We were staying at my Gramma and Grampa’s house in the front bedroom — Mama, Daddy, my baby brother and me.  I was about 5 years old.  My Aunt Mary and my 10 year old cousin, M.C., were staying there too — in the back bedroom.

I liked it there because there was always something going on — my gramma cooking or bustling around in the kitchen or digging in her garden — my grampa telling stories or finding candy in his pockets –my cousin doing something daring or getting into trouble.  Another aunt lived across the yard with her husband.  So there were plenty of adults around churning up life.

I hated going to bed at night.  There was so much going on and I had to miss it.  I slept on a pallet of quilts that my Gramma made on the floor at the foot of my parent’s bed.  There was a door that opened onto the front porch.  I would lie on my pallet and look out the screen door.  I could see the pale gold light of the living room spill out into a little pool on the front porch by my Grampa’s rocking chair.  I could hear snatches of conversation — adult and mostly incomprehensible — but sometimes bursts of laughter.  On a couple of brave occasions I crept onto the porch and inched near the front screen door to peer in and to feel their voices.  But the great darkness that loomed out past the edge of the porch forced me back to my safe pallet.

One sunny afternoon another adult rolled into our lives — my Uncle Jack.  He was tall and dark haired with ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes and a broad smile.  He was loud, jovial and friendly.  I thought he would be fun.  But Gramma seemed stiff and distant.  I sensed something was wrong.  Later out in the yard under the apple tree I could see Gramma, Aunt Mary and Mama through the kitchen window getting dinner on the table.  Grampa, Daddy and Uncle Jack had walked out to the barns.  I pondered the change I felt in our house.  I must have voiced my uneasiness because M.C. began to try to enlighten me.

“Uncle Jack has seen the devil, you know,” he tried to sound casual. 

I was incredulous, “Really?”  Then thinking he was up to one of his tricks I asked, “How do YOU know?”

” ’cause he told Gramma he saw Satan standin’ right there by the apple tree and I was with her.  Uncle Jack had a big rock in his hand he was gonna throw it at him!”  M.C’s eyes were wide as he recalled the horrible day.  And I moved away from the tree and looked around it. 

“Here?” I queried and pointed at the gnarled trunk. 

“Yep.”  M.C. nodded.

“What did you do?”  I asked.

“I stood behind Gramma”  he said and I realized that he had been afraid.  The story took on truth and a more frightful meaning because I didn’t know anything could scare M.C. — certainly not his Mama’s spankings.

“What did Gramma do?”  I asked.

“She was mad and told Uncle Jack to put the rock down” he said and I knew he was still a little amazed by her bravery.

“What happened?”  I questioned.

“He threw the rock.” he remembered with an even wider gaze into that distant day.  “But Uncle Jack said he missed him and that the devil was laughin’ at him.  Then he yelled and cussed and Gramma took me inside and got Grampa.”  he nodded for emphasis.  My heart pounded thinking of that evil and chaos right here at my Gramma’s house — suddenly nowhere in the world seemed safe.  I was gripped by the claws of this ugly knowledge.

“What did the devil look like?”  I bravely asked, daring to know the truth.

“I didn’t see nuthin’ ” M.C. shrugged and regained his usual aloof composure.

“But Uncle Jack saw him?”  I was confused. 

“Yeah.  Gramma says when you’re bad you can see the devil but good people can’t.”

“Is Uncle Jack bad?”  I was shocked.

“Yeah, he’d been drinkin’ ” M.C. shrugged and I figured it must have been some evil brew — certainly not my Gramma’s delicious sweet tea or my Grampa’s beloved Sun Drops.

I shuddered and watched M. C. straddle his bicycle.  I thought I would go into the kitchen with my mama since M. C. was leaving me alone.  But he leaned toward me to share one last horror:

“The devil’s not red, you know.”

“He isn’t?”  I squeaked.

“No.  He’s green with horns and a tail” he stated matter of factly and then pushed himself off into the wind, pedaling fast and making clouds of dust and gravel fly up around his spinning tires.  I watched him for a few minutes thinking about his horrifying tale.  Strangely I almost envied his experience — being in the presence of such bravery as my Gramma’s and yet such vile blackness — good and evil in its most pure forms.  I shuddered.  Then aware of the western sun reflecting on the kitchen window and feeling very alone I ran into the house.

During dinner seated at the long table, I watched and listened very carefully to Uncle Jack. He didn’t seem like the sort of person that would consort with the devil.  I guess you never can tell.  Whenever he smiled at me or teased me I felt a little flutter of terror in my belly.  I hoped he would talk about his encounter with the green monster.  I wanted to ask him but I knew M. C. would never trust me again and so I kept silent.  But it stayed on my mind the whole evening while the women cleared the dishes and my Grampa took a chew of tobacco and my daddy and Uncle Jack smoked.  I sat with Grampa for a while listening to a story and his hearty laughter.  He gave me an orange slice — a gummy soft candy coated with sparkling sugar.  Darkness fell outside and the living room took on an amber hue in the soft lamp light.  I regarded each adult face for any sign of trouble but saw none.

Mama washed me off at the kitchen sink and I fussed about going to bed.  She promised she would read me a story before I went to sleep.  I kissed everyone goodnight and ran to the front bedroom, picked out a book and hopped into my parent’s bed.  I don’t think I heard a word my mother read and when she was done I could no longer contain myself.  I told her M.C.’s story.  I thought I would feel better but it just hung there like a stained curtain.  She fluffed the pillow and kissed my head and dismissed the event with one lone comment, “Oh, Uncle Jack was drunk.”

I am sure her remark was meant to negate my fear but, not understanding it, I was not consoled.  Then she was gone and I was alone in the darkened room.  A pale silver light filtered through the screen door.  I strained to hear the adult voices but they were oddly muffled and I worried what that could mean.  I lay very still and squeezed my eyes shut.  But my Gramma’s clock ticked out the long minutes and finally I had to open my eyes or die of curiosity or fear.  I looked around the room to find everything in its place but darker.  I could see an unfamiliar shape between the door to the next room and the wardrobe.  Slowly it took the shape of a man of slight but muscular build.  I strained to see more clearly.  Lord! Have mercy!  It wasn’t a man but Satan himself with slick green skin, stout horns and a long tail that swayed slowly back and forth like a snake.  And he was smiling a very wicked smile.  I screamed for help and, mercifully, Mama came.  Of course, she could not see the apparition and tried to convince me that what I had seen were clothes hanging by the wardrobe.  But I knew what I’d seen and I was terrified.

After that I decided I could not be afraid of Uncle Jack.  Perhaps he was like me — not bad, just misunderstood.  After all, we’d both seen the devil — and he was green.