The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller

by Richard Long

  “Once upon a time…such a long, long time ago…there was a very special boy,” Daddy began, shaking his long blond hair back from his sun-baked face like a waking lion. “What made him so special?” he asked, giving Martin a wink.

  “He had special powers…and a mark on his chest, like this!” Martin yelled, pulling up his dirty T-shirt to reveal a ring-shaped discoloration on his solar plexus. Unlike most birthmarks, it was lighter than the surrounding skin, like a halo. The first time Daddy saw it, he didn’t seem surprised. He said it was an omen. It meant he was destined for greatness, like the boy in the story.

  “See, I have one too,” Daddy said, opening his shirt. In stark contrast to his own scrawny ribcage, Daddy’s was thick with muscles. The mark was even more intimidating. It was dark, dark red—so dark it looked completely black except at the edges. It started with a circle in the center of his breastbone, then radiated outward in inky snakes like the twisted blades of some of his knives. They looked like the rays of the sun—if the sun was black. Martin couldn’t help but stare. It felt like the black sun was pulling him inside.

  “Yes, the boy was very special,” Daddy continued, breaking the spell. “So special that he had a very special friend watching over him. His special friend came from another world that was not at all like the world we live in. There was no sun and moon, because everything had its own inner light. The luminous beings in the other world were made of pure energy, so they could never die. But they could never really live either. Not like we do. Some called them gods or daimons, but over time most people came to know them by another name.…”

  “Angels!” Martin cried with joy.

  “Aye, angels,” Paul nodded, smiling just as brightly.

  “On the day of his birth, the boy’s special angel was watching, peering through a gateway connecting their worlds, a portal to his heavenly realm the angel could see through, but was shielded from humans except when they dreamed, or if they had the gift of the seer.

  “When the angel saw the birthmark on the boy’s chest he was delighted. From that moment on, the angel watched and waited for the boy to manifest some remarkable ability that would prove beyond any doubt he was An Té atá Tofa.”

  “The one who has been chosen,” Martin whispered worshipfully.

  “Aye,” Daddy said, suddenly very serious. “An Té atá Tofa,” he repeated. Martin had to recite it over and over until he got the pronunciation right. When Daddy was finally satisfied, he continued the story.

  “The angel was certain the omen would soon arrive. When it did, and the boy came of age many years later—years that would pass like the flicker of a candle for the ageless angel—then and only then would he offer his magnificent gift to the boy, honoring him with the most profound knowledge ever bestowed upon any human.”

  “Tell me, Daddy! Tell me what the angel told the boy!” Martin begged.

  “The boy wasn’t ready.” Daddy frowned, shaking his head solemnly. “The omen had not yet arrived. When it did, if it did, the boy would have to make an unbreakable vow of loyalty and secrecy. The gift of the angel was so monumental that it could never be allowed to fall into the hands of the unworthy. You see, the angel and all his kind possessed powers far beyond human understanding. They could transform thought into matter and change matter into any form they chose. They possessed all knowledge—the mysteries of life and death, time and space, past and future—the secrets of immortality. They could see far into the future and knew a day would come when our universe and theirs would face the threat of utter destruction. Only An Té atá Tofa could avert that apocalypse and bring salvation to all beings. If the omen came and the boy proved worthy, all the powers of the all the angels would be granted to him, if he vowed to guard their sacred knowledge until the time of his anointing. Until the Becoming.”

  “Daddy, what’s ‘the Becoming’?”

  “You know full well I can’t tell you...until I see an omen about you.”

  “When will the omen come? When will I be ready?” Martin pouted.

  “Someday not too long from now, yet not so close either. But don’t fret, lad. I know it will arrive, just as the angel knew the boy was blessed.

  “For him, the omen came on a cloudless day, as omens often do. The boy was still a tiny infant, lying peacefully in the shade while his mother bathed in a nearby stream. When the angel gazed through his portal to look at the boy, what should he see but the boy gazing right back. He was smiling. Waving! The boy could see through the portal, not in his dreams, but awake. And he was only a baby! Not only did he have the mark—he was a seer! The boy must truly be An Té atá Tofa!”

