"Maybe the devils really got me this time" by PQHAÜS

"I think the devils really got me this time" by PQHAÜS

(Acrylic on canvas / 16x20 inches / 2025)

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As a child, he used to curl up in bed, afraid of the devils his friend at school had warned him about—the ones that slithered beneath beds when kids fell asleep. He would squeeze his eyes shut, heart pounding at every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind.

One night, after a terrifying nightmare, he ran crying to his parents' room. His mother held him close, smoothing his hair, and whispered, "Devils can never reach good children." Then, she asked, "Are you a good kid?"

He nodded.

Nestled between his mother and father, he felt safe. From that night on, he resolved to be good—not just for Santa, but because he feared that if he ever strayed, the devils would be watching, waiting.

For years, it worked. He behaved, he obeyed, he kept his hands clean. And for a while, the nights were peaceful.

But now—years later—he lies on the floor, his back to the bed he once feared. His face is pressed against the cold ground, not out of fear, but because some tears are too heavy to shed upright. Some griefs demand that you bow your head, surrendering to their weight.

He wishes, more than anything, that the only devils in his life were still the ones under his bed—because at least then, he could talk to them. He could reason, explain, maybe even strike a deal. Beg. Beg desperately for just a little more time.

But the devils that haunt him now don’t hide in the dark. They hover in his mind like they own the place. They don’t listen to him. They don’t look him in the eye. They just stay—fully aware they are slowly killing him, but indifferent to his suffering.

7:34 p.m. The sun sinks below the horizon again. The television hums with laughter from people who don’t know him, who don’t know this pain. His phone vibrates with messages from friends who think he’s fine. But he doesn’t move.

Curled up like a tied corpse in a vast, empty room, he makes himself small—too small, as if he fears he’s taking up too much space in a world that no longer feels like his. He stays still, but his mind races, a relentless storm he can’t outrun.

And in that moment, a single thought settles in his chest, heavier than all the others.

"Maybe the devils really got me this time."