Chapter 7
God had made plain His disdain for witchcraft. Exodus, Deuteronomy, Galatians and Revelation all spoke of forbidding a witch to live, and prohibited the use of divination, sorcery and witchcraft. Howard Kane knew of each verse in the Bible that condemned heretics. He could quote them all by heart. He had also heard the Lord’s voice speak them through him.
Though God had not communicated with him in some time, signs had abounded. He lived his life, ever vigilant and sensitive to more subtle messages from his Maker. Vigilance and sensitivity combined with technology had enabled his latest endeavor.
He drove along a narrow, winding road. Wind-driven rain pelted his windshield and his wipers struggled to clear it. Gusts whipped and lashed at the treetops on both sides of the street, sending fiery red and orange leaves in every direction like burning embers and rocking his SUV. But he never doubted the capability of his Chevy Suburban, or the envoy that tailed him.
He glanced up into the rearview mirror and glimpsed his fleet of three identical vehicles behind him. Together, they were on a mission, a divine mission.
Weeks of poring over information received from his network of followers had resulted in his current outing. A report had come to him, from a very loyal and dedicated source, that a small group was planning an initiation ceremony. They had intercepted several cryptic e-mail exchanges and learned where and when the ritual was to take place. Gatherings of witches for the purpose of ritualistic behavior, introductory or otherwise, implied the formation of a coven, and covens of witches were a dire threat to humankind. Perhaps their gathering had been instigated by the Sola in an attempt to unite forces with others of far lesser strength, others who possessed meager powers by comparison, but powers, nevertheless. She would rank highest among them, and have the authority to preside over their disgraceful service. He, and the others who followed in their trucks behind him, were en route to end the ritual by any means necessary. They were headed to destroy the demons. If she were there, he would destroy her as well.
A turnoff ahead signaled the entrance to a long driveway. He did not bother signaling, but veered off the main road and on to the gravel lane. Muddy impressions made in the pebbles meant that the witches had already arrived, and had likely begun their pagan rite. Howard’s insides pulsed, infused with righteous power, the power he thrived on to conquer wickedness.
He parked his truck at the end of the driveway, before a crumbling house. Built in the early 1900s, the building had been a rumored spot for every kind of imagined depravity. Some said it was haunted. Others claimed it was a house used for satanic ceremonials. But none of the rumors mattered now. After all, everything he’d heard, every rumor, was just that. The proceedings that were likely under way were supported by facts, evidence, and not mere speculation. Howard looked up to his rearview mirror again and saw that his followers had already exited their vehicles. He stepped out as well. As his feet hit the stony pathway, the rain slowed to a fine mist then ended abruptly. He raised his eyes heavenward and saw that clouds, unhurried minutes ago, now raced across the sky. Patches of blue could be seen in some spots. Undoubtedly a sign from God, the weather was predictive of his upcoming victory. The earth around him had been doused in heavenly water, purged of its sin and left clean. The parallels were remarkable, how the Lord made clear his plan, miraculous.
Two men approached him, a father and son. Mark Andrews and his son MJ had been loyal servants for more than a decade.
“Brother Howard, the e-mail said they were meeting in the basement,” Mark said.
“Ah yes, very fitting that they’d conduct their wretched business on the lowest level of the house,” Howard commented.
“I guess they like to be that much closer to Lucifer,” MJ spat.
Mark put a hand on his son’s broad shoulder and squeezed. “That’s why we’re here, son. To cast them from their shadowy depths and shine the light of God on them.”
Howard beamed at Mark and MJ. They were such bright and benevolent servants. The others joined Mark and his son and gathered around him. After he’d given his instructions, they entered the derelict house.
He led them through the front door. There was no need to worry about surprising the witches. They’d likely known of Howard and his men’s arrival; had sensed it. Innumerable dust particles scattered as thin rays of light sliced through the darkened entrance. He immediately noticed several sets of footprints in the thick layer of dust on the wood floors. He followed them to what used to be a kitchen where they disappeared abruptly.
