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The Tempter [M]
REVAMP SAYS CHALLENGE
Poetry Prompt #12
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The Tempter [M]; Open
Topic Started: Sep 1 2013, 12:12 PM (494 Views)
Jessi
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DOES SOMETHING

Story Title: The Tempter
Rating: M (To be on the safe side)
Warnings: Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme, Violence, Mild Profanity
Specific areas of concern: Flow, plot, characterization, flow, flow, flow :P
Multiple Critiques? Sure!
Text to be critiqued:


Sister Helen’s dark eyes narrowed as they focused on Rebecca, the promise of punishment held in the deep frown lines of her mouth.

“Miss Easton, I’m pleased to know that you had time for Our Father this afternoon.” Sister Helen’s sour voice caused Rebecca’s face to flush. “You will see me after service.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Rebecca answered, shoving a short lock of her dark hair behind her ear.

She hated to get called out in front of the others, who definitely knew that she was going to be whipped after the service. All eyes in the room were directed at her, so she kept her head buried behind her Bible.

“Psst, Rebecca.” It was a boy’s voice.

She ignored him. Talking to a boy would result in further punishment.

“Rebecca. Hey, Rebecca.”

His voice grew more persistent, harsher with every call of her name. She had to make him stop.

When she looked up to tell him to shut up, she was faced with nothing but an empty seat. Shaking her head, Rebecca forced her concentration back to the passage of the Bible about a blind man being healed by Jesus. She wished that one day she would truly know the will and glory of her Saviour like those who were alive when he walked the Earth, but for now she was stuck believing on a whim, a feeling, a hope. Her faith was forced, the product of years listening to father’s sermons and beliefs. And, the beatings she received if she ever spoke against them.

“I can bring you closer to Him,” that same male voice spoke again. This time, Rebecca didn’t wait to glance up. Still, no one there. “I can show you His way. Our way.”

“Who are you?” Rebecca’s heart thudded in her chest, palms moist and slipping on the plastic cover of her Bible. Hearing voices was a bad sign, a sign of the Devil infesting the brain.

“I am a servant of the Master,” the boy said. The twist of the words he used spoke of another language, one Rebecca could easily understand though she never heard it before. “I am here to save you, Rebecca.”

“I’m saved already,” she answered. Her whisper seemed to boom through the small service room.

“Yes, well, that’s to be decided by a much more powerful entity.” Sister Helen’s derision broke whatever connection Rebecca had to the servant of the Master. “I would like each of you to reflect on Matthew’s words and equate them with your own trials in life and how the power of Jesus and the Holy Spirit has healed you in turmoil. Be prepared to share tomorrow afternoon when we meet again.”

Rebecca spent her nights alone with God and scripture anyway – the way her father taught her. It kept her from being greedy and possessive and vain. Father raised her to know that the meaning of life is to get to the end where Heaven would wait with open arms. Rebecca didn’t have friends or electronics like the other kids in school. She never ate more than she needed, never wanted more than she had. Her hair was cropped short, clothes were plain, and make-up was not allowed in the house. Obeying the scripture and honoring her father’s many rules were essential in pleasing the Lord. She liked to reflect on those simple things.

People began clearing out of the room, leaving Rebecca to her post-service meeting with Sister Helen. She left her books on the chair beside her and, with tentative steps, approached the Sister.

“On Monday you received five lashings for your problem with punctuality and it has not sunk into that thick head of yours.” The Sister turned away from Rebecca. “It is your father’s wish that I administer these lashings, Rebecca. We are worried about your relationship with God.”

“Your relationship with God is strong,” a velvet smooth voice reasoned in her head. “Do not let her tell you otherwise. She is a liar. She is a sinner, Rebecca.”

Rebecca’s blue eyes widened as she took in the wimple and the long black garb that always shrouded Sister Helen's body. I don’t understand how she’s a sinner.

“She beats you into submission; how is that fair to His children?” His question was silky, but there was an undercurrent of cunning. “I can show you how to become better than her. Better than all of them.”

“I don’t want to be better than anyone.” Rebecca ground her teeth and hissed through the tight space left between.

“I should hope not, Miss Easton,” Sister Helen told her. “It is not up to us to determine who we are better than. That is for the Lord alone.”

