warning: everything stated below is a real-life experience that had actually happened to me, leaving me traumatized me for a very long time, so please, even if you don’t believe it, do not mock me. Furthermore, I am not saying I still believe in the Devil or Demons for that matter, but as a child, it was what I felt that had happened to me, which is why I still explain it in that light.
Mephistopheles, Lucifer, Devil, Diablo, Daeva, Satan, and the list goes on. Some people find these names to be chilling, uncomfortable, due to either religious or simply because of the taboo these terms have carried for centuries. To me, they are terms I had to come to understand at a very young age.
Throughout time, most, if not all, cultures are known to have some sort of demonic symbol ingrained into people’s beliefs and culture that is used to represent a physical representation of the root of all evil. This encourages the function of what we know to be a “civilized society”. The enforcement of the “good” vs “bad” dichotomy, the powerful are able to push thoughts of fear into the common people, as fear creates a sense of control, and the control allows political success and well, the birth of capitalism and that whole shebang.
In order for capitalism to function, “evil” is needed, as there can be no good without it, and if there is no evil, there can’t be a competitive force that drives people to do more and achieve more. Yin and Yang, if you must. Today the most widely recognized and practiced aspects of demonology are derived from Judaic, Christian, and Catholic sources.
“The word “Satan” was not originally a proper name but rather an ordinary noun meaning “the Adversary”; in this context it appears at several points in the Old Testament. For instance, in the Book of Samuel, David is presented as the satan (“adversary”) of the Phillistines, while in the Book of Numbers it appears as a verb, when God sends an angel to satan (“to oppose”) Balaam. Prior to the composition of the New Testament, the idea developed within Jewish communities that Satan was the name of an angel who had rebelled against God and had been cast out of Heaven along with his followers; this account would be incorporated into contemporary texts like the Book of Enoch. This figure of Satan was then featured in parts of the New Testament, where he was presented as a figure who tempted humans to commit sin; in the Book of Matthew and the Book of Luke, he attempted to attempt Jesus of Nazareth as the latter fasted in the wilderness” .
(yes, I got that off of Wikipedia, kiss my ass University)
If you were to approach a person on the street and kindly ask them to describe to you what they imagine when they think of the devil, the chances of them describing ” a man with horns, leathery bat-like wings, long pointy tail and menacing pitchfork” is highly probable, as it is the most commonly accepted image of the Devil. Despite its cartoonish description, and unrealistic chances of one coming across such creature, this character, supernatural-being, whatever you want to call it, truly strikes fear in a vast amount of people.
Do people truly believe a man with hooves for legs will come to wake up them at night and claim their soul? or do people fear that if they engage in “sinful” activity they will become a hooved person with horns when they die? I mean, if someone were to offer me real life horns and bat-like-wings, I don’t think that now, as an adult, I would pass on the opportunity. However, as a child, who actively prayed despite the lack of religious background, was also fearful of this character.
This brings me to my own personal experience that I would like to share with you all. As mentioned in my warning, I no longer believe in the Devil or demons, I am 100% atheist also known as LaVeyan Satanist which when you don’t believe in heaven or hell, thus taking away the fictitious characters of god and Satan.
Now if you are religious, or get uncomfortable with the topic of “Satan” or the disbelief of “god” I suggest for you to exit this page because I don’t see the purpose of you reading this, and then coming for me in the comments about how I need “jesus” in my life, and all that crazy stuff.
I respect that you choose to believe in a religion, so respect that I now no longer believe in anything remotely near the subject of religion. With that being said, let’s get to the story.
First and foremost, I am going to tackle the thing you’re all going to yell while reading this
“KIDS HAVE WILD IMAGINATIONS, YOU JUST RAN WITH THE IDEA”
Yes, I, too, agree that children have very wild imaginations, they create imaginary friends. And not so surprisingly, that’s where this story begins. When I was five-years-old, my family and I moved from Vancouver, British Columbia to Toronto, Ontario. Moving was nothing new for my family, at five-years-old we had already moved three times, as my parents assumed that my sister and I weren’t old enough to comprehend the concept of attachments to people, places, and things, which is they didn’t think it was that big of a deal to relocate us…so many times.
For my sister, it wasn’t that big of a deal, she has always been a social person, very extroverted and a natural leader, it was easy for her to make friends and adapt to new social settings. I, however, am not social. Now, as an adult, I have learned to force myself to talk to people, just so I can have some friends, but as a child, I hadn’t learned that skill yet, so it was very tough for me to make friends at school, especially as the new kid.