“They’re here. I can feel it,” he whispered. And with his words, God sent him another sign. The smell of incense assaulted his nasal passages, its woodsy musk thick and heavy. He closed his eyes and forced himself to inhale deeply, to breathe the filthy scent. “Yes, they are near, very near.”
He took several steps toward a door that looked no larger than a pantry closet and the scent intensified. He pointed to a wooden door and nodded. Mark stepped forward and slowly turned the handle. The door opened inward, and he expected its hinges to creak in protest. To his surprise, it opened silently. Before them was a narrow, stone staircase. Howard began descending the staircase, into the darkened bowels of the house. Up ahead, he saw a red glow that swelled and diminished intermittently. The smell grew stronger still and he fought the urge to hold his breath. And then he heard it. Voices chanted, murmuring forbidden words, summoning ancient evil. The sound of the incantation filled the air. He turned and looked to Mark who was just a step behind him and nodded solemnly.
At the bottom of the steps, he and his men rounded a corner, and before them stood a hideous display of blasphemy. Five sinners in all chanted at the vertices of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. Candles and incense burned, suffocating the room with unholy light and fragrance. Around the pentagram, a circle had been traced. Just outside the perimeter of the circle, a blue book with a silver pentagram inscribed at its center sat on the dirt-coated floor. He knew it well. Widely held as the most thorough and respected authority on witchcraft, it was a mark of defilement in his eyes, a blasphemous reminder of man’s frailties. In it pages was the despicable history and philosophy of witchcraft, as well as powerful spells and ritual instructions. To the novice, the book was a veritable how-to book for the induction into the ungodly practice. To the experienced sorceress, it was a reference guide that had long since been committed to memory. Beside it sat a notebook with the words “Book of Shadows” scrawled across it in loopy handwriting. The Book of Shadows was a common term for a witch’s journal. It was where she would record each of her rituals and their outcomes, along with her profane journey down the path of evil. He loathed to touch such offensive works, but needed to confiscate them as evidence for his congregates. But before he reached for the book, before he made his presence known, he searched his soul and tried to sense the Sola’s presence.
He closed his eyes and held his hands out at his sides, palms facing upward. He felt her existence thrumming through his core like a constant current of electricity, coursing through his very being. She was near; of that he was certain. But he did not feel the charge of her growing power. The energy he sensed in the room was different from that of the dangerous seer. The energy of the room, concentrated in the encircled pentagram was latent, its force as yet untapped. He opened his eyes and noticed that one of the cloaked conjurers watched him.
“Who dares to conjure evil in this house?” he boomed. No one answered, but five sets of eyes now stared at him. “Who is the high priestess of this ritual?” he demanded again.
One of the hooded fiends lowered her cloak. “I’m not a priestess or anything,” she answered. “But I am hosting this ceremony.”
Her face was smooth and round, childlike, yet had been tainted by dark makeup. He guessed she was perhaps eighteen years old.
“Ceremony,” Howard said and stooped to
pick up the blue book. “You call gathering together to summon darkness a ceremony? This is an abomination, an offense against God!”
Howard scanned the faces of the cloaked children. He searched with his soul, with God’s gift, and realized they were not the devil’s disciples; they possessed no genuine power. They were just misguided teenagers intrigued by unholiness.
Howard paused and took a deep breath. “Whose book is this?” he demanded but no one answered right away. “Whose book is this?” he boomed a second time.
“That’s my book,” the baby-faced girl said in a voice that quavered, betraying the confidence she’d feigned. A silver earring looped through her nostril quivered and reflected the candlelight, and he noticed that her dark hair was streaked with scarlet strips.
He stepped toward the girl, closed the distance between them and removed his own hood. She gasped and he took her plump face in his hand and squeezed her cheeks.
“Take your fucking hands off her!” another male voice shrieked.
