If You Say A Demon's Name...

Mason speaks to Professor West's class about a traumatic childhood experience. The students are supposed to study his case. Isn't he surprised when he sees someone from his past in the crowd?

“Don’t be nervous, Mason. They’re only students and you’re only here to tell them your story. That’s all you have to do. Will you be okay?” Professor West whispered to me behind the curtain. I nodded in response, peeking out across the stage from where I stood to see the audience of college students waiting to hear what I had to tell them and then analyze it when I left.
“I got it...I think. What do I do if I can’t do it? What if I freak out?”
“Then we have your case on file for them to study. You don’t need to be here if you don't want to. I just figured they’d prefer to hear someone speak about their own personal case than read from a file. You can go if you’re not feeling well. They won’t mind if I tell them that you cancelled.”
“No. I’m doing this. I-I got this. I got it.” Sweat began to form on my forehead. As I wiped it away with the back of my sleeve, my arrival was announced and it was time for me to speak. I walked across the stage, seemingly making direct eye contact with every student present. It felt like their eyes were pressing on me. Like they already knew what I was about to tell them and they were judging me for it.
I stopped on the piece of white tape in the middle of the stage. I was told that this was where I was to stand when I began speaking. I stood there like a moron, staring at all the young faces, unable to remember how I wanted to start this.
“I uh...I’m Ma-Mason...Mason…” I’d forgotten my last name briefly. “I’m Mason H-Hartford.” I stared at them again. Most looked unamused. A couple of them had fallen asleep, a few were on their phones, and I heard some of them suppress a laugh. “I suppose I should get started.” I cleared my throat and took a few deep breaths, staring at my shoes for what seemed like ten minutes.
“I was seven when we moved to Cleveland. My mother had died and my father couldn’t stay in our old house. Partially because it reminded him of mom and partially because he couldn’t pay the mortgage without her paycheck. The house in Cleveland was much smaller and cheaper and in a cute neighborhood.
After we moved, dad was still grieving for two or three years. I don’t think he ever got over mom, but those few years after she died were the worst for him. Until he met Abby. He met her one day in summer when I was out of school and he was off of work and he had taken me to the park. Looking back on it now, I find it strange that she was at the park when she had no children. Abby was infertile. But she claimed that she enjoyed looking at nature and reading her books there.
After that first time he met her, every time he was off work that summer, he’d take me to the park. He’d talk to her while I played. I thought she was weird. She had this black hair down to her waist and these bright emerald eyes that hurt your soul. She always wore short dresses and red lipstick and she had a tattoo of a snake on her wrist. She was nothing like my mother. It made me angry that dad saw something in her. And the worst thing about it was the way she stared at me. Whenever dad was prattling on about something and not paying attention, she’d just watch me. Not the way a mother watches her child. Not a protective or cautious or maternal way. She watched me like I was prey that she needed to keep an eye on.
Eventually, Abby moved in. Once she did, things got weirder. Not for us, but for the town. Once she began living with us, children began disappearing. These kids had nothing in common other than the fact that they lived in the area. These children were of every age, race, height, and weight. The disappearances were completely random. But at eleven years old, I felt that the disappearances were directly connected to her. Some nights, she and dad would just go out without explanation and the next morning, some parents would find their child’s bed empty. Every time dad and Abby went out, a child was gone. No exceptions.
One night I heard them arguing. I was sick in my bed and I could hear their voices float up the hall from their bedroom. It’s not as if they were trying to be quiet. My father was complaining that he didn’t want to go out. He wanted to stay home with me since I was sick. He never once shouted at her. He was a good man. So, I had to listen closer to hear his side of the conversation. Abby, on the other hand, screamed at him. There was no in-between for her. She was either speaking very quietly or shouting. I could very clearly hear every word.
“You need to remember the deal you made! Would you rather stay home with him when he’s sick or not have a son at all?!”
This confused me. I didn’t understand why my life depended on whether or not my father stayed home with me. And what was this deal? At eleven years old, I assumed that she was making some random empty threats and spouting off nonsense. I already thought she was crazy. It made sense for me to hear her speaking incoherently like this. However, my father found it threatening and went out with her anyway. Today, I know why.
