The Defiance
Page 4
There was a symbol on me. More like under my skin. It looked like small red glowsticks had been implanted in a strange pattern. Or like I’d been tattooed with luminescent ink.
Ray Anne ran her finger over it. “It feels warm. What in the world is it?”
I didn’t know, but the fact that I could see it on myself was a good sign it was most likely from the Kingdom of Light. Bondages born of darkness weren’t visible to the bound person’s own sight. Plus, the symbol bore light—but I didn’t put as much stock in that, since I knew by now that dark forces could fake divine illumination.
I studied the odd mark, mulling over whether it was ancient hieroglyphics or a futuristic code or maybe symbols with no earthly source at all. One thing was certain: it was supernatural. Then I remembered . . .
“It’s right where the lightning struck me.”
Ray Anne gasped. “What!”
“In my dream,” I told her. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”
“Oh.”
As I resumed my story, her gaze drifted above my head to the wall behind me.
“What?” I asked her.
She ran her fingertips along the cuff of her long-sleeved sleep shirt on her right arm. “It’s just, I had a weird dream too last night. Ramus knelt in front of me and touched my arm below my elbow.”
Ramus was the Latin name we gave the Watchman who frequently watched over Ray Anne.
Still holding Jackson, I reached with my free hand and pushed her sleeve up, holding my breath. “Are you kidding me!” Sure enough, Ray had the exact same symbol as me, in the same place.
She was speechless, but only for a second. “I can’t believe this!”
This was new and cool and definitely worth exploring, but just then an explosive boom startled us to our feet. It was like speeding Mack trucks had slammed in a head-on collision right outside Ray Anne’s house. Jackson kept slobbering on the leather bracelet my father had given me without the slightest flinch, so we knew this was no traffic accident—no earthly commotion at all.
I followed Ray Anne out the door, holding Jackson as I scanned her driveway and the front yard and the airspace above us, then all around. The only unusual thing was a wad of black fabric lying in the street like someone had balled up and tossed tattered sheets on the pavement. No big deal, except that when a pickup truck drove past and ran it over, the vehicle and the heap never made contact.
“That thing’s paranormal,” Ray Anne said.
We headed down her driveway, illuminating the cement with her aura and mine, picking up on the faint sound of whimpering. It reminded me of the way Daisy would whine when I’d set her on the vet’s table.
Ray Anne peered down her street, then froze with her arm out stiff, shielding Jackson.
“What?” But as soon as I asked, I saw it.
They had to have been traveling toward us at like eighty miles an hour—a caravan of Creepers, advancing as thunderously as a herd of wild horses, only these were carnivores, frothing at the mouth. They encircled the fabric heap in the street, ignoring us completely while taking turns striking the balled-up mass with clenched fists and kicks. A voice like a small child’s cried out, so agonizing Ray Anne instinctively covered Jackson’s ears, momentarily forgetting he couldn’t see or hear any of this.
The assault continued, eliciting more high-pitched, unbearable wailing. Ray Anne lost sight of common sense and set out to intervene, as if she could shield whatever was wrapped in the fabric. I grabbed her arm just below her glowing symbol. “Wait!” We had no idea what was shrouded in there, but I was sure it wasn’t a human child.
Don’t get me wrong; Creepers didn’t spare children the torment of whispering in their tender ears or stalking them at night. In fact, a few nights ago, Ray Anne had seen a hooded one looming over Jackson’s crib while he slept. She woke up and commanded it to go, but I was confident that even if she hadn’t woken, Jackson’s robed, shield-bearing Watchman would have appeared and protected him. Surely Heaven’s army would never allow a child to suffer the kind of merciless Creeper beating unfolding in front of us now.
All at once, the Creepers stopped their attack on the heap in the street and turned their battered heads in the same direction. Then they took off, taking their insatiable hunger for violence elsewhere. Ray Anne and I stared at the pummeled bundle, now jostling from within. She inched forward and reached toward it, as if she could peel back the layers and peek inside. Despite how easily spirit realm beings penetrated the material world, we’d found no way to physically maneuver spirit-realm matter.
