When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  Conversation had been pretty casual up through dessert, which had included a delicious piece of raspberry-chocolate chip cheesecake. I’ll be working overtime to keep this off my thighs, Tara thought. It was definitely the wrong setting to have forgotten her Nutrilite Carb Blocker.

  As a fresh round of coffee was poured into their cups, Brent brought up what they all knew they were there for.

  “Pastor, when we last talked you told me that individuals had been approaching you about out-of-the-ordinary feelings or perceptions that something bad might be on the horizon for our community. Has anything happened in the past two weeks that would seem to confirm that?

  “Yes. More of the same. As you know we hold intercessory prayer meetings every Thursday evening. I wasn’t there for this one and neither was Jenni due to unfortunate obligations elsewhere, but I did call the prayer leader that night to ask how the evening went. He said that while they did pray for the needs of certain individuals that had requested it, the mood shifted after about a half hour. He said that many of the twenty-seven who were there just stopped praying and just stared, looking around at each other. Turns out that none of them wanted to sound foolish by bringing up the idea that they needed to stop praying for people at that moment and turn their attention to demons.”

  Tara spoke up. “Okay, I think that we’re coming to understand that something’s going on, but did any of them have a clue that others had been approaching you about a seemingly-imminent spiritual battle?”

  “Yes,” said the pastor. “One of those I had mentioned to you in my office, Brent, is a frequenter of that prayer group. But, according to John Nielsen, the prayer group leader, she hadn’t mentioned her conversation with me until after they had wrapped up for the evening.

  “So there you have it. Yet another confirmation that something is approaching.”

  Tara looked to Jenni. “Have you seen or heard or felt anything odd?”

  Jenni gave an apologetic look and a shake of her head. “I’m afraid not. But I’ve stepped up my prayer. In fact, I was thinking about calling you to see if you had any insights, considering your background.”

  Tara’s thoughts flashed back twenty-four years. While she had certainly been an open-eyed participant in the demonic realm, she had been so far-removed from it for so long that she doubted that she could offer anything of benefit, and she told Jenni so.

  Pastor Jonathan rebuffed the idea. “Tara, just because you don’t recall much or haven’t been practicing the occult for a long time doesn’t mean that you lack value in this area. In fact, you have eyes that are probably better suited to perceive things than any of the rest of us. God has a tendency to use the errors of our pasts to provide answers in the future.

  “If the things that people are sensing right now will have a community-wide impact, I won’t be surprised if something from your past will be used by God to help figure things out. Hopefully there won’t be the need, but start asking God to give you the opportunity to have your past be a blessing here in the present.”

  A feeling of nervous excitement passed through Tara at that moment. “I’ll do just that, Pastor.”

  Pastor Jonathan turned to Brent. “How about you? It’s been two weeks, anything interesting taking place on the streets?”

  “Not a thing that I’ve been able to notice, and trust me, everyday I’ve been watching, with all of this in mind. Frankly, though, I haven’t a clue what I’m looking for. It certainly would be a lot easier if a group of black-robe-wearing Satanists were caught on camera spray painting occult symbols on tombstones. But all I’ve been seeing lately is a reduction in speeding tickets.”

  “Well,” began the pastor again, “I’m certain that I did the right thing in bringing you into my confidence regarding all of this. I know that God wanted me to talk to you two weeks ago. It wasn’t just a whim. That said, let’s refocus our prayer and intuitive efforts to come up with some answers. The Holy Spirit is waking people up to some sort of danger, and it’s now our responsibility to keep vigil. If a dark time is coming, we are not going to be caught unaware.”

  “Amen,” said Brent.

  “Amen,” said Tara and Jenni.

  “Another thing,” Pastor Jonathan continued, “As God has obviously specified that you were to be alerted to all of this, Brent and Tara, I want you to be careful. Our Enemy is cunning and he knows your pasts. He knows that God uses our pasts for his glory and will attempt to prevent that. I’ll say it again, be vigilant.”

  All of a sudden Tara’s thoughts on weight management were tossed into the back seat. Funny how it had been her crises situation just ten minutes earlier.

  She wished she could laugh at the irony.

  1:39 P.M.

  BRENDAN STOOD IN the garage that sat back from the farmhouse. The main garage door was open allowing a flood of natural light to invade the normally dark edifice. He looked at the piece of artwork that had been leaned up against the wall before him. The plaster form of the Key Stone had turned out perfect. It stood approximately nine feet high, and since it would never be sunk into the dirt like its concrete twin, it didn’t require an additional four feet of unmarked surface at its bottom. Every bit of the imagery from the actual stone pieces could be seen. In fact, the plaster cast revealed even more detail because the human eye wasn’t tricked by discolorations that were caused by centuries of abuse from dirt, mud, water, and mortar.

  Yesterday they had taken the dried cement cast and erected it in the soil near MacKay Hill. It, too, looked great, and with the concrete having been reinforced internally with the rebar, it would stand proudly for many years to come. It appeared to do more to hallow the ceremonial grounds than all of the religious rites they had conducted. In fact, many of the Picti had been flocking to it as a place of meditation or ritual observance to the gods.

