When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  “Whew. Okay. That son of mine told us that Tara was a witch. At first I was like, ‘Nahh…’ then I saw how embarrassed and uneasy she was getting. It finally struck home. At first I didn’t really know how to handle it. I’ll admit I was uncomfortable with the idea of having a witch, even if she wasn’t one anymore, staying in my home. I took Brent aside to tell him so…” Sharon rolled her eyes upward and sighed. “Let’s just say that my argument fell to the ground in front of him.”

  Donna laughed. “Found out he’d been one too, huh?”

  “Two of my three children…” Sharon paused, then reached out and patted one of Tara’s hands. “Witches. Who knew?”

  Tara looked from her smiling ‘mom’ to Donna, who sat enjoying the most unlikely of conversations to enjoy.

  “I guess that was a rather long way to say, no, I won’t be weirded out by a conversation about witches and demons and the like.”

  This apparently gave Donna the freedom that she needed. After enjoying the goodies set before them for a few minutes, she began to open up.

  “Okay, I’m going to try to suspend disbelief for a few minutes and allow for the idea of witches and demons. But with the way that you and Brent talk, Tara, all witches are evil. I may not be the world’s leading authority on the subject, but wouldn’t that be a rather naïve position to take? I mean, there are people out there who believe they are practicing white witchcraft, right? Aren’t they just doing what they can to help others? Is it called Wicca?”

  “Wicca is a form of witchcraft, yes. And generally, those practicing it believe they are doing good to the earth, receiving good from the earth, and practicing only a good form of the occult. But it is still witchcraft, and witchcraft is, by its very nature, against God.”

  “But what about their gods? Don’t they count?”

  “Absolutely, they count,” replied Tara. “In fact, they count too much! These ‘gods’ are playing with the ones who worship, or, at least, acknowledge them. Those people, like me when I was practicing, are the ones who are truly naïve. There is only one God, all others who pretend to be gods are really fallen angels who are working to deceive people and to keep them deceived.”

  “I imagine that you’re not fans of Harry Potter, then,” ventured Donna.

  Tara couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question, so she answered it as the latter. “The world hails Harry Potter because the book series has gotten children to enjoy reading. Then when it hit the big screen for the first time, the movie industry knew that it was going to rake in the bucks. Here’s the problem. One of them, anyway. The books aren’t just engaging kids to start reading, they’re also creating a huge interest in many children to start experimenting with witchcraft. After all, they believe there is a good side and a bad side, and if the hero is Harry Potter, then that’s how they want to use witchcraft as well … if they can make any of it work.”

  “Can they?”

  “Yes! They can!” said Tara emphatically. “I’ve got a friend who lives in England. She’s told me on numerous occasions how Harry Potter mania has caused a major surge in occult practice over there! It’s alarming, but so few see the danger. Do you want to know why?”

  Donna nodded.

  “Because the parents are reading and loving the books, too! You see, God has been traded in for witchcraft.” Tara stopped and evaluated her statement. Donna and Sharon must have seen her struggling for an appropriate sentence to share, because they remained silent.

  “I take that back,” she said finally. “God was not traded in for witchcraft. Rather God was let go by a people who didn’t want to have moral or ‘religious’ absolutes in their lives. When they had banished God from their hearts, their schools, and in many cases, their houses of worship, there was a huge spiritual void left unfilled in peoples’ lives. Enter J.K. Rowling, the author of the Potter series. I do not claim to know whether she had an agenda for writing books for children that make the occult look attractive. It matters little to me. However, the effect of what she has written does matter to me a great deal!”

  Tara looked at her mother-in-law. “Mom, do you have a Bible close by?”

  Without a word Sharon got up and walked into the living room. A moment later she handed a burgundy-colored Bible to Tara.

  “Donna, you and I have different starting points when it comes to evaluating whether witchcraft is bad or not. Prior to becoming a Christian, I had a totally different worldview that almost encouraged me to get involved in witchcraft. But now, let me read to you my new starting point. I know you don’t believe the way that I do, and maybe you don’t give any special regard to the Bible, but humor me for a moment.”

  Tara opened the Bible up to the book of Deuteronomy, chapter eighteen, and began reading at verse ten:

  “There shall not be found among you anyone who practices witchcraft, or a soothsayer, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer, or one who conjures spells, or a medium, or a spiritist, or one who calls up the dead. For all who do these things are an abomination to the LORD, and because of these abominations the LORD your God drives them out from before you. You shall be blameless before the LORD your God. For these nations which you will dispossess listened to soothsayers and diviners; but as for you, the LORD your God has not appointed such for you.”

  Tara closed the book. “Does it make where I come from a little clearer?”

  “Crystal clear. Okay, I guess I’m pretty satisfied with all of that, but what I’m really concerned about is…” She stopped, as if considering her words more carefully. “If you’re right about all of this, then last night was…”

  Donna looked right into Tara’s eyes. After a few uncomfortable moments, she shifted her eyes to Sharon, and then brought them back to Tara.

  Emotion gripped her throat. “Last night, what happened to all of us could partially be,” she said with a hard swallow, “my brother’s fault.” A trembling hand came up to her mouth as tears formed.