Sister Helen’s trite inflection destroyed Rebecca’s composure. It was not the first time she found herself in this position. Falling to her knees at the altar of the service room, Rebecca braced her hands against the wooden lattice before her and bowed her head. Sister Helen’s cold hands moved along Rebecca’s shoulders, slithered down the sides of her shirt then dragged Rebecca’s white blouse over her head and tossed it onto the wood next to her face. Her bra was snapped free and that, too, was thrown aside.

She waited for the familiar release and crack of the whip. Rebecca gritted her teeth and sucked in a deep breath. Her back spasmed and her hands clenched the wood, turning her knuckles white. She deserved the penance that she was going to receive. Her bare chest reacted to the chill in the room and Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut. Shame and anticipation fueled the bubbling acid in her stomach.

“Let me help.” Authority ruled the voice this time. The tone rich with anger and desire. “We can stop her.”

No. This is my punishment for breaking the trust of the Lord. I deserve this. Rebecca’s thoughts were as shaky as her hands, the wooden lattice rattling in consort.

“You will count along with me in clear speech,” Sister Helen instructed.

The familiar uncoiling of the whip caused another shiver of fear to rack Rebecca’s half naked body. Leather slapped against the ceramic tile floor. Sister Helen exhaled a sharp burst of air. The lattice creaked under Rebecca’s grasp as she prepared for the first strike against her back.

“One!”

The whip struck Rebecca like a hot knife being dragged down her skin. She cried out; her body stiffened. The lattice blurred beneath her tears as she gripped the wood with all her strength. The count would start over if she passed out.

“One.” Rebecca forced the word out.

“I can show you how to be powerful. To never feel the sting of her whip ever again,” the serpentine voice in her head hissed.

Rebecca willed the voice to disappear, but her pleadings were jagged, dismembered, and senseless. Jumbled in the whirlwind of her disjointed, desperate thoughts were fantasies of jumping from her kneeling position and snapping the Sister’s neck with her hands.

“Let me help you,” the voice instructed her, exhibiting power over Rebecca’s thoughts by dismissing the nausea and fear that greased her insides. “We will stop this. Together.”

“Two!” Rebecca squeezed her eyes closed and twisted her body in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

“I don’t hear you counting along, Rebecca,” Sister Helen said, an almost gleeful lilt in her voice.

“Two,” Rebecca whispered through tears.

“Let’s try that one again.” The whip cracked. “Two.”

“Invite me in, Rebecca. Invite me in...”

The voice was soft, soothing, where all that Sister Helen offered was pain and suffering. It was trying to help her, to relieve her of the constant, terrorizing belief that she was going to lose her path to God. The voice was sympathetic. Sister Helen was cruel. Every beat that passed between the first whipping and the second morphed Rebecca’s perception, painted the Sister as a monster with unforgiving black eyes and a ruthless scowl.

The voice was saving her from the monster.

Rebecca nodded. Her thoughts begged for release, for the Servant of the Master to fix this – fix it now. Make the Sister stop. Now.

Rebecca surrendered her control to the voice.

The thwack of leather against the ceramic floor once again filled her ears, but this time Rebecca didn’t feel fear. She was stronger. Pulsing with energy.

Confidence swarmed like adrenalin through her. Her vision was clearer, like a dense fog had been lifted. Blood pumped faster, quickening the pace of her heart. Bones jutted and bent at odd angles, and her muscles swelled. She was powerful.

She pushed away from the lattice and got to her feet. The crucified Christ on the wall in front of her smiled benevolently.

A smile darkened Rebecca's face.

Her tears were gone. No more.

“What are you doing?” Sister Helen demanded. “You kneel! Accept your punishment. You… You accept it like a good little girl! I said… kneel.”

A laugh, deep and rough, grated Rebecca’s throat. The whip cracked but her reflexes were faster. She spun and caught the whip. There was no pain, no stinging or burning despite the small drops of blood forming on her skin.

Sister Helen gasped and dropped the whip.

Rebecca launched herself at Sister Helen, the growl of a beautifully ancient dialect flowing like syrup from Rebecca's lips.

Sister Helen’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widened.

“I said no more, bitch,” Rebecca hissed.

She looped the whip around the Sister's neck. The older woman struggled but Rebecca pulled the leather tighter and tighter.

Sister Helen gagged. Her eyes bulged and her tongue slipped past her cracked lips as she struggled to catch a breath. One, final raspy attempt to obtain air and then she fell to her knees and smashed face first onto the floor.

Calm flooded through Rebecca.

The voice was gone.

