Moon Island

by J. R. Rain

  I continued on, pushing through massive ferns that seemed almost prehistoric. Thorny blackberry bushes were in abundance as well, all filled with juicy berries that probably tasted heavenly. The trail angled up, as I knew it would.

  Stinging nettles snagged my jeans as I carefully stepped over fat banana slugs - and even the occasional toadstool. I marveled at the mushrooms that clung to moist tree trunks. Nature at its weirdest.

  Water dripped seemingly everywhere.

  Lightning suddenly flashed above, zigzagging through the treetops, followed by an angry grumbling of thunder.

  I continued on, slipping once or twice in the sloshing mud, winding my way up the trail that would lead to the highest point of the island.

  Soon, as the trees opened and the wind and rain lashed me violently, I found myself on a steep switchback trail that afforded a majestic view of the manor far below. The trail soon led to a rounded rock dome high above the island. I didn't know if it had a name, but I called it Dome Rock.

  Rain drove straight into my face, down inside my jacket collar. I didn't mind the rain all. It made me feel alive. Human.

  Normal. Rain didn't judge or discriminate. Rain fell on everyone. . . mortal or immortal. Living or dead.

  Or some of us in-between.

  I slipped and slid my way over the moss-covered rock and soon looked out over the Puget Sound, to distant islands and churning seas. It was so beautiful and epic and alive that it was nearly impossible to believe that a family was being terrorized by a body-jumping demon.

  Nearly.

  I knew one thing, though: I wanted answers.

  And I knew just where to find them.

  God.

  Chapter Thirty-four

 

  I sat cross-legged at the apex of the dome, completely exposed to the storm.

  At times, the wind blew so hard that I thought it might lift me up and blow me off the rock mound. But it didn't, try as it might. Instead it tugged and pulled at me like an angry thing, as I remained seated and focused.

  My eyes were closed tight; my hands rested on my knees.

  The wind thundered over my exposed ears. Yes, my hood was down. I didn't want any barrier between me and God. I breathed in and out, slowly. Now, the wind blew even harder, rocking me further and, in the far distance, I heard the pounding of the surf against the rock cliffs.

  I continued breathing, slowly, deliberately, deeply.

  It took a minute or two of focused concentration, but soon enough, I felt a sensation of rising up, as if I'd entered a tube of some sort. A glass tube, because in my mind's eye I could see myself rising up. But, interestingly, not so much rising above the earth. No. Instead, I sensed myself rising up through what appeared to be levels.

  Dimensions.

  How I knew this, I didn't know. But the word felt right. Yes, I was rising up through the dimensions, even as the rain hit me full in the face. The sensation of being wet and cold seemed to be happening to someone else. Certainly not me. . . after all, I was rising, rising.

  Rising. . .

  The dimensions swept past me. On many of them I sensed entities, or beings, watching me, observing me while I came and went. Spiritual beings, I knew, highly evolved beings that existed in realms that we, as humans, could not comprehend. . . and yet, I sped past even them.

  Higher and higher.

  Until. . .

  I was back. Not above the Earth, or even above the Universe. I was outside of the Universe. Outside of space and time. I was observing creation as God would have. As God did so now.

  Welcome back, Samantha Moon, came a thought deep inside my head. No, not exactly in my head. All around me, vibrating through me.

  I sensed that I existed in the space between space, and it was a concept that was difficult for me to understand.

  You are doing fine, Samantha Moon.

  Thank you. You are doing fine, too, from what I can gather.

  There was a gentle laugh inside me.

  Kind of you to say, Sam. Do you mind if I call you Sam?

  You're God, you can call me anything you want.

  More gentle laughter. God, I was discovering, had a nice sense of humor. I understand that you think that, Sam. But I am, more accurately, the Source.

  Source?

  The Source of life in this universe.

  I see, I thought. I think. That's still pretty much God to me.

  I will not argue the point, Sam.

  Either way, it's a pleasure to have your company.

  I sensed the vastness, the emptiness, the peace.

  Do you ever feel lonely out here? I asked.

  Your question implies that I might find myself alone.

  Well, yes, I guess. Are there many others like you? Other Sources?

  There are a handful of us, yes.

  How many?

  Twelve, to be exact.

  And from where do the twelve originate?

  Exactly that, Sam. From the Origin.

  And what, exactly, is the Origin? My Creator.

  I see, I thought. And you are my Creator?

  You are my creation, yes.

  And what do the other twelve Sources do?

  They watch over their own multiverses, of course.

  Of course. And why did the Origin create twelve of you?

  To learn more about itself.

  And why did you create me?

  So that I can learn more about myself.

  And thus, what? Report back to the Origin? I asked.

  You are correct, Sam.

  I thought about this as the rain and wind pummeled my physical body a universe away, as I gazed out over the slowly-moving cosmos that rotated around a galactic center of some sort.

  That's pretty heavy, I thought.

  It's as heavy or light as you want it to be. But, yes, I understand that these are new concepts for you in the physical world.

  Is there evil? I asked suddenly.

  There is the potential for others to show you the opposite of light, yes.

  I had a sudden insight, sudden clarity. I wondered if this insight came from the Source.

