 I noticed the birthmark on my son's neck that my wife Elizabeth never did. 666. The numbers looked to be written in red ink and were clear as day. Who did this? I said angrily, looking around the room for any sign of guilt. Joshua had been born two hours earlier, and while I hadn't left the room for more than a few minutes, someone had to be responsible. But the doctor's puzzled look was genuine. What are you referring to? He asked. I'll show you what I'm referring to, I said, picking my son up and walking back over. This! His eyes looked down intently and then back up at me. There's nothing there, he said, not unkindly as he gestured towards my son when I looked back down at Joshua. The mark was gone. His neck was blank. I'm so sorry, I said awkwardly. Placing my son back with my wife as she gave me an angry look that would have been even worse had she still not been partially doped up from the meds. That was the first time I noticed that something was not exactly right with my son. Which brings me to my first rule. Keep frightening and unusual occurrences to yourself. Five years went by, and though my son seemed social and friendly enough around my wife and I, he was unable to make a single friend at school. Even the teachers feeling a general uneasiness around him. No one would give me a straight answer as to why upon each play date the other child would always end up crying. One particular father was so upset that he called me. Is this Joshua's father? Yeah, I'm his father. What is- our dog is missing. We think your son had something to do with it and excuse me, I interrupted. Did you just make an accusation against my son? Before he could respond I continued. Your dog probably ran away or got hit by a fucking car or something. If you call me again to complain about Joshua, the next conversation we have won't be over the phone. I could hear the fear in his voice as I hung up. I wonder now if the fear he felt wasn't for me at all. Joshua, get in here now. A moment later his dark brown eyes were staring up innocently into mine. Yes, Daddy? I just got a call from the Joneses. I watched a look in his eyes as he listened. Did you have anything to do with their dog going missing? My son's expression changed from innocent to cold. It growled at me. So I killed it. I stared at him blankly, taking what must have been ten seconds to process what I had just heard. Go to your room, Joshua. But Daddy, I- Now, Joshua, your mom and I are going to talk over what needs to be done. Two days later it wasn't just the Joneses' dog that went missing. It was their entire family. The husband, wife, and two little boys all up and vanished during the night. All the doors were locked from the inside, with no sign of a struggle or foul play. Their new Toyota Prius was still parked neatly in the driveway, and the keys were inside the ceramic fruit bowl on their kitchen table. The police were stomped, but I had my theories. And I had my nightmares, which brings me to rule number two. Never let animals around your child ever. It wasn't just the dog. Ever since my son was born I had been finding dead birds scattered around through our yard. And it was other things as well. The woods behind our home that were once filled with the murmur of crickets and other tiny creatures at night were now dead silent. Months went by, and Joshua and I never spoke about the incident again. I'm ashamed to say that I was afraid to, and I wanted more than anything to pretend that none of this was really happening. Part of me did want to tell my wife Elizabeth my suspicions, but how could I? It was her son too, and most of what I felt was just that, feelings. It wasn't until the night of his sixth birthday that I found the courage. After making sure Joshua was still busy playing in his room, I walked down the hallway to our bedroom and locked the door behind me. Elizabeth. Can we talk for a second? Before I could continue, she replied, David, I'm scared. There's something about Joshua, I interrupted. I know. The two of us stared at each other for a moment, surprised yet not. She hugged me close. What do we do? And then the lights went out. Where's your phone? I asked. Kitchen. Yours? I shook my head. I don't know. And then the music started. First quiet and almost imagined, and then louder. Is that what I think it is? I asked, swallowing nervously. My wife nodded. Sonnet number two. I looked back at her in disbelief. Is it recording? But I knew the sound of our grand piano well enough. Joshua had never even practiced before. As the soft murmur of the piano began to swell, the echo throughout the house became ominous, even violent. Elizabeth and I sat down on the bed together, holding each other's hand worriedly. Her eyes stared into mine as she found the courage to continue. I... I don't think he's our son. That's crazy, right? I said nothing, only pulling her closer and trying desperately to block out the terrifying melody that was pushing its way farther into my mind. For a moment I thought we could escape through the window, but our bedroom was on the steeper side of our home. It was far too high to try and jump out of. The sonata finished. The dark growl of the piano dying down and finally becoming silent. I pressed my ear up against the wooden door. After a moment hearing the soft patter of footsteps on the other side, Daddy, Mommy, I searched for the right words as I tried to hide my fear. Stupidly, I said the first thing that came to mind. Joshua, you aren't mad at us, are you? There was silence, and then the voice continued. But this time it wasn't the voice of a little boy I had known for the past six years. It was much deeper. It wasn't a little boy's voice at all. What depends? Am I still your son? My eyes drifted towards my wife, terrified and crying on our bedroom floor. I wasn't far behind. Yeah, yes. Say it. You're our son. A minute or so of the most terrifying silence followed, and then the familiar voice of a child returned. Good, Daddy. Now come on out so we can have some cake. I looked at my wife nervously as my hand unlocked the door. Before it was even open completely, Joshua took my wrist and led me into the kitchen to do