Deadly Decision (23 page)

The bush across from me rustled, and as it did, the bench faded; so did Pastor Steve. All that remained were me and the creature within the bush. It was a soothing place; a spiritual dimension. It was false. I knew it was false, but my head kept telling me that as long as I focused on the bush, I could stay in this place of comfort. I wouldn't have to hear anyone, or make any decisions. I could simply exist. I should walk out of the park right now…

“Bill?”

I was back in Williamson Park, alone in my skin.

A foggy feeling remained, like the half-dream, half-waking state that follows sleep. I stared into the distance. My energy drained. My fight was gone. “I'm the only one who saw them—Jimmy, and the other ghost boy. They didn't feel demonic; they seemed to be little boys. That's what I thought they were.”

“I'm no expert Bill, but we would be naïve to think there are no evil spirits—demons—call them what you want, around us. Christians are Satan's primary target.

“I read somewhere that every home where Christ is the head will have an occasional demonic visit. I think I'm having mine now,” Steve chuckled. “My goal is to keep the visit from becoming permanent.”

Leave!

The voice returned, but where could I go? The danger wasn't in Williamson Park. It wasn't Pastor Steve. These yoyo feelings had to stop. What,
or who
, was causing them?

I clamped my hands over my ears.

There was only one answer for my behavior, and the thought sickened me, but I had to know. “Do you think I'm demon possessed?”

Pastor Steve stared past me, toward the wooden bridge where Barbara and I had walked.

I held my breath, feeling death ready to consume me.

“No,” he finally said, “that's not your problem.”

Before I had time to process his words, he continued. “You're not demon possessed, but you did experience something supernatural in the attic. It came from either God or Satan. Regardless, it's a message.”

My legs were fueled for a race, but I didn't run. I paced in front of the bench. Back and forth, only a few steps in each direction, afraid to be too far from this man of God. “Since when does God—or Satan—send me messages?”

“God has always communicated through dreams and angels and in visions. Granted, it's rare today, but it does happen. God can do the impossible, and Satan has always been the great imitator.”

I slumped back onto the bench, my brain still telling me to run, but my legs would no longer hold me. Arms filled with lead hung useless at my sides.

I had nowhere to go, no one else to turn to. I had used up all my options and still the answers hid from me. What were the ghost boys?

Pastor Steve placed a hand on my shoulder. As he began to pray, panic choked me. With wild eyes, I darted around the shadowy park, seeking escape, but seeing instead blackness behind every tree. If there was ever a time when the Holy Spirit needed to groan to God on my behalf, this was it.

“Lord, be with my brother Bill. Help him to understand the vision he saw in the attic. Help him to discern if it was from you or Satan. If it was from you, Father, help him understand what he is to do.”

Peace washed over me, through me, filled me. The inner voice went silent.

What if God had sent Steve to help me understand the ghost boys? He needed to know about Barbara.

“I have to go, Bill. I hate to leave Lisa alone for too long.”

“I'll walk you to your car.”

Rubbing my hand across the bristle of hair on top of my head, I looked at Steve and wondered how he would take what I had to tell him. Would he turn his back on me as my sister had done? We headed through the shaded jungle-like path toward the parking lot.

“When I first saw the ghosts,” I said, “I have to admit I was afraid. And confused. I didn't believe in ghosts, and yet I had seen something I couldn't explain.

“Then I met someone, by accident. I met her at the bookstore when I…well…I mistook some kid for Jimmy.”

Steve was still walking with me, but I knew the real test was yet to come. The next part was the hardest, but I had to tell him if he was going to help me. I stopped walking, the parking lot still out of sight behind the tangle of overgrowth ahead. “The person I met, she's a psychic.”

Steve's eyebrows raised just a hint.

“I don't believe in psychics…at least I didn't then… no, I still don't.” I was getting confused. “I'm not sure why I agreed to meet with her. She wanted to contact the spirit of Jimmy. The whole process was strange, and I was uncomfortable at first, but after about the third try I got used to it.”