  What she said rocked Tara. Her Mom’s eyes shifted to hers, a look of confusion forming. Tara had not given this any reflection. No thought at all about how this conversation may impact Donna on an emotional level.

  Tara’s realization reached her lips. “Donna, I’m sorry. All this time, all of your questions… I’m sorry, I didn’t even begin to consider that you were thinking about your brother’s involvement. I’m so sorry.”

  Donna pushed back from the table and stood up. Both hands covered her nose and mouth now. Her eyebrows arched in pain as she walked into the living room. She rounded the wall and out of sight.

  Tara and her mother-in-law looked to each other, not knowing precisely what to do. Tara decided to get up and follow her new friend.

  As she, too, rounded the wall that separated the dining and kitchen areas from the living room, she watched as Donna walked toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. She thought she might be headed for the upstairs restroom. But she stopped, turned, and sat on the second step.

  Donna, trembling hands still hiding her mouth and nose, placed her elbows on her knees. Seeing Tara approach, she lowered both hands and her head.

  Lord, help me help her, Tara prayed silently.

  “Donna,” she began, planting herself next to the grieving woman, “I’m not exactly sure what to say.”

  “What is there to say? David is involved very closely with the people who have a vendetta against you and Brent. There is no reason to think that he wasn’t also involved last night.”

  “No, you’re right. There isn’t. It’s very possible that David was as involved as the others.”

  “How am I supposed to process that, Tara?” Donna asked. A mixture of anger and grief emanated from her words. “He’s been lying to me. To me! We’ve never had reason to distrust each other.”

  Tara felt a prompting to say something that, like with Stephanie, sounded in her mind counterproductive. “Maybe you don’t have to worry about him having lied to you. After all, hasn’t he been trying to get you to part
icipate with them? You said the other day that he had invited you to meet the people at the gathering. It sounds to me like he’s a brother who wants to keep his sister at his side.”

  Her words did make an impact, however slight. It showed in the softening of Donna’s eyes.

  “You mean like my brother was trying to be nice and invite me into a group of people who hide behind the guise of religion to do harm to other people?” She shook her head, sorrow taking the place of anger. “Why, Tara? Why would a good man like my brother follow these people?”

  “It’s called the human condition, Donna. The need to feel important, the desire for power, the need for purpose. Those aren’t all bad, but sometimes we want them so badly that we’ll fall in with almost anyone who seems to be able to grant them.

  “Donna, you said that you went to Scotland. You found out while you were there that you were of the Picti bloodline. I think that David took you to Scotland already knowing that.”

  Donna took that in. “That makes sense. He was doing research for Brendan while trying to show me how important I was supposed to be. He did make a big deal of it, like it should have both amazed and inspired me.”

  “Okay, so you weren’t inspired and amazed. The love of a brother for his twin sister persisted for years, falling on deaf ears. I think that God has been protecting you; that he has had his hand on you.

  “There’s something else I’d like you to know. I, too, am Scottish.”

  Donna looked at her, stunned.

  “I was recruited by Stephanie back in the mid-80s to be groomed for some group. She would never tell me what it was. Based on everything that has come to light in the past few days, I think that I’ve got Pictish blood coursing through my veins, as well. But, I made Stephanie very angry by going against her directive to stay clear of Brent and Marta. That’s the part of the story that I didn’t tell you.”

  Donna looked dumbfounded. “That’s … Wait, so you’re telling me that you and Stephanie knew each other all those years ago, and then, just like that, you’ve been thrown back into each other’s lives?”

  “Don’t you think for an instant that any of these crossings of paths is coincidence, Donna. Think about it. Do you think it was a coincidence that you approached me at the store and saw my tattoo, a copy of Stephanie’s tattoo, just days after seeing hundreds of others with the same tattoo? I sure don’t.”

  Tara let that settle within Donna’s mind. She had more she wanted to say, but felt a check in her spirit,15 discouraging her from continuing.

  “Okay, if there is a God who protected me from this witch group, why didn’t he protect my brother?”

  “I can’t answer that. I wish I could. All I can say is that I’m sure that God is battling for you right now. Step one of whatever his plan is seems to involve you getting to know who he is. You’ve been singled out for him and his purposes.”

  “So, I’m the yang to David’s yin.”

  Tara couldn’t help but release a soft laugh at Donna’s symbolism. “Not exactly the occult metaphor that I would have chosen…”

  Donna smiled, but with a hint of confusion in her eyes.

  “Never mind. I’m saying that God has a purpose for you. I am not saying that David is your opposite or opponent. I believe he loves you, based on all the things you’ve told me about your relationship. I also doubt that you were supposed to be a target last night. I think you only got attacked because you were in the house with us. I doubt David would have done anything to harm you; at least on purpose.”

  “But if I were to accept your God—accept the God—the way that you’ve been suggesting, then I would be deliberately aligning myself against David right from the outset.”

  “Donna, look at me for a moment.”

  Donna looked into Tara’s eyes.

  “Even if you don’t accept Jesus, do you think that you will align yourself with David?”

