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  • Writer's pictureRiley Murphy


Note: This is an oldie, but a goodie...

I swear it’s true. You have to picture this. I’m in the process of two sets of edits and finishing up a proposal for a three book series, not to mention the company I have in the house, Christmas around the corner, and all the stuff that comes with that, so I’m a little stressed.

Anyway, there I am, waking up in the wee hours and I find myself going over all the things I either need to buy, put down on paper, or take off the page. Honey is sound asleep to my right and I’m constantly sitting up to look over his huge shoulder to see what time it is.

This is when the dread sets in because the ritual begins. 2am. Darn. 3am. Shit. 4am. Okay, this isn’t funny. 5am. I’m screwed. 6am. Kill me now. 6.58 I fall dead asleep. 7am. Honey scoops me in for a hug and says, “Good morning, Sunshine.” Don’t. Ask. But I’ll give you a clue. There ain’t any rays beaming from me, I can assure you.

This is how it’s been for the past week or so. Only? There’s something I neglected to mention about the ritual. Occasionally, in those dark hours I hear this noise. At first I’m thinking it’s bees that have found a home between my exterior wall and interior one. Not so much buzzing, but something like that. I tried each night to ignore it until it occurred to me. Hey, I've never hear this sound when I’m in our room during the day. WTH?

This is when the author in me gets carried away and I start to dream up all kinds of possibilities. The most probable? I am being haunted by the hounds of hell. They come to visit me each night and whisper in my ear. They’re raspy little voices become clearer. I can actually make out words. OH. MY. GOD. They are here to possess me! What am I going to do?

Well, the first thing I’m going to do is keep all this to myself. I don’t want anyone to know what a freak I am. Second? I’m going to bathe in garlic and borrow a rosary. Only, I think Honey might become suspicious since I hate the smell of garlic and I sleep in the buff so a big honking wood-beaded rosary hanging around my neck might stick out, ya know?

What to do? I need a plan. *insert Jeopardy theme song here* I know *perks up* I shall do what all other females have done before. I shall let the demons from hell possess me and while in that rabid state I shall blame it on PMS.

Hey don’t give me that look and don’t judge me. I said it was a plan, maybe not a good one, but a plan nonetheless.

So there I am. Imagine crazed-like with a side of hag-itis. Seriously, nothing spells a hot mess better than no sleep and a heightened fear of possession. I begin to think the evil is manifesting itself in physical form as I look in the mirror every morning with escalating dread. How can this be happening to me?

And then? I wake up this morning after my two full minutes of sleep and decide. I’m going to tell Honey when we have our morning coffee. If he doesn’t want to live with one of Lucifer’s minions we’ll just have to make other arrangements. I’m plotting and planning before I get out of bed on how to broach the subject. It’s not easy, you know. Because there’s no delicate way to say, “Oh, by the way, we may have to schedule an exorcism for me before Christmas. Can you pass the cream please?” And that’s when it hits me. It’s morning. Light out. And? The whispers are back. I stare at the ceiling thinking they’re louder though. Maybe it’s my hearing. Maybe I’m being altered to hear better? Demonically groomed? *Cringes at you* Worse. Oh, no. I’m going to be one of those people who will have ringing in their ears for the rest of their--

*Insert owl-eyes here with a couple of hard blinks* Why? I hear a song.

Blinded by the light????

In terms of a devil-evil-doer's temptation song, Blinded by The Light smacks more like a JC offering, than his diabolical cousin, you know?

I hear the words so clearly the song starts to play in my head and it takes me a second to connect the dots, but when I do I sit up and dive over Honey’s side of the bed.

"Son of a b#tch!"

I snatch up the clock radio and hold it to my ear. Jesus, H! The stupid thing is on only so low all you can hear is a rasp of words and music.

*Insert palm smack to the forehead here*

THIS IS WHAT HAS BEEN PLAGUING ME FOR AN EFFING WEEK? And the man sleeping right next to it didn’t hear it????

The only decision to be made now was in what manner he was going to die.


And ten minutes later when I tell him my sad tale over coffee and he finishes wiping the tears from his eyes because you know I embellished the hell out of the story, he gave me that grin. Here’s the conversation.

Me, “What?”

He shakes his head, repeating my a portion of my tale of woe. “If I didn’t want to live with Lucifer’s minion?”

“I swear. I thought the guy was recruiting me.”

He looks me dead in the eyes. “Why do you think I married you?”

And there’s me LMAO because he has no idea. After that little comment? I’m sharpening my horns and polishing up my trident shaped tail. Poor guy. I foresee a nice little haunting in his future. Not too near. I have to let him forget about this and when he does? Bam!

*Pops brows at you* I have a hassle-free plan. Imma doing a playlist. :D


As always, thanks for stopping by!


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