She remembered his face all too well. Each time he slapped her across the cheek, each time he kicked her in the stomach, each time he drove the knife into her arms and legs, she saw that sinister smile.
She remembered his house all too well. The small room in the basement where he kept her, the cold hard ground that was her bed. The drops of cold water dripping from the ceiling and onto her face. The smell of her own vomit and waste sickened her even worse, the sight of her blood on the floor. She would cry and scream for help, but nobody ever came.
She remembered the hunger all too well. Rat meat was all he let her have, once a day.
Worst of all, she remembered his voice all too well. Each time she yelped out, "Daddy, why are you doing this to me?!"
He would reply, "Because Daddy worships the demons."