  Suddenly, Daddy’s expression changed from elation to sorrow.

  “But at the very moment when the boy revealed his true nature, something horrible happened. While his mother was still bathing, a mean, ugly crone snatched up his cradle and stole him away to her filthy hovel made of sticks and mud in the deepest, darkest depths of the forest. She treated the poor child worse than a mongrel dog. When he was old enough to walk, she tethered him to the biggest tree outside, his ankle tied to a rope just long enough to fetch wood for the fire and water from the well. She never spoke to him except to bark commands and barely fed him enough to keep his ribs from poking through his skin…”

  “Then one day…” Martin cut in, anxious to get past this part of the story.

  “Yes, then one day…” Daddy grinned, goading Martin along.

  “He stole a knife from the cutting board and cut the rope and he was finally free!” Martin shouted, his smile shining like the sun coming out from a bank of thunderclouds.

  “Aren’t you leaving something out?” Daddy pressed.

  The clouds passed over Martin’s face again, eclipsing his eager smile.

  “He had to do the bad thing first,” Martin replied, his chin sagging to his chest.

  “Was it really such a bad thing?” Daddy asked, planting an ogre-sized hand on his tiny shoulder. “Is it a bad thing when you shoot all those greasy, filthy rats in the dump?”

  “I guess not,” Martin mumbled, glancing back up into Daddy’s stern, yet kind eyes.

  “So what did the boy do after he cut the rope on his ankle?”

  “He tip-toed up to her while she was sleeping and stabbed her in the chest over and over until she wasn’t breathing anymore,” Martin said, his face pale and queasy.

  “And then?” Paul smiled.

  “Then he was free!” Martin shouted, beaming again.

  “Yes, he was FREE!” Paul shouted even louder, slapping his skinny back with pride. “He ran all night along the riverbed, his skin glowing under the moon. Yet all the while he sensed a presence chasing after him, a dark shadow overhead. Could it be the old hag, back from the dead and seeking her revenge? Still running, he looked into the clear night sky to see what flew above him, but it was only the shadows of the moon as he ran through the trees. Alas, when he turned his head, he tripped over his feet, stumbling into the water and sinking like a stone into a deep, dark pool.

  “He floated down, down, down, deeper and deeper. He knew he was drowning and all was lost, but his life had been so miserable it didn’t matter anymore. A wonderful sense of calm and fearlessness came over him as the darkness swallowed him completely. And so he closed his eyes, surrendering to his fate.

  “But when he closed his eyes he saw the most miraculous sight, Instead of blackness, he was suddenly bathed in a shimmering bluish-white light, like the moon was shining before he fell. Only this light was so much brighter! It felt warm as it approached, engulfing him completely like the deep, black pool. He opened his eyes, certain he would see only darkness around him again, but the light was even brighter and warmer, taking the form of a miraculous creature. It was easily three time his size, a human shape, neither male nor female, with a face more beautiful than any he could have imagined.”

  “It was the angel,” Martin whispered, his voice filled with awe, his eyes closed tightly. The image was so clear in
his mind it seemed to be floating right in front of him.

  “Yes, the angel,” Paul whispered, stroking Martin’s white-blond hair. “It floated wordlessly above him and the boy wondered if they were still in the water or flying in the air. As soon as he thought about flying, the angel transformed itself into a handsome man with long white hair and enormous, white-feathered wings that beat soundlessly in the radiant light.

  “‘Come with me,’ the angel said, reaching for the boy’s hand. His voice was so kind and loving that the boy felt like crying, so touched was he after so many years of neglect and abuse. When the boy grasped the angel’s hand, he was shocked to discover his grip was as solid as his own. The angel was real! A surge of power flowed into him through the angel’s hand. It was so formidable he felt like he could do anything! Grow wings! Fly all by himself! His heart pounded with excitement as they floated together, the angel’s radiance shining so intensely it transformed the entire world around them.