It was just her, standing over the body of Sister Helen.

Panic surged through her like a violent, crashing wave. Guilt and shame nested in her mind.

She only wanted to stop the whipping. It never should have gone this far. Not far enough to kill.

“What did you do?” It was just a whisper, but with each repetition the words grew louder, stronger.

No voice answered. No meaning found her. Rebecca’s gaze flickered from the dead woman at her feet to the cross hanging on the wall. What had she done?

Rebecca grabbed her blouse and ran.

She sprinted down the road to her home, slammed through the front door and raced up the stairs to her bedroom. She locked the door and cowered in the corner, ignoring her father’s worried calls thundering from the hallway.

She tugged at the roots of her hair, shouting over and over at the voice, the entity that had taken her over and killed Sister Helen. She had trusted him when she was weak and in pain even though she knew the voice should be ignored, but the agony slicing across her back had been too much to bear.

Shaking, crying and screaming was all Rebecca could do. If she tried to push herself further against the wall, she’d go through it. She yanked out chunks of her hair, thinning her already short locks.

The door smashed open, the lock shattering.

Rebecca’s father rushed in and gathered her into his arms and begged to know what was wrong. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words that would admit she’d broken the first rule of God.

Her father scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, placing her gently on top of her covers.

He placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

“You’re running a fever.” Concern rolled through his words. “Tell me what happened.”

The torrential flood of angry, scared, rattling thoughts sent sharp aches to her temples, all flashing through her mind like a strobe light. Sister Helen’s dead body. Her lifeless eyes. The whip wrapped around her neck. The popping sensation under Rebecca’s hands just before Sister Helen fell to the floor.

“I don’t know.” She craned her neck away from him. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Are you hurt?”

Rebecca whimpered.

“Answer me young lady,” her father’s voice quaked.

She trembled.

“Tell him to leave.” It was back.

Her eyes flew open.

The fear over what she had done opened her up to the voice again. His control was instantaneous.

“Leave.” Rebecca snarled at her father, flying off of the bed with a speed she never knew she possessed.

“Excuse me, young lady, I don’t think that’s the way that you speak to your-”

“Get out of my room!” Her throat tore as she roared the words.

The bespectacled man, whose purpose in her life was flashing and fading, ran towards her and gripped her wrists.

Her eyes darted to his hands and she wrenched herself free, pushing him with all her strength. He stumbled; the back of his knees collided with the bed and he toppled on top of it. Her body felt odd again, like it was contorting to fit another size, a different shape.

“Young lady, I will give you thirty seconds to explain yourself and… What are you doing?”

Rebecca climbed up his torso and sat on top of him.

“You’re a bad priest.” She spat in his face then emitted a howling, haunted laugh. Rebecca felt her grin at the bottom of her eyes, crinkling the corners and narrowing her sight. “Naughty, bad man.”

“What are you saying?” The terror in her father's voice ripped through the entity’s will and cut into Rebecca’s sense. “Rebecca!”

She scurried off of her father and pressed herself against the wall. Rebecca shook her head, trying to right herself, to make everything the way it was before. The angles of her body bulged and convulsed. Her feet tried to climb the flat surface of the wall as her nails dragged against its surface and chipped into jagged pieces.

“Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?” Rebecca beat her palms into the sides of her head.

“Why are you doing this?”

The cool, slithery voice spoke through Rebecca’s mouth this time.

“I am Vetis. I am truth. I am everything that you have wanted and couldn’t seek for yourself.” Her tongue snaked out and licked her cheek, her eyes narrowed and a grin slithered across her lips.

Rebecca pushed against the constraints of Vetis. He was stronger than her, more powerful than anything she had ever encountered in her limited experience. She understood what Vetis was at the same moment her father shouted:

“Demon!” Pastor Easton shot from the bed and darted to his daughter. He pulled a silver chain from around his neck and thrust it into her face. Their eyes met and Rebecca snarled. “By the power of Christ I compel you! Demon Vetis be gone from the flesh of this innocent child!”

The dangling crucified Jesus swung side to side, faster and faster. With every movement sweltering heat rose within her body. She was being burned alive. Screaming through tears, she grabbed the charm and thrust it into the side of her father’s face.

Heavy breathing echoed through the room.

She kicked the man in his groin, smiling at the crunch of his arm as he slammed to the floor.

“You hold no power in Christ,” Vetis snapped, his tongue flicking through his lips. “She’s mine now.”

