It took a handful of frosted calendulas to get Jamie out of the church doors.

The mission was simple; pick the flowers and return before the nuns noticed. Or so it seemed. He had miscalculated how long it would take. The red-tipped flowers, like suns in their own right, appeared farther than what he expected. From his high room in the tower, he estimated a five-minute walk.

It edged onto 30.

It felt tedious now, so much effort for some flowers. He couldn’t remember what brought him out in the first place, but its fiery palette was engraved in his mind. They were beacons in the ever-so-graying forest. As the town headed toward winter, those calendulas were the only thing still vibrant, and he wanted nothing more than to linger in the summer.

Getting lost, however, wasn’t on the agenda.

The night chill began to sink into his fingers, feeling frozen. His body shivered with every step. Goosebumps pricked, all of him alert. Yet he continued through the forest, where the trees bowed in shame, and mistletoes leached into their sorrow. Either that, or they hung as if they were hiding something. Neither conclusion brought good thoughts. Jamie would rather be out as prompt as possible.

Without an idea of his location, he sludged back. He long decided to head home, but the obscurity and muddy, wet ice made it impossible. It got colder, dimmer, dangerous, and without flowers to show for it.

By this time, someone had to have noticed his absence. Perhaps a nun or an average churchgoer. Not so much his father. He doubted care from him, even in peril. A rejoice, maybe, to learn he was rid of his bastard son.

Dilemma aside, the chances of being found at the late hour were low. When the sun set, it took his hope with him.

There was a rustle to his left, in a bush.

Jamie stood paralyzed as he filtered through the possibilities of whatever was in there. A rabbit? Snake? Wolf? The options were endless. Something to eat him alive? To tear at him, his flesh, skin, and bones? Leaving no trace of him to grieve over.

Tumbling out was none of that. Instead, he saw a winged beast. Well, not a big one. Rather small and pudgy, with fat to show for it. Tiny enough to fit in his two palms. It had red skin and three horns atop its head. Sharp teeth to dig into meat. Buck legs and hooves like a horse’s; it resembled caricatures of the demonic figures Jamie saw in stained-glass windows. Worst of all was its giant, beady black eyes that enveloped its small head. Best? The calendulas in its hands.

The beast squinted at the flowers, sensing Jamie’s desire, then ate them in a single swallow.

“Hey!” Jamie reached out despite his fears.

It looked back at Jamie. “What? Did you want those?” He nodded with vigor, desperate to get them back. “Well, sorry, but if you can’t tell, I ate them.”

Huffing, he crossed his arms. “But I searched for ages to find them! I can’t go back empty-handed.”

“Tough luck.”

Jamie wanted to cry, but not in front of this thing. Still, he hadn’t a single clue on how to get back. Without a direction to guide him, he refused to put another foot forward. So he just stood there, dumbfounded and stuck, an idiot wading through dark waters.

The beast teased him, “Can’t find your way home?” Jamie didn’t respond, which said enough. It giggled, picking at its teeth in disinterest, “Where’d you come from anyway?”

“The church.”

It stopped. “The church, you say?” He nodded. It got closer. “You live there?”

He stepped back, “...Yeah?”

In a quick flash, its eyes flooded ill-intent before addressing Jamie with a grin, “I can get you those flowers.”

“Really!?” Jamie didn’t believe it.

“Sure thing, I’ll even lead you home.”

He still couldn’t believe it. “And you’ll do it?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t mind helping you out… but,” the catch, “...I’ll need something in return. It’s a lot of trouble for me to go out of my way for you,” it reasoned while gliding away. “I love a little mischief. Lots of fun. In leading you home, I want you to mess with the residents of the church. Poke fun, play pranks, whatever you want. Bring me proof of your deeds, and I will reward you.”

He would’ve hesitated. Should’ve, but no aversion kept Jamie from shaking on it. Only one question laid on his tongue: “What should I call you?”

“You may call me the Baby Devil.”

Alongside the Baby Devil, Jamie made his way home, upholding his promise to it.

And he sure as hell did.

That week, he put his plans into action. He tripped anyone walking down the hallways. He interrupted morning prayer. He taunted and tormented the nuns by playing ghost stories against them. He ruined their scriptures and Bibles, doodling image after image of demons on holy passages. He took to singing during mass and dancing while the choir played. When they should be seated, he’d stand. When they should be standing, he’d sit. So on, he displayed abhorrent behavior for a priest’s son. The grunt of it was mounted on the abbess.

She suffered his finest work.