  Donna’s gaze shifted from one of Tara’s eyes to the other, back and forth several times. Tara could see an internal search taking place. And finally she spoke.

  “No. Not after what happened last night. If he was in any way a part of that, then David and I will have reached a breaking point. I know that he thinks of me as sort of flighty.” She grinned. “I guess I really am. But I’m not stupid. I can’t have anything to do with a family member who participates in such evil.” She hung her head, then said softly, “Even if he is the only family I have.”

  Donna’s revelation stabbed at Tara’s heart. She reached around Donna and drew her close. Donna responded by leaning her head onto Tara’s shoulder, accepting the friendship and love being offered.

  She’s a kindred spirit, concluded Tara.

  Donna sniffled. “So, all of this Christianity stuff and demon stuff is real, huh? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be able to disregard it as fanciful imagination any longer.”

  “It’s real, dear one. It’s all very, very real.”

  Brent stood in the center of the living room, having just opened the front door and back windows to allow for some cross-ventilation. The room stank. The carpet was going to have to be replaced. There was just no way all of that blood and vomit was going to come out.

  Tara walked in from the kitchen, carrying a warm pail of water with Liquid Organic Cleaner and all-fabric bleach mixed into it. Brent doubted that anything could be done about the stains, but at least the smell would be made right.

  For all of the chaos last night, the house seemed rather indifferent to it all. Not that it should have been screaming, “Fear this place!” This hadn’t been the Amityville Horror, after all.

  Not exactly.

  “Want to give me a hand moving this coffee table?” Tara invited.

  Brent walked over to the “guilty” end of the table and waited for Tara to get into position on the opposite end. Lifting it, they moved it about a foot in her direction, then Tara walked to the curtains at the front picture window and pulled them open. It was then that Brent saw the rest of the blood.

  A trail ran from where Donna had fallen, all the way up the stairs to the second floor. He imagined that there was just as big a stain in their bedroom as there was a few feet from where he stood now. She had lost more blood than he had initially thought.

  Tara knelt down to where she had expelled the contents of her stomach and soaked the area with a washcloth. Brent just stood and watched, feeling disconnected from what she was doing. His emotions had been raw for the past twelve hours, but now he felt emotionally barren.

  The walk that he had taken with his dad had pulled him back from a ragged edge … at least temporarily. He needed sleep. Except for the thirty minutes he’d gotten prior to “hell night,” he’d been awake since 4:30 the previous morning. He could operate at full capacity on five-and-a-half hours of sleep, which was his norm, but now his battery was drained.

  Still staring at Tara on the floor, Brent wondered how she was able to function. He imagined that she could have only gotten two or three hours of sleep while he lay awake next to her on the air mattress in his parents’ finished basement.

  Thank God for his parents. Their home right now was a safe haven for the kids. Donna was still there with his parents, as well.

  Tara had wanted to come back to the house to clean as quickly as possible, and she knew that if Donna knew her intentions she would have insisted on coming to clean up her part of the mess. Tara had told Brent, however, that she didn’t want Donna feeling any obligation to help, nor did she want her to be back in the environment right away that had created such an emotional and spiritual upheaval in her life.

  Ultimately, Tara made the decision to tell Brent’s parents and Donna that she wanted to run some morning “errands” and that they’d be back in a short while. Donna seemed very content to be in the company of Brent’s mom and dad, so they extracted themselves before anything could be suspected.

  Brent knew that he, too, should have been on his hands and knees at that moment.

  He sho
uld have blood on his hands.

  11:17 A.M.

  BRENDAN SAT WITH David and Stephanie in the living room of the farmhouse. Hundreds of pictures were scattered about the coffee table; all of them photographs of Pictish standing stones. A few of them had Donna McNeill posing in them for her brother, a tribute to David’s love for the woman and memories of their trip to Scotland several years prior.

  Brendan stared at Donna in one of the pictures, none too pleased by her image. He should just put his attention back to the task at hand, but she remained a persistent mental detour for him.

  “Should we group the pictures by symbol?” asked David, steering Brendan back on course.

  “Yes. Each of us will take two of the six groupings of symbols on the Key of Bridei and search for standing stones that have at least one of the symbols within those groupings. If some of the standing stones fit into more than one category, then just place it in the seventh symbol pile. I’ll determine the best course of action for those as I begin translating.”

  One of the symbols was a plague in Brendan’s mind. It was one of the most simple of the shapes, looking much like a crescent moon, and was very apparent in the photo that he had just picked up; the Invereen Pictish Stone from Highland, Scotland. It actually stood now in the Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh. This was the symbol that had been translated into Latin as solemn faith. He imagined that the shape was meant to symbolize a cover over the whole of Picti life, similar to an umbrella or an upward-raised shield. He was troubled, though, on how to best work with the symbol. He couldn’t just give up determining its real meaning, or that of the others within the category.

  Earlier in the morning, he had spent several minutes reading all of the Latin that had been etched into the back of the key within the solemn faith grouping. The words made him want to lash out and hurl the circular stone across the room and out the window, much like throwing a discus at a track and field event. Irony being what it was, the discus had been his specialty while attending high school back home in Scotland.