Arise

by Michael Dean

  After a couple hours in flight, I closed in on the secluded, ghost town known as Tombstone. This place is one of the world hotbeds for interdimentional spirit travel. It’s a popular recruiting ground for souls for both Heaven and Hell. Anyplace in the world where a cruel death or suffering happens, or where an impression of such travesties lingers behind from mankind, are spiritual highways to the other side. Through portals located in these types of locations, Hell can hunt and Heaven can save, and there are indeed portals for both ends of the spectrum here in Tombstone. It’s a hotbed for lost souls that are still time locked in an era.

  I transformed into my smoky, less noticeable form, and drifted just above the lonely, beat-up, two-lane highway that rolls up and down over the cactus-covered hills that surround the landscape of Tombstone. On the outskirts of the town, I landed in some sparse shrubs. Being born of evil myself, my demon senses tingled. I could feel the horrors and fears committed by, and to, the people of this once bustling place. Evils committed in an era long past. The suffering of man surrounds this western town like a bubble of negative energy. No wonder this is Agrelia’s main point of access from Hell. This is a breeding ground for damned souls.

  I walked out of the desert and strolled up the beaten road to town. I acted as if I was just another tourist here to bask in the historic ambiance. When I approached the entrance of the small city, I was drawn to my left into the dirt and gravel parking lot of a very well known cemetery, Boot Hill. I could see what the handful of earthbound mortals could not that walked among the faded wooden tombstones of the dead behind a stick fence that surrounded the entire burial ground.

  Hoards of lost souls, men and women, still dressed in the threads of people from the nineteenth century in the American West, paced among them, lost and unnoticed by the living. Their pale, dirt covered faces were beaten down by the life they once lived. They screamed in anger at the deaf ears of the living. They were trying to connect themselves, in vain, to something of substance, something still alive. But the living of the world couldn’t hear them, silent screams that had been overlooked for nearly two hundred years continued to cry out for their stories to be heard, but to no avail. If the mortals only knew what was all around them, they would be running out of that graveyard in terror.

  I stepped into an old wooden building that led to the hallowed ground just beyond it and walked inside. My search for Agrelia was officially underway. I strolled through the inside of the building, which was now a modern day retail outlet dedicated to selling memorabilia. I found an open door that led into the rock covered graves outside in the back.

  The moment my feet hit the dusty ground, the few lost souls in that area became aware of my presence. Immediately, they ran for cover like children about to be scolded. They ducked and hid behind the hand-painted wooden tombstones. Some even slid back into the earth. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt to me that they knew what hid behind my human-like exterior and feared that I was there to take them to Hell. At least that’s how I viewed their reactions to my presence. Whenever I walked to one side of cemetery, all the souls hiding above ground would scurry to the other side of the yard. It didn’t take long to figure out that the Hell siren wasn’t here, but I could certainly tell that I was in the right geographical area to find her. I could feel her.

  I decided to leave Boot Hill, since my target was nowhere to be seen, and headed to the town of Tombstone itself. Before I walked out of the yard, I turned to make eye contact with one of the lost souls watching me intently from behind the shrubs. I smiled at him, just over my shoulder, letting him now that I wasn’t there for them. The sun-beaten, white face of the old silver miner looked at me in suspicion before turning his empty eyes to the ground. I sensed every bit of loneliness they all felt, and it pained me inside. I could relate, but there was nothing I could do for them. They were each paying their own penances, just as I was paying mine.

  I walked up a small hill that led into the city from the old graveyard.

  When I reached the vintage mining town, I noticed a multitude of even more spirits from the Old West that roamed in and out of the buildings that surrounded the now paved, single lane road the made up the entirety of Tombstone. Just like in Boot Hill, the hordes of tourists were oblivious to their invisible ancestors. Depressed souls roamed among those of the living, who were clopping and thumping their feet along the wooden sidewalks in front of all the shops. The only difference between the spirits here were that they seemed to have no interest in calling out to the living like the ones in the graveyard. They just roamed from place to place, ignoring the living just as they were being ignored. Much like before, whenever I got near these souls, they got as far away from me as they could, ducking and hiding into the shops in order to avoid me. I wanted nothing to do with them either, my only concern was Agrelia, and it seemed she wasn’t on site yet, but I knew she would be sooner or later.

  In movies and television documentaries, this place seemed much bigger than just a single road that spans out about a half mile or so, surrounded by the period buildings on either side. It was a considerably smaller town than I’d imagined, now the buildings were filled with trinkets and goodies dedicated to the tourists. To me, the essence of an era and what it means to modern human society is nearly lost due to the age of man’s obsession with capitalism.

  So, stalling for time, and blending in, in true tourist fashion, I waited for the possible arrival of Agrelia by checking out some of the locations left that still preserved the town’s legacy. I sat with other history buffs and watched the recreations of violent events from the Old West. Although these reenactments were based on actual occurrences, there was a modern touch of theatre attached to these truths, giving the historical lesson a coat of myth-based Hollywood paint that watered down the past. Even the history of the location was told with the scent of the dollar behind it. Greed was the new evil in the town too tough to die. No wonder Agrelia, and whatever else crawled out from the bowels of Hell, frequented this ghost town. It is, and always had been, saturated with man’s desire for power and privilege; the perfect breeding ground for the soul-hungry hounds of Hell that sought them out. That land was plentiful here.