He tormented her, casting powder into her clothes and marking her bedsheets in paint. He placed spiders in her bath and led a colony of termites to her room. When she’d least expect it, he’d jump around corners to frighten her. When she was vigilant and tense, he’d create noises, shoving books off shelves and slamming the doors, just to keep her on her toes. It came to a head when, at the end of the week, the poor nun returned to her quarters to find a marked-out image of herself carved into the floorboards. By Sunday, she resigned, leaving her cornette behind and never coming back.

Jamie took the cornette. He ventured outside, hoping to stumble across the Baby Devil. They had never agreed on where to meet, but it seemed the Baby Devil already knew where to find him.

Jamie recounted his horrific acts, and the Baby Devil laughed, “Wonderful! Wonderful work! As promised, your reward.” And it handed Jamie stones.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” he gaped.

“Those calendulas are hard to find, especially this time of year. For what little mischief you did, it wasn’t enough. So all I owe you are stones.” It picked its teeth, “Keep ‘em or leave ‘em, but I will offer you another deal.”

“And you’ll promise this time, right?”

“Hear me out first.” It took flight, circling Jamie. “With these stones, smash every window in the church. Bring back a shard, and I shall give you what you need.”

He tightened his fist around the stones and, with a nod, left to complete his second duty.

It took only a day and neglect from the patrons to shatter every mosaic. The details smashed to bits. The ground turned into a rainbow massacre. As such, the response to this was tenfold to his harassment. Admonished by everyone, Jamie expected punishment, but when word reached his father, all he got was a condemnation by a nun. At most, he expected to be grounded in his room until the following Sunday Mass, where he was to show his remorse.

On Sunday, he took his freedom  to present the Baby Devil a piece of red-stained glass; the color resembling new blood in fluorescent light. In return, he
got seeds.

He tried to suppress his disappointment. “Calendula seeds?” he said hopefully.

“No, vines. Plant them in the garden, let them grow all over —
up the walls and wrangled over your fields. Bring me a flourishing strand once it has been done.”

Jamie felt wary, rightfully so. The Baby Devil had tricked him many times already, but the chance of getting a bouquet, a small one even, kept him on his toes.

“And this time, you’ll get me the calendulas, right?”

“Whatever I can.”

Enough of a hook for him, Jamie brought the seeds to the church gardens. In their earliest days, he watered them. Giving them the nutrients they couldn’t get yet. Once the vines began to grow out of the soil, he left them to their will. Without prevention, they prevailed and attached themselves to every tree. To their stumps and barks. To the weak and strong, old and young. They took the water from their roots and then some. They thieved the sugar in their stems and hoisted themselves onto their branches. Once they depleted the trees, they turned to bushes, then weak-willed flowers and vegetables. Within a month, they ruled nature’s hierarchy. They were rampaging everything until the garden was sheathed in vines. Soon, the lack of room on the ground had them crawling up the walls. By the time anyone noticed, it was too late.

The vines were parasites, later identified during the cleanup. It took twice the age of the vines to get them in control. By then, the garden had become a wasteland.

Jamie brought a wilting dandelion, covered in said parasite, to the Baby Devil upon the end of the fiasco. Plopped into his hands was mud.

“What’s this?” he freaked, dropping it on the ground.

“Mud. Isn’t that obvious?” It looked sad, almost, to see its gift discarded so carelessly.

The explanation provided no clarity, “But why mud?”

“To coat the inside of the church with sludge. I want you to drive everyone away. What better way than a mess? Return with your word only, and I’ll give you what your heart desires.”

He knew the drill by now.

Jamie took the mud, then took more, as much as he needed, until he had surplus storage. From top to bottom, he took it upon himself to wipe each room in mud with his own palms. Corridors became dangerous to cross. Many slipped on mire as they passed by. After a few days, it began to stink as well. The smell sifted through the air. It intoxicated every breath, pinched faces, and drove everyone out and away. Even janitors refused to enter, leaving the mud to wallow and mold corners.

No one arrived for Sunday Mass. No one to scold Jamie; he wasn’t worth the trouble.

Jamie stood in front of the Baby Devil, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, a habit he’d grown in the past week. Living in the building made him bitter. “I’ve done what you wanted! I’ve broken; I’ve mangled; I’ve believed you would get me the calendulas, so where are they?” It handed him matches. “What do I need these for?”

It beamed, “To burn your father with.”

He gasped, “I don’t want to do that!”

