I Fed The Devil: An 'unfinished' screenplay I wrote...
Years back, I conceived of this mini ‘screenplay’ over the course of a few days whilst listening to a certain song. 

I Fed The Devil

Circa mid 1990s (pre internet era)

It is night, the dead of a winter storm. 

She lives alone in the woods. 

The phone is out.

She stands in the kitchen and stares at the counter, remembering 10 years spent with her husband who has left her for another. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud thud against the front door. 

Startled out of her trance, she turns to face the direction of the door. 

She slowly and warily approaches it. 

She opens it to find a boy of about 16 standing there with a stomach wound, clothes soaked in blood and clearly close to death. He's pale white, shortest hair of the lightest blonde, with striking eyes amidst his intense pain. 

She panics and scrambles to grab towels from the kitchen.

He’s now lying on the porch, barely inside the doorway. He asks her to hold him… his last wish. She complies, sitting down in the doorway, taking his upper half onto her lap. 

She holds him as she frantically presses towels against him. She glances into the house and laments the out of service phone. She glances at her truck, covered in snow. She sobs softly. 

As the minutes pass by, she settles into an overwhelming tiredness. All the while, unbeknownst to her, the boy is slowly and miraculously healing. 

She briefly loses consciousness. 

When she wakes up, he's removed the towels. He lifts the bloody shirt to show his stomach, revealing to her that he is healed. 

Frightened, speechless and bewildered, she backs up into the house, sliding across the floor and away from him. She’s bumping into chairs as she moves backward across the room. 

He is slowly walking toward her. 

She's now against the wall. 

He stands in front of her, extending his hand to her. 

"They call me The Devil." 

His hand centered in frame, she slowly accepts his offer to be lifted up. 

She is weak and becomes progressively pallid as the scenes continue. 

"Who calls you that?" 

"My family. Ever since I killed momma." 

"How did you kill her?" 

He tells the story…

He had drown as a small child, in a pond behind his home. His mother found him and pulled him from the water, just after he had passed. As she held him and screamed, the rest of the family gathered around. Hysterically, she ordered them to stay away. Carrying his lifeless body, she ran inside, hiding behind a locked bedroom door. She lay with his body, sobbing. 

After several minutes, he began to twitch. His mother became quiet, looking him over in disbelief. She began to cough, leading to a violent choking. She clawed at her throat and gasped for air. All the color left her, and she slumped over on the bed. She was dead, and he was healed. 

He has a supernatural ability that allows him to heal, even from the most grave of injuries. He takes the life-force of his healing source by touch, in measure depending upon the severity of the injury. 

The family was shocked when the child opened the door and emerged from the room, his mother's dead body on the bed behind him. His family, simple minded and back-woods, didn't understand. It was then that the family realized his ability. They decided to keep him locked in the room while they thought up wild theories and tied together past events with the ability. They believed that he was evil. They nicknamed him “The Devil” at so young an age that he couldn't remember his birth name. 

Dumbfounded, she listens to his story.

He continues, his face betraying the agony of years which dragged on in isolation. The family had kept him locked in the bedroom, the door bolted from the outside. 

That evening at feeding time, he had escaped. Knife in hand, his brother chased him through the house… lunging at him, the knife pierced his stomach. He managed to get away. In the cold dark night, he came upon her house.

Following a few moments of silence, he asks her for a meal before he leaves. 

She manages to cook for him, though her strength is diminishing by the minute.

She doesn't eat, only leans against the counter and watches him. 

After his meal, he does the dishes. By now, she is very weak, and sits down in a chair beside the fireplace. 

After finishing in the kitchen, he sits down on the couch, facing the fire. 

He continues to tell her about his life as the night slips away.

Eventually, he goes quiet. He gets up and starts to look around at her belongings. 

She is a blur in the background, reclined in the chair, covered in a blanket. 

He looks at her photos on the walls. He looks all around her bedroom. 

When he touches her belongings, he sees her memories. This is when her past becomes known. 

After some time, he walks back into the living room. The fire has burned out. It's sunrise. He looks to her. 

To see her before in the dim light, one may have thought it possible that she had been sleeping. Now, completely still and paper white, it's clear that she is long dead. 

He stands over her and looks at her fondly. 

He turns to leave. 

The front door is left open behind him.


Fade Into You [Mazzy Star] plays while he looks at her belongings and views flashes of her life memories.

Sweet Jane [Cowboy Junkies] plays as he walks away into the falling snow. He looks back over his shoulder briefly after the first verse (“Wouldn't turn around and hate it”). 

Fade to black.

Credits roll.
No poetry not screenplay start off SLOWER sis geeez!

Great story!!
Thanks, I really appreciate it. It's one of my personal favorites out of my "unfinished short story" collection lmao! Wink2
I love the way The Devil draws her in to his story, so we get a story within the story. Also, I totally was getting a Hope Sandaval vibe, so when I saw the Mazzy Star video I was feeling pretty god damned in sync with some shit. Anyway, I love the vibe you created. I like the layers; you know how to weave intrigue and that's a rare gift.
Thank you for your wonderful words, Atma, it means a lot to me that you took the time to check this out.

If I'm being honest, it's my favorite story that I've shared.
Today I thought about the stories I've written, sized them up as far as intent, message, etc. and I concluded that this is the best one as far as making a film goes. And that's what matters to me.
I just think it's a beautiful story...

Didn't really come from me, came from the universe...

But "The Devil" is based on a real person (well, I think the "person" part is up for debate) who I saw once, long long ago.
This post will explain...


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