The Devil’s Fool by Rachel McClellan
When the darkness comes, keep an eye on the light—whatever that is for you—no matter how far away it seems.”
—Jan Berry
Chapter 1
I always knew my father was a monster, but watching him torture someone other than me made me ill.
A girl dangled before him, her pale hands clinging to the rope around her neck while her naked toes struggled to touch ground. I leaned over, high on my perch of a Scotts pine tree, and drew in the crisp night air. Normally the smell of our home’s dense woodlands—a rich earthiness laced with the aroma of an approaching storm—would’ve soothed my nerves, but nothing could calm the growing turmoil in my gut. The scene below wouldn’t allow it.
The towering full moon shined into the forest’s wide clearing, spotlighting four figures as if they were actors in a play. My father stood at the center, pacing near the young girl, stage left. I’d seen her once from the window of our home. She was the daughter of our closest neighbor, almost a mile away. We resembled each other with our honey-blonde hair, though she may have been a year younger. Sixteen, maybe.
Her mother, Madelyn, kneeled to the right, hands clasped together and tears pouring from her eyes. She was wearing only her nightgown.
And finally, there was my own mother—a mere spectator in this production. She sat on a blanket spread out on the grass; her long black gown gathered up, exposing her thin legs all the way to her thighs. Even the chill in the air didn’t seem to faze her. The only thing holding her attention was a jasmine plant resting in her lap, which she repeatedly plucked leaves from and tucked into a leather pouch.
“Please, stop.” The girl coughed, her hands tugging on the rope.
“You’re begging the wrong person,” my father said, his gaze focusing on Madelyn. “You have your mother to blame for this.”
The rope tightened, and the girl’s legs kicked harder. Strangling her wasn’t enough for him; he had her feet only a blade of grass away from the ground, as though her false hope was some sort of sick tease.
As the pain in my stomach worsened, I doubled over. My balance slipped, and I almost lost my precarious seat on the thick limb. But then I vomited, sending my dinner onto the branches below. I worried I might’ve been heard, but a growing wind smothered my sounds. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and inhaled deeply; cold air rushed into my lungs, and for the moment, the pain in my stomach subsided.
The girl tried to speak again, but the noose tightened further, silencing her. For a moment, it sounded as though she’d been trying to say “Mama”.
“Please, Erik,” Madelyn said, her arms outstretched. “I will take back my words. I’ll tell everyone I was drunk, that I mistook what I saw. Please!”
Madelyn had been speaking like this for some time, trying to convince my father that those in his affluent circle of New York’s upper class would easily discount her accusations, but my father only watched the girl, using only the power of his gaze to tighten and release the rope. The noose itself was just as disturbing to look upon as the dangling girl–it hung from the air as if tied to an invisible tree limb.
“Please,” Madelyn begged again. “You’re not devil worshipers. I see that now. You’re more like Gods.” She gasped at this revelation and forced a smile. “Yes, Gods!”
This got my father’s attention. His gaze bore into her, and she cowered. “You people,” he said. “How is it you can still believe in the power of God, but not in the power of anyone or anything else? It wasn’t so long ago that world believed in witches. Why should now be any different?” He leaned close to her face. “But you believe now, don’t you?”
She nodded quickly.
“You thought we were devil worshipers. Why? Because you saw something that frightened you?” He straightened. “We worship no one, understand?”
She nodded again but cried out when the noose constricted even tighter, her daughter’s arms falling limp. “No, please! No one believed me! They thought I was crazy!”
“Damage to our reputation has been done. You made them question us.”
Though I was hidden well behind the pine branches, I saw the girl’s eyes bulge from the pressure around her neck. A blood vessel must’ve have popped, because the whites of her eyes now shined red.
“No! Please,” Madelyn said. Tears spilled onto her bare trembling shoulders. “Take me. Let her go!”
His head held high, my father tugged on the sleeves of his tuxedo, lengthening them around his wrists. By the way he was dressed, he had probably just returned from another fundraising event for the next mayor of New York City. Elections were in one month. It monopolized a large part of my parents’ time.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “A lesson needs to be taught. I need to make sure you never say another word again.”