Ray Anne came to her senses and stepped back, then gripped my hand. Jackson twisted in my other arm like he was bored and wanted down, but I wasn’t about to let him crawl near that thing. I squeezed Ray’s fingers. “Let’s move back.” I wasn’t afraid, just cautious. There was no telling what manifestation might emerge. But Ray Anne insisted on standing right where she was, in her purple-striped fuzzy socks, waiting.
It was like watching a creature pry its way out of an egg, hatching little by little as strips of fabric parted to the sides. At last, a trembling hand emerged—clawed and bony like those of all Creepers, but only about the size of Ray Anne’s. And how do I explain the color? Imagine a raw turkey breast—pasty-white with a hint of pink.
Ray Anne searched my face. “What is it?”
I shrugged. I had zero sense of where this was going—what kind of Creeper this was.
A pair of wide, circular eyes peeked out from the cluster of cloth. They had big, dark pupils, more like a dog’s than a devil’s.
The thing whimpered again, like it was scared and suffering excruciating pain.
Finally, its entire bald head emerged. Ray Anne gasped. I probably did too. It had a Creeper’s face—a bare skull with no tissue, covered only by an ultrathin layer of skin. But somehow this one wasn’t scary, maybe because it had such huge, unthreatening eyes and smelled like a skunk—gross but not nearly as nauseating as other demons.
All base-level Creepers have war wounds and gashes, but this thing was marred with bruises. But how? From what I’d observed, Creepers didn’t have blood—the essence of life and very substance of bruising.
It was hunched over, its skin-and-bone legs tucked against its body while still nestled in the black material. I recognized the fabric now as the stuff Creepers draped over themselves, but this evil spawn was bare-chested, like its robe had been ripped off its body and was now falling away in shreds.
It locked eyes with Ray Anne. It’s not like she was teary eyed with compassion or smiling at the thing, but her brow wasn’t exactly furrowed in revulsion either.
“Ray Anne, don’t you dare feel sorry for it.”
She huffed. “Like I ever would.”
That’s when a Creeper that stank like rotting fish came barreling through the air from behind us. It used its pointy elbow to deliver a crushing blow to the side of the pathetic Creeper’s head, evoking a pained wail, then continued to pound the weakling.
I thought maybe Ramus would appear, but apparently the Kingdom of Light saw no need to shelter us or intervene.
Man, what I would have given to have been there to witness Molek suffer his violent ambush, outnumbered and outmatched by his own merciless kind. I couldn’t harbor that kind of vengeance toward a human being without inviting chain-link bondage onto my neck—my soul—but there was no spiritual law that forbid me to hate evil. The way I saw it, I’d better hate it. Anything less meant naive vulnerability.
This second-round assault ended after the defenseless pale-pink Creeper was rammed in its side so hard, it went rolling down the pavement, dragging shreds of fabric with it. Its body appeared no more than four feet tall. Ray and I noticed a big pothole where the small Creeper had been. That crater hadn’t been there when I’d pulled up to Ray Anne’s a few minutes ago.
Another full-size Creeper seething with anger barged onto the scene, getting its furious licks in.
“I wonder why they’re torturi
ng him.” Ray Anne winced with every blow.
“The same thing happened to Molek, but his attackers were Cosmic Rulers.”
She turned and faced me. “Tell me!”
We went back inside, leaving the puny Creeper to its excruciating fate, and I told her the rest of my story. I kept pausing, both of us compelled to eye the sensational, glowing mark on our arms.
Typical Ray Anne: once I explained everything, she insisted we needed an even more detailed communication plan for Sunday afternoon’s meeting outside Masonville High with the student pastors. I agreed we needed to explain Arthur’s call to action to them as clearly as possible, but I reminded her, “The old man said there’s people destined to help us. If they’re the ones, they’ll join us; if they’re not, nothing we say will convince them.”
In the meantime, Ray suggested we go to my land at dusk to spy on the Rulers. “Shouldn’t we try to figure out their specific assignments?”
