When her future adoptive mother put her naked infant body into a tub filled with cotton-candy perfumed bubble bath, she would be shocked by the infant girl’s reaction to the mounds of foam that frothed up around her. For Krystyn, the vision of being boiled alive by demons in a seething simple (a supersaturated solution of sugar and water) was so clear that it would be almost a reality to her. She would see the small mounds of bubbles clinging to her arms as the incredibly hot froth from the viscous, sticky syrup that bonded on skin like hot glue and proved impossible to scrape from her skin before it raised huge blisters on her skin as it cooked the flesh beneath. Krystyn would believe that her agony was the punishment that was specific to the sin of gluttony. She had loved sweets; in particular her chocolate-covered cherries from Belgium and the Demonic torture of being boiled alive in sugar syrup was her personally assigned retribution for her sin of her devotion to sweets in place of a more righteous devotion to God.

The adoptive mother would watch querulously as her baby girl frantically tried in clumsy baby fashion to push the foam off her skin. She would smile happily, trying to show her baby girl that the foam was harmless by playing with it and would mound a huge pile on her arm before doing the same to the baby. Krystyn would look on in horror as the female demon gleefully dipped its own scaled, dainty claw in the frothing, boiling sugar, then covered Krystyn’s arm in a mass of the infinitely painful brew. Krystyn would stare in horror as the overcooked flesh fell from her hand and arm to reveal the bones and tendons that lay beneath her fingers and arm. The Demon would smile at her open mouthed stare at her arm and scoop up a handful of seething syrup in the bones of its fleshless hand and with a hideous grin on its horrible visage, blew the five hundred degree seething froth onto her face. Krystyn would scream as she felt the skin and muscles that had formed her face melt and slide from her skull to cool instantly in the cool water of her bath and form a hideous sort of hard sugar-coated baked-flesh candy. Instantly, the Demon would pick her up and begin to scrub her remaining skin from her living flesh with course grained sandpaper while it uttered grotesque noises of pleasure at the sound of her screams.

Once that small suffering had been completed, the Demon would carry her off to find a new torment with which to torture her spirit. After the Demon had lain her on the filth covered floor of the cave and bound her loins with a cruel chastity belt that had no lock, it would place her in the center of the web of a giant spider in the corner of the subterranean cave. Krystyn would relax and try to remain quiet least any noise alert the giant spider to her presence. Every time she would move, the chastity belt would make a high pitched crinkling noise that would indicate to her it was constructed from infinitesimally small interwoven rings of chain mail forged by equally infinitesimally tiny ultra-demonette hands. The high pitched crinkling sound that the belt sounded was really the tiny, tinny clash of thousands of rings as they slapped together. The chastity belt was obviously meant as a sonic lure for the giant spider. If she moved around too much, the spider would be alerted and return to its nest to devour her.

After a few minutes, she would decide that the monstrous spider must be in another part of the web and hadn’t felt her vibrations through the fine mesh that it had woven. As long as she remained quiet and didn’t touch the web itself, she knew she would be safe. The floor of the nest was soft and totally unlike the rest of the web, although the remains of the skeletons and detrius from the spider’s previous dinners lay strewn about her on the floor of the nest. Before her lay a segment of the blue bulbous jointed spine of some unknown creature of Hell and in the corners of the nest there were what must have been the bones of the forelimbs of other creatures. When she picked them up, they would rattle noisily, so she would lay them down in quiet haste before the sounds summoned the spider to her lair.

Krystyn would awake at midnight to find herself in an open-topped wrought iron cage surrounded by the corpses of dead furry animals. She would know instinctively that they must be corpses because they failed to move or breath in the slightest. Over the cage would fly a flight of circling diminutive winged demonettes screeching their tiny songs of praise to their Foul Master in the Nethermost Ring of Hell, but Krystyn would know they were only watchers to make sure she didn’t escape her cage. Strangely, she would feel that being in an iron cage in Hell felt faintly comforting. It would mean that the demons were finished with her for a time and that she could rest before the torture began anew. From her viewpoint, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about being paralyzed by spider venom and being cocooned in spider silk to be hung as a late night snack for a spider. The thought of having the all her bodily fluids sucked from within her while she watched would make her blood run cold.

Perhaps the demons were saving that bit of horror for another day, she would muse as she began to fall into the deep, restful slumber of infancy. She would kick her legs a bit and would realize she had been wrong in her assessment of relative safety. While she slept, the spider had would have already paid her a visit and cocooned for its next meal. When she put her little hands next to her face for close examination in the dim light of the nursery’s five watt nightlight, she would begin to panic. Her hands would be covered with what appeared to be the soft white silk of a spider’s cocoon. She would wait open-eyed for hours awaiting the giant spider’s return to suck her body dry of fluid before it rended her still quivering flesh limb-by-limb so it could devour each morsel of the sweet-blooded baby girl in arachnid delectation. Finally, she would fall into an exhausted slumber which was so deep that she couldn’t be roused. When she woke the next morning, she would be back in the real world. Her hallucinations would end when true sleep overcame her. Unfortunately for her peace of spirit, the visions would return again and again; the witches’ spell on her insured that they would…endlessly, until the day that she died and was reborn again.

The adoptive mother would be astonished by the baby’s reaction to the bubble bath. Every touch of the harmless foam would make the infant girl wail as if her flesh was being eaten away by some acid. She would remove the baby from her bath as quickly as possible, thinking that perhaps the baby girl had an allergy to the perfume in the bubble bath. She would dry the baby with the softest bath towel she had, murmuring soothing mothering noises to quiet her, but the baby would still scream in torment of spirit. After drying the screaming baby, she would quickly diaper her in a disposable diaper and set her down in her playpen to calm her . The stratagem would apparently worked, when she discovered that the instant the baby was set down in her playpen, she would become utterly silent. She would play with the toys a bit, but would seem to find no interest in the interlocking plastic chain of blue egg shaped objects and the long handled baby rattles would seem to frighten her, so she would be left as she was. After a while, the baby would fall asleep and her mother would take her out of the playpen to tuck her into her fancy real walnut crib for the night, making sure that all her soft, plushy toys were lined up within easy reach on the back rail and foot of the crib. Her husband would demur on the cost of the expensive crib at first, but when he saw the pitiful little baby girl that the preacher had, and heard the preacher tell the woeful tale of the baby’s rescue from the clutches of the Satanists, his generous heart would melt and he would agree to buy the nursery suite that his wife wanted. Everyone knew that private adoption services cost twenty thousand dollars and more just for the privilege of adopting a baby. He would get off cheap and he would know it. The preacher would require nothing more than the ten percent tithe that they already gave to the church, so he would be no poorer by the adoption itself. If his wife wanted to spend a bit extra for good furniture that would last…Well, that was a savings too! Besides, the preacher mentioned something about the baby not being able to grow older because of an unbreakable Satanic spell. It was good business sense to buy quality if you expected something to last.