The little girl with her thin blond hair sat on the cold wooden floor, protected by the darkness. The demon’s back glowed by the light from the moon, shiny and white, apart from some big moles that looked as if brown mud had been thrown at him.
The demon didn’t know that it was only her shell that he ravaged. He stroked her soft skin with his rough working hands. It felt like sandpaper to her sensitive skin. To survive, she had to leave her body. Leave her body from the pain and degradation, but the memories would always find their way into her subconscious.
The demon was not a fantasy. He was real! He was alive. He breathed, talked, and pledged his love. But the most important thing that he told her; it was their secret.
He was someone she knew. She had been taught to never follow strangers, only to trust them she knew. And so she did.
Always talk to young children and teach them the differences between, “good touching, bad touching and secret touching.” But also for them to say “Stop! Its my body!” from relatives, to friends, to strangers……..no one.