“The devil is as real as you and I”

“Why, father, I’m looking at he”
“At who?”
“At you”
“At me?
“The devil”
“I see”
“In you”
“Oh please.  Hush up.”
“At midnight I did see you become less than a man, yet more”
“I morphed?”
“Yes sir”
“Not I”
“Indeed.  You were more animal than man.  Anyone will tell you that.”
“Who saw”
“Just I”
“Just you?”
“Indeed”
The father reaches through the boy’s chest and plucks out the still beating heart.  He drops it at his feet as if it were vermin, wiping his bloodstained hands on his long black robe. 
His mother was working in the garden when she discovers her son, a devilishly handsome man, washing his hands of the blood.  She sees her grandson’s dead body and strolls over.  She hands her son, the king, a shovel and whispers crisply “You know how to use it.”