Satan's Little Helper

I - [ C H R I S T I A N A ]

EVER SINCE I was a child, I've had always been a very curious girl, constantly wanting answers for everything. I loved finding out about literally anything out there, but the question that seems to be always on my mind is this: If Santa has a Little Helper, then would Satan have one, too?

I can recall the first time I had asked my Mom this question. She still hasn't answered it yet to this day, not really. It was Christmas, and my family is a rather religious one, so we had gone to church earlier that day. At church they talked about the birth of Jesus and all that, eventually leading to a discussion about Satan. Mom was getting me ready for bed that night, fixing my blanket and tucking me in.

"Mommy?" The younger me had said.

"Yes, sweetheart?" She cooed, leaning in to kiss my forehead goodnight.

"If Santa has a Little Helper, does Satan have one too?" I then tilted my head a little so that I could whisper in her ear. "Just listen to their names, Mommy; they sound so similar."

She stopped abruptly, staring at me with such intensity it made me uncomfortable. Her glare lasted for what felt like an eternity, and all I did during that time was look at her with my innocent brown eyes; now that I think of it, they kind of resembled a lost puppy's.

"Well, I... I don't really know, dear. I don't think so, at least." She sucked in her lips and let them go again. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering." I shrugged. "Santa already has a Little Helper, right, Mommy?"

Mom seemed hesitant before replying, "I suppose."

"Then can I be Satan's Little Helper?"

Her eyes widened and it almost seemed like it was about to pop right out of her sockets in any second. She shook her head vigorously then. "No. Absolutely not."

"But why?" I pouted. "I want to help him do good in the world!"

"Christie, dear, Satan is different from Santa―they might be complete opposites, even. Satan is a very bad man, sweetheart. Santa brings gifts to little children. Satan, well..." She trailed off and let out a deep sigh. "We shouldn't be talking about this. It's really late, Christie. Go to sleep."

"But Mommy," I persisted. "I really want to be his Little Helper."

"No, Christie. And that's final. This discussion is over, alright? Do not bring up this topic ever again." She said in a raised tone.

"But why?"

"He's bad, Christie, and it's just the way it is."

"That's not a good enough reason!" I complained, pounding my little fists beside me.

"You will stop being so stubborn and listen to your mother, young lady! Do not ever bring up his name in this household ever again, do I make myself clear?" I didn't say a word, just crossed my arms in front of my chest and grumbled to myself. "I said, do I make myself clear, Christie?"

"Yes, Mommy." I forced the words out as calmly as possible even with my raised temper.

"Good. Now go to sleep, you've got a church gathering tomorrow morning." She stood up and stormed out my room, slamming the door behind her.

"I'll find out myself, then." I mumbled to myself. "I will find out and become his Little Helper."

I drifted off to sleep then, chanting these two words over and over again in my head: I will.

I will, I will, I will, I will...