I told her it was worth a try, but only if we could stay hidden and undetected—no getting caught and provoking a conflict. I wasn’t one to go picking fights with demons, but Ray Anne? Her bold bravery was unmatched.
“Did the old man describe what they look like?” she asked.
I sniffed the air, then handed Jackson to her so she could change his diaper. My affection for the guy had its limits. “Only that they’re bigger and somehow way more wicked than Molek.”
The truth was, nothing could have prepared us for the night’s encounter.
FIVE
THE SUN SANK BEHIND OUR BACKS. Thankfully this time I’d remembered to bring my five-watt LED flashlight. I was careful to slow my pace through my wooded acreage so Ray Anne could keep up. She’d miraculously survived the Masonville High shooting, but still felt the aftermath in her weakened stamina and achy abdomen. Her diagnosis of infertility was yet another life-altering effect, but neither of us had brought that up in a while. Too depressing.
I led the way toward the Caldwell family cemetery, where a dozen of my ancestors had been buried some hundred and fifty years ago. As Ray and I dodged tangled shrubbery, I envisioned the two ornate, black-streaked tombs that stood side by side in the center of the graveyard like silent soldiers on a never-ending night watch. The remaining graves were crowned with decrepit headstones covered in peeling whitewash, all tilted in random directions. As crooked as my ancestors had been.
The small cemetery was encircled by a rusted iron fence that conjured the morbid image of a cracked rib cage framing disintegrating organs. There’d been bloodshed all over these woods, but the cemetery was the most obvious spot I associated with death. My best attempt at locating the Rulers.
Ray Anne and I took the same path I’d traveled the night I’d discovered the heinous cage out here on the old auction block, imprisoning abducted children. Sadistic history repeating itself on the very same soil.
We continued to weave our way through the oaks and cedars, ignoring the occasional Creeper whisper. I had goose bumps—not the exhilarating kind, but uneasy jitters. Every so often, bright streaks of dazzling light zipped by us, as fast as a falling star but moving horizontally, among the trees. I was sure it was Custos, and yeah, it was comforting to know that he was making the journey with us—and maybe Ramus as well. But it was also sobering: Heaven felt the need to dispatch reinforcements for tonight’s stakeout. That had to mean we were about to face some degree of danger.
By the time we approached the cemetery, Ray Anne was out of breath but so eager, she took the flashlight from me. As the sunshine faded with every passing minute, she aimed the light around, then kept the beam fixed between the two arch-shaped tombs, illuminating a relic I’d forgotten about. A statue of Mary, carved in white stone, seven feet tall if I had to guess. The robed figure held a naked baby Jesus against her chest with one hand. The other one extended palm up, as if beckoning all to draw near. But trust me, there was nothing inviting about her stoic expression or stone-cold child.
Ray Anne studied the art piece. “She’s so serious. And sad.”
I eyed the pouty infant. “So’s the baby.”
Ray Anne walked to the iron fence, chest-high on her. She attempted to lean in and read the nearest headstone, but weeds and decades of discoloration made it impossible. I checked the time on my cell, hopeful I’d led us to the right place.
“We should back up and take cover,” I told Ray Anne. But before we had a chance to move, she latched onto my arm so hard, her nails dug into my skin.
Like floodwater swirling into a manhole, the cluster of graves and the fence and the surrounding trees began to spin in the first hues of moonlight. Fighting dizziness, Ray and I ran back, distancing ourselves from the phenomenon. An entire football field’s worth of physical matter rotated faster and faster until the earth, towering trees and all, caved in the center, sinking into some kind of paranormal vortex.
Like a black hole consuming an entire galaxy in seconds, the Caldwell cemetery and surrounding forest were sucked away and replaced by absolute darkness.
We were used to feeling the unsettling, icy presence of evil, but this was something else entirely. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion came over me, like I’d been shot with a high-dose tranquilizer gun. The weariness was mental and emotional too, tempting me to collapse and succumb to sleep right then and there. Ray Anne slouched over, bending under the weight of oppression while struggling to switch off the flashlight, trying to hide from whatever was coming.