  From show to show, and shop to shop, I wasted time while keeping an eye out for the queen of all Goyles. Before I knew it, the sun was setting in the desert, cascading a goodbye over the land with beautiful orange and purple highlights. It was the one of those breathtaking Arizona sunsets that I have always heard about. Now I see what all the fuss was about. It was magnificent. But deep inside, I knew in this moment this might be my last gasp before the plunge.

  As the sun disappeared behind the mountaintops, so did the people. Only a few shop owners remained as night overtook the town. The dead continued to roam here and there, but the overall essence of the place took on an even darker tone as the cool desert air brought in a chill on this moonless night. Agrelia would show soon, I just knew it.

  But it didn’t happen. I hung around, waiting, hiding, looking, all night, but she never showed. The next thing I knew the sun was rising and it was every bit as awesome as the sunset from the night before, but still no Agrelia. Day after day, night after night, I waited, with no luck. A few days, turned into a couple of weeks. I was beginning to think that I made a mistake in judgment as to her location. This wait was getting frustrating.

  I figured I would give it another night or two and if she didn’t arrive, I would head back home and reassess the situation. I was missing Shade badly anyway. So, when another chilled desert night set in, I slithered my way into one of the closed saloons, a bit of a ritual as of late, and sat in one of the booths. I started doing this nightly because I had nothing else to do and was afraid to leave town for fear of missing Agrelia. One thing that had kept me entertained during these lonely nights was watching these ghost hunts, run by the proprietors of Tombstone looking to make a buck off the rumored haunted locations within the town.

  A small group of six to eight people would gather in
front of an old theatre on the outskirts of the old mining town. Two or three of the shop keeps would meet them, tell them a little history, most of the lessons told were the dark and scary parts of the past to get them in the right mood, and then take them from place to place, going inside, outside, and around the haunted places of Tombstone. Their flashlights darted and criss-crossed everywhere, occasionally shifting fearfully to one spot when a spirit or non-spirit related noise occurred. It was funny to watch them, totally oblivious to the multitude of souls that constantly surrounded them as they ‘hunted’; if they only knew. Out of sheer boredom, and because it was freakin’ hilarious, I would occasionally give them their money’s worth by changing into smoke form and sliding into the buildings with them. I would push things over, throw things, even appearing enough to form a shadow, known as being a “Shadow Figure” to humans. They would scream, or run, all the while their flashlights bobbed and weaved in every which direction before meeting up with everyone, usually outside in the street, to tell the tales of what they experienced. Terrorizing them was so much fun that sometimes I forgot the real purpose of why I was there.

  On this night it was no different; people met with their tour guides in front of the theatre as usual and I watched them receive their flashlights and get told the haunted tales. I felt like making it eventful for them again tonight. So when I thought they were good and into it, I just might do my thing and spook the hell out of them. But then I saw one of the guides pull out a Ouija board from his backpack and heard him announce that they would use it later. They hadn’t done that while I’ve been here. I had a distinct feeling that this night would be different. Ouija is nothing to fool with and is one of only a couple of ways a human can open a weaker form of a spiritual portal for whatever kind of being to come through, naughty or nice. A very real danger can come to fruition when the living calls upon the dead. It’s like opening the front door of your home to the entire world and inviting everyone in it to dinner, you never know who, or what, will show up. This is a very foolish thing to do because once you open a door to anything and everything, some things don’t leave. Even worse, they may never leave you.

  I watched, with suspicious eyes, as they did the normal tour investigation. I was curious to see if they would use their secret weapon of summoning. I decided against going out to mess with them because I didn’t want to encourage them to use the Ouija board, even though that probably wouldn’t stop them anyway. Sure enough, as the hunt neared its end on an uneventful night for the hunters, the guide leader called everyone to come into the very saloon I was hiding in. Very quickly, I made myself scarce by blending in with the shadows in the darkest corners of the bar. I watched as they came into the center of the saloon, never turning on any lights, I guess to keep the mood dark, and pushed two tables together so they all could sit down. They were chatting and chuckling in whispers as the guide reached into his bag and pulled out a large candle and the Ouija, placing them both in the center of the tables. As the guide lit the candle, an eerie hush fell over the group, almost as if they were scared of this ominous object aglow in the candlelight.

  Ouijas have numbers, zero through nine, all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, the words hello, goodbye, yes, and no on them. A small, upside down heart looking tool called a planchette with a see-through lens on it focuses on the letters or numbers chosen. All people involved in the summoning place their fingertips on the tool and ask questions. If a door gets opened and a spirit or whatever shows up, it will move the pointer to whatever letters, numbers, or words it needs to answer the humans’ questions.

  “Okay, everyone that wants to play, put your fingers, very gently, on the planchette. There are too many of us around the table, so please, decide among you who will actively participate in the game,” said the head guide.