  Since the real Picti Key Stone and the Key of Bridei could never be safely returned to Scotland, it would seem that this unknown little spit of a city in America would become their Mecca, at least for the time being. Brendan foresaw annual gatherings taking place on this property. That meant that a lot of work was going to have to be done to upgrade, and add to, the facilities.

  Brendan knew that he didn’t need to focus attention on any of that for the time being. It could wait. During the coming evening, and the next, there would be general sessions with all of the Picti. He had contacted a company that rented out extreme numbers of chairs for events like weddings and outdoor concerts, and now several of the followers were hard at work, creating a sort of amphitheater facing one side of MacKay Hill.

  At dusk he would begin explaining in detail their overall purposes and talk about recruitment efforts. Throughout the following day they would discuss techniques for proper indoctrination and the practice of true magick. They would finish the evening off with an anticipatory look ahead to Tuesday’s big event, the placement of the Key of Bridei into the Key Stone; something that hadn’t happened in over fifteen-hundred years.

  Though determined to have the same self-restraint he’d used to delay translating any of the Latin and Pictish on the Key of Bridei, it was taking all of Brendan’s mental stamina to not place the key into the plaster replica of the Key Stone. He just knew that they would fit together perfectly.

  He sighed and walked out of the garage. His excitement, along with his long-delayed gratification, would come to its zenith alongside all of the Picti who yearned to witness the event. He yearned for it to be a holy, reverent moment filled with awe.

  What would Tuesday hold? What secrets would be unlocked? What beliefs would he become privy to that the ancient Picts had worked so hard to protect?

  He and his people would know soon enough, and in the not-too-distant future the world would, as well.

  Pittston wasn’t an every-day destination for Tara and Jenna, but it was certainly a lovely destination when they desired to browse through little boutiques. For some reason—maybe it was the beautification project that the downtown had recently gone
through—little mom-and-pop-type restaurants, cafes, and niche stores began to flourish, bringing what seemed like thousands of visitors to the store fronts each day. And this day’s beautiful skies and warm temperatures had apparently made it the perfect place to be for everyone in Ohio!

  The downtown was much more crowded than usual, which would probably make the day feel a little less relaxed, but Tara knew it would be no less special for some great mother-and-daughter time. This was something important for both of them; another opportunity to bond and be women together.

  Jenna was at the age now where boys were taking much longer looks at her and doing double takes. The teenager was thrilled. Mom and Dad, a little less so, but it was what it was. They couldn’t hide what nature was producing in their “little girl.”

  Tara took solace in the fact that Jenna loved God. The two of them had a very open relationship with one another, and Tara was overjoyed that Jenna was asking her the questions that so many teens asked one another in order to garner advice and direction.

  She and Jenna had had several talks about sex, and boy was Brent happy to hear that! Tara trusted Jenna as much as any mother could, but there was still that nagging desire to send spies out to watch her every move. Tara’s own sin-laden past was now revealing more of its consequences, and one of those was knowing that she hadn’t been worthy of the trust that she was hoping she could keep firmly placed in Jenna.

  Tara sighed. If only I could go back…

  They walked down Strawberry Lane where they had found parking and turned right onto Main Street. Tara glanced at Jenna. She had the beginnings of an uncontrollable grin. The girl had sixty-two dollars in her purse that she felt she couldn’t spend fast enough.

  To that, Tara felt a need to say something. “Restraint, young lady.”

  Jenna just looked at her and gave a playful roll of her eyes.

  Just a block away was Jenna’s favorite destination, Christy’s Place, a little boutique of purses and fashion accessories. She had been saving for a particular handbag for weeks, and now, forgive the pun, it was within her grasp.

  “Mom, after I get the purse, how about we go to Carson’s for ice cream?”

  Instantly Tara thought about that piece of cheesecake from the other night. Oh brother. “Sure, why not?”

  Jenna smiled.

  Twenty minutes and fifty-two dollars and sixteen cents later, they walked into Carson’s Ice Cream Parlor. It was packed. If they were going to sit down after getting their order, it was probably going to have to be outside somewhere.

  They waited in line for almost fifteen minutes, which gave Jenna ample time to make sure that all of the other customers had a good view of her new handbag. Finally, they were at the counter and ready to order. Tara ordered a single scoop of “Crave Chocolate” in a cup, while Jenna got a double scoop of “Razler Chip” in a waffle cone.

  As they walked out of the parlor, Tara commented on Jenna’s choice. “Raspberry chocolate chip, huh? Just had that in cheesecake-form the other night.”

  “And that surprises you? Tell me one thing that you like that I don’t.”

  “Your brother.”

  That caught Jenna off guard and she laughed with a snort. A quick look around assured her that no cute boys had heard that exit from her general direction.

  Tara laughed. “You’re too much.”

  They found a small table with two chairs that had just become vacant and quickly made it their own. As they sat and enjoyed their cold and delicious weight-gain products, Tara caught something out of the corner of her eye. Had she just seen what she thought?