  “What a magnificent world it was! Even more incredible than the luminous being who shepherded him onward. They were flying over an island more lush and splendid than the green isle of his birth, more beautiful than anything he’d seen in his most fantastic dreams. There were palaces and temples everywhere he looked, bathed in a warm, golden light that came from within. The beautiful buildings were surrounded by waterfalls and green gardens with flowers of every color, and ripe succulent fruit that weighed down every branch. Some of the palaces floated like smaller islands in the sky. Some rose atop mountains in a mist. On the terraces of every building were more amazing creatures like the one who guided him. Some had wings—others were still more incredible, changing shapes even as he watched them.

  “The angel and the boy soared onward and saw a wondrous city surrounded by tall, thick walls and colossal statues of kings and queens and more fantastic creatures, some with the bodies of men and the heads of falcons and jackals, some great winged beasts with human heads. Everywhere he looked he saw gold: the statues, the domes on every tower, even the giant doors of the palace. They passed between two enormous golden winged creatures, the boy gaping with wonder at the sight of a temple bigger than all the rest combined, with a spiral tower that reached high into the clouds. The entrance to the temple was enormous, its archway supported by the horns of two bull-headed statues, their human bodies bulging with muscles.

  “But when they passed through the portal, the temple had vanished. They were in a place even more astounding than the golden kingdom, a great swirling mass of light and darkness, infinite in size and pulsing with unimaginable power.

  “‘What is this place?’ the boy asked in amazement.

  “The angel smiled and said, ‘This is the source of all creation and destruction, all life and all beings in existence, all that ever was and ever will be. There at the Axis spins the Great Wheel, the wellspring of all that is real…and of all possibilities.’”

  “The Maelstrom,” Martin whispered, gazing at the swaying wheat, unsure whether his eyes had been closed all this time. “Can we go there, Daddy? Can you take me?” he begged, changing their usual dialog for the first time.

  Daddy nodded, a proud smile on his face, like he’d been waiting all along for Martin to ask that simple question. “Yes, I can take you. But there’s something we need to do first.”

  The days with Daddy kept getting better and better. But the nights got worse and worse. Whenever they stayed out all day, Martin could tell that Momma was mad as soon as they walked in the door. But she wouldn’t say anything to Daddy. Or even look at him. He didn’t say anything either. He just smiled at Martin as they passed her in the kitchen, slapping him hard on the back. Every once in a while he winked at him.

  Momma smiled at Martin too. One time, when Daddy left them alone to go to the bathroom, she said, “You just wait,” with a really big smile. “You just wait.”

  Martin wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but he knew it was going to be bad. Momma drank more. Daddy drank with her. He would smile at Martin and nudge him in the ribs when Momma wasn’t looking. Martin didn’t understand what the nudge meant, but when Momma turned toward them, Daddy’s face would flatten into the dead mask. Momma seemed afraid of the mask too. She’d grab Daddy’s hand and pull him up the stairs, smiling extra hard, trying to get his face to soften up again. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes the mask stayed on all the way to Momma’s bedroom.

  Martin would slink up to his room after they left, close the door and jump into bed.

  Sometimes he heard a trail of booming laughter behind him. When the laughter finally stopped, the noises in the bedroom would start. They had grown so loud now that even the floppy pillow covering his head couldn’t filter them out. Lately, they hadn’t been closing the door, so every grunt and squeaking bedspring echoed through the old farmhouse like the rattling chains of a ghost.

  One night, he heard Momma talking while the springs creaked up and down. The malice in her puffing voice sounded scarier than her screams. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, Martin crept out of bed as quietly as he could and stood in the hallway listening. Their door was halfway open. He didn’t want to look inside, but he couldn’t help himself from trying to hear what she was saying. When the garbled sounds finally fit together in his ears like a jigsaw puzzle, he ran as fast as he could back into his room.