  I found it a bit disturbing that he called this séance a game. It was very real, and very, very, serious. Once they sorted out who was to play and who wasn’t, the head guide spoke again into the darkness as their fingers touched the planchette.

  “Is there anyone with us tonight?”

  They sat perfectly silent and still, as did the planchette. Not a single one of them spoke to one another as they looked around the dark pub nervously, waiting for an answer. After a minute or two, the guide called out again.

  “We’re only curious to know if anyone is here with us in spirit. Some of us here don’t believe you exist. Can you prove that you do? Can you tell us your name?”

  Again, nothing happened. The planchette remained motionless. Indeed, nothing was in the room with them, well, besides me. If something was here without answering them, I would know instantly.

  One of the tourists that had her fingers on the tool leaned in and whispered something to the tour guide doing the speaking. He nodded his head yes to whatever it was she asked. Then instantly I knew what it was she requested when she took a turn at calling out.

  “My name is Beverly. If anyone is here, can you tell me your name?”

  Again, nothing happened. After a couple more minutes, they whispered among themselves. Something about the group’s body language made me a little nervous and when the young woman, Beverly, spoke again, I found out why.

  “I guess no one wants to talk to us. Maybe you aren’t strong enough, or maybe you’re just too frightened? Maybe you’re not that tough after all, huh?”

  The method they were using was called ‘provoking.’ It’s when humans try to belittle or make the spirits angry they’re trying to communicate with in order to get a reaction from them. This is a common practice people do when trying to summon souls, and a very foolish one. This turns the situation into a confrontation, as if it wasn’t enough of one before, but now it contains an angry overtone. Now you’re daring, let’s say, something like me, to prove to you that I’m strong. That’s never a problem, and it’s also insulting for a demon, or a negative spirit, to be called out by a naïve, powerless human.

  “I thought the men of your time were supposed to be tough guys? You mean to tell me you can’t even talk to a young girl?” the guide added.

  For a brief few moments, everything remained calm. Then, before the tour group noticed anything, I detected something changing in the atmosphere. There was an electric charge in the air, it was giving me tingles, even in my current bodiless state. Something was coming, and when the scent of burnt flesh and sulphur filled the room, I knew they’d gone too far. I began to see a small, red and yellow tornado light swirling around directly under the Ouija board, beneath the table at the center of their feet. It was a portal…from Hell. I knew a demon was trying to break through.

  I watched intensely as a smoke mist began to rise up from out of the floor in the center of the small revolving portal. Just as the plasma-like substance reached the table, directly under the Ouija’s planchette, the tool began to move. Gasps rolled around the table in disbelief. But their shock rapidly gave way to suspicion. They questioned one another, at least those touching the planchette, whether anyone was moving it. When everyone answered no, they looked back to the board with nervous anticipation.

  “Ask it something else, Beverly, they’re responding to you,” the head guide pushed further. Clearing her throat, she adhered to the request.

  “What…you don’t like a woman calling you out? What’s your name?”

  The planchette began to slowly move around the board to various letters. Once the tool ran its course, it returned to the center of the board and sat still. For me though, all the action was that tiny portal and mist under that table. The group chatted amongst one another with amazed smiles.

  “Jake, your name is Jake?” Beverly asked for confirmation and watched as the planchette moved to the yes spot and stopped. The group’s murmurs were becoming loud banter as they began to confidently boast about the progress of their spiritual connection. Some of them even pulled out cameras and started snapping pictures confidently in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure in the dark they were com
municating with. I could only watch in frustration at their stupidity.

  I knew this spirit, this demon wasn’t named Jake. This is a common tactic demonic spirits do in order to keep humans engaged in conversation, therefore making the connection between the underworld and earth stronger via a portal. If they continue to summon this same entity for a continued period of time that’s masquerading as a regular ghost through the Ouija, the portal will get stronger and they can then attach themselves to the human, or humans, calling for them. This allows the entity to escape from Hell, maybe not permanently, but it can stay out of the Devil’s Domain for hundreds of years, even thousands. Of course it goes without saying a soul of any kind will do anything to escape the torments of Hell.

  I might add that the reason a demon will use an alias is because of a human’s natural fear of Hell. If a being was to announce they were from the underworld, a person would most likely cut off the communication, so, the entity remains in stealth until it feels it can come out of hiding. And if a demon comes out of the dark with a human, it usually means it has possessed that person that brought it into the physical world, and when that happens, when a demon takes control of a living soul, it will use the being to serve itself. This is when horrific acts like murder take place. Not every murder, of course.

  Unlike a Drift Demon that uses a physical manifestation to manipulate a soul into corruption from the outside, a Possession Demon will work from the inside of a person. But Christian, Lord Bellock, Hell in general, discourage this approach in the search for souls. The reason being, for one, a demon has left Hell without permission, and two, most possessed souls do not get claimed by Hell because of the fact they were controlled internally by the demon itself. Dark sins were committed by the demon’s direct hand, not the human’s own actions. Either way, it’s so foolish of mankind to meddle with the spiritual world that surrounds them.