  Trying to remain inconspicuous, she turned to look at a couple sitting at an adjacent table. A young woman, maybe in her late twenties, was wearing a turquoise tank top that revealed her shoulder blades, and though she couldn’t be completely sure, Tara was convinced that she was looking at a triskele tattoo, very much like her own. A slight twist of the woman’s body confirmed it. Wow. What are the chances?

  Then it struck her. What were the chances? Slim? None? Her heart began to race.

  Within a couple of minutes, the couple got up. As they began to walk away, the man with her, wearing a blue T-shirt, put his arm around the woman, revealing another Triskele tattoo under his left arm, just below the armpit.

  Oh, dear God! Could it be?

  She glanced at Jenna who was licking away at her cone. Okay, relax. Just relax. Eat your ice cream, don’t do or say anything to get your daughter wondering about your sanity.

  They finished their ice cream and Tara suggested that they just walk around and window shop a bit. Jenna was more than agreeable to the idea. Tara, though, wanted the extra time to see if she could find that couple again. She didn’t know what she would do if she saw them, but she couldn’t just let the possibility go.

  Tara was looking at everyone around her and didn’t take any serious glances into any of the windows they walked by, except to see if the couple could possibly be seen through them.

  “Mom, did you see that?”

  Jenna’s question broke through her thoughts to catch her attention. “See what?”

  “That woman. She has a tattoo just like yours.”

  Tara’s heart jumped. “Where?”

  Jenna pointed at three women standing near a trolley stop. The woman that Jenna was referring to was in shorts and wearing a bikini top. Another?! She and Jenna strolled casually by, and they both got a good look at the tattoo. Almost an exact copy. Then something else caught her attention.

  The Scottish accents.

  4:58 P.M.

  THE DRIVE BACK to Millsville required a phone call to Brent. At this point she chose not to hide anything from Jenna.

  “I’m very sure, Brent. I saw three of the tattoos. Jenna said that she thought she saw another as we walked back to the car. Something’s going on.”

  “Okay, why don’t you take Jenna back home. I’ll be home in less than ten minutes, myself. We’ll try to figure out what this could mean.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Tara pressed ‘End Call.’

  “Mom? What is it? What’s going on?”

  Tara expected the question from the moment she dialed Brent’s cell phone. “We don’t really know yet, hon. But those tattoos that we saw? They mean something. Something not good.”

  Tara stole a glance at Jenna and found that she was being stared at; concern in her daughter’s eyes. She reached out her hand and rested it on Jenna’s left knee. “I wish I had more to give you. All we have is a hunch and a lot of Christians who are feeling like something is about to happen in our community. Something evil.”

  “You know you’re starting to scare me, right?”

  Tara stared at the road ahead and nodded. “Do you want to be included in what your father and I talk about when we get home?”

  At first Jenna just shrugged. A few seconds later, though, Tara heard, “Yes.”

  5:19 P.M.

  JENNA WAS NERVOUS.

  She sat in the living room with her parents, her mom having just finished a call to the sitter to find out if she could watch Jamie and Amy for a little while longer. Household chaos on top of this new situation—whatever it proved to be—was not how they wanted to stack things right now.

  Her dad sat leaning forward, elbows on his knees, in a recliner that angled toward their living room sofa, where Jenna sat next to her mom. The two of them watched as her dad considered for a moment the request that had been made.

  “You’re sure, Jenna? This isn’t something that you’re going to be able to just dismiss from your mind, if later you decide it was a mistake to join us.

  Jenna responded, “Dad, I have a female brain. I’m already not going to be able to dismiss this from my mind.”

  Her dad couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.” He got up and walked in front of the fireplace and back. “Okay, this is serious stuff, though. This stays between the three of
us … and Pastor Jonathan and Jenni. Do you agree?”

  Excitement lit up Jenna’s eyes. “Yes. I do.” She looked at her mom, nearly ecstatic that she was going to be “in the know” regarding what was going on. Her mom, with a somewhat amused look on her face, simply raised her eyebrows.

  Both Mom and Dad filled her in on the little bit of information that they currently had to go on, which wasn’t much. But they did also have the relevance of her mom’s tattoo to ruminate on.

  Her mom, to this point, had never gotten into the real reason she had such a tattoo, so she filled Jenna in on some of the darker details of her past life. Up to this point in Jenna’s life, there apparently hadn’t been a need—in her mom’s mind—to venture into a lot of her less-admirable history.

  From Jenna’s own perspective, she knew that none of them—the three kids—wanted to venture out to touch on topics of their mom’s mostly-secret past. They were never told not to ask questions, of course; it was just a feeling, a sense that there were areas that were off-limits.

  Listening to her mom, Jenna’s eyes went from excited to astounded! How had she never known any of this stuff?

  “Yes, my dear,” said her mom, “I’m afraid you were born into a family of former witches.”

  It only took a moment for that to register, at which point her eyes darted from Mom to Dad. “Excuse me?”

  Her dad produced a sheepish grin and shrugged. “Who knew, huh?”

  Jenna let her mouth drop open.

  “Just remember, the operative word in your mom’s last statement is former.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight.” Jenna’s hands went up to her temples. “You both were witches a long time ago. And now, for some reason, God is putting you both back into the middle of it again.”