“Becca!” The pastor yelled from the ground, holding its arm like the frail human that it was. “He’s the Tempter. He is lying to you! Don’t listen to what he says. Fight him.”

“Look what I can make her do, Daddy.”

Vetis turned and rushed the wall. Bones cracked. Vetis chuckled as he snapped the bones back into place, the little girl inside of him squealing for her father.

“She’s crying out for you, priest.” Vetis grinned and turned his neck until it popped. “That ought to stop the little prude from wrecking our fun for a while.”

The priest pushed to his feet, glasses askew, blood trickling from his lips.

“If you’re still in there, Becca, listen to me.” The pleading voice held an odd hint of authority. “Do not allow him to stay. Push him out. Fight him with me.”

Vetis clucked his serpent tongue and rolled his eyes back so only the whites were showing.

“She doesn’t want to listen to you anymore. I saved her from you, saved her from that wretched woman who was whipping her like an animal. Did you think she wouldn’t seek us out? Do you think she doesn’t love watching your fear?”

“You will release her,” the priest ordered, all begging gone.

“Oh, we’ve only just started to play, Daddy.” Vetis flexed both arms backwards and dislocated Rebecca's shoulders. “There are so many ways that I can bend her body. Most of them are painful.”

The priest stopped paying attention to Vetis. His sights were fixed on a large, wooden cross hanging on the wall above Rebecca's head.

Vetis leapt and slammed into the wall, knocking the trinket down behind the headboard. When Vetis spun around to gloat, the priest was missing.

Vetis crouched, growling as he scanned the room.

Rebecca wailed as she tried to claw her way free of the demon, her mind slowly shattering.

Vetis whispered in a foreign tongue, calling to the priest, taunting him with unsavory images of his daughter’s abused body. Broken bones. Bloodied, battered and missing chunks of flesh. Her fingers green and purple, bent to point at the ceiling. A swelling, red lump on her neck that looked as if it would pop at any moment.

“I could kill her right now. End it all,” Vetis taunted, slinking around the foot of the bed. “But I am having so much fun rattling her pure, little mind with our game.”

Pulling back the bedspread, he came face to deformed face with the priest.

Yanking him by the collar, Vetis pulled the man from under the bed and tossed him against the wall.

“You don’t have the power to banish me,” Vetis mocked, “you couldn’t even give me a headache.”
Pastor Easton rose from the ground, and leaned against the wall with his bruised body. He held the cross in plain view of Vetis and began to chant.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, our God and our Lord…”

Vetis hissed as if stung by the prose.

The reaction gave the priest renewed vigor.

Rebecca thrashed, scraped and tore at the demon, fighting to be free.

“I confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil-”

Vetis rushed the priest, but the man thrust the cross into his face.

Vetis roared as he was flung back and pitched over the bed. The man approached; their eyes connected as they spewed hatred at one another.

The word of God became louder. Jarring.

Rebecca’s body began to twitch, to morph. A feminine howl erupted from her lips.

“Behold the cross of our Lord; flee band of enemies. We drive you from us, Vetis, infernal invader to innocent flesh!”

Vetis began to dry heave, hunched over. Hoarse roars resonated through the tiny bedroom. Black blood dripped from Rebecca’s lips. Still, Vetis laughed. A crooked smile was wide and high on his pallid face.

“In the name of the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father in Word and Flesh, may you be banished from this house!”

Rebecca fell limp, face first into the mattress.

The priest sank to the ground, his breath heaving, and his grip on the cross tight as he waited.

The demon didn't show itself. When his legs were no longer shaky, he stood and rushed to check his daughter.

Rebecca raised her head at the feel of her father’s familiar, warm hand on her neck. It hurt, but she smiled at him. A normal, teenage girl smile. Chunks of her brown hair were missing from her head, bruises covered her body from head to toe. Several bones were at awkward angles; one in her arm was breaking through the skin.

“Is the demon gone?” Her father asked softly, stroking her hair back from her forehead.

“Yes. I… I think so,” she rasped.

“I’ll call the doctor.”

Rebecca closed her eyes as if she was going to drift off into much needed sleep. Her father kissed the top of her head and left the cross next to Rebecca’s hand.

As his footsteps descended the stairs, Rebecca shifted in the bed.

Rebecca's eyes flew open. Her mouth snaked into an oversized grin.

“I knew you weren’t ready to let me go.”

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