Page 14 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

Rolling my eyes at my own ridiculousness, I take the plunge and rip the fold of the envelope, bending it back with my lower lip clamped between my teeth. I no longer hesitate when I tilt the envelope upside down and the contents spill over the table, curiosity burning through the worry. Discarding the envelope, I place it on my bag before leaning forward to better search through the various clippings from books, magazines, written documentaries, and... is that a piece of theBible?What the fuck is this?

Shuffling the papers around, I pick them up and skim over their contents. They don't make sense to me. Some are merely ramblings of people who claim to have had demonic encounters or experienced something that would be considered supernatural. There are stories about Satan or the devil, Beelzebub or Mephistopheles, each piece of paper containing some form or name for the personification of evil himself. I fan more out across the table with a furrowed brow, finding extremely graphic photos and small drawn depictions of Satan. There are old black and white photos of supposed sightings, things that are enough to creep out the fainthearted. What even is all of this? And why the hell was it stuck to my bedroom door? Who would want me to see all of this?

An elderly man walks by on his way to the coffee shop, innocently glancing down at the craziness spread over my table. I'm too slow to move some of the more pornographic photos of the devil, the beast in several compromising positions. I quickly become the recipient of an incredibly disgusted glare, and I can’t even blame the man. I’d give myself one if the tables had been turned. Embarrassment fills me from top to fucking bottom, my body growing warm as my cheeks heat. The clippings aren'tmine,but that does not change how mortified I am that the old guy now thinks they are. That’s just great.

Deciding some privacy is in order, as is saving what little dignity I have left, I pull the laptop from my bag. I gather all the clippings, shuffling them near me before placing my laptop on the table and opening it so it acts as a barrier, keeping the papers hidden from prying eyes. This is Salem, after all. There are always prying eyes around here.

Safely out of sight, I turn back to the photos, my focus going straight to them. There's one clipping describing, in thorough detail, a woman who believed she was visited by Satan in her dreams. There are some things in there I’d consider far too much information as to what occurred in those dreams, and I skim over those with reddened cheeks, a snicker, and a shake of my head. Among the porno pieces are stories about heinous crimes committed by the embodiments of evil claiming they were ruled by some form of Satan.

Bible pages that include stories about Adam and Lilith are included with the rest, so I take a closer look at those, sure I won’t find any raunchy descriptions there. I read quickly, learning that Lilith was the wife of Satan. It’s about the story of when Adam wouldn't consider her an equal, and pretty much everything that surrounds them. It's bizarre, but the one thing they all seem to have in common is this:the devil.

Someone is clearly trying to draw my attention to Satan, but I have no idea what the purpose could be. They’re just silly stories. Why would someone go through the trouble of breaking into my home and sticking these things to my door? Who would have done something like that?

Dropping back harshly against my chair, I cross my arms over my chest, my lip still caught between my teeth. I don't understand it. I mean, it's undeniably creepy, especially given that it's the day after I attempted to speak to spirits. But there’s something wholly chilling about this. Nothing is adding up right. Does the creep who pinned them to my door know what I was doing? Surely not. Only Mom knew, but could it be that big of a coincidence? Or completely feasible that the two occurrences are related? Maybe I really am going crazy.

Before I can ponder more on it, the screen of my laptop is pushed down and I'm forced to dive over the disturbing collection of photographs to stop anyone else from getting an eyeful. I gather them quickly and shove them in my notebook without preamble, some bending awkwardly before I slam it shut. With the photos concealed, I look up to see my visitor.

I wish I hadn't.

"Hey, loner. Where's Bum Boy?" asks the annoyingly high-pitched voice that belongs to none other than Avril Perry. My eyes zero in on her vile little smirk, her perfectly shaped eyebrows curved in a daring arch. I’d love nothing more than to slap the drawn on slugs right off her cheeto-like face. Her platinum blonde hair has apparently been styled by the best, though it looks like she’s gone too long under the blow dryer. She looks like Barbie's older, sluttier sister. Red lips plump with fillers, dull green eyes framed by fake eyelashes that look too heavy for her eyelids to actually hold them up, and a nose that’s seen the end of a surgeon's knife more times than necessary. Not to mention her stick thin frame and tits that look stuffed with melons. Ugh, she couldn’t be more cliche. Actually, that’s a lie. I’m sure if anyone could find a way, it would be Avril.

Well, there goes my good day.

"If your derogatory term is referring to Adam, then that's none of your business. Now, if that's all you wanted, Avril, you can be on your merry way and bless me once more with your absence," I answer with a smile that screams ‘fuck off before I cut you.’

I stuff my notebook in my bag without giving her a second glance, making sure the pictures are completely hidden. The last thing I need is for the major bitch who is still standing by my table to catch wind of them. I had the misfortune of having to deal with her through my teen years, so I’d consider that enough torment for now.

