by Lee, Summer
“On this date in Jewish history, Adar 24, 1817, the blood Libel was declared false by Czar Alexander of Russia. The false accusation, that Jews baked matzoh for Passover, using blood from murdered Christians, caused thousands of Jews to be massacred through the centuries. It was a case that took a hundred years to resolve. But that is resolved now. Thank God. The sad part is the Jews died for nothing.”
“That is so sick,” said Sybil. “Is that a true story?”
“Yes, it really happened.” Callista clicked the TV off and sighed. “People hate Jews who hate God. The same ones hate Christians.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Sybil. “I think Satan is bad and he is behind all the evil. Since prophecy affects the fate of the world, the end appears to be soon. If so, that will affect all of us. Some say that the year 2015 may be the final call anyhow.”
“At least something is going to happen. Blood moons have preceded other world-changing, shaking-type events, especially for the Jews,” said Callista. “While the prophecy may appear to be on the edge—like something a hooded seer from the Dark Ages would predict—it is gaining attention in the media and accepted by prominent figures. There is much blood moon prophecy talk in Washington. It is powerful.”
“My mother was a devout Christian. She believed that the fate of the Jewish people will determine the fate of humanity. Christians say that each new revelation signals an awakening. It reveals the approach of the End Times. It just gets closer.”
“I believe that myself, dear.”
“Thank you for the tea.”
“Let me refill your cup.”
Sybil thanked her again.
“Come with me to sit in my sunroom,” said Callista. “We’ll sip our tea in the sun and get our vitamin D.” The two women sat in the small sun room, which was an enclosed patio overlooking the immense backyard. Sybil looked around the sun room, which was decorated with cow wall hangings and figurines.
“How beautiful,” Sybil said, as she admired the flavorful flowers in the sunroom. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Is there anything else that I should know about end times?”
“Well, what interests you, dear?”
“What signs are in the sky?” asked Sybil. “I feel an urgency to know.”
“Let’s start with the basics, dear. You do know there is one God. He made this ol’ world and the moon and stars.”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“Have you humbled before him and asked him to save your poor lost soul?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“I guess.”
“I want you to bow your head and shut your eyes. And then just talk to him out of your heart. Tell him you need your soul saved.”
Sybil did what she said, as she whispered a prayer to God. “Now what?”
“Do you believe he heard ya’?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you mean what you said?”
“Yes.”
“Then you is saved, girl.”
Chapter Twenty-five
April 1st, —Early Evening
Callista asked Sybil to stay a few days until she felt better.
“Come outside with me to my garden.”
As the two walked outside, Solomon came in carrying a box. “Just hold onto that a moment, boy.” Callistra spoke with authority. “We’re going to smell some flowers.”
“It’s my gift for Sybil.”
“It can wait.”
“The sunroom is so cute,” Sybil told Solomon as she pointed at the wall hangings. “Everything, actually, is gorgeous!”
Callista grinned. “Except the basement! That is a mess.”
“Now don’t go pickin’ on my space,” said Solomon. “Ha ha.” He had a broad smile. “Hurry back. I have your gift for you, Sybil.”
Out in the garden, Sybil noticed several little Koi ponds. The grass was amazing, greener than she had ever seen in her life. It was all enclosed inside a ten-foot wall in the backyard. Sybil paused to soak in its beauty. She said, “The backyard. The sun room. Everything, actually is gorgeous! The plants are all so breathtaking.”
“T’ank you.” Ms. Dancer laughed. “Do you t’ink I embarrassed my son?”
“Yes, but it was good for him.” Sybil laughed as well. “I’ve heard that every genius has a weakness, and it is often being messy.”
Ms. Dancer held the door open for Sybil to go back into the house. She continued to laugh as she said, “Then Solomon must be a genius.”
Both ladies were still laughing when they sat back down in the sunroom. So much so that Sybil had to put her tea down on the table so she would not spill it. At the very second that she set the cup down, it vibrated. As soon as it touched the glass table, both the cup and the table started to shake. It was a little vibration at first—a tremor that was barely noticeable. Then it became painfully obvious as her teacup bounced over and spilled. Everything, including the table, went into action, glass busting all over the place.
Both women stopped laughing almost immediately. For a second, they remained frozen with fear, exchanging only blank looks. All that came out of Sybil’s mouth was one word. “Earthquake?”
Sybil first moved only her eyes as she slowly glanced around the room, looking for any place they could go to ensure their safety. She saw nothing. Sybil tried to get up from her chair. She fell back down twice. “Where’s Solomon?” Sybil called out in a shaky voice.
Callista got under a door frame. “If you’re going to go get my son, then you better get your little behind up a lot faster den that! You may be a pretty girl and have all the fellas chasin’ you, but the earthquake isn’t going to wait for you to get my son, so we can all walk out of here just as we please!”
Callista was not only right, but needed protection.
Turning, she looked and saw that the cow wall hangings in the sunroom were dropping one by one and each took a little piece of the wall with it.
Callista only gripped the sides of her wrought iron chair. “Portland has… more den you would figure, but I… still can’t get used to dem.”
