This Present Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

  Young raised his hands to get just a short moment to speak. “Marshall, all I can say is, be sure of your facts.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have my facts, all right. I have innocent people like the Carluccis, the Wrights, the Andersons, the Dombrowskis, over a hundred of them, who were driven out of their homes and businesses by intimidation and trumped-up tax delinquencies.”

  Young piped in, “Intimidation? Marshall, it’s hardly within our control to prevent fear, foolish superstition, family break-ups. Just what will you print? That the Carluccis, for example, were convinced their store was haunted and that evil spirits, of all things, broke their small son’s hands? Come now, Marshall.”

  Marshall pointed at Young straight from the shoulder. “Hey, Young, that’s your specialty. I’ll print that you and your bunch preyed on their fears and orchestrated their superstitions, and I’ll tell all about the wild practices and philosophies you used to pull it off. I know all about Langstrat and her mind-tripping hocus-pocus, and I know that every one of you is into it.

  “I’ll print that you set people up with phony raps just to get them removed from their jobs and offices so your own people could move in: you framed Lew Gregory, the former comptroller, with a phony conflict of interest charge; you pushed and pressed for that big turnover on the Whitmore College Board of Regents after Dean Strachan caught Eugene Baylor”—Marshall looked right at Baylor as he said it—“juggling the books! You put Ted Harmel out of town on his ear with that phony child-molesting rap, and I find it interesting that Adam Jarred’s poor little victim daughter now has a special fund set up for her college education. If I look far enough, I’ll probably find the money came out of your pockets!

  “I’ll print that my reporter was falsely arrested by Brummel’s flunkies because she took a picture she wasn’t supposed to, a picture of Brummel, Young, and Langstrat with none other than Alexander M. Kaseph himself, the Big Boy behind a conspiracy to take over the town, aided and abetted by all of you, a bunch of power-hungry, pseudo-spiritualized neo-Fascists!”

  Young smiled calmly. “Which means you plan to write about the Omni Corporation.”

  Marshall couldn’t believe he was actually hearing it coming from Young’s mouth. “So now it’s tell-the-truth time?”

  Young continued, very relaxed, very confident. “Well, you have been tracking down everything that Omni has bought and owns, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Young laughed a little when he asked, “And how many houses would you say were turned over to Omni because of tax delinquency?”

  Marshall refused to play games. “You tell me.”

  Young simply turned to Irving Pierce, the comptroller.

  Pierce shuffled through some papers. “Mr. Hogan, I believe your records show that one hundred and twenty three homes were auctioned to Omni for failure to pay taxes …”

  He knew. Well, so what? “I’ll stand by that.”

  “You were in error.”

  Let’s hear the lie, Pierce.

  “The correct number is one hundred and sixty-three. All legally, all legitimately, over the past five years.”

  Marshall hated it, but he couldn’t think of a comeback.

  Young spoke on. “You are correct about Omni owning all these properties, plus many other commercial enterprises as well. But you also should note how these properties have been substantially improved under this new ownership. I would say that Ashton is certainly a better town for it.”

  Marshall could feel the steam rising in his pipes. “Those people paid their taxes! I’ve talked to over a hundred of them!”

  Pierce was unmoved. “We have substantial evidence to show that they did not.”

  “In a pig’s eye!”

  “And in regard to the college …” Young looked at Eugene Baylor, giving him his cue.

  Baylor stood to speak. “I’ve really had quite enough of this slander and gossip about the college being in financial arrears. The college is doing just fine, thank you, and this—this smear campaign that Eldon Strachan began must stop or we will sue! Mr. Sulski has been retained for just that eventuality.”

  “I have records, I have proof, Baylor, that you’ve embezzled Whitmore College out of millions.”

  Brummel piped in, “You have no proof, Marshall. You have no records.”

  Marshall had to smile. “Oh, you ought to just see what I have.”

  Young said simply, “We have seen it. All of it.”

  Marshall had the feeling deep inside that he had just stepped off a cliff.

