey corrected himself, and the devil leapt up high, causing the boy’s lips to quiver in response.

"Sorry about that." The devil laughed. "Minor earthquake. But you're doing fine, son, you're doing fine."

"Hear that lads?" Darren grinned. "He didn't fuck her. Nah, don't suppose he did either. Wouldn't know what to do with it, would ya, Geoffrey? Don't suppose Mammy ever taught ya that. What does she teach ya, then, Geoffrey? How to say a little prayer every night, while she tucks ya in like a baby and gives ya a big sloppy kiss?" Darren took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. "Ya suck yer mammy's titties, too, Geoffrey? Do ya?" he hissed, as Geoffrey gritted his teeth. "Guess she'll need someone to do it for her, with your daddy in prison an' all. What's he in for again? Oh yeah, gave her what was comin' to her, that's what. Dirty whore. Wouldn’t think she’d care after all the pricks she’s had inside her. One more up the ass, with her head down the can, wouldn’t have made much difference, now would it? I thought she’d have enjoyed it. Bet she did she too. Bet she was all moist and throbbing inside, spittin’ shit and begging for more."

"You gonna let him get away with that?" The devil rammed his pitchfork against Geoffrey’s clenched enamel. "Say something, you spineless little bastard. Tell him to f..."

"Bugger off," Geoffrey yelled. "Just bugger off and leave me alone!"

Pushing past the crowd, closing his ears to their sniggers and taunts, Geoffrey ran from the hall. His throat felt scorched, his insides aflame. Already his eyes were red. But he was damned if he was going to cry. Damned if he was going to let Darren Finlay affect him so badly again.

"Damned, indeed." The devil laughed as Geoffrey spotted the Stanley knife in the janitor's open cupboard by the door. "That's it, my boy, easy does it. Pick it up and turn around."

As Geoffrey strode back into the hall, everyone laughed.

"Oooh, look," Darren quipped. "Here's the big man, himself, trying to act all hard. Don't tell me yer gonna use the F word again, Geoffrey? Oooh, wait till Mammy hears about that... Oh geez, what's this? Wanna fight? Well I'm game, if y..."

Silence, then a gasp, and as Darren slumped to the floor, Geoffrey stood back, transfixed. He'd never seen a pitchfork before, let alone held one covered in blood. Where had it come from, he wondered? Maybe Mammy knew...

"Ah, ah, ah," said the devil inside. "Come to Daddy, instead."


Carrie Ann Riddell is a mother of 7 from Scotland. Recently published and forthcoming works can be found in Flash Fiction Offensive, OOTG Magazine, The Cynic Online, and Secret Attic.

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