Sybil jumped up and said, “Run.”
The shaking spread quickly to include the sunroom, its walls and every other piece of furniture in the room. “It never happened this fast before,” Callista said, as her lower lip quivered.
As the younger woman, Sybil needed a plan. As the last jolt stopped, she ran several times faster than she normally would. Passing the doorway that led into the kitchen, she ran out the front door. Hoping it was over, she took in a deep breath and sprinted out of the house. Behind her, the entire living room was falling apart, piece by piece.
Standing on the porch, she gripped a 4X4 post and held on for dear life. The shaking started again and was almost unbearable. Sybil sighed in relief when she saw Solomon making his way toward her with his hand outstretched and a panicked look. And then a tree fell, blocking his way and knocking him back down.
“Go get Mama!” he yelled, while getting up, stumbling forward and jumping over a large piece of the upper floor that just came crashing down in front of him. “Bring her outside! Save my mama!”
Almost as if on cue, the entire doorway that connected the kitchen with the sunroom gave way and collapsed, along with a very large part of the second floor. Sybil clung to the pole on the porch.
That jolt sufficiently cut her off from seeing Solomon. An empty window frame was close by. She climbed in it and stood up, holding onto the top, as she looked for Ms. Dancer. She still wasn’t able to get away from the small pieces of debris striking her body, but she saw Solomon struggling to get a large branch of the tree off his lower body.
Sybil lost her balance. It was all she could do to stop herself in time from being buried alive under tons of debris. She avoided being crushed by holding on tight and momentarily stopping her forward movement. The jolt of the side of the house falling caused her to fall. She h
it the debris full force on her back. At least she was not under it.
She pushed her body back onto the porch so she could look through the doorway and back to where she last saw Callista. Next, she saw the ceiling cave in above where the two had been sitting in the sunroom. Scooting on her belly, she went to one side. She managed to see the older woman run out the other door and into the yard. She made it! She’s going to be safe. Thank God!
“Your mama is alive, Solomon,” she yelled into the wind. Everything became unstable, throwing her down.
Letting out a blood-curdling scream, she fell backward off the porch, which was cracking and shifting with the force of the earthquake. She watched in horror as the entire side of the home tore away from the rest of the house and land squarely on her leg, pinning it down. Her hands were shaking as larger pieces of walls and ceiling were falling all around her. Looking up, she saw no more house. It was gone.
She lay in a pool of her on blood. Running her hand over her bloody body, she felt where the ceiling fragments had embedded themselves in her flesh. She felt pain connected with practically every inch of her body. Her vision became severely blurred, as one of the larger pieces hit her on the right temple. She tried to hold up one hand to get help, but she could not. The debris was everywhere. She panicked, as she felt a significant amount of blood on her temple, trying so very hard not to pass out.
Laying in the shade under a solid tree, a smile crept over her face as she wondered about her own fate. Her consciousness was slipping in and out. She hoped for blissful darkness, as long as Callista and Solomon were alright. She had no idea if Solomon even made it, since he was absolutely quiet on the other side of the debris… or under it.
Sybil gasped and felt her breath get caught on an inhale. She could not breathe out. Tears rolled down her cheek.
“Please God,” she pleaded silently, as she looked skyward. “Please take care of my brother until I can get to him. I know you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. I always try to keep my mind open to all things. You just happen to be one of those things I could not understand until today. I don’t care what happens to me, but my brother deserves to live a long and happy life. He should…” She choked and coughed. “He should be able to have a family and live until the ripe old age of…” She flinched at the tremendous pain she felt. “He should live to be a hundred. I did ask Jesus to be my savior. I hope he did too.”
She could not hear anything or anyone. Hopefully, Solomon and his mother did not die. They were good Christians. They knew Jesus personally. They believed that if they died, they’d go live with him. That was good. They were always kind. A smile crept across her face, as tears flowed down her cheeks. “I believe You must be the creator of us all or else so many people wouldn’t believe in you. I know you love me.” She sniffed. “What is it that people say about Lucifer? The greatest trick he ever pulled on the world was convincing it he didn’t exist. Something like that, anyway. If Satan was not real, maybe God wasn’t, either. That’s what some people think. But it was all a lie and people knew better. Maybe the key to knowing that You are God is knowing the devil is not. But now I ask you to live in my heart. So I am at peace.”
Letting her head fall back down, her last thoughts were about Eric. She easily convinced herself that she was to blame for her brother’s situation. Taking the blame dragged her downward to reach a darkness that she had never reached before. She was sorrowful.
Betraying Eric was a tragedy regarding the Blood Moon that she could not share. One that only Sybil knew the pain of. Another tree fell on her arm, blocking her in. A large limb struck her in the head, knocking her out completely. A mess that encompassed her very existence lay about her, as she lay in her own blood. All of her willpower to retain consciousness was gone, as she felt the bliss of sweet release. She was in a coma.
Someone must have called an ambulance, because one came. When they checked her pulse, the paramedic said, “This one is still alive. Get her to the hospital now.”