  Young continued with a progressively cooling tone. “We’ve been following your futile attempts from the very beginning. We know you talked to Ted Harmel, we know you’ve been interviewing Eldon Strachan, Joe Carlucci, Lew Gregory, and hundreds of other quacks, malcontents and doomsayers. We know you’ve been harassing our people and our businesses. We know that you’ve been snooping in all our personal records.” Young paused for effect, and then said, “That’s all going to stop now, Marshall.”

  “Hence this meeting!” Marshall said with sarcastic flair. “What’s in store for me, Young? How about it, Brummel? Got a nice morals rap to pin on me? You gonna send someone to tear up my house too?”

  Young stood up, motioning for a chance to speak. “Marshall, you may never understand our true motivations, but at least give me one opportunity to try to clear the matter up for you. There is no predatory thirst for power here among us, as you probably think. We do not seek power as an end.”

  “No, you just came upon it purely by accident,” Marshall said cuttingly.

  “Power for us, Marshall, is only necessary as one means toward our real goal for mankind, and that is nothing other than universal peace and prosperity.”

  “Who’s ‘we’ and ‘us’?”

  “Oh, you already know that too, all too well. The Society, Marshall, the Society you’ve been hounding after all this time as if chasing after some mysterious burglar.”

  “The Universal Consciousness Society. And we have our own little chapter here in Ashton, our own little piece of the Conquer the World Club!”

  Young smiled ever so tolerantly. “More than a club, Marshall. Actually, a long-awaited, newly rising force for global change, a worldwide voice that will finally unite mankind.”

  “Yeah, and such a wonderful, humanitarian movement that you have to sneak in with it, you have to hide it …”

  “Only from old ideas, Marshall, from the old obstacles of religious bigotry and intolerance. We live in a changing and growing world, and mankind is still evolving, still maturing. Many still lag behind in the maturing process and cannot tolerate the very thing that will be best for them. Marshall, too many of us just don’t know what’s best. Someday—and we hope it will be soon—everyone will understand, there will be no more religion, and then there will be no more secrets.”

  “In the meantime, you do what you can to scare people and chase them from their homes and businesses—”

  “Only, only if they are limited in their perspective and resist the truth; only if they stand in the way of what is truly right and good.”

  Marshall was getting as sick as he was angry. “Truly right and good? What? All of a sudden, you guys are the new authority on what right and good is? C’mon, Young, where’s your theology? Where does God fit into all this?”

  Young gave a resigned shrug and said, “We are God.”

  Marshall finally did sink into a chair. “Either you people are crazy or I am.”

  “I know it’s quite beyond anything you’ve ever considered before. Admittedly, ours are very high and lofty ideals, but what we’ve come to achieve is inevitable for all men. It is nothing more than the final destination of man’s evolution: enlightenment, self-realization. Someday all men, even yourself, must realize their own infinite potential, their own divinity, and become united in one universal mind, one universal consciousness. The alternative is to perish.”

  Marshall had hear
d enough. “Young, that is pure, unadulterated horse hockey and you are out of your ever-loving mind!”

  Young looked at the others and almost looked sad. “We all hoped you would understand, but in truth, we did expect you to feel this way. You have so far to go, Marshall, so very far to go …”

  Marshall took a good long look at them all. “You plan to take over the town, don’t you? Buy out the college? Make it some kind of hive for your cosmic, mind-blown Society?”

  Young looked at him with a very sober face and said, “It’s for the very best, Marshall. It has to be this way.”

  Marshall got up and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the paper.”

  “You have no paper, Marshall,” Young said abruptly.

  Marshall only turned and shook his head at Young. “Drop dead.”

  Ned Wesley, the president of the Independent Bank, spoke on cue from Young. “Marshall, we have to foreclose on you.”

  Marshall did not believe what he had heard.

