Facing the Devil

I should really hate this time of year. All my worst memories fixate in a kaleidoscope pattern of chaos during this time. I can stitch together every time my life fell apart with the quilt of a month that ends in ber. Yet, I always looked forward to the end of summer. Regardless of the chaos happening around me, Autumn always felt like coming home. I embraced the shadows of my undoing, and I celebrated my downfalls in ghoulish style.

But this year feels different. The hues of fall used to feel like an anticipated ride home, but I sense an uninviting energy as I step out into these shadows. As I arrive at the doorstep of what has always felt familiar, my shadows and skeletons feel less welcoming. As if a looming secret has been kept, a hesitating intervention. As if this entrance will not be met with a welcoming home, but a confrontation.

For years, I learned to love the dark and the void that loomed around when the snow fell, soundless. Another year to iron out my faults and repair the damage. This time, however, something seems off. My chauffeur met me with an awkward silence as I stepped onto the boat back to the Underworld. For the first time in all my journeys, I heard the cries of the souls amongst the river of darkness. Relief dissipated into sadness as my arrival home felt more like impending doom. My intuition seems cut off from the messages of what's to come.

As the leaves fall, I wonder with my shadows in peace. I dance with the chaos of the demons' melodies, and I keep my distance from the Devil. Perhaps I’ll pass his chambers and throw a teasing look his way or send him antagonizing encrypted messages. Mostly, I just stay on my side of hell and pay him no mind. Not this time…

Something tells me I’ll have to face him this time around—toe to toe and face to face. I’ll have no choice but to play along with his games and be made to pay for all my goading. October fades in quietly as I anticipate a meeting I may not have adequately prepared for. I have no carefully crafted arguments or slideshows of proof. I have played the devil's game over and over in sparks of derangement. It was fun for a while until it no longer was.

I think he may have me where he’s always wanted me, defeated and beaten down. Every fight to the light has dragged me further and further down. Each time, I stand up just a little weaker from the previous blow. I used to be so proud of my bounce back, but this time I am not so sure. This could be the hit that takes me out, and I think he knows it. As a matter of fact, I think he’s counting on it.

The entrance looms before me, and I hesitate. I do not bust in unannounced, I do not rave, blowing my party horn. I’m not shooting out confetti as I make my entrance, and I’m not calling out to the King of Hell. Even in the silence, he knows I’m here, and I can feel him waiting. I have no cruel joke waiting on my unpainted lips, no secret thrill to taunt or tease.

I lay my defiance at the gate, and I step slowly forward into a darkness I once considered home. As the chill looms over me and the fog creeps around my ankles, I force myself into the unknown.