Achieving Serenity

My Devilish Visitor

Hearing the message, not the messenger

How was it even possible? It was as if I was a child again, fearing the boogeyman in the closet. For the past two years, I have been visited by a demon at my bedside. It has never happened when anyone else is in the room with me, but he always comes when I fall asleep alone.

I was divorced and living with my sixteen-year-old son, spending most of my days as an astrophysicist at the University of Maryland. The whole concept of religion and god have always been a ludicrous topic for me, ever since I learned the truth about Santa Claus. Everything just clicked for me, and even after years of scientific research and becoming a professor, I have always believed God to be the Santa Claus for adults.

But it didn't explain my devilish visitor. He would creep up on me slowly, belting out a peal of childish laughter. The ceiling light began flashing like a strobe and the demon strikes on me whenever I least expect it. It is always painful, but the attack never leaves any marks behind. I wouldn't even believe myself, so I stopped telling people about it. The video cameras never picked him up.

One day I was a bit too drunk, and my son was egging me on about what's been bothering me lately. I decided to just tell him the truth, assuming he would think I was just lying to him dismissively. To my surprise, my son believed me and never even questioned whether or not I was making it up.

"This is evidence of the simulation, dad!" he said. I rolled my eyes as I realized the conversational jar I had just opened. I didn't need my idiot son to yap on about this nonsense because I knew he could talk about it for hours. The kid believes the earth is some sort of video game, and it's all he's been talking about lately. I started asking him questions about it to be generous, and what he said did rather explain my demon situation. There was no testing it though.

Several months later I had met a beautiful woman whom I started dating, and served as a repellent to the evil demon, that surely science could explain. She only stayed around for two weeks, leaving me after deeming I was crazy. I tried to conceal the demon stories from her, but my late-night obsessive studying led to her peeking on my work when I was asleep. When she found out that I was trying to explain the existence of a demon, she packed her things.

The demon returned, and I considered sleeping in the same bedroom as my son just to get him to go away. I was getting used to his torture and it was now more an inconvenience than anything. I didn't know what he wanted from me, and he never spoke or communicated with me in any way.

It was three years later when I had a strange epiphany. I was losing touch with those closest to me, and it appeared everyone was beginning to think I was crazy. My son was still living at home, smoking weed constantly, and I judged him on a daily basis. I wanted to kick him out, but being left alone in the house with the demon terrified me. I realized that the reason I was withdrawing from people was not that people wouldn't believe me, but because I didn't believe other people.

I believed I had all the answers, and never gave attention to those I believed less intelligent to me. I began actively listening to my son and his troubles, and to my surprise, after three years he was still convinced life was a simulation. He showed me a detailed essay he wrote about why he felt it was the truth, and I put my ego aside and listened. I was skeptical at first, but at one point, for the sake of merely feeling different, I decided I was going to entertain this theory.

For the first time in my entire life, I believed my son when he came to me with an idea. I didn't disprove him with my knowledge but understood that anyone and everyone has something to offer that I can learn from.

That night, the demon didn't arrive. It appeared he was finished with me.