When I was around 9, I thought I saw the devil in the kitchen. It was customary for us to have a snack of crackers, peanut butter, and juice or Kool-Aid after an evening church service. At this time, my family was attending a revival at a little backwoods country church. When returning home on a Monday evening, I hurried to the kitchen; just as I was about to turn on the light, I saw these red glowing eyes staring at me from across the room.
The evangelist had quoted the scripture, 1 Peter 5: 8, “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” I rushed away from the door screaming, scared, and stuttering that a devil was in the kitchen. My dad ran into the kitchen, turning on the light as he went, and there was nothing, just a clean kitchen. Well, nevertheless, I went to bed without a snack.
The next evening, I grabbed my sister's hand and dragged her with me to the kitchen. Just as we were about to turn on the light, we saw those red glowing eyes moving back and forth, staring at us from across the room. Again, we rushed out, screaming that the devil was in the kitchen. Of course, when my dad went into the kitchen, there was nothing but a clean kitchen. My sister was mad at me because we both went to bed without a snack.
On Wednesday evening, I took my time going to the kitchen. I waited on the living room sofa. I knew that the devil was in the kitchen. As my mom walked towards the kitchen, I put my hands over my ears because I knew we would hear the roaring sounds of a lion when she entered the kitchen. I said a prayer for God to protect us. As my mom turned on the light, she screamed, and my dad ran to her.
It was not the devil or a lion in the kitchen but the fattest raccoon that I, as a 9-year-old, ever saw. The raccoon sat on the kitchen counter trying to get the lid off a can of USDA commodity peanut butter. My mom opened the back door while my father chased the raccoon around the kitchen with a broom.
In the end, it was my grandfather who shot him with a shotgun to remove him. Weeks later, my grandfather made a hat out of him. He wore that hat every time he took his dogs out hunting. I don't know what ever happened to that hat.
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