Then I would feel sad. Their words made me sad. And I wouldn’t sleep. I’d lay awake thinking of their faces, their faces when they laughed.
The more I thought of the people’s reactions to me, the more I dug my nails into my flesh. Glancing down, I saw blood begin to trickle from the vein. I hissed at the sting of pain my nails brought, but then a warm feeling filled my body. Because the invisible flames, Hell’s fire living in my body, was being released.
And he said that with the flames gone, I might be normal. I might be right.
The car came to a halt and I looked out of the window. We were on a quiet country road. At the side of the road was a small white building—our church.
I struggled to breathe, my chest tightening, as I stared at the church. Then the door opened, and Pastor Hughes walked out with Elder Paul. They were big men and they frightened me. They would handle the snakes in the church. They would give people the poison to drink, to test their faith.
He got out of the car and I watched him approach the men. His hand ran over his head, then he looked back at me and shook his head. I couldn’t hear what was being said. But he must have been telling them about the flames in my blood. He would be telling them I had evil in me. Panicking, I stared at my wrist. I scratched at the veins, digging my nails in. But my nails weren’t sharp enough. They couldn’t get more blood out.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking to the car. The Pastor and the Elder of the church walked back inside the building. He opened the door next to me, undid my seatbelt and took my arm. He didn’t speak as he dragged me out of the car. I held up my wrist to show him I was trying to get the flames out. That I didn’t need the church, that I could do it myself. I could get the flames out myself, if he would just let me try. But he just hit my wrist down, then struck me on the back of my head. My eyes stung from the pain.
I swallowed hard when we arrived at the wooden door. I could hear the Pastor talking inside, then he hauled me into the church.
We stood at the top of the aisle. Pastor Hughes and Elder Paul were at the altar. I could hear rattling. I could hear hissing. My stomach dropped.
Snakes. They had the snakes.
He made to walk forward, pushing on my neck the whole time, but I planted my feet firmly on the wooden floor and reached out to grab a pew. He stopped pulling, then moving in front of me, backhanded my face. Pain exploded in my head. My hand ripped off the pew and I could taste blood in my mouth. But I was scared; my blood contained evil and flames. I spat the blood on the floor of the aisle, coughing so much that I vomited.
“Get him here, Michael.” Pastor Hughes’ voice called from the altar, as I tried to wipe the blood and vomit from my mouth.
He hitched both hands under my arms and carried me down to the altar. I couldn’t fight this time. I was tired. My head and face hurt from the pain of his blows.
“Put him on the table,” Pastor Hughes directed. Roughly, he placed me on the table.
“Take off his clothes.”
I wanted to cry out. I didn’t want them to remove my clothes. But he and Elder Paul began stripping me. And it was cold. It was so cold.
I twisted my head from side to side, trying to escape, but I couldn’t get free from their strong hands. Then, as my head rolled to the right, I froze. There was a snake. A snake in a clear box beside me.
I felt my pants coming off, then he and Elder Paul held down my wrists and ankles. Pastor Hughes walked to the clear box and opened the lid.
The rattling sound got louder and Pastor Hughes held up the snake. As he held it in his hands, he said, “The snake is the incarnation of the devil. If your boy is faithful and pure, if he embraces the Holy Spirit, the Lord shall protect him. But if evil runs in