  Wesley opened his file to the records of Marshall’s business loan on the Clarion. “You’ve been delinquent in your payments for eight months now, and we’ve received no response whatsoever from our many inquiries. We really have no choice but to foreclose.”

  Marshall was totally prepared to make Wesley eat his phony records, but didn’t have time before Irving Pierce, the county comptroller, spoke up.

  “As for your taxes, Marshall, I’m afraid those have become quite delinquent as well. I just don’t know how you thought you could go on living in that house without meeting your obligations.”

  Marshall knew he could be a murderer right about now. It would be the easiest thing in the world, except that there were two cops in the room who would love to pin such a rap on him and a judge who would love to lock him away for good.

  “You are all crazy,” he said slowly. “You’ll never get away with it.”

  Just then Jimmy Clairborne from Commercial Printers put in his two cents. “Marshall, I’m afraid we’ve been having some trouble with you as well. My records here show that we haven’t been paid for the last six runs of the Clarion. There’s no way we can continue to print the paper for you until these accounts are cleared up.”

  Detective Nelson added, “These are very serious matters, Marshall, and as far as our investigation of Ted Harmel’s murder, these things do not put you in a very good light.”

  “As for the courts,” said Judge Baker, “whatever decisions we ultimately render will depend, I suppose, on your behavior from now on.”

  “Especially in light of the complaints of sexual misconduct we’ve just received,” added Brummel. “Your daughter must be a very frightened girl to have remained silent for so long.”

  He felt like bullets were ripping into him. He could feel himself dying, he was sure of it.

  The five demons clung tenaciously to Bobby Corsi, hissing their sulfurous oaths and cursings as they cowered in the front of the little sanctuary of the Ashton Community Church. Triskal, Krioni, Seth, and Scion were there along with six other warriors, their swords drawn, surrounding the little prayer group. Hank had his Bible handy and had already gone through a few references in the Gospels to get some idea of how to proceed. He and Andy held Bobby firmly but gently as Bobby sat on the floor in front of the pulpit. John Coleman had come right over to help, and Ron Forsythe wouldn’t have missed it.

  “Yeah,” Ron observed, “he’s got it bad. Hey, Bobby. Remember me, Ron Forsythe?”

  Bobby looked at Ron with glassy, staring eyes. “Yeah, I remember you …”

  But the demons also remembered Ron Forsythe and the hold their comrades once had on his life. “Traitor! Traitor!”

  Bobby began to scream at Ron, “Traitor! Traitor!” as he struggled to free himself from Hank and Andy. John stepped in to help hold Bobby down.

  Hank commanded the demons, “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

  The demons spoke through Bobby as Bobby turned and cursed at Hank. “We don’t need to listen to you, praying man! You will never defeat us! You will die before you defeat us!” Bobby glared at the four men and screamed, “You will all die!”

  Hank prayed aloud so everyone, including Bobby, could hear. “Lord God, we come against these spirits now in Jesus’ name, and we bind them!”

  The five spirits ducked their heads under their wings as if being pelted by stones, crying and whimpering.

  “No … no …” said Bobby.

  Hank continued, “And I pray right now that you will send your angels to help us …”

  The ten warriors were ready and waiting.

  Hank addressed the spirits. “I want to know how many are in there. Speak up!”

  One demon, a smaller one, ducked inside Bobby’s back and shrieked, “Nooo!”

  The scream came belching out of Bobby’s throat.

  “Which one are you?” Hank asked.

  “I won’t tell you! You can’t make me!”

  “By the name of Jesus—”

  The demon responded immediately, “Fortune-telling!”

  Hank asked, “Fortune-telling, how many of you are in there?”

  “Millions!” Triskal jabbed Fortune-telling lightly in the flank. “Awww! Ten! Ten!” Another jab. “Aww! No, we are five, only five!”

  Bobby began to twitch and shake as the demons got into a scuffle. Fortune-telling found himself the brunt of some very harsh blows.

  “No! No!” Bobby screamed for the demon. “Now see what you’ve made me do! The others are hitting me!”

