creepypasta origins

Devil/ Religious/ Ritual

#1. How I Got Out Of My Abusive Marriage

I was born in Southern Mexico, part of a distinctive ethnic group. We have many peculiarities. Among them is the lack of a word for "lady". We don't need that word because, in our culture, a girl becomes a woman as soon as she gets married.

I became a woman at the age of thirteen. The man, Ikal, was thirty eight years old. At first I resisted, and even tried escaping, but my father subdued me. It hurt almost as much as when Ikal and I consummated out marriage, later that night.

Ikal was an alcoholic with a bad temper. He'd come home three or four hours past midnight, reeking of liquor. If he found anything that dissatisfied him—dusty furniture, undone laundry, bland food—he'd beat me black and blue. He left again late in the morning. Even if he wasn't there, I couldn't escape, first because of the shackle around my ankle, second because my family would be sent to prison if I left my husband.

Those years were a nightmare. I still have the scars and twisted bones to prove it.

Shortly after my fifteenth birthday, whenever I was alone, I began hearing the voice. It was raspy, and low, and full of hate and condescension. It profaned my only respite, the precious hours when Ikal wasn't home.

"Poor child," it spoke. "Doomed to a miserable life."

At first I ignored it. It said nothing I didn't know. But it eventually became unbearable. One night, I pretended to be asleep. When the whispering began, I lit a match.

It was a short, human-like creature, with dark leathery skin and a hump on its back. It was all thin and bony, except for its swollen gut. Its eyes were pure black, dangling from their sockets, and its mouth was twisted into a grin.

"Xulub," I whispered, trembling. The Devil.

It laughed, then blew out the match.

Since then, Xulub didn't bother hiding itself. It harassed me at all times, not only cursing and displaying grotesque behavior, but ruining my housework too. It salted my food when I wasn't looking. It pissed in the water jugs I filled. It melted all my candles and emptied the hot wax on the bed.

My husband wasn't pleased. The beatings became so brutal even my male neighbors showed concern. Nobody helped me, though. Those were the customs.

Meanwhile, Xulub was delighted. It mocked me and spat on me and cackled. It kept destroying the clay utensils, the few skirts I had, and the rest of that shabby wood construction I called home.

One morning, it left a decomposing dog corpse on my table. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Why?" was all I managed to ask.

It laughed, and pointed at me. Or, more specifically, it extended its dirty clawed finger towards my belly.

All that extra stress had made me forget. I counted the weeks with my fingers. That month, I hadn't bled.

I cried for hours. Ikal found me in a corner, sobbing in fetal position. He yelled at me, and I yelled back for the first time. I told him about our baby.

A disgusting thought crept into my mind. What if it was Xulub's?

Ikal punched me in the mouth, then stormed out of the house. Out came Xulub, digging through the ground, its horrendous grin bigger than ever. It tried caressing my belly, but I slapped its hand away.

"Will you not make a deal with me, Ix Chel?" it asked, still smiling.

I looked up at its ugly face after it spoke my name. I twisted my lips in disgust.