5:1
They found the Philistine scribe in the city of Gath. He willingly took on the project that would make the god of Israel’s destruction possible.
The man wrote every word the Angel spoke onto three scrolls. The first was the story of the beginning. It described the creation, God and the angels. The second was an explanation of the rise to power. It told how a man could become a god through ritual and astral projection. The third part consisted of incantations, definitions of spells, and ritual format. It was a step by step blueprint for the end of the world.
Karradel wrote it all down carefully and in great detail. The entire project took them four months to complete. It was thought that Karradel himself might be the one, Lucifer’s messiah. But his part would end with the gathering of the blood. His death would come swiftly after that task. The sun would rise and set three times more before his mortal flesh met its end.
The power to destroy the God of Israel was almost complete. Only two more things were required. The death of Samyaza’s mortal body at the hand of God, and the death of Goliath at the hand of an Israelite named David.
5:2
Jack woke suddenly. The muscles in his arms and chest had seized up in a jerking spasm. The room was glowing deep red. It was freezing and he could see his breath forming faint clouds and then dissipating in front of his face. It felt as though his body was under water. The pressure was against him and it was getting tighter. He desperately tried to raise his arMs. They were pinned to the bed, as were his legs. The most he could do was turn his head.
Stacey was asleep next to him. She hadn’t woken up from the cold. There were no visible clouds of breath escaping her mouth. She wasn’t covered in Goosebumps and shivering. It was like he had entered another reality right there in the same room with her. A bone chilling dimension of fear. It was all around him. He could not speak and could barely move.
What’s happening to me?
A swimming ocean of liquid hate spun in large circles above him. Jack could feel it. Powerfully it shoved him down. His spirit was sinking into the mattress below. It pushed him under the bed as it filled his body.
God, no.
The crimson mass had him in a strangle hold. His soul panicked and fell further down into the floor. Away from its grip he darted around to the other side of the room. It had grown into a blood red bubble that Jack could not penetrate. He could only gaze through its bright window from a distance. He flashed dark yellow as he beat on its barrier. The energy would not budge.
God, please.
It started shrinking. The smaller it got the thicker and darker its density became. The light was like water, and then oil, and then almost solid. It was taking a human form, his form. The condensed energy settled into Jack’s body and the muscles and bone vibrated at the pressure. He rushed at his body but it was like hitting a brick wall. He bounced backward in the air.
No…
His body now contained another and it sat up with a smile of satisfaction. It looked up at Jack hovering in the shadows. It gave him a wink as if to say thanks Slugger. I’ll take it from here. It leaned over close to Stacey and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She woke up and rubbed her eyes.
“Jack?”
“Yes dear?”
No. Stop.
She smiled and gave her husband’s face a soft kiss in the mouth. She kissed it on the mouth.
No.
Jack dove on top and strained to get back in side his body. It was no use. Whatever, whoever had possessed him was strong. Very strong.
It looked at Jack’s spirit with a grin and whispered to his wife, “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk.”
“Everything ok, Jack?”
Looking over at her it hissed, “Everything is perfect my sweet. Just perfect.”
She closed her eyes and lowered her head back into the dent in the pillow. It got up and walked out the door and down the hall. Jack followed closely.
Who are you?
It kept going, making its way to the front room. His body sat down in the recliner and put its feet up. Jack’s spirit was in front of it now.
I know you can see me, so you must be able to hear me too. Speak to me you son of a bitch. Who are you?
The face was calm and pleasant, “The question is, who are you? You see, my name is Jack Sawyer. That’s my wife asleep in bed. This is my house…” it put its hands on Jack’s chest, “…My body.”
The spirit floating in front of it fumed dark yellow.
No. Get out!
It ignored him, “And you, well you are a faint vapor, an ineffectual little twist in the shadows. Just a figment of my imagination, really. But soon, very soon, you’ll be nothing at all.”
5:3
Jack was completely helpless as he watched his body get dressed. There was absolutely nothing he could do when it left the house. The entity that has taken over walked with a purpose out to the car. The kitchen knife that had been removed from the drawer was placed on the passenger bucket seat of the Nissan.
Jack followed the car down the street as it sped out to the highway. There was no hesitation in the possessor’s actions. It knew exactly what it was doing and where it wanted to go. Jack had a pretty good idea that the crusty substance on his hands the other morning was not dog blood. He feared that it was something else.