“I’m sure a part of you does, no matter how deep. Do this, and I’ll mark the end of your trials, and you’ll earn what you long for–”

“No!” he screamed, startling the Baby Devil from its spiel, “Promise me this time you’ll get me the calendulas. Say it! No more roundabout riddles or vague phrases. Say you’ll get and give me calendulas. Loud and clear, then we will shake on it.”

It shrugged to the side. “Fine. I promise to get you calendulas like you’ve asked.”

Struck by the deal he did, Jamie’s walk back home was grim — dark. Not a sound or cricket chirping by. Complete silence in his mind, all focused on the mission. In passing thought, he noted the blooming of buds on trees. Spring now grew, getting closer. Flowers by the dozen will soon flood the valleys, and birds will announce their return in musical chords. Jamie imagined the forest would look less sinister, less bare, and more warm.

But he couldn’t think about that now. All focus was on the mission.

The box of matches scrunched in his hands.

He trooped through the forest.

He trooped through the church doors.

He trooped through the hallways and climbed the stairs.

He arrived at his father’s office. The head priest, his residence at the top and farthest from Jamie’s room. He pushed the doors open, and he trooped inside.

Upon the sound of creaking, his father glanced up, seated behind his front desk. A plaque sat on it. A display to show his status, the difference between him and the visitor. He had been filing papers, a single hearth to light his view. “It’s you.” With a nonchalant wave, he spoke as if the conversation was over before it began. His attention returned to his work, not sparing a second on his son, and that was that. He said nothing more. Affection was sparse, as ever.

Jamie did not care a bit. Not now.

Small fingers reached for a match. He struck it on the box. One try, two tries, three tries, and it’s lit. Small and inconsequential, a tiny blaze flickering and preparing for what it’s worth. All he had to do now was throw it.

He regretted it a little, if his meek apology was anything to go by. He whispered so quietly that a passing fly would’ve brought more attention to itself.

His father didn’t respond. With a flick of his wrist, his father was aflame in a second.

The disregard passed over as quickly as the fire consumed him. He screamed and thrashed, grasping at the wall and books, any items, whatever he could hold. The smell, like cooked meat, came about in pillars of smoke. Combustion scorned the air, cornering every area. The fire caught onto wood, paper, and flammable objects. The skin melted off his face; all that was under it scalding into dark charcoal. No longer burning, but burnt; no longer a person, but a mush skeleton, and it spread the longer no water doused him.

He almost grabbed Jamie in his hysteria, but Jamie backed away. A step and 10 later, he ran out, closing the door behind him.

The reminisce of his scorching father’s agony echoed in the corridors; it bounced on walls and in his memory. A bright fire, a burning man, and with it, he found a sense of ease in the calamity. A violence in him had been delighted, thoroughly pleased. The Baby Devil had been right, he realized. It had been right all along.

His father’s screaming got louder. Soon enough, someone will investigate, and Jamie won’t be the one to get caught.

Not yet.

Sprinting away, he went out through hallways and stairs.

Out through the church doors.

Out into the forest.

And outside, the Baby Devil perched itself on top of the
church gates. It seemed eager to hear the news. Its grin went unmatched, so wide and baring, Jamie felt fear to be the bearer of such a smile. He took a moment to catch his breath before proclaiming, “I have set my father on fire like you asked. He burns as we speak.” Huffing, he points behind him, “As you can see, his window glows.”

Satisfied indeed, it said, “Well done. You’ve burned a lot more than I expected.”

Confused, Jamie turned around. Astonishment would be an understatement. Wild without control, the fire had spread farther, that much he could tell. An entire wing was already lost; it was a catastrophe. The church had been a mess, but now it was in ruins. From the contaminated air to the dullness of its yard, surely now, it could never be saved.

In the corner of his eye, Jamie saw the Baby Devil reach for something, and instantaneously, he forgot the chaos. He awaited his reward. His fervor jumped in his heart.

The Baby Devil, his messiah, placed the prize in Jamie’s outstretched palms.

Revealing some yellow-violet pansies.

He threw them in the Baby Devil’s face. “No… no! I wanted calendulas! Calendulas! You said you’d get me them. You said so! You promised — word by word, you promised calendulas! Why do you keep bringing me useless junk?” The petals of the pansies laid on the ground. Jamie crushed them with his foot. The Baby Devil cackled. Jamie jutted a finger into its chest, “Don’t laugh! Explain!”

Wiping at its tears, its face morphed sinister, “I lied. It’s as simple as that. I needed a way in, and you were right for the tricking.”

Without another word, it flew into the blaze, ready to feast on unfortunate souls who couldn’t escape the fire.

And Jamie? On his knees, watching the incineration.