I fought the severe fatigue enough to pull her close and take refuge with her behind the thickest tree trunk I could find. A level of evil we’d never endured before was headed our way.
There was a deep, dissatisfied moan, much louder than any human could make. Birds and small earthly creatures began to scurry overhead and around our feet, sensing the urgent need to scatter. Droves of Creepers flocked to the scene, perching in trees and hovering midair. Several noticed us and even charged at us, hissing and growling, but our light was impenetrable.
Ray Anne leaned into my side, both of us shivering. Our combined body heat was no match for the freezing spiritual air. I tried to grip the tree trunk in front of me but lacked the strength.
“Open the gate!”
We couldn’t see who had spoken, but his voice was as loud and assertive as lightning striking a powerline. At his command—spoken in English—the dark void lit up, revealing a massive crater, as if a fiery furnace was being stoked below. I understood now what we were seeing.
The pit of hell was open before us, right there on my property. The sudden heat was beyond intense, but I had no doubt that it was the anguished humans’ cursing and wailing that made Ray Anne cover her mouth and wince. Untold multitudes wept in eternal suffering. There’s no sound like it in all the universe. No way to accurately reenact it on earth. And I still couldn’t reconcile how a merciful God could possibly allow such a place to exist—much less create it.
Ray Anne started to cry, and it hit me; she’d never glimpsed into hell before, like I had. Never come face-to-face with the irreversible doom that awaits shackled humanity.
The horde of onlooking Creepers stayed uncharacteristically still as a huge, horrid object rose up from the pit. It was a sloppy, cone-shaped conglomeration of human skulls and bones strung together so that they came to a point some thirty feet beneath a flat, circular platform that, from where I stood, looked like it was paved with white pebbles. Or God forbid, teeth. The thing came to a stop, hovering above the fiery crater.
At last, a huge being emerged from the forest and stood at the edge of the pit, gazing at the bone-filled oddity. Ray Anne hushed. The creature was as tall as a two-story building, with the skin-and-bones frame of a Creeper, but his face resembled a wolf’s, only without fur. He was draped in a green, kingly robe and wore a gaudy gold crown with an upside-down cross on his forehead. His bloodshot eyes had deep creases under them and blinked slowly and heavily. His head would drop into his chest like he was nodding off, then snap upright again.
Ray Anne couldn’t keep her grip on my arm, and I knew she was suffering under the spell too.
My head was too heavy for my neck. I hunched, and my cheek pressed against hers. “You okay?” It was like my tongue had been injected with Novocain and could barely move.
Nothing about this was right. Two Lights, under the control of wickedness without either of us having done one thing to evoke it? And yet we needed to experience this—to understand first-hand what had descended on our town, seeking the destruction of all who lived there.
Custos emerged seemingly out of nowhere, facing us and placing his giant hands on top of our heads. “The Spirit of Slumber has no authority over you,” he commanded, without any need to raise his voice.
I’d never heard him speak English before, but right now, he needed us to understand.
And just like that, my energy returned, surging from my gelled hair to my illuminated feet. Ray Anne wrapped her arms around my waist, holding on to me again. Custos had not only provided a heavenly intervention but a much-needed lesson. Now I understood: Cosmic Rulers projected oppressive power into the atmosphere like a frequency, so that all within its reach felt the effects, even unprovoked. While reigning high over the United States, Slumber’s signal transmitted to every city and state—to every person in the country—but having descended on Masonville, the intensity of his signal was off the charts, bringing the immense oppression—some kind of spiritual slumber—to the people here.
That said, Cosmic Rulers’ domination can be refused with God’s authority.
With a single step through the air, the Spirit of Slumber stood on top of the massive floating platform, which began rotating slowly above the pit, as if floating in a whirlpool. And I know this sounds as outlandish as it gets, but the bones began to speak and praise him in numerous earthly languages—English included—lavishing him with words of affection like, “I adore you,” and, “You are mighty and strong.” Yet the voices were wailing, like they were being forced to worship against their will.