They never connected the disappearances to him. At each crime scene, they never found a shred of evidence. Not even a partial fingerprint. They had no reason to suspect him. He was guilty. But they had no reason to suspect him. In the end, they accused another guy of being the kidnapper. Make that murderer. When I was almost twelve, I found out exactly what happened. First hand.”
I cleared my throat and looked away from the crowd of college students now watching me intently, some of them not blinking, as I told my story. It’s not like they didn’t know what was coming, considering what class this was. They were prepared. Was I? I made myself go on.
“One night…I heard them fighting again. Dad didn't want to go and she was making the same threats. I thought he’d go with her again. He always believed what I thought were empty threats. But this time...he called her bluff. What he thought was a bluff, at least.
Everything was fine for a few weeks, except Abby kept going to the park without dad. A few times, he caught her with different guys there, talking on the same bench they’d met on. She made it very obvious that she and these men weren’t just friends, even publicly. Even in front of the children. Dad was appalled. Eventually, she moved out and moved in with one of the guys from the park. I know that so far, this seems like it has nothing to do with the threat she made earlier. Even I thought about this as a child. I thought that dad had won and she was just making stupid threats that she couldn’t keep. I wish she hadn’t kept it.
It was the night after she’d moved out. That night, I went to sleep and woke again, hours later, in the middle of the woods. At least I think it was the woods. I had no clue where I was. I was sweating intensely. As I regained more and more of my consciousness, I found that I was lying on the ground in front of a roaring fire. The heat stung my back. When I became aware of this, I noticed that I also wasn’t wearing clothes. Not a stitch. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. As my eyes adjusted, I found my clothes. My pajamas and boxers were nailed to a tree. I looked around me and saw multiple outfits nailed to multiple trees. Mostly pajamas. For all genders and ages. I knew what this was. I looked at the fire and I knew. This is where those children had gone.
Out of nowhere, a man approached me through the trees. I didn’t recognize him. He had his face smeared with ashes like war-paint. He was mumbling something under his breath. I could only make out parts of it over the crackling fire.
“...to Abyzou...Abyzou...for...sacrifice...taker of children...children’s souls...Abyzou take…”
As he approached me, I noticed Abby standing behind him among the trees. Her emerald eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. For a moment, I thought maybe he wasn’t saying “Abyzou”. Maybe he was saying “Abby” and I was mishearing due to his inaudibility. He pulled a large knife from his back pocket as he approached me, still going on about “children’s souls”. He aimed the knife at me and continued to advance slowly, pointing the blade at my face and making a twisting motion with it. Twisting the blade. Before he could get close enough to touch me with it, my father appeared from nowhere and snatched me up, running with me through the woods.
“Dad--” I started to say. He cut me off.
“Quiet! We can’t let them hear you. They’ll find you. It’s ok. Police are on the way.”
I remained silent until he had me in the car. Eventually, he got me home. Apparently, we weren’t even in state. That’s how far these missing children were taken before being stripped and burned. We never saw Abby again after that night, not even in the park. I saw the ash-smudged man on the news a few days later. He’d been accused the kidnapping and murder of more than a dozen children. The man was nuts. Told police that he was offering the children to Abyzou...a Hebrew demon known as the “taker of children’s souls”. He even tried to describe the demon. A woman with long dark hair and emerald eyes with a snake tattoo. He was found not guilty by reason of insanity.”
I stopped speaking and the room seemed too silent. I wasn’t entirely sure that the students fully understood the story. Before I could say anything about it, Professor West emerged from behind the curtain to speak to them.
“Does anyone have any questions for Mason?” The room was silent. “Come on! This is Honors Demonology! Nothing?”
A girl’s hand went up, displaying a very visible tattoo of a snake on her wrist. After staring at the crowd as many times as I had, I hadn’t noticed this girl in the crowd before. She had long black hair and striking green eyes. She spoke quietly and smoothly.
“How are you so comfortable saying the demon’s name that many times in your story. Don’t you know that summons them?”

Author's Note

I know that I overuse commas, so please don't mention that. Please review the overall plot :) I accept all constructive criticism but please don't be rude.