  She had been talking about him. Martin didn’t understand what Momma said, but it scared him so much that he put all his clothes on, thinking how he might run away down one of those long, black roads. But he didn’t know how he could find one by himself, especially in the dark. And he was torn between the fear of what she said and the fear of losing Daddy forever.

  Martin jumped back into bed and pulled the pillow so tightly over his head that he could barely breathe. He tried to pull the switch and turn his mind and ears off, but it wouldn’t work. When the sounds got really bad, he closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life, hoping he was special enough to have an angel watching over him too.

  “Please take me away from all this…take me away!” the trembling boy begged. And as it turned out, someone was listening.

  “Put some clothes in this bag,” Momma said when she woke him up the next morning. “You’re going to Norine’s for a coupla days.”

  Martin couldn’t believe the words that came from her red, swollen lips. Did the angel make his wish come true? He felt like his heart might literally explode in his chest, but he did a good job of hiding his excitement so Momma didn’t change her mind or take him to the cellar. He let out a silent scream of joy instead, pounding his fists on the lumpy mattress. He was going to Norine’s! For a “coupla days”! Yes! Yes! Yes! Norine would know what to do. She would help him get away! She had to!

  Martin loved Norine more than anything in the world. Even more than Daddy. Whenever Martin came to visit, they would sit in the rocking chair for hours and hours. Sometimes she read stories, but mostly they stayed quiet while he sat in her lap and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. So soft. Martin thought Norine’s cheeks must be the softest things in the whole world. He would stroke and stroke and stroke that softness until the knot in his stomach was gone and he felt safe again.

  Most times when Momma dropped off Martin she would barely speak to Norine. When she did, she always said something mean. Today was worse than usual. She stopped the truck at the end of the dirt driveway and reached across his tiny chest to open the door handle.

  “Go on, git!” was all she said. She had more to say to Norine, yelling angrily, “Don’t dig in your claws too deep! Just ’cause you lost yours, don’t think you got any claim to mine!” Then she floored the accelerator and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  “What did she mean?” Martin asked after he was sure Momma was really gone.

  Norine looked down at Martin, wiping her eyes, pretending she had dust in them, debating whether she should tell him, knowing he couldn’t possibly understand, if she did.

  “Are you scared of
Momma?” she asked, her eyes still wet and red.

  “Yes,” said Martin, swallowing hard.

  “I’m going to tell you a secret, baby—I’m scared of her too.”

  Martin couldn’t hold back his tears. He threw his arms around her and they hugged so tightly he thought his little arms would snap.

  “Do you want to go away with me? Far away where she can never find us?”

  “Yes, yes, please, yes!” Martin cried, forgetting all about Daddy and the Maelstrom and his promise to take him there—crying with such a sad, desperate longing that Norine could only tighten her arms around him in a protective embrace.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said, stroking his head. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep and leave first thing in the morning.”

  “No!” Martin yelled, tugging at her arms with all his might, pulling her to the rusting sedan in the driveway. “We have to go right now! What if she comes back?”

  Norine sank to her knees and showered kisses all over Martin’s terrified face. “She’s not gonna come back tonight. She never comes back that fast. We’re gonna have all the time we need to get away.”

  Martin stood and cried, shaking his head in despair. But he stopped pulling and pleading when Norine said, “Let’s start packing the car now so we’re ready.”

  They came inside and she made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Martin said he wasn’t hungry. “I thought we were gonna pack the car,” he added anxiously.

  She nodded, feeling almost as nervous and began packing up boxes and loading the car. When it got dark, she sent him up to bed early, telling him to get a good night’s sleep because they were leaving at the crack of dawn. The “crack of dawn” part sounded great, but sleeping was out of the question.

  “Are you sure Momma’s not coming back tonight?”

  She closed her eyes and became still as a statue. Then she shook her head like she’d bitten into a rotten apple and wanted to spit it out. “No…Momma’s not coming,” she said, opening her eyes, swaying woozily. “She’s…busy.”