Sister Satan (Part I)

My sister is the devil.  No, really, she is.  She told me so when I was four.  It went like this.

Whispering.  “I’m an angel.  I can only come to you in this form.  Other people can’t see me.”

We were sitting in the back seat of a late model Ford Mustang, butter yellow.  I was on the hump.  I was always on that uncomfortable hump, crunched into an impossible position with my knees in my mouth.  In my house, the youngest always got hump-like things and I was always the youngest.  My parents said it was because I was the smallest, but I now know that’s a lie.  Both of my parents are the oldest children so I’m pretty sure they think oldest children are better, deserve more advantages, and should generally be more comfortable than younger children.   My sister also got the biggest bedroom and her own bathroom.

So there I was on the hump.  My sister (the “angel”) was on my right, whispering.  Perfect long blonde hair that reached the top of her bottom.  Blue eyes that dad used to believe came from our German heritage until he went to England, realized he liked the English better, and decided we were actually British. 

The angel who came to me in the form of my sister had no halo.  I was pretty sure halos were part of the angel arrangement, but I didn’t know much about angels at the time.  After all I’d only been forming complete sentences for a year or so.  But I was pretty sure this was no angel.  Still and all, it was unusual for her not to be pinching me or telling me I was ugly, so maybe she really was possessed by an angel.

She was also wearing a gentle smile.  Usually, her smiles at me were contradicted by a slight eyeball bulge and a general look of craziness and evil.  But this was different.  She was smiling like she wasn’t going to wrap her mouth around my head and rip it off. 

Also my brother, who was on the other side of me, was staring straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard the angel.  Smaller than my sister, with his white blonde bowl cut and sky blue eyes.  We were like perfect little adorable German – er, English – kids.  He didn’t seem to notice that the angel was speaking to me, so I thought maybe the angel was real.  Like Santa.

Then the angel pinched me.  And grimaced as her eyes popped out and a small snarl escaped her perfectly pink bow lips.

“And I’m the devil!”  She commanded.  “And I, too, can come to you in this form.  You have to do everything I say.  Don’t tell anyone or I will hurt you!”  Another pinch.

“No you’re not.” 

At which her eyes literally doubled in size and she showed her fangs and I’m pretty sure some spiked red horns popped out above her temples as her fingers tightened their grip on my arm. 

“Yes, I am.” She hissed.  “And I’m not letting go until you believe me.”

Since my arm was beginning to turn red and looked distinctly like a giant blister ready to explode, I decided to believe her.  I nodded.

“What’s going on back there?”  All I could see were dad’s English blue eyes in the rearview.  My sister’s hands jumped from me like she’d been shocked and before you could say, “Huh?” they were sitting prettily in her lap as if she actually was the dainty and obedient little girl she was pretending to be.  Never mind that four years before, this tyrant regularly jumped from her pre-school seat to turn out the classroom lights and started fights with other first graders.

“Nothing.  We’re just playing.”  Her voice had returned to normal as she spoke this and the horns were replaced, I’m sure of it, with a perfect gold halo.