The early morning light splayed long shadows across the town square. Most inhabitants of the small German village were still asleep, but several young boys scampered around playfully.

Azazel watched quietly.

The boys played a ball game (some form of which has been played by young boys since time immemorial). Eventually the ball bounced toward Azazel. One boy about 9 years old, black-haired and in shabby clothes, ran to recover it.

“I believe this is yours.” Azazel crooned.

“Danke.”

“What is your name, son?”

“Adolf.”

The subtlest of grins crept across Azazel’s face. “What is that boy’s name?” he said and pointed a bony finger towards a curly-haired boy.

“Levi, I think. I don’t know him very well.”

“You must be careful of Levi. He will try to cheat to win the game and steal your ball.”

“Why?”

“Because he is Juden, and that is what they do.”

Adolf eyed Levi suspiciously for a few seconds before returning to the game.

The seed was planted. The demon’s work was done.