This first appeared on the FML on November 14, 1995 -- I submit it again. My Black Sin She, and others of her kind, have been with us over the ages, when man and woman, closed the doors tight at night, hunkered down by a fire with the children pulled close -- and let that superstitious fear -- in little chills, creep up the spine. From times of mythological gods and Forrest beasties. Wraiths that spill in a cold black mist across moors. Ghosts and witches. Things that go "bump" in the night. Mystery. Evil. Cold and creeping. Theft of our tangible valuables, or that which we hold valuable -- our souls. Thief of our souls. ooooooooooh! Often cloaked as a wicked she...............Sin. Black Sin. It was a cold and stormy night. The wind, rain and branches slashed at the windows like slimy unspeakable monsters. The electricity was on but the storm had taken the cable. Hunched under the covers for warmth while nature vented her rage. One small light on, casting dim shadows about the room. Nearly asleep, I feel an atavistic and primitive feeling creep over me sending the fine hairs on my neck prickling. I open my eyes slightly and see Her. Across the table and over the arm of the stuffed chair. A small face. A black nosed, black face with eyes as black as obsidian reflecting light from the small lamp. I freeze with my eyes slit barely open I see her watching....watching. I am held, spellbound. Finally, in a silent fluid motion, a small black body drifts silently over the arm of the chair and lightly drifts across the table - like a fine black mist. With a grace born of many night time forays, the entity deftly dodges the pitiful barriers placed in her way to give me warning of her approach. Again. She moves quickly with evil purpose. I tense, waiting for the attack - - ready to spring to defense. Ready, if possible, to capture her. Swiftly, she makes her move. As she moves, I too, spring up and forward to grab. Alas, again, I am not fast enough. She does it to me again. For the hundredth time or more. She Grabs My Straw From My Diet Coke! Aiyeeeaaaagh!! My howl pierces the darkness, sending others of her kind scurrying to the darkened corners of the room. I spring from the bed in pursuit, heedless of the spilling diet coke behind me. Intent on my objective I pound across the room. "Eeeeeeeee!" goes the black she-devil with tail fur standing out like a brush, she flees beneath the bureau. Her booty is placed where my arms cannot reach. Triumphant she appears -- with a smirk on her black, black face. Now, I grab her and hold her face close to mine while I tell her how evil she is. She playfully nips my nose. It is too late for me. My soul is lost to this wee monster. My Black Sin. How aptly I named her...Meg. Epitaph: My Black Sin went on to produce 21 kits in two litters and was a wonderful mother to her babies. Tales that came back from those who acquired her children were..."hauntingly" "familiar". She no longer steals my straws, but other black devils have followed in her style. Cheers for a happy Holloween, Meg [Posted in FML issue 2475]