The Demon Next Door

I was six years old when we moved to Oregon from California. My parents were running from a drug addiction and thought that a change of scenery would break the chains of addiction and save their marriage. Things went well at first but quickly spiraled out of control as my father fell into old habits. My mother tried hard to make things work, she had a full time job and worked double shifts, while my father stayed at home getting high with my uncle and selling drugs to our neighbors. My father fell deeper and deeper into addiction. It had only been six months since we moved to Oregon, and my mother had had enough of my fathers lies, cheating and abuse. The police had to drag my father out of the house when my mother finally asked him for a divorce. I remember looking him in the face as they dragged him away; glad that he was leaving; glad that my mother and siblings would be safe. Little did I know that things were going to get a lot worse before they would get better.

Being new to the area and having just moved away from everyone she knew, my mother turned to the only “friends” she had met to help her manage her three unruly children. Her name was Sandy, she was young, sweet, and addicted to cocaine and methamphetamines. Sandy lived in the trailer next door to us with her abusive husband J. Sandy did her best to protect us from her husband. She would send us outside when he was home and give us a “look” to signal us to go in our house when he was around. But Sandy was not always around, she was not always able to protect us from his cruel mind games and mental abuse.

One summer night my mother had invited Sandy and J to come over for a party. My mom was recently single and would drink and smoke marijuana on her days off with people she had met at work and with people she had meth through Sandy and J. When I saw J. come into the house I quickly told my brother and sister to go to our room so we could play. I got up off the couch and headed towards my room when I heard a horrible sound I will never forget. J had stomped on one of my cats kittens, causing it to scream in pain. As I ran down the hall towards the kitten, I saw a smile on his face as he said, “Whoops, I guess I have to put it out of its misery,” and he stomped on it again, busting its head open underneath the weight of his boot.

I scooped up the kitten with tears in my eyes as I looked to my mother for comfort. She showed no empathy as she puffed on the bong being passed around the room. She simply told me to stop crying over a stupid cat or she would give me something to cry about. She then said that it was an accident and to get rid of cat and wash my hands. As I slipped on my shoes to take that dead kitten outside J approached me and whispered, “If you do not bury that kitten with a cross on it’s grave the demons will come at midnight and take that kitten straight to hell!”

I ran outside and buried the kitten. I said a prayer and placed a cross I had made out of sticks on it’s grave and went back inside. Later that night as I was getting ready for bed, I headed to the kitchen to get my sister a glass of water. J. approached me again and said that it was too bad, that kitten was going to hell as he handed me the cross I had made. I went to tell my mother, but she was still partying with strangers in the livingroom and I figured that she would not care. So I went to my room and waited until it was 11:45 p.m. to head back outside and put a new cross on the kittens grave to save it from going to hell. I stayed outside in the dark for what seemed like an eternity as I waited for midnight. As soon as I knew it was safe I headed back inside, locked my bedroom door, tucked my siblings into their bed and finally went to sleep.

For more true stories about my childhood, leave a comment and I will share more. Thank you for reading!

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