“Trevor, pray.”
“Yes!” my mother said. “Help
us! Pray, Trevor. Pray to God to kill
the demon!”
I was terrified. I believed in the
power of prayer. I knew that my
prayers worked. So if I prayed to
God to kill the thing that left the
shit, and the thing that left the shit
was me, then God was going to kill
me. I froze. I didn’t know what to
do. But all the grannies were
looking at me, waiting for me to
pray, so I prayed, stumbling
through as best I could.
“Dear Lord, please protect us,