If somebody asked to describe you to a person in your town, they would call you the 'Huttonsville Devil'. You never wanted to have that name, you never did anything to receive it either. It was Tom Kennedy's fault. He spread through the church that you were the devil's whore and liked to seduce boys. When, actually, you had just rejected him after he tried to make you blow him after a service.

Which couldn't be true, because you weren't even there that week. Yet, you still felt guilty, as though you were the whore that Tom claimed you to be. You had to talk to somebody about it, but it couldn't be your parents, they were already mad enough that their daughter was labelled such a name.

One Saturday afternoon, you visited the church and sat in the confession booth, waiting for the bell to ring to show that Father Michael was ready to listen. Father Michael was an honourable man, your family always spoke very highly of him, and sometimes they even invited him for dinner. He liked you, he always thought that you were a nice, shy girl, one that could do no wrong. He highly doubted it when he heard about what Tom had said about you.

After hearing your feet scuff against the wooden floor of the booth, he spoke up with a soothing voice, "Tell me, you don't need to be nervous."