the honors, which brings me to my third rule. If they tell you to keep pretending, do it. It's not so bad after a while. Not so different really from raising a real little boy or girl. Just remember to follow the rules and maybe you'll even stay alive. At least that's what Joshua keeps telling me. The years went by, and that was a long time ago now. My son Joshua is much older. What if his sixth birthday tonight? It's his sixteenth. A big day you might say, but it's not for the normal reasons you think. A quick history of what's happened over the past ten years. I've tried my best to follow my son's rules. I've tried to keep Elizabeth and I alive. A few months after that night with the piano and the agreement, my wife and I decided to try and have another child, a real child. Though Joshua was seemingly kind enough about it, I've always thought he had something to do with a series of miscarriages that followed, though he never threatened us like he had that night. There were more occurrences. More animals in the neighborhood started going missing, ranging from the neighbor's cat Stella to a stray German shepherd named Silver. There were even children. I told myself for years that every town has missing kids, that it's a natural reality of life. I told myself that there are bad people everywhere, and that Joshua had nothing to do with the string of disappearances lately. But I don't really believe that. They weren't disappearances as much as sacrifices. The children's bodies would be found with an upside down cross knifed neatly into their forehead and a certain look on their faces. Their jaws were snapped open, forever frozen in terror and what I would bet you was the revealing of something's true form. My wife Liz is in the hospital with cancer, and I think maybe selfishly for me that was the final straw. While I don't know if Josh caused the disease physically, in a way I am certain he did. Elizabeth just hasn't been the same since we made that deal so many years ago. The miscarriage is after only fueling her depression farther. Her eyes have seemed dead for years. Dead like the children will never have. Dead like the animals in our town. Dead like all the people that I should have protected. It took me ten years, but I'm finally going to kill him. I'm going to kill my son. No, I'm not calling him that anymore. I'm going to kill it. It was never my son. I've spent the past couple years getting ready in my own way. Late at night I would do research about the occult and demons, studying how exactly to combat them and come out alive. I hope I'm ready. My research has told me that there's three things you need to destroy a demon. The first is salt. It can create a barrier around you if needed, as to buy you time to finish the ritual. The second is a cross or a Bible. And a measure of faith. I never used to believe in God, but I've been driven to it now. And three, a holy man or woman. I've known Father Malachi for over ten years at this point, and he is well informed about what we're going up against. He's not as young as he used to be, this year going into his seventy-fifth. But his faith is as strong as anyone I've ever met. I told the Father to show up this evening once Joshua is asleep. We plan to surprise him in his room before midnight. Maybe he won't be at his full strength. Maybe he won't be ready. I'm writing this because if the two of us don't make it back, there needs to be some record of Joshua. Maybe you can pick up where we left off. I think I've learned everything there is to know about demons, but I could be wrong. If I am wrong, at least you'll have something to go on. I'm getting ready now. Wish us luck. Hello. My name is Joshua and it's my sixteenth birthday today. It went a little different than I expected. I told my parents I was going to school, but I decided to skip school today. I'm a good kid, but I just had a certain feeling. While everyone was gone, I happened to come across my father's journal. I know you're supposed to respect your parents and not go through their things, but something told me to take a look inside. I can imagine my surprise when I find years of research about me. It really hurt to think that those I care about and love could really believe that I was something like a demon. How dull. No, demons are a dime a dozen. Something as unique as me only comes around once every thousand years or so. I suppose you know that my name isn't Joshua at all. Maybe if you're especially wise, you even know its pronunciation. But it doesn't really matter, does it? David should have killed me ten years ago. I thought it would be poetic for my father's adopted son to add the last entry to his journal of rules, I guess you could say. Oh, right. What happened to him? Well, if you must know, when Father Malachi and my own father came into my room tonight to try and destroy me, they weren't ready. Let's just say they met a very tragic end. I'll give them this. They were more prepared than even I anticipated. And there was a moment in our struggle where it truly might have gone the other way. That's staggering when you think about what they were up against. Father Malachi truly was a good man of faith. And there aren't a lot of those around anymore. They put up a good fight. I almost felt pity as I watched their enthusiasm. Clearly, they had put a lot of time into getting ready. They were just out of their league. I buried them alive, with their crosses and salt and faith to keep them company. I dug the two holes close enough together in hopes that they could hear each other scream as they struggled and took their last breaths. I wonder which one made it longer. Huh. Anyway, that brings me to the ending of my father's journal and the last rule when facing a demon. Rule number four. Always be sure they are what you think. Bless you be unprepared. Well, I'm sorry to leave like this, but I have to go to the hospital now. I'm going to see mom. She's got breast cancer. And something tells me that she's not going to last a whole lot longer. Oh, and if we should ever meet, I advise you to look the other way and just keep on walking. It would be wise not to try and do anything. Foolish.