So, like most normal children who are horribly unsocial, I tried to make do with my own imagination. As a product of the 90s, this involved a lot of barbies, polly-pockets, groovy-girls, etc. When I wasn’t by myself I would stick to my older sister, and at times I would even try to tag along with her and her friends, but we all know how well a five-year-old hanging out with a nine-year-old squad panned out… my sister didn’t mind, her friends, however, thought it was “uncool”.
As for my parents, they were working full-time jobs and did their best to be as involved with our lives as they could, but working 9am-5pm jobs is already tiring, so when they were home it was mostly for dinner and to tuck us into bed. At the time I was only in morning daycare, so I had a full-time nanny taking me to and from the school bus, making me breakfast, lunch, etc, she would try to play games with but what is a five-year-old going to do with a nanny? At least, that’s how I felt.
With that ultimatum really kicking in, I had learned to be on my own – which is a skill I carried on all the way until adulthood- I became really creative and I actually genuinely enjoyed the games I had created. With any game came one would have an opposing opponent in order to complete the narrative of the game or even have some competition. Since I was on my own, I did what any typical child would do and create what they call an “imaginary friend”. So far, most things sound pretty average for a child who has nothing else to do, yes it sounds lonely and maybe even a little sad, but at the time I really didn’t mind.
The next step for a healthy-minded-individual would be to play with the imaginary friends for a short while, and then once they learn some social skills they would apply it into the real world and make real friends. Clearly, I never got the memo, or should I say never got the opportunity, because as life went along things became more complicated.
The imaginary friend that I had created was my only friend for the entire time I lived in Toronto, and as I mentioned, I didn’t mind it because for quite a while I was genuinely enjoying the games I was playing with this made up person – or at least I thought I had made them up. This question of “real or imaginary” only crossed my mind after a very weird and scary night.
I hate talking about this night…
From what I remember, and mind you it’s been 16 years since the night of this event, and for those 16 years, I’ve tried to block out the memory in fear that it would happen again if I thought too hard about it. If I remember correctly I was already in deep sleep, but I had randomly woken up because the temperature in the room had become unnaturally cold in the most unsettling way, like enough for it to wake me up. So, I woke up to find the source of the reason, but before I could even get out of bed to check if my window was open, my eyes noticed something in front of my bed.
There was a strange pattern forming in front of me, it was almost spiral affect but very faint. Now when I think about it, it basically looked like a portal which I know sounds unreal and crazy, but that is what I now realize it looked like, although (and thankfully) I didn’t have the capacity to think of that back then. The spiral effect was there for a good ten minutes, and then it shifted into a more of a body shape, but very slowly. My eyes had a really hard time focusing on what was happening, it was so unreal that I remember that I must have been just imagining things until I saw a hand reaching out for me. Real or not, that was enough to freak out anyone let alone a child, so I ran for my life to my parents’ room.
Begging them to let me sleep there for the night, they incoherently shifted for me to have room and didn’t say a word. Thankfully they did such, because I don’t think I would have been able to make it through that night alone. After that terrifying event things were pretty calm for a while, I would still think about what had happened and I was trying to process it, but that can only go so far for such a young child. Not long after, she appeared to me, but in a less daunting manner. This imaginary friend became an actual friend to me, it no longer solely existed in my games, she was someone who was with me at all times and almost became a little suffocating – but we’ll get to that.
She had a name, I honestly can’t tell you how/where I got it, I wish I could remember the explanation and/or meaning behind the name, but I have no recollection. Her name was Sylvia – I literally dry heaved as I typed that because I hate saying her name, and I hate thinking of her. My parents and my sister always heard me say the name “Sylvia” when they overheard me “playing” with her. What genuinely bothers me and concerns me to this day is how could a child think of that name, it’s not a common name and no one in my family has ever heard of it on tv, nor did i have a classmate of that name or a family friend, the creepiest part of it all is that now as an adult I realized the only other time I’ve heard that name is “Sylvia Plath” a manic depressive author who killed herself, eerie isn’t it?
A stretch obviously, but that is honestly the only other time I’ve heard this name as an adult.
