I used to love children. When me and my wife had our son, Danell, it was the happiest day of our lives.
I was an example father: I played and wrestled with him, sang along with all the songs on “Wheels on the Bus”, owned a collection of almost 40 Disney-movies and treated my son with nothing but patience and respect.
The year was 2012. It was the 16th of October. I remember it like it was yesterday.
We were all set for his second birthday: we ordered a Winnie the Pooh-cake at the local bakery, purchased 50 balloons with a giant “2″ printed on them and bought him a cute, blue bunny with a sensor in it so he could play hide and seek with it – you gotta love technology.
We had just spent 400 Euro’s on a toddler-bed, because we thought our baby-boy was getting bigger. Little did we know that what we would be putting in that bed would be a nightmare compared to the “little dream” we took out of the crib that morning.
It had gotten its hands on our cat, Spooky, and started pulling its tail and fur until there was barely anything left of it.
As we were thinking of a way to stop it, my wife improvised and said two words that would trigger a transformation we had never considered possible.
“Danell. No!”
As it clenched its jaws, its skin turned red. Purple almost. It could have been my fear, but just before it stunned us with its attack, the temperature in the room rose to tropical levels.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
The creature that we used to call “Our little cloud” emitted a screeching, almost ultrasonic, noise which my human ears could barely take.
As the noise continued to tear our eardrums apart, it started kicking its legs and waving its arms as if it was communicating with something, somewhere else.
It seemed like it was calling in extra forces. Demonic forces. Forces we couldn’t see, but knew were there as more and more voices joined the noise.
Before I passed out, I remember thinking: Why didn’t I leave it at a church?
Our intelligent little boy that used to make us proud had turned us into deaf, round-shouldered, pathetic wastes of flesh and enslaved us to serve his every need. Left with no choice but to obey him, living in continuous fear of “The No”.
Let this cautious tale be a lesson for you. Whenever you come across one of these creatures, don’t be fooled by their initial cuteness. Do the smart thing and leave it at a church where they can perform proper exorcism. If you don’t, you WILL end up with something like this:
I’m Daan van den Bergh, a blogger/writer currently in the last phases of conquering Neurotic Depression. I cope through (sometimes a little too) creative writing, poetry and ranting about whatever keeps me busy at my blog: I Fkkn Rokk.