What do I do? What can I do?
He knew why his body had been moving around while he was gone. He knew why the necklace had been removed and set back in its case. That spirit had been using his body.
He hoped against hope that what he feared was not true, that somehow there could be some other explanation for the dried blood. But looking down at the car below him, seeing the knife blade reflecting the moonlight, what else could he think? The energy that had taken his flesh was evil, with the most terrible intentions.
Jack could only speculate what his mortal hands had already been forced to do. His astral self paced the car all the way into Canon City. It turned on Fourth Street and parked in the alley behind Main Street.
The bars had been closed for almost a half-hour and the sidewalks were mostly deserted. It climbed out of the car and started toward Fifth Street, carefully staying in the shadows. The long blade of the knife remained hidden under the flannel shirt. It stopped at the end of the alley and waited patiently behind an overflowing Dumpster. The aroma from the garbage was sweetly rotten. The muddy slush on the sidewalk across the street reflected the red neon light of the Budweiser sign.
Inside, the bartender was finishing up counting her cash drawer. It had been a good night at McClure’s. Sandy’s tip jar contained more than eighty dollars. Most Wednesday’s she was lucky to get twenty. But the more her customers drank the more they tipped, and tonight had been quite the party. From pool leaguers to bikers, it was an eclectic mix of intoxication.
With the money locked away in the safe she made her way around the bar clicking off the neon signs. She turned off all of the overhead lights except the one above the door.
That time of night the darkened empty tavern always seemed so lonely. A deathly silence had taken over the rock and roll music on the jukebox and the talking and laughing of the numerous patrons.
Sandy’s boyfriend Roy was supposed to stay to help her close up and walk her home. But he’d had too many shots of tequila on top of a belly full of beer earlier in the evening. He had only made it to midnight before his slurring speech and unbalanced grip on the bar indicated to Sandy that it was time for him to go. The cab picked him up more than two hours earlier. His drunkenness had left her to make the walk home, alone.
At least that was what she thought. But she would soon find out that she wasn’t alone at all. It was waiting for her.
Jack was terrified, watching from a distance. In his current form he was completely ineffectual to the physical world. He could do nothing. Whatever had stolen his body had an iron grip on it that would not let go.
Please God, help me. Tell me what to do.
Sandy was outside now. She was locking the front door. Crossing the street she hummed a tune from a song on the jukebox. When she neared the alley entrance it stepped out of its black shadow. She only caught the very slightest glimpse over her shoulder. The faint padding of soft-soled shoes on wet blacktop quickly became the heavy pounding of a screaming heartbeat. The thick arm around her neck pulled her into the stench behind the Dumpster. A heavy hand over her mouth kept her cries from alerting the passing police car.
On the ground now.
The long winter coat was soaking up the surrounding slush and mud.
A knee wedged into her throat, panic.
Can’t breathe.
Jack racing.
The knife.
The soft flesh of the stomach.
Over them now.
No. Please, no.
Muffled shrieks and kicking.
Jack blasted into his body and the presence inside quickly with as much force as his astral self could summon. A vibration of condensed power knocked him backward end over end. It was too strong.
The blade found its purpose and the wet snow ran red with death. It looked back for a second to make sure Jack was watching.
He was.
Noooo…
The grin on its face was cold and satisfied.
The thing that had stolen Jack’s voice hissed, “Watch closely now. This is the best part.”
The slick steel sliced its way under the rib cage. Sandy’s body was giving up. Blood filled her chest cavity and lungs.
Jack sped away as fast as he could. He couldn’t be there anymore. He knew that it was all his fault. His carelessness and selfish curiosity had caused that poor girl to die. His own body had provided the vehicle for her death. All Jack had wanted was answers. To find the truth, what he’d received was horrific consequences he could have never imagined. He raced toward the horizon screaming.
Sandy’s eyes were still now. The torture was over for the time being. Only the powerful energy inside Jack’s body knew what was to come next. The beginning of the end was near.
The powerful spirit allowed a whispery laugh to escape Jack’s lips as he walked back through the darkness to the car. Things were going exactly as the scripture said they would. The plan was flawless.
copyright ©2002 Brian Holtz
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