"Now, now, Willow. No need for hostilities. I'm just curious about the whereabouts of your little friend since the two of you are practically joined at the hip. God only knows neither of you have any other friends," she snarks with a grin that rivals a shark.

I don't let her faze me, even as appealing images of shoving her into a tank filled with sharks infiltrate my mind. Not that I’d make that happen. Avril the chode sucker is untouchable in this town. Her father made sure of that.

Whereas I grew up here, Avril Perry moved here when she was fourteen. It didn’t take her long to think all of Salem should bow at her feet when her rich daddy showed up with her in tow, fresh and free from a nasty divorce from her gold digger mama. Since her daddy makes bank, and things are practically given to Avril on a silver platter, she seems to think she can say what she wants without repercussions. Where Avril doesn’t, I know how to take a hit without letting it affect me; I’ve had enough years of practice since their arrival.

"And what a mighty fine thing that is since we really wouldn't want to risk befriending someone like you, would we? Now, if you're done, I'd really like to finish my coffee without your nauseating perfume clogging my senses. I'd hate to vomit Tracey's brilliantly made java all over your pretty pink shoes." I don't know if they're pink, I haven't looked. But if I know Avril like I think I do, they're not only pink, but they're high in the heel department, covered in rhinestones, and glittering like disco balls. I don't think she actually realizes there are other color shoes available in the world, but I won’t be the first to tell her as much. I doubt she’d listen anyway.

Avril's smile drops instantly, a scathing sneer appearing in its stead. Her boldly painted lips curl back in distaste, though she doesn’t say anything. Poor girl is probably wracking that pea-sized brain of hers to think of a worthy comeback. I raise my eyebrow, hoping she’ll leave instead. If only I was so lucky...

"Fine. But don't think that won't cost you. I know a lot of people in this town,little Willie. My father is friends with people in high places. I won't let you get away with talking to me like shit. Remember that," she warns.

I outright laugh, the noise bursting from my mouth before I can catch it. Her cheeks turn a ruddy red with agitation, glossy lips parting to drill in some more threats, but I beat her to it. "I sincerely hope that you remember I don't give a damn, Avril. You've been threatening me with your daddy's connections for years. I like to think I’ve grown immune. In fact, I consider it my superpower. So, please fuck off and take your stank ass perfume with you. My coffee is getting cold, and I don't have time to interact with people who have the mentality of a fifteen-year-old instead of twenty-five. I know eleven-year-olds with more maturity in their pinky fingers."

The sound of her teeth grinding together is audible from where I sit, but I tamp down my humor because I really do want her to leave me be. There's only so much of Avril's presence I can tolerate before a headache forms as the sudden urge to throttle her overcomes me. I don’t think the people of Salem will take too kindly to me beating the ass of their town princess.

"Fuck you, Willie," she seethes, moving away from my table and starting to walk away. Before she takes too many steps, she twists her head around and snarks, "Oh, and please do remind the fag that the Bible says it's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. God won't accept him if he's shacking up with dudes."

That little bitch.

My nostrils flare, and my temper rises. That was below the belt, and I bet that little cock gobbler knows it. Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth, I cool my temper enough to appear calm. She knows she’s rattled the angry beast inside me, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of witnessing the aftermath.

I work harder to fix the façade I put in place, and my lips turn up in a smirk of my own as I say, "I’ll be sure to tell him, Avril, but in the meantime you might want to take your own advice if you want to get to thegreat kingdom above. I’m sure getting finger fucked by Katie Lane behind the old stable is considered homosexual too, if I’m not mistaken. Or perhaps getting a mouthful of Abby Lancaster’s muff at the old mill would do the trick. At any cost, I’m sure Adam would much prefer Steve over Eve. You can keep Eve for yourself. Who needs God’s approval anyway, am I right? Go dance with the devil or whatever."

I’ve never enjoyed witnessing someone turn every shade of red on the spectrum before right this moment. Her orange complexion quickly turns into that of a tomato, and I grin. If she were a cartoon, I’m sure there would be steam coming out of her ears, her nose huffing and puffing like a panting bull.

Trying to save face, she yells, “Fucking liar. I’ll tell my father about this. Just because you're a psycho satanist doesn’t mean we all have to be. Shame on you!”

“Be sure you do tell him. I’m positive he’ll be interested to know that his daughter is a disgusting homophobe who occasionally likes to secretly slap flaps with the ladies. There’s nothing wrong with that. Whatever rubs your bean, babe,” I goad, flashing her a straight-toothed grin like the annoying little shit I can be. There’s something so satisfying about getting one up on Avril Perry. It soothes something in my antagonistic black soul.

Avril growls through clenched teeth before turning on her heel and storming off in a huff. Willow, one. Avril, zero. Who doesn’t love knocking down homophobes on a bright sunny morning? I sure do. Especially when the hypocritical gnat tries to use religion to justify it. Tracey is a devout Christian, but she still thinks the world of Adam.There’s always one in every bunch, and she just got her ass handed to her by an atheist. Brilliant.

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