My time in Toronto only lasted a little over twelve months, and we were quick to re-pack our bags and travel back across the nation to our permanent home of Vancouver. At this time, Sylvia and I were still on “ok terms” up until the move, although, I do remember when we were getting ready to leave Toronto, in the midst of all the chaos of packing, she was starting to go from “Casper the friendly ghost” to “literal demon”, she was starting to scare me. My sister said that my playtime with Sylvia turned into a lot of arguing, and telling her to go away.
I was sincerely hoping she would stay in Toronto, but little did I know at that time that demon’s cling on to the person, not the location. When we got back to Vancouver things really took a dangerous turn, she would harass me a lot, stand in the corner of the room and watch me day and night, sometimes she would threaten to leave my side and go to my family, to this I would audibly beg her not to, which my entire family would vouch for hearing.
My sister continuously tells me that she remembers hearing me cry alone in my room and when she would check on me, she told me that I would say Sylvia was being mean to me. I honestly don’t have a recollection of that, but my sister would never lie about that, or tell me something like that just traumatize me you know? she was also, 10-years-old by then so you have a pretty solid memory at that age.
Sylvia was no longer my friend and she was no longer a girl my age, she was at least thirteen years old, and she was always in a hospital gown, I know how fucking cliché that sounds, but I honestly remember it so vividly. By my Seventh birthday, she was no longer solely watching and taunting me that she would threaten to harass my family if I didn’t stop talking about her, she would stand by them and look me as if she was about to do something to them,
For a while, it was just threatening looks, that was until she started to tell me that my parents were bad people, that I was bad for protecting them, she needed to get to them, and that I would have to help her… That’s when the sleepless nights started. Things escalated very quickly after that, verbal harassments became physical abuse, at least that’s the only explanations for the marks on my body at the time. I would have these ghastly bruises and scratches on my body, I would feel mentally exhausted from her visits, and was constantly miserable and fearful of what she would do next.
Now that I’m older and have been able to research these symptoms, and they are all apparent signs of a demonic presence: “Demons are depleting your energy because their demand far exceeds the energy the human body can produce,” ( A Message of Hope). The days I felt more drained, the days I felt her presence more, my sister said I had become a child zombie. Frail and unhappy.
The worst part is that I remember her pale face, my room would feel as cold as a fridge and having her that close to me would cause me to shake out of not only fear, but the frigid air radiating off her would leave me chilled to the bone. Just thinking about what happened is leaving goose bumps on my arm, I’m also afraid that thinking about her will bring her back? that’s partly the reason why I’ve tried to shut out the memory as much as possible – almost like a slender man effect.
As these night terrors became day terrors, it really began to take a toll on my mental health. I would be afraid to go anywhere on my own because I didn’t want to have to deal with her by myself. I also didn’t know how to explain what was going on, since she had threatened me to not say anything, but I always understood that what was happening sounded so unrealistic. As these terrifying “hallucinations” or whatever you want to call it were continuously happening, they were leaving me with actual scratches and bruises to the point teachers at school would ask if my parents were inflicting them on me because they were so noticeable.
My interactions with Sylvia, were destroying my everyday actives. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or even interact with other friends that I actually had back in Vancouver. I became so introverted because I knew it wasn’t normal to have imaginary friends at the age of seven, even worse than it was an imaginary friend that was threatening violence, so I remained mute on the topic for a very long time.
My family were unaware that Sylvia was still part of my daily life, other than the routinely night terrors for a couple of years, I was better at ignoring her during the day unless I was alone in my room. She was still uttering threats, and the older I got the crueler she was with me, the more graphic the visions were. I felt so trapped, I would pray every night asking God to take her away, I would thank God for protecting my parents, but begging it to protect me. I kept praying until one night something actually happened.
The way it stopped is probably the scariest part of the story, and it’s the reason why that I as an adult, despite my disbelief in heaven and hell, still call it a deal with the devil.
I was about seven and a half, and I remember being so goddamn sick of her controlling my life. Even my family was getting worried, every time they would ask me if I still talk to Sylvia my face would get flushed and I would try to change the topic. There were times my mum would hear me crying in my room at night and she would ask what happened and I’d just say that I stubbed my toe or something irrelevant like that. So, finally, one night when I was doing my nightly prayer to god, thanking it for giving my family health and wealth, I begged even longer to take Sylvia away.
My “Dear God, please protect me from her, she is causing me so much pain and I don’t know what to do”, turned into a “Dear God, please take her away, I will do anything, give everything or anything you want just please make her go away.” and then for some reason I ended that prayer with, “If God won’t listen, please, something, take her away, I will owe you my soul and you can have it”. Yeah, I actually said those words with all the strength in my body, the worst part is what happened after.