“And did you contact Jimmy's spirit?”

“No. I didn't really expect to. But she was a nice lady, and I enjoyed spending time with her. We talked about our families and what we did for fun. The last time I was in this park was with Barbara, and I almost let a spirit enter me.”

Pastor Steve grabbed my arm, his face directly in mine. “She was here? Bill, why didn't you tell me this before? And you let a spirit enter you?”

“It didn't. I stopped it.”

“You need to talk, brother. You may be in more trouble than I thought.”

“It's a long story.” I started to walk. “When Barbara suggested she couldn't contact the spirit because she was so far from where I had seen him, I invited her to Darlington.”

“And did she contact a spirit when she was here?”

“She may have contacted the second boy.” How could I describe what I had seen and felt? The terror of that night, and all that had happened since, flowed through me. I ached for light, only a few steps ahead.

“We had barely gotten into the attic when it started. She actually looked different. This voice came out of her, like it was huge and had to force its way out through her throat. I felt like I was confronting the devil himself, except I was looking at Barbara, or what used to be Barbara.”

“What did the voice say?”

“I don't know. It was some strange gibberish.”

“How did Barbara explain it?”

“She said sometimes a stronger spirit needs to be heard. I tried to explain how frightened I was, how she had changed. She claimed to understand, that she had reacted just like me the first time she saw her mother contact a spirit.”

I searched Steve's eyes. “Man, this was more than contacting a spirit. I could swear she was possessed by whatever was in her. I don't ever want to see that again.”

We had reached the clearing. In spite of the heat, I lifted my face to the sun, reveled in its warmth. Pastor Steve stared at me, his face reflecting a mixture of fear and urgency.

The sun was scorching, and the frame of Steve's old Chevy felt like fire against my arm. I didn't move from the heat.

“I'm confused about Barbara. She's a Christian, Steve. She goes to church every Sunday, and she prays. She said her gift is from God, something He gave her to help other people.”

“Bill, listen to me. Barbara's wrong. Not all churches are the same. You know that. Not all ministers preach the gospel, or even believe the Bible is the inspired word of God. Did you ever go to Barbara's church?”

“Sure, one Sunday right before I came back here.”

“And?”

“It was different.”

“How so?”

“I didn't feel like I had worshiped. I felt more like I had been to a lodge meeting or something. Barbara said I just needed to get used to it. I wanted her to go to my church but there wasn't time.”

“Did you ever ask yourself where Barbara's experiences came from?”

I hung my head, knowing I should have. “I guess at first not much happened, so I didn't need to question anything. When she got to Darlington, things happened so fast. She was only here a day and a half.”

“Do you believe Barbara had a supernatural experience in the attic, or do you think she was playing a game with you?”

“Faking it? No way could anyone fake what I saw.”

“Then you're saying Barbara was controlled by something else. There are only two options: God or Satan.”

“But I…”

“Face it Bill, Barbara was inhabited by a demon.”

Reality over what I had been involved in, and perhaps was still involved in, and how easily I had slipped into the occult, frightened me. I had not questioned any of the strange things that had happened. One built on the next, each benign, but together deadly.

When had I chosen death?

When had I lost my sense of reason?

 

 

 

 

26

 

A feeling of watchfulness hung over Darlington. Pastor Steve's arrest had affected everyone. The sun still rose in the mornings and the weeds grew, but an emotional dark cloud smothered our town.

Pastor Steve, for the most part, hid out at home. After receiving a death threat the day after he was released from jail, he stopped answering his phone. The police drove by his house regularly; there wasn't anything more they could do.

I worried for the young couple's safety. Too many people practiced the concept of an eye for an eye, and even though Steve was not convicted, a trial was an unnecessary formality for some.

Everything depended on the test results of the blanket. Steve would then be officially cleared. Or would he? I still didn't know if Satan could manipulate molecules to replicate those found in the attic.