“The other two are still alive, as well,” said his partner. “Someone call two more ambulances.”
Chapter Twenty-six
April 3rd
Eric’s eyes opened, but he wished they didn’t. He hoped the second night of the Blood Moon would be his last. There was too much being taken from him. He had no idea where it was going when it left him, but it was going, nonetheless.
All he could think about was his sister…Sybil.
She was more than a sister. Sybil was his best friend. Was.
For all he knew, she was dead just like everyone else who got in the way of Isabella. In the past several weeks, Eric had seen Isabella as the witch she was. She had become more ruthless than anyone he had ever known or even heard about.
As he opened his eyes, he saw he was still in the locked, windowless room that she kept him in. He tried everything within his realm of possibility and beyond to get out and reunite with his sister once more.
It was all for naught.
Isabella had thought of everything that he would need to escape and countered every probability.
They fed him only when he cooperated with Isabella’s evil scheme, which wasn’t often. He had no human to depend upon, so he made friends with the one he did have. God.
He still didn’t know why the wicked lady wanted him in the first place. All he did know was that Isabella was getting more and more impatient when what she expected to happen on the evening of a Blood Moon… didn’t.
One time she took him to a local business that he was unfamiliar with and asked, “Was this place in your dream?”
When he said that it wasn’t, she then took him to her tiny office and gave him an EEG. Her research was worthless. She seemed to know everything there was to know about the Blood Moons, except for what Eric knew. What she did not know was how to activate whatever control she thought she had over Eric.
He shook his head, as he tried to imagine how his having dreams involving the Blood Moon could actually make him some sort of channeling device of some kind of ancient power. He would have laughed, if his situation wasn’t so dire.
When she looked at him, he saw evil in her eyes. He believed that she had a demon living inside her. “Why can’t you just let me go?”
“Because I now own you.” Her voice was deep and cold.
“Not in reality.” He did not believe in magic, or that he had the ability to cause global distraction upon command. He did, however, know that he had to escape before Isabella decided that he was actually worthless and had no special powers for her to play with. She could kill him.
Suddenly, a masked henchman picked him up and threw him back into his prison shack.
Landing hard on the cold cement floor, he felt the rage in his heart and swore. He shook his head, as if he could remove any scary thoughts that way. Eric got down on his knees on the hard concrete floor and clasped his hands together tightly. He then bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Sorry about that swear word, God. I want to be a better person for my sister. Now she’s more like You than I ever was. I respect her. I can’t do anything without your help.”
Tears started to flow down his cheeks. “My request can’t be selfish, God? I’m not asking for jewels or money. I’m not even asking for a girlfriend. I just want to be free.”
His eyes widened with his new revelation. “That’s it! Isn’t it, God? I promise I’m not making fun of You, but You have that whole set my people free thing, or something along those lines. Yeah! You are going to set me free. Maybe Sybil will come soon.”
Thinking about the best friend he ever knew, he cried even harder. He cried himself to sleep. He was given a new dream—a confirmation. In his dream, he walked alone across a dry and thirsty desert. Looking around, he wondered if he was in Arizona, or maybe Texas. The hot sand burned his feet, but he kept walking. It was high noon and hot. Very hot.
Suddenly, a twister whirled the desert sand in the distance. It came closer—heading straight for him. A slow rain
began, and he heard roaring behind him. Two masked men on motorcycles came riding across the desert from the other way—heading straight for him. The closer they got, the harder it rained.
Confusion surrounded him, but he kept walking forward. Dressed in khaki shirt and pants, his feet were bare and cracked. He looked at the tornado and then at the motorcycles. Turning his head from side to side, he realized he was in a new dream. His sandy, chromatic-colored hair did not move in the breeze. It was matted and dirty. His lips were parched. He felt the dryness of them with a swipe of his tongue.
The motorcycles arrived just ahead of the tornado. The tornado picked up the motorcycles, along with Eric. He was carried over the ocean, across the land to Israel. He was carried all night. The morning sunrise was tan, gray and orange. Eric saw the sun just long enough for it to disappear in a dust storm. Clouds were black with a gray lining. The sun was not visible at all.
He now looked around to try to make sense of where he was and why. He remembered the other dream. The village! He needed to find the village and save the residents. He felt something was wrong. He called out to God to save him.
He called out, “Take me to the Bedouins.” A dark cloud blew in above his head, picking him up. Two deep male voices called out loudly and echoed across the sand.
“End of days! End of days!”
They were the cyclists. They rode the motorcycles away across the hills and out of sight.
Eric stood alone.
His heart almost jumped out of his skin. He heard the voice as he had in former dreams. It was closer this time, and frightening. The voice was that of an older Englishman. Eric’s head reeled and he felt weak. The world whirled around him. He stopped dead still and waited. That was when he realized that the ground beside him had cracked and split open. Oddly, the souls he had seen in the former dream were now in the nearby cavern calling out for help.
“It’s too late for you,” someone called out. “You are doomed to hell.” Arrows shot through his mind and caused physical pain as they did. His body felt like it was burning up. He began to sweat profusely.