  The darkness is necessary to appreciate the light, I said.

  Well said, Sam.

  Can darkness ever destroy light?

  There was a slight pause before the voice vibrated through my being again: Remember this always, Sam: A small match can illuminate the darkest room.

  I got the meaning and felt myself nod way, way back there on that rock dome, high above Skull Island.

  So, I should never fear darkness, I thought.

  Live in light, Samantha, but acknowledge the darkness.

  For without darkness, there cannot be light.

  Very good, Sam.

  Is there a Devil? I asked suddenly.

  There was a long pause. You are asking if there is an entity that delights in causing mischief, who tortures souls for all eternity, who causes the good to falter, and the bad to be worse?

  Well, yes.

  No, Sam. No such entity exists.

  I nodded. Perhaps here in space, or perhaps back on the dome, I said, I have a question about a group of beings I have come across, one such being is, in fact, residing within me, and undoubtedly hearing this very conversation.

  Maybe she needs to hear this conversation, Samantha. Maybe you are her answer, too.

  I don't understand.

  Maybe you are her way back to the life.

  I never thought of that. I paused, formulating my thoughts. I feel she is evil.

  She - and others like her - have certainly made choices that might appear evil.

  But they are not evil? I asked.

  They operate out of fear, Sam. Fear of moving on, fear of giving up power, fear of retribution. They are, quite simply, misinformed.

  Misinformed about what?

&nbs
p; That life is eternal, that I am eternal.

  That they are eternal. That power is temporary, that love is everlasting.

  Lightning flashed in the heavens above. . . until I realized that it had flashed directly above my body. I was about to ask another question, until I felt myself slipping back. . . or down through the dimensions. As I slipped down, down, God's words sang through me and around me.

  Love is everlasting.

  I opened my eyes and looked out over stormy seas and wondered again if I'd completely lost my mind.

  Chapter Thirty-five

 

  As I hiked back from the dome, still reeling from yet another encounter with God - or, perhaps more accurately, the Source - I sent a text message to Tara Thurman: We need to talk.

  Her reply came a few minutes later, as I slid and skated down the muddy trail.

  I know.

  Meet me at my bungalow in twenty minutes.

  Where are you?

  Nature walk, I texted and shoved my phone in my hip pocket before the rain could short-circuit something. I might be able to do a lot of things, but magically fix my iPhone wasn't one of them.

  Back at the bungalow, I let Allison know we were expecting a guest. Allison read my mind, shook her head, and went immediately into the kitchen and took out a big carving knife.

  "She's one of them, Sammie," she said, slipping it inside her waistband, and then yelping loudly when the point bit her.

  I snickered and reminded her that the entity, as far as we knew, could only jump from one body at a time.

  "Well, we don't know that for sure, Sam. In fact, we know very little about it. "

  "Which is why I want to talk to Tara. "

  Allison still didn't like it, except this time she gingerly slipped the knife inside her waistband. I chuckled and took a shower. Showers were still one of my few great pleasures in this new life of mine, and I reveled in the warmth it provided, always reluctant to leave. Even after the shower was long off, I stood there briefly in the stall, the heat and steam, and watched the water drip down my still-pale skin. Pale and flawless, granted.

  No, I thought. Pale and dead.

  I threw on my last pair of dry jeans, then tossed my sopping-wet clothes in the bungalow's washer. I'd just turned it on and was toweling my hair when a gentle rap came on the front door.

  As of someone gently rapping, I thought, thinking of the Edgar Allan Poe poem, rapping at my chamber door.

  * * *

  As I reached for the door, I mentally reminded Allison to guard her thoughts.

  She understood. . . and reached down and adjusted the knife at her hip. I might have detected a small spot of blood appearing through her jeans where the point had poked her.

  I next remembered the words of the Source: They operate out of fear, Sam.

  Fear of moving on, fear of giving up power, fear of retribution. They are, quite simply, misinformed.

  Misinformed or not, the being that possessed the Thurmans was, I suspected, desperate and powerful. A hell of a dangerous combination. But I would not fear it, whatever it was.

  The smallest match can illuminate the darkest room.

  I opened the door, stepped aside, and let the Devil in.

 

 

  Chapter Thirty-six

 

  Tara, of course, didn't look like the Devil.

  Or a highly evolved dark master, for that matter. In fact, other than looking wet and cold, she looked exactly as I'd remembered her: young, fresh-faced, alert, alive. Not pale and gaunt. Not vampiric.

  It's because he's not a vampire, Allison said. Not quite.

  I nodded minutely as I invited Tara to have a seat. She did so at the small kitchen table. I asked if she wanted Allison to make her some coffee. Tara shook her head - and just missed the nasty look Allison shot me.

  I considered how to broach the subject of her family, and decided to dive right in.

  "I've heard about the family curse," I said.

  Tara, who was wearing a cute pair of tight jeans and bright red rain boots lined with rabbit fur, snapped her head up. The black, vaporous thread that wound through her aura pulsated a little.

  He's listening, I thought. How I knew this, I didn't know, but it seemed obvious now.

  "Who told you?"