  “In Jesus’ name, leave,” said Hank.

  Fortune-telling let go of Bobby and floated up over the group. Krioni grabbed him.

  “Depart from the region!” he ordered.

  Fortune-telling obeyed immediately and soared out of the church, not looking back.

  A large and hairy demon shouted after the departed spirit, and Bobby stared at the ceiling shouting, “Traitor! Traitor! We’ll get you for that!”

  “And who are you?” Hank asked.

  The demon shut its mouth, as did Bobby, and glared at the men with eyes full of fire and hatred.

  “Spirit, who are you?” Andy demanded.

  Bobby remained silent, his entire body strained, his lips tightly together, his eyes bulging out. He was taking frantic, short breaths through his nose. His face was crimson.

  “Spirit,” said Andy, “I command you to tell us who you are in Jesus’ name!”

  “Don’t you mention that name!” the spirit hissed and then cursed.

  “I will mention that name again and again,” said Hank. “You know that name has defeated you.”

  “No … No!”

  “Who are you?”

  “Confusion, Madness, Hatred … Ha! I do them all!”

  “In the name of Jesus I bind you and command you to come out!”

  The demons all made a sudden rushing of their wings together, pulling, tearing at Bobby, trying to get away.

  Bobby struggled to get free from the men who held him, and it was all they could do to hold him down. They outweighed him at least four to one, and yet he almost threw them off.

  “Come out!” all four commanded.

  The second spirit lost his grip on Bobby and jolted upward as Bobby suddenly relaxed. The spirit immediately found himself in the waiting hands of two warriors.

  “Depart from this region!” they ordered him.

  He looked down at Bobby glaringly, and at his three remaining cohorts, then shot out of the church and streaked away.

  The third demon spoke right up, speaking through Bobby’s voice. “You’ll never get me out! I’ve been here most of his life!”

  “Who are you?”

  “Witchcraft! Lots of witchcraft!”

  “It’s time for you to leave,” said Hank.

  “Never! We’re not alone, you know! There are many of us!”

  “Only three by my count.”

  “Yes, in him, yes. But you’ll never get to us all. Go ahead and cast us out of
this one; there are still millions in the town. Millions!” The demon laughed uproariously.

  Andy ventured a question. “And what are you all doing here?”

  “This is our town! We own it! We’re going to stay, forever!”

  “We’re going to cast you out!” said Hank.

  Witchcraft only laughed and said, “Go ahead, try it!”

  “Come out in Jesus’ name!”

  The demon held tightly, desperately, to Bobby. Bobby’s whole body strained again.

  Hank commanded again, “Witchcraft, in Jesus’ name, come out!”

  The demon spoke through Bobby as Bobby’s eyes, wild and bulging, glared at Hank and Andy, and every sinew in his neck strained like piano wire. “I won’t! I won’t! He’s mine!”

  Hank, Andy, John, and Ron all began to pray together, pounding at Witchcraft with their prayers. The demon ducked inside Bobby and tried to hide his head under his wings; he drooled from pain and agony, he winced at every mention of Jesus. The praying continued. Witchcraft began to gasp for breath. He cried out.

  “Rafar,” Bobby cried. “Ba-al Rafar!”

  “Say that again?”

  The demon continued to cry out through Bobby, “Rafar … Rafar …”

  “Who is Rafar?” Hank asked.

  “Rafar … is Rafar … is Rafar … is Rafar …” Bobby’s body twitched, and he spoke like a sickening broken record.

  “And who is Rafar?” Andy asked.

  “Rafar rules. He rules. Rafar is Rafar. Rafar is lord.”

  “Jesus is Lord,” John reminded the demon.

  “Satan is lord!” the demon argued.

  “You said Rafar was lord,” Hank said.

  “Satan is lord of Rafar.”

  “What is Rafar lord of?”

  “Rafar is lord of Ashton. Rafar rules Ashton.”

  Andy tried a hunch. “Is he prince over Ashton?”