Trina wanted to invite Steve and Lisa to the house for dinner, but so far, I was able to convince her that it was unsafe for them to be out. In reality, I didn't want Steve in the house with the demon. Hard telling what might happen.

I had become a puppet, and someone else controlled the strings.

The second cup of morning coffee failed to energize me. Ted and Trina, staring at me from across the table, had the same look of ‘why bother' on their faces. The day stood heavy before us.

Sandra arrived and joined our lethargy. Even with her optimistic attitude, conversation lagged.

There was nothing we could do for Pastor Steve. My mind could only wrap around other problems for so long before it shut down. I had given up my daily rounds. Once we found the skeleton, the sensations in the kitchen no longer happened. The rounds felt like an effort of futility; the demon could be anywhere, and that unnerved me.

The inactivity of waiting was driving us all crazy. We needed a distraction.

“How about we re-visit the cave?” I suggested.

“Why not,” Ted replied. “We should do something.”

No one moved.

“Ya'll know we'll need more light,” Sandra said, sharing her first real smile of the day.

Ted shifted his lanky body, his eyes alert. “I have something we can use in the workshop.”

While Trina and Sandra washed the coffee cups, I wiped the table. Ted returned with three utility lights.

After moving the cabinet, we peered into the dark hole. I had not expected the feeling of anxiety to return. After all, I had made four trips into the cave with the police officers. But my hands were damp and not too steady as I grabbed one of the three lights off the floor. It was so dark in the hole. So black.

Trina plugged the cord into the outlet on the opposite wall.

I hesitated. Trina, Ted, and Sandra deserved to be warned of potential danger, but how?
Hey guys, you might hear a creepy moaning, or see a dark frightening figure.
My anticipation of the demon's appearance grew with each day. How long would it stay hidden? What was its agenda? I had seen its dark shadow in the attic and felt its presence. The demon was here somewhere, waiting, and I needed them to be alert without scaring them to death.

“There could be bats,” I hissed over my shoulder to Ted, as he followed me down the stairs.

“More likely you'll find snakes,” he replied.

Snakes.

I stopped and Ted ran into my shoulder. I grabbed onto the rock wall trying to regain my balance.

“What kind of snakes?”

“I don't know.” His unconcerned voice frustrated me. “Big ones, I know that. While you were gone, Trina and I saw a snake stretched across the foundation of the house. Thin as a pencil and black. We measured the space later, and it was forty inches.”

“Where did it go?”

“I didn't pay any attention; I went back to painting.”

“I know one thing,” Trina added from behind Ted, “we don't have as many of those little lizards as we used to.”

“It sounds like a ribbon snake,” added Sandra. “They're harmless. They eat mice and other things, like lizards and Palmetto bugs. There're good to have around.”

They might be good to have around, but I would prefer not to meet one face-to-face, especially in the tight space and semi-gloom of the cave. But a snake was better than a demon.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I lifted the bar that held the lower door closed and then pulled the door open. Even though the cave had been exposed half a dozen times over the past few days, the air still smelled stale. I glanced at the corner where we had found the skeleton. My stomach clenched as I imagined the horror of being locked in the dark to die here alone. Would we ever know who the man was, or how he came to be locked in the cave in Sandra's husband's ancestral home?

Black snakes. Black space. Black mood.

Holding the light in front of me like a cross to ward off evil, I moved a few feet into the cave. My gaze roamed over the floor, or what little I could see of it. Then I held the lamp high and examined the ceiling. Even with the two hundred watt bulb, pockets of darkness remained. The protruding roots made me feel like I was buried alive.

Something softly dropped onto my arm. I jerked, dropping the light. The bulb broke, leaving us entombed in darkness.

Sandra squealed. I heard footsteps moving toward the door.

“Let's get out of here,” I croaked.

Back in the kitchen, Trina held her sides, laughing. “Dad, you were so funny!”