The Devil You Know

‘I know what you’re thinking. She was too young to die, right?

Wrong.

I’ve seen many deaths, doing what I do. I’ve seen no end of caskets making their slow, final walk to the crematorium or graveyard. The first funeral I ever attended was that of my mother, and it tore me apart. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get sympathy – I was eleven at the time. Old enough to know what death meant, but not old enough to handle it in a mature manner. That was what sent me into my ‘off the rails’ period: drinking cider, smoking fags and God knows what else, ill-advised and sticky fumblings in the parks late at night.

I mean, Christ, name your cliché.

But a few months after leaving school I kicked all that back. A dead-end life in a dead-end town wasn’t what I wanted for myself. I wanted excitement: to have that rare feeling of waking up at half past seven for work and not wanting to roll over and go back to sleep. I wanted to remove the fear of not knowing if I’d ever be content with my life: and that’s how I ended up here.

Jeremy Turner Funeral Services. No matter how many times I’ve seen Jeremy at the head of a funeral procession, leading the coffin on with the steel-eyed, emotionless expression, his name never fails to remind me of an estate-agent. The type that everyone hates: all Colgate-ad smiles and cheap suits. Nice guy, though – what happened to him was a shame.

I suppose you’d prefer me to start at the beginning, right?

Tough shit.

I killed her – just me. No computer games, no violent movies and especially no subliminal messages from the devil. It was through my knife, my hand and my will that the last, beautiful gasp of air left her lungs. I think for a normal person, it’s probably quite hard to imagine. The power of life and death: I certainly don’t want to be one of those people that seem determined to dramatise everything. Although if you’re reading this, it’s probably for your own amusement, so what the hell? There is nothing I’ve ever felt that compares the feeling of taking away life from someone else. I’ve felt practically every emotion you can feel: rage, sadness, ecstasy, drunkenness, shame, fear.

But killing? Killing makes me feel like God. When the silver tears into the flesh, I am above and beyond human. I am the father, the son and the Holy Ghost. I am Lucifer and I am Judas. I am the saviour and the betrayer. With every ragged breath they take – with every last fibre in their body struggling for air. It is my choice whether they live or die – not the Christian God. Give me five minutes with the pope, and I think we’ll all find out where the real power lies.

Not to say it’s glamorous, mind. I don’t want to glorify what I do in the Hollywood way. What I do is not ‘cool’. I’m no Hannibal Lector. I am beyond that – I’m no aristocrat, no genius. The transformation I feel is in my own head – no-one else’s. I am certainly not the one true Messiah, and I do not sit at God’s right hand.

Am I being too philosophical again? Probably – it’s always been a habit. My father always used to say I thought too much. I guess it’s not everyone’s instinct to constantly question every last damn thing in the world.

Perhaps Melissa Flood did, though. Through this job you meet many people, but if I’ve ever met anyone I could describe as being ‘backed by heaven’, it’s her. Beautiful red hair, snaking its way down her back. Full red lips – a fire in her eyes. A passion for what she did. Christ, it gets me hot even now.

So yeah, this is the point where I tell you she was fourteen, and you all leap to your feet in disgust – arms shaking with righteous indignation at how sick our society has become. Yup, I’ll repeat that for you – fourteen. Still a child. Two years from the legal age of consent and four years from adulthood. Are you sufficiently disgusted yet? Well, just in case you’ve not quite had enough, let me throw this one at you – you would have wanted to.

Because there is still that feeling at the back of your mind, isn’t there? That teasing desire for the forbidden. A fourteen year old, pure as the white snow, who walked around the world spreading goodness through the words of our lords. A pure catholic schoolgirl. So, which of the men reading this would like to own up and admit what I know you’re all thinking? Go on, just stop lying to yourselves. It’s in your head too, isn’t it? That teasing, dark voice whispering those teasing, dark thoughts into the back of your mind. That part of you that would want her. That part of you that would run your hands up and under the skirt, her eyes staring: begging you to be a man. To be her first.

But no, you’ll leap up in arms and judge me – safe in the knowledge that no-one with ever hear that voice. That cute waitress you met at the bar will never see the inside of your mind – she’ll never see that picture in your head of you running your hand slowly up the schoolgirl’s thigh. She’ll never see the pleading young eyes. Because deep down, we all desire what we can’t have – and what could be more unobtainable? Whatever denial you have, I know why you’re really so quick to look down on me.

You, my friends, are jealous.

I know, I know: I’ve heard it all before. ‘Why would we be jealous – you’re sick, you’ve got problems; why would we be jealous of a nutter? You’re twisted – you’re not normal. You’re pure evil.’

Sick? I suppose you could say that, sometimes. Evil? If you were being a harsh judge, then maybe. But not normal? Oh, no, my friends. I am normal, and that is why you envy me – I have every drive and emotion that you have. I fear, I love, I hate and I think. But I know what I want – I accept every last feeling that I have as mine. There is no Devil planting thoughts in my head. If I want to betray your trust, then I want to betray your trust. If I see an innocent person on the street and feel the need to beat them until they are black and blue, then they are my needs.

And I want that body panting up against mine.

And I get what I want, you know why?

Because that dark little voice that resides at the back of my head, at the back of your head and at the back of everyone’s head? It does not come at a whisper to me. It is a scream. A screaming flow of rage, of lust and of greed. The pure need to take everything you desire or covet, and to turn your back on all those that are unnecessary. Perhaps it truly is the devil himself. Maybe his words and ideas are what leads me into the darkest corners of my psyche – for that place contains no redemption, and no salvation. I go beyond good and evil. I go beyond a human need for hope – and every last bit of will I have fuels the need to take what is mine, and discard what stands in my way.

Melissa – she stood in my way, and it saddened me. I have already confessed to the evil thoughts that lurk within me, but even I recognise the pure and utter waste of what a person could be. I decline once again to describe the beauty – the pure and utter temptation that she represented to me: she could well have been Salome herself.

And, like the princess herself, Salome gained her desire before it leads her to destruction – and so did Herod, the man she led to temptation. It could almost be the story of man – when has temptation ever lead to a positive? It has only ever led to misery, hardship or death.

Because, yes, Melissa was my temptation, and as for resisting? I wasn’t even close. I have never felt such lust build up inside me before. The dark thoughts had gone beyond screaming, and now ascended into a rage like I had never felt before. By the final days I was praying for silence, for at least some catharsis to the matter. And by the end, I had my prayers answered. With every last thrust of the blade, the voices died into a sweet, sweet silence. Whether Man, Beast or God – for now they lay silent: locked up in my heart until I choose to unleash them again.

I’ve gone too heavy again, haven’t I? Well, it’s to be expected – I’m not exactly weighed down with things to do around here. I guess thinking is about the only thing I’ve got. Considering one is meant to die every five seconds or so, a funeral director’s job is kind of a quiet life. Not exactly the adrenaline rush I wanted, but I no longer fear death – in fact, I welcome it with open arms. As I’ve said before, I’m no Devil and no Messiah.

If it helps, try to think of me as the dark little voice at the back of your mind. I’m not special, because I reside in everyone – I tease, I judge, I torture, and remember, next time you’re wondering past the school gates, remember that whilst the world looks upon you as innocent, I know what you’re thinking, and I know where you’re longing for.

And in the end, what scares you more – the devil or the deep blue sea?