Howard glanced back to his men and nodded. All twelve stepped from the shadows and drew their weapons. He returned his attention to the girl. One hand held her face while the other clutched the book. He raised it and placed it close to her face. “You see this?”
She nodded.
“This is a book of witchcraft. Are you a witch?”
“N-n-no,” she stammered through welling tears.
“Then what is the meaning of this?” he shouted inches from her face.
The girl cried. Blackened tears fell from her eyes and formed sinister rivulets down her cheeks.
“You are nothing more than an impostor,” he growled.
“I-I-I- know,” she sobbed.
“Where did you get this?” he asked her and held the book to her face again.
She did not answer, but wept uncontrollably.
“Where?” he shouted.
“Online; I-I got it online.”
Howard swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and took a deep breath to calm the rage that scorched inside of him.
“You are not a witch,” he said through his teeth and squeezed her cheeks harder. “None of you are!”
“I-I-I know. There’s no such thing,” she blubbered.
Anger shot through him like a lightning bolt. His body began to tremble and he squeezed even harder. “Foolish child,” he condemned.
He stared into her eyes. They were the eyes of a scared and reckless teenage girl. His peripheral vision confirmed that all present were scared, foolish teenagers. None held powers. None were witches. But Howard felt no pity for the girl or her friends. They had chosen freely to experiment with darkness. They had turned from the light, from God. And he could not ignore such an affront. He could not forgive it.
“This is a sin. You are all sinners!” he said and dropped the blue book to the floor. It landed with a thud and he felt the girl flinch beneath his grip. With his freed hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his blade. In one quick motion, he thrust it into the girl’s stomach.
A stunned hush blanketed the room then was quickly slashed by cries of terror and pleas.
“What have you done?” a voice shrieked.
“Oh my God,” another voice sobbed.
“Please don’t kill us too,” a male voice begged.
“I cannot allow for such blasphemy to go unpunished. This is God’s will,” he said solemnly. Warmth spread over his hand and a large crimson stain grew over her abdomen, saturating her shirt and expanding to the waistband of her pants. In the warmth of her waning lifeblood, he felt infused with calm and peace. He was carrying out God’s work. Righteousness filled him. He felt dizzy, giddy even, and weightless. Tears filled his eyes, the Holy Spirit overwhelming him.
“Kill them,” he calmly instructed his followers. “Kill them all.”
At his command, shots rang out and echoed though the old house. Tears streamed down his charred, leathered skin. Pure joy filtered through him like sunlight. He relished in the moment and muttered, “I heard you, Lord. I hear you.”
He pulled his blade from the girl and returned his attention to his men. All of the sinners had been shot dead. None lived. Smoke filled the room and through its hazy veils, he saw that some of his men looked weary. He recognized their need for divine inspiration.
“Sometimes we have to fulfill commands that are unpleasant on the surface. But rest assured that at their core, the activities here were unholy, and had to be punished. These were not children of God. They had strayed and sought out dark forces. They sought out Lucifer.” He paused and heard “Amen” muttered several times then continued. “These sinners needed to fall,” he said and enriched his voice with virtue. “They will be examples to others who might consider following them.” His men nodded in agreement. He raised his voice, honesty and morality ringing out like a bell heralding a new day, and said, “We are God’s soldiers. We must be strong and carry out His will, however difficult it may seem. We will leave these bodies, as they are, around the very symbol of their ungodliness. They will show the world what happens to those who trespass against the Lord.”
“Amen!” Mark said and gripped his son MJ’s shoulder. “Amen son.”
Howard watched as MJ’s eyes surveyed the room, the blood that had splattered against the concrete walls and seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. A smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth and he looked to Howard and said, “Amen.” With his loyal followers and God on his side, Howard knew the Sola’s days were numbered. She, like the sinners he stood before, would fall.
Dark Reality 7-Book Boxed Set Page 23