The second the words left my mouth, my room got so cold again. I even hate to type that out, because it’s so cliche, but trust me when I say I am literally just sharing an experience in my life. As I moved towards the cold air, I noticed that the spiral thing appeared again at the end of my bed again, but this time I didn’t see a hand or an apparition of a body. I watched it for as long as I could, fearing something else would stick to me, but instead I fell asleep despite the fact I tried really hard to stay awake, my body shut down on me and I slept until the morning
As a child, I didn’t think much of it other than relief. After that night Sylvia went away for good, I haven’t seen her since. The only thing I thought odd, as a child, was that despite the fact that she was gone, I still felt drained, and if anything, more emotionless. I didn’t think much of it though, I was just glad that I was able to sleep again. As an adult, I joke that was the moment the devil claimed my soul, but realistically I don’t believe in the Devil or god, I just find it strange that after saying those words so passionately is what made her go away. I do, however, believe in the afterlife and spirits, so maybe it was a spirit protecting me? I don’t know.
The reason I don’t completely disregard this experience, or label it as a “psychotic episode’ is that hereditarily, my mum and I have always been able to sense “spirits”.
When I was a newborn baby, I want to say no more than three months old, my mum had put me to sleep in my crib. My parents’ bed was right next to it obviously, but she was so tired that she had fallen deeply asleep. I was a very premature baby and when I was born both my mum and I were hospitalized for over a month, so this night was probably the first few nights we were both at home and at “peace”. I had difficulties breathing alone because my lungs were not fully developed, but the reason why the doctor let us finally go home is that I could apparently finally breathe without a machine pumping my lungs. Well, that was apparently not completely true.
When she finally fell asleep after being awake for hours, at some point I started to struggle for air and nearly stop breathing. My dad was not home, so it was just me and my mum, and since I was losing oxygen I was not able to cry.
Here comes the amazing part, at the time I was turning blue, my mum’s mum had come to her in her dream (her mum passed away when she was a teenager). In that dream her mum had run down a flight of stairs yelling that there was a black cat suffocating me and that if she doesn’t wake up, I’ll be in her care (my grandmum’s), meaning I’d be dead.
My mum jolted awake and ran to my crib, lo-and-behold, I was barely breathing, so I was rushed to the hospital and well, I guess I don’t need to say that I survived since I’m writing this. After that, both my mum and I have had so many “spiritual moments”, for example, I was able to contact the lady that died in one of my previous homes. My mum and I have seen the man that died another home we’ve lived in, and most infamously my time with Sylvia.
To this day, I can sense the presence of spirits come and go, some comforting, some sad, some lost and worried. I can sense them, and they can sense me, they come briefly and leave, as if they are searching for family or something, or a person to communicate, but it’s a skill I now cherish.
Most of these experiences with the dead haven’t been bad, actually, none of them have been bad, other than my contact with Sylvia. I’m a strong believer that not all ghosts are there to “haunt” you, but there is definitely the kind that can inflict harm on you. After I made my “pact with the devil”, I’ve never been the same. Some could call it trauma, but there are times I genuinely question if I’ve sold my soul to the devil.
There are times I blame my BPD on “selling my soul”, maybe that was the cost of Sylvia being removed from my life. Whether that be true or not, I have stayed away from religion since, because I truly believe that the belief of religion, and the things like “heaven” and “hell” makes you susceptible to these thoughts. Maybe strongly believing that those things don’t exist creates a barrier of protection from demonic entities? Who knows, but I am definitely not going down that path again.
Before I end this post I want to reiterate that this is a 100% true story, nothing was changed for entertainment purposes, nothing was exaggerated so I could be like “oooh spooky story”, although I wish it was that case. This is not a story or me retelling the plot of nightmares as I had a child, these are true events that had happened to me. I also want people to know that I am not encouraging people to sell their souls or contact the Devil. Please never go out of your way to make a pact with the Devil, don’t go out of your way to invite Demons or even spirits.
Furthermore, I am 100% comfortable as a LaVeyan Satanist, or more commonly known, an atheist. So, please, don’t send a priest to my house or a doctor because you think I’m completely crazy — I mean, I know I am, but just know that I don’t live with the intent of harming others or have ever plotted some evil plan. I am not a commercialized Satanist, I don’t worship the devil, I only worship myself, like a LaVeyan Satanist is supposed to.
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