  "That's not important now. What can you tell me about it?"

  Her own once-vibrant aura seemed to shrink a little, a sign that she was going within, closing herself off to me. "Sam, it's really quite silly. "

  "From what I heard, it didn't sound silly," I said. "It sounded dangerous. "

  The black thread began rotating slowly through her aura now, weaving in and out.

  Tara held my gaze briefly, and then looked away. I felt her fear.

  "It's really not something I want to talk about," she said. "Also, I don't see what this has to do with why I hired you. "

  "Why are you afraid?" I asked.

  She looked at me, then at the door. I reached out and took her hand. As I did so, the black, ethereal snake swelled briefly and circled even faster, weaving in and out, watching me carefully. Yes, I sensed it watching me.

  "You're not leaving," I said.

  "Hey, let go. "

  "I know about the curse, Tara," I said, squeezing her even tighter, but not so tight as to hurt her. Tight enough for her to know she wasn't going anywhere. After all, I was going to have to get through decades of fear and confusion. "I know about your great-grandfather, and I know what he brought upon your family. "

  She fought me briefly, but to no avail.

  As I held her hand, I got psychic hit after psychic hit.

  "No," she said. "It's just a silly superstition - "

  "You and I both know it's not a superstition. You and I both know that something dark and angry and hungry has entered your lives. Something that will never leave. "

  "You're crazy, Sam - "

  "You feel it in you, you feel it when it overcomes you. You feel it make you say things, do things, want things. You thought you were crazy. You thought all of you were crazy. But it's in you. You understand that now. It's in all of you. In your blood. Like a parasite. A leech. A disease. "

  "You're crazy, Sam. "

  "I'm not crazy. And neither are you. "

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked over at Allison, then back at me.

  "Why are you doing this? What's the matter with you? I hired you to find answers to my grandfather's death. "

  "And I am," I said. "But ask yourself: Why did you hire me? Why me, out of hundreds of other private investigators?"

  "I live in southern California. I. . . I liked your ad. "

  "You live in Los Angeles, nowhere near me. "

  "Your ad. . . " she mumbled.

  "I see," I said. "And why were you looking for a private investigator in Orange County?"

  "I don't - " She paused, fumbling for words. The black snake swirling faster and faster, weaving, in and out. . .

  "You don't know why, do you?" I said.

  "I don't - "

  "You don't know why because it compelled you to call me, to hire me. "

  "Sam, please - "

  My hands shot out and took both of hers this time. I dug my nail deep into her skin, making blood contact. She gasped, and in a flash, I saw it now, saw how it worked, saw how it used her and the others. The secret manipulation, down through the ages. I saw how it rarely, if ever, revealed its plans to them. It simply manipulated, used them. Like a sick puppet master. Mostly it left them alone.

  Mostly. That is, until it needed something from them - or wanted them to do something for it. In this case, it had compelled Tara to call me and hire me.

  But she did not know why. It had kept its reasons to itself.

  I released her as she recoiled, rubbing her now-bleeding hands, shocked and clearly horrified. But I had seen
what I needed to see. There had, of course, been something else I had seen. Something very, very strange.

  "Tell me about the digging," I said.

  The black snake had swollen to nearly twice its usual size. The entity was here, but hadn't quite taken over Tara fully. No, it was surveying the damage, assessing what needed to be done, if anything.

  "It makes us dig," she said finally. "On the north end of the island. "

  "Dig for what?"

  "I don't know. "

  "But it's searching for something?"

  "Yes. "

  "Is that why you were gone yesterday?"

  She looked at me with pleading eyes. I saw the torment in her soul, felt the anguish in her heart. I knew the source of her pain: the entity had taken so much from her and her family.

  "Yes," she said. "It doesn't tell us what it's looking for. "

  "Us?"

  "Yes. Mostly it uses Edwin and me.

  When he's resting, I take over. "

  "What part of the island, exactly?"

  Tara shook her head. "I. . . I can't say. "

  "It won't let you say, you mean?"

  She looked at me with pleading eyes.

  And nodded.

  "Tara, would you like for me to remove this entity from your lives?"

  Her mouth dropped open to speak, but she didn't, couldn't. The swirling black snake was so thick now, so dense, that it almost appeared real. The entity, I knew, had just taken her over.

  The son of a bitch.

  Still, Tara nodded. A very small nod.

  It was all she could do against the will of the entity who, I knew, presently possessed her. Tara wanted help. Badly.

  Now she stood slowly and smiled down at me. The same creepy smile I had seen on her before. "You cannot win, Samantha Moon," she said evenly, except it wasn't her. "Not against me. Not against us. "

  And she turned and left the bungalow.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

 

  "That was so creepy," said Allison.

  "As hell," I said.

  "It allowed her to give you that information about the digging," said Allison.

  "I know. "

  "It could have stopped her earlier, but didn't," said Allison. "Which means. . . "

  "Which means it wanted me to know about the digging. "

  "But why?"

  "I don't know," I said.

  I nodded absently. I couldn't stop thinking about the desperate look in Tara's eyes, even as she was compelled to say the words that came out of her mouth